#probably the equivalent to people cracking their knuckles

[crazylittlejester]

Ahhh hello :D your takes on Warriors are so absolutely fabulous that I was wondering if you have any favorite headcanons about him? Perchance?

ALSKDKDL OH GEE, THANK YOU I’M GLAD YOU LIKE EM 🥺 i am very mentally ill about the blorbo…

and OH BOY DO I- *cracks knuckles* OKAY:

- The crooked smile thing that I yapped about very recently (link to post)

- He’s not naturally blond, his hair is naturally very curly and a dark brown but he bleaches and straightens it because it’s part of the “Hero” image he’s created for himself to act as. A lot of stress and pressure was put on him at a very young age and he didn’t feel like he was good enough compared to the past heroes, so he created a persona, essentially, of an idealized version of himself so people would think he was worthy of being called hero, and the hair was initially part of it. Nowadays he’s probably just attached to the color, though still somewhat worried about his image

- This one is based off NOTHIN but me, but I headcanon he has chronic low blood sugar :) Because I can, literally no other reason

- He does NOT like things against his neck, specifically the front. It makes him feel like he’s being choked and he’ll start actually coughing and gagging if fabric gets up too high. That scarf is pinned down in place in such a way that he Cannot be strangled by it if someone just pulls it. If they wanna wrap the long ass end of it around his neck and strangle him that way? Sure. If they wanna yank him down to the ground? They easily could. But Warriors is careful not to let anything get too close to his collar bone or higher up his neck. Tall collars are fine just as long as theyre open in the front

- His comfort food is oranges! This comes from a headcanon I have (which I’ve also yapped about in a few other posts) that he gets very uncomfortable with eating certain foods. It’s based off my own personal experience with my food allergies, and since I headcanon Warriors has a fear of poison (in a similar way a fear of cross contamination works), I figured something that’s the equivalent of prepackaged food would feel safe for him. It’s a comfort for him because he can tell himself the peel is going to protect the part he actually eats. COULD you poison an orange? Absolutely. They’re not poison proof, and deep down Warriors does know that, but his dependence on them has ALMOST reached a point of irrationality where he’s got himself convinced the oranges are safe and cannot be poisoned. Mentally, he relies on the fact that the peel will protect his food and he tells himself it’ll be fine because when he’s panicking he can’t really handle the fact he could be wrong, it’d send him spiraling faster

- Not someone you should EVER touch without permission. He will either just be uncomfortable and freak out, or he’ll panic and pull a knife out before he can realize who’s there

- comes from a pretty large family and he lived out in the countryside until he joined the army. directly related to this, he’s very good at sewing because some of his family were tailors and he would’ve been too had the war not happened

i got a lot of thoughts and a lot more headcanons alskkdkdldkdk but my brain is turning off and these are all i got for now

[cervidame]

hey! i looove the way you write theo in genesis (that entire fic is GOLD) and was wondering if you had an analysis or any headcanons for theo's character?

(also, feel free to ignore this ask if i'm asking for too much 😅)

*cracks knuckles* In short: - The role of printer's apprentice sparks a lot of thought around the politics of the time and the process of wanting to raise awareness/give a voice to issues that don't normally get attention. - If he didn't inherit a barony, he'd publish & edit periodicals, probably publishing a novel after some time. - His lack of having a voice/vote as a working class man makes him relate to Eloise. - Theo would be sympathetic to first wave feminism and Chartism. - Staffordshire was at the heart of industrial revolution and thus suffered its worse effects, resulting in riots & strikes from the 1830s - 40s, making it the perfect stage for a fic focusing on these issues before they explode. - Theo "closes the door" on his emotions and walks away when he can't handle things. - Eloise is better at recognizing her emotions and communicating them because of her family. - is a coffee fiend OK hi anon so! Theo's role as a printer's apprentice is actually important. On completion, this can be a lucrative trade and many apprentices went on to make their own news pamphlets and politicals. You can imagine sort of political newsletters, Twitter threads, and newspaper opinion pieces and book reviews of the day as the equivalent to give a voice to various issues. They'd include some essays (I guess today we'd call them opinion pieces) from various people. A notable example has been mentioned in the fic - The Monthly Review - which started in 1749. Just from seeing how well read Theo is, the fact he appears to regularly attend assemblies, and from his work I've developed his character to be politically engaged and radical (for the time). Outside of Genesis, I imagine Theo's ambitions would be to be the editor of his own periodical in the style of The Monthly Review with a strong emphasis on politics.

Theo would be a strong sympathizer of the Chartism movement. This movement of the working class boomed from the 1830s. The charter included 6 things including giving all working men the right to vote. The system in England at the time focused on landowners then. It's not just the poverty of his (and others like him) in England that bothers him in the show. It's the lack of having a voice, which also makes him sympathetic to the women's movement and Eloise's plight is relatable in that sense, even if their backgrounds are very different. Chartism resulted in many riots including the Pottery Riots of 1842. In Burslem, near where I grew up, a young man (just 19) was shot dead by police during a strike march. In retaliation, the strikers burned down the house of the magistrate who'd ordered the police to shoot at the rioters. While my fic Genesis takes place before this movement boomed, issues had long since begun and Theo is well aware of them. He wants to help and use his voice for good. Theo buries his emotions. We see this in the last interaction of Theo & Eloise where he walks away and shuts the literal door in his workplace. My headcanon, and what we explore in Genesis, is what happens when that door starts to burst open. That's why little thoughts of Eloise creep through. You can't hold back your emotions forever. Eventually it bursts out. We also see this in how he's dealing with the news of being presented to the Queen and becoming the official heir to the Barony. Lock it away. Deal with it maybe later (or preferably never!!). This is why Eloise, who took the first step in stating her emotions to Theo (also because of their difference in station) is a good balance for him. I do think she's better at communication and has a better awareness of her feelings, helped by her interactions with Benedict who's very open and supportive! Vs Theo who I see as an orphan with a very limited support system. He hasn't developed this type of communication / emotional intelligence quite as much. Uhhhh I guess finally he loves coffee more than tea and probably liked going to coffee houses on occasion - actually more for the coffee than all the political discussions which he also loved.

[thethistlegirlwrites]

Old Wounds

Shay probably should have seen this coming. 

It was no secret that most of the instructors at the Chimera hunter academy weren’t on board with Lawson’s decision to allow a vampire to train there. He’d heard plenty said, behind his back and occasionally to his face, in the first few weeks. 

He’d been hoping Lawson’s reputation and personality would be enough to make people at least, if not agree with her decisions, respect them. But as soon as she’d announced her intent to train all the members of her newest strike team at the academy, it was like the office politics equivalent of a bomb had gone off. Never mind her reasoning that having an untrained member of a high-risk team was a disaster waiting to happen, or the blunt honesty that if he didn’t know protocols and procedures the others did, he could do more harm than good. The Academy staff, almost universally, had demanded she reconsider.

Even an offer to hold the training offsite, which all of them had hoped would placate an administration still jumpy from the understandably traumatic attack on the building during the Coven Wars, hadn’t changed anyone’s mind. Teaching a vampire anything about hunter tactics was seen as handing over their entire textbook to the enemy. 

Conveniently, no one brought up the issue of hunters who turned after their training, like Emma Cole. 

He’d offered to just back down, even step off the team, if it would settle things. Lawson had shut that down in no uncertain terms, and eventually, she’d gotten enough people on her side that an agreement was reached for Shay and the rest of Polaris to join an incoming round of cadets in their training cohort. 

Unfortunately, being on Chimera’s campus means he’s surrounded by a lot of people who don’t take kindly to vampires in general, and especially not ones that have been invited into their safe place. 

The only comfort he has is that if these people wanted him dead for good, he would be. Everyone here, even the cadets by this point, know exactly how to kill a vampire. 

Unfortunately, they also know a lot of ways to make a vampire miserable. 

He knows exactly what they’re trying to do. Intimidate him into dropping out and going home. It’s not the first time someone’s tried to scare him off or make him back down. It had seemed like hazing the new teammates was just an accepted part of his college wrestling team’s orientation, and that had been nothing compared to being the new guy on the cell block in prison.

This is somewhere between those two situations. He’s pretty sure he’s not going to get outright killed if he doesn’t manage to fight back and establish a spot in the pecking order, but it’s not (mostly) harmless fun at the expense of the freshmen either. 

This is the first time he’s been by himself on the campus. He probably should have waited for the others to finish up in the locker rooms, but honestly, he’d wanted the fresh air. Their sparring session today was intense, and he’d scared himself a little with the ease at which he’d taken Pete to the mat.

When the humans (and fae) had finished up and headed for the locker rooms, he’d taken the opportunity to get a moment to himself. Vampires don’t sweat, and he doesn’t necessarily need a shower after sparring like the others. And he hasn’t been much of a fan of group showers since he got locked up the first time.

Now, he’s thinking the cracked tiles and lukewarm water would have been a lot better than repeatedly catching a set of silver knuckles to the cheeks and ribs.

Most of the people surrounding him are probably cadets; he doesn’t really recognize them. But one is all too familiar. The vamp biology instructor who got really pissed off when Shay corrected him on the subject of vampire sensitivity to pain, after he told the class that nerve endings were one of the things that die off along with automatic functions like heartbeat and breathing.

Then again, maybe he’s just employing the scientific method. Testing Shay’s claim that turning doesn’t make a vampire body any less susceptible to pain than a human one. 

The thought almost makes him laugh. It at least makes him grin, spitting blood onto the ground as the guy takes another swing.

“What’s so funny, leech?” the man asks.

“Just thinking…” Shay mutters. “If I just lay here and take it, I prove you right. Start screaming and begging, you’re wrong.”

The man gives him a stare of even more confusion than Sierra usually has when Pete hands her a spreadsheet.

“Pain,” Shay continues. “You said we couldn’t feel it, or at least not like humans do. So right now, I’m trying to decide if I’d rather walk away from this with my dignity intact for being stoic, or for being right.” 

Okay, maybe pointing out the lose-lose situation for his tormentor wasn’t such a good idea.

Then again, he did just win his argument in front of at least a dozen cadets who, with any luck, will no longer believe a thing this crackpot says in his seminars.

So maybe it was worth it.

He keeps telling himself that as he limps back to the campus housing the team is currently sharing, downs one of the pints of real blood from the fridge in three swallows, and starts working on cleaning up the worst of the blood without the benefit of a mirror he can actually see himself in. 

There must be some sort of hunter building code that demands silver backing on every mirror in one of their locations. 

Too bad they’re not as meticulous about shower head height or water pressure. He’s going to be better off washing up in the sink.

He’s just splashed a handful of water onto his face when the door opens behind him. He jerks abruptly, smacking his head on the faucet. So much for avoiding near-concussion-via-water-fixture.

“What happened?”

Of course it’s Sierra. He remembers her getting a sprained ankle during the sparring, and she’s too stubborn to go to the campus clinic for anything less than an open fracture or an arterial bleed, so she’s probably looking for a wrap or a brace. He should have expected her to walk in on him.

“I tripped.” At least everything should have closed up. He has no idea how bad he looked walking in here, and he’s glad she didn’t catch him before he got some blood in him.

“No you didn’t. There’s blood matted all up one side of your head and unless the new fad is dyeing one eyebrow magenta, there too.” She takes a step, grimaces, and leans on the sink. “And last I checked, the driveway was crushed stone, not silver shrapnel.”

Right. He forgot the silver would leave scars. Just faint, pale lines, nowhere near as deep or as lasting as the round spike marks in his wrists, but visible all the same. And of course, he couldn’t see them.

“Who did this to you?”

“I’m not going to tell you, because you’d kill them and we’d all get kicked out.” He’s only half joking. He can appreciate Sierra’s scorched-earth defense of the people she considers ‘hers’ in the field, but it’s less helpful when dealing with problematic allies. She’s not trying to kill him anymore, but that’s less because she’s mellowed out since Route 66 and more that he’s now inside the circle of people she’s willing to kill for. 

“No. I’ll tell Lawson and get them fired. Or expelled.” She shrugs. “I’m not sleep-deprived enough to do something that stupid.” She picks up a washcloth from the towel rack next to the sink. “And clearly, you cannot see what you’re doing, so let me take care of this.” She gestures to the general area of his face and head.

“Fine. If you let me wrap your ankle.”

“Deal.” She turns on the tap and lets the water run until a little steam rises, then soaks the cloth and holds it to his head. “And you are going to tell me who did this. All of them.”

“Well, I don’t actually know who most of them were.” Shay says, grimacing when he sees how much blood is on the cloth when Sierra pulls it away. “A bunch of cadets. And Doctor Wilcox.”

“Oh, now I really want to punch him.” Sierra says. Shay figured she would. He watched her snap a pencil in half in the same class he just got punished for interrupting. “This might be my fault,” Sierra continues. 

“How?” She hadn’t even interrupted the class. Shay was surprised, honestly, given she’s usually the one yelling at people over the slightest insult to vampires as a general species, but he’d also thought maybe she’d gotten the hint Emma keeps pushing about letting vampires speak up for themselves sometimes. 

“I called Lawson after the class let out and told her he was incompetent and pushing outdated, mistaken theories on his students. He probably just got the notice he’s been fired, and figured you were responsible. He ought to have taken it out on me.” She wrings out the washcloth and scrubs gently at his hair again. 

“No, better it was me anyway.” he shrugs.

“What, now are you going to lie to me about vampire pain receptors too?” Sierra asks, cuffing him gently on the shoulder.

“No. Just heal faster. You’re already going to have to rest that ankle for a week. I need five minutes and some blood and I’m good for round…” He frowns and tilts his head. “Actually, I kind of lost count.” 

She grimaces. 

“Proved him wrong, though.”

“Huh?”

“He got a couple decent screams out of me before it was over. And a few tears.” Shay shrugs, watching more blood swirl down the sink drain. “He’s going to have to revise his theory based on new evidence.” 

Sierra sighs. “You, Shane Barrett, are something else.”

(You can read this story and more from this universe on my WorldAnvil here!)

@catwingsathena @nade2308 @the-one-and-only-valkyrie @telltaleclerk @ettawritesnstudies  @writeouswriter @whump-place

[belethlegwen]

If your characters (main+ idiot squad) hosted a talent show what would they do? Who would win?

Ok, first of all

Hi I love this question

Thank you so much for this delightful thought experiment hahaha

So for a talent show:

Henry would probably want to play the violin if he could get his hands on one (and had a day or two practice beforehand, it's been a while, but he knows a few good ones). If he was feeling competitive, though? He'd probably try to do some kind of ridiculous stunting on/involving Melanie. You've got a 50 foot person you're overly comfortable with, you can think up a pretty neat routine.

Melanie would absolutely prefer to be in the audience, but would probably submit to being a prop/stage/whatever Henry wants to do, so would likely concede to being a pairs-entry with him if she got a say in the routine.

She does, however, know one close-up magic card trick that she had learned and practiced to hell and back in the dark times. It's the only one, it's relatively impressive, and it drives Henry fucking insane because he claims Magic isn't real and then she breaks it out and demands he tell her how it's done if it isn't Magic. If she actually wanted to put on a show for people and wouldn't chicken out, she'd do that.

=cracks knuckles=

The Idiot Brigade though?

Core-Team Idiot Brigade is made up of Miller, Jones, Bartlett, Peters and Hicks. They're the OG five and probably the only ones who would do a talent show without being either forced, blackmailed, or otherwise coaxed into it with bets/money.

No matter what everyone else had in mind for their own individual acts, Miller would insist on it being a group act. Miller's idea would be that they do something extremely wild, elaborate, choreographed and impressive, and after days of planning, discussions, fights, breakups, makeups, more planning, etc, they would stop trying to do anything elaborate and just agree to let Miller fight some kind of large animal, and everyone else's talent would be to try and get either a bear or a moose or something equivalent into the area of the talent show for him to fight with nobody dying.

They would be disqualified.

They would be declared the people's champions though, simply for entertainment value.

Jones: Miller, you can't fight a bear Miller: Haven't been killed by one yet! Jones: ...Y'know what, that's a fair point. Ok, let's find a bear. Peters: Could we settle for wolves? Hicks: That would be too much to try and keep in one place. Bartlett: I bet we could get a real big deer in here. Jones: He'd be gored Miller: I could take 'im. Hicks: We could saw off the antlers first, or get a female. Miller: I would never hit a woman. Jones: Who's sawing off the antlers? Bartlett: Could that be our act? Everyone else: No.

Thank you SO MUCH for the ask! This was a riot hahaha

[silverbirching]

13, 14, and 15 from the get to know the fic writer list!

Alright Friendo let's get to it /cracks knuckles.

13 - what’s a common writing tip that you almost always follow?

Not so much a common tip as something I've observed, both from discussing with fellow writers and from some of my favorite authors, which is that the easiest way to set up character growth/arcs is to have a character whose self-image and reality are not in synch. The best way I've observed to pull this off is to have the characters treat their negative self image as something obvious and factual--less Woe Is Me and more "this is a fact about myself".

14 - how do you write emotional scenes? Do you ever feel what the characters feel? Do you draw from personal experiences?

I usually plot them well in advance--actually I have a harder time with the filler and set-dressing around them, sometimes. There's a rhythm of push-and-pull that's kind of hard to describe, but a lot of it comes down to what do the characters want, how far are they willing to go to get it, and how well are they capable of expressing themselves?

I do tend to strongly empathize with my characters as well, so often yes. And this ties into the last part of the question; absolutely, yes, I do. Even if you've never experienced a 1:1 equivalent to Whatever the Fuck is happening in your story, you've probably experienced something with a similar emotional resonance. You've hopefully never had to kill your beloved to free them from the clutches of a demon king, but you've had to do something cruel but necessary at some point in your life to someone that you really care about.

15 - How do you write smut scenes? Do you get very visual or detailed? How important is it to be realistic?

Fun fact! Usually, I do not! Perhaps it's due to my past life as a tortured, in-the-closet Oxford academic who would have to retire to Harrogate for six weeks for a rest cure and a series of restorative tonics every time he accidentally spied a coal shoveler doffing their shirt to bare their hard laborer's muscles, but I've very rarely found written erotica to be genuinely hot, and I'm usually happy to do a discreet fade-to-black while my characters make the Beast With Two Backs between rows of asterisks. You know. Like a gentleman.

Like many people, I am enormously self-conscious about writing smut, lest I accidentally reveal the stygian depths of psychosexual deviancy I operate in that decency forbears me mentioning, but mostly I'm just not terribly interested in reading it, either. That being said, sometimes characters need to Get it On for story reasons, and a piece of general advice I would give is to make sure they still feel like characters. Is this sex bringing them closer together, or is it making things worse?

Fanfiction tends to have a very visceral, physical immediacy that I think really sets it apart and can elevate it as a medium. So I'd say--stay grounded in the specificity of character. As for realism... I dunno, man, stripped to the studs, sex is applying friction to mucus membranes until someone makes DNA noises and a stupid face. How much Realism do you want?

[bridgyrose]

Weiss’s hand glowed and runic glyphs ran over Ruby’s arm as she tried to heal a cut. “I told you to be careful.” 

“You could’ve given me a warning about turning the training up.” Ruby winced as her wound sealed up. “The grimm I could handle.” 

Weiss rolled her eyes and pulled away from Ruby once she finished. “You have to be ready for more than just grimm. Its a wonder you didnt manage to cut yourself in half with the way you handle that blade.” 

“I handle it just fine.” Ruby moved her arm a bit and looked over at Penny. “How did you manage to avoid getting hit anyway? Its almost as if you could see everyone’s movements before they happened.” 

Penny smiled and sat down. “That is because I can. I am an and-” 

“You cant just tell everyone about that,” Weiss hissed out. “She’s not supposed to know.” 

“But she is going to be with us for a while and she will probably find out eventually anyway.” 

Ruby looked between the two curiously. “Find out what?” 

Weiss sighed and stood up. “Fine, tell her, but I’m going back to the dorm.” 

Penny nodded and focused on Ruby again. “I am an android designed to help protect people from the grimm. Unlike you, I do not have any special powers, but I can think fast enough that I can predict the most likely route a combatant will take. I have been accurate more often than not, which lets me avoid getting hit.” 

Ruby went quiet as she looked Penny over, still not quite sure she believed what she was hearing. Of course androids werent exactly a huge secret, Atlas had been developing combat drones that are near the equivalent of humans, though Penny seemed different. As she felt Penny’s hand on her arm, the synthetic skin felt like regular human skin. Her eyes moved the same way, she wasnt as rigid as the drones that patrolled the borders of the cities, even the way she handled her weapon was more human than mechanical. “Why would you need to hide that? That sounds amazing!” 

“The general wants me to hide it because he is afraid of what people will think. Most people in the kingdoms are not very happy about letting mechanical beings protect them from the grimm. But more importantly, I am different from the others. Unlike other robots and drones, I do not run off dust. I am the first android to have a soul.” 

“I see why Ironwood would want you to hide that.” Ruby slowly stood up and walked around Penny, still not believing what she had been told. But the closer she looked, the more she could see the truth. While her joints were mostly invisible, a close inspection did reveal doll-like joints that allowed her neck, shoulders, knees, even her fingers to move just like a humans. Thin lines separating skin from either side of the joints were all that gave the signs, nearly invisible to anyone who looked over her. “But you still dont look like an android.” 

“Weiss says the same thing.” Penny stood up and mimicked a human cracking their knuckles, mechanical clicks coming from the joints in her fingers as everything locked into place. “That no matter how much of me is mechanical, the only real part of me that matters is my soul. That having one makes me just as human as her and anyone else.” 

“That doesnt sound like the Weiss that was just training with us. Between the yelling and calling me a dolt, it almost felt like she was disappointed in me.” 

“She has had a rough childhood from what I understand.” Penny motioned for Ruby to follow her as she started to make her way out of the training room and back to the dorm. “Between the White Fang attacking her family’s company and trying to uphold her grandfather’s ideals, she has not had a lot of time to learn how to get along with others. But I think she likes you. She has only called you a dolt and didnt try to attack you like she normally would others.” 

Ruby sighed and followed Penny out of the training hall and into the empty, white hallway to make her way to the dorm. Her eyes looked around the empty halls, still not used to how bland it made everything. “And you both want to go to Beacon? Why wouldnt you stay here if its close to home?” 

“Same reason you came here instead of staying in Vale.” 

“I… didnt exactly have a choice,” Ruby admitted quietly. “Professor Ozpin told me coming here was a requirement for me to apply to Beacon. Something about wanting to make sure that if I was skipping a couple years that I had to make sure I had the best people making sure I was ready for the jump.” 

Penny nodded a bit. “I want to go since it is the only way father will let me see other kingdoms. Atlas may be my home, but if I am going to be protecting others, I want to see what I will be protecting.” 

“And Weiss? What’s her reasoning? From the sound of it, she has it made here.” 

“Because she wants to get away from her family.”

“Why though?” 

“That is for her to explain.” Penny stopped at a door and pressed her hand to the scanning pad next to it. The door opened up to another, plain white room with metal walls and beds that looked more like shelving for humans than sleeping quarters. The only sign that anyone lived in the room was the pile of clothes that sat at the foot of one of the beds and a set of desks that housed all the dust and replacement parts Weiss and Penny could need.

Weiss looked up from the desk she sat at and sighed. “About time you both got here. Ruby, take a seat. Penny, grab the test scroll so we can find out what Ruby needs to go over.” 

Ruby nodded and sat down as she listened to Penny practically run down the hall as her footsteps echoed from the metal flooring. “I thought we were going to be going over what I’d be skipping.” 

“And we will, along with everything else that you dont know or fail at.” Weiss looked back down at her weapon as she started to mess with the revolver, spinning it to make sure it was secured tightly. “If I have to do this, then I’m going to do it right and make sure you dont fail out.” 

“If you dont want to help me-” 

“It doesnt matter if I want to or not.” Weiss placed her rapier back onto the desk with a rough *thump* as she looked up at Ruby, scowling. “However, in order for me to convince my father to let me go to Beacon, I have to do this. There’s nothing I’d rather do less than teach someone who hasnt earned the right to go to a huntsman academy.” With a heavy sigh, she stood up and started to make her way back into the hallway. “Make yourself comfortable. When Penny gets back, you’ll take a test on the test scroll. It’ll take you a few hours to get through.” 

Ruby nodded and moved to one of the beds as she waited, trying to get comfortable. A sigh left her lips once she was alone and she closed her eyes to let her mind wander. This was going to be a long three months.

Prev

[oxygenar]

yo if i changed the 2016 “i like this one too much” yeowline icon to a drawing of me cracking my wrist would that be fucked up or what

[shig-a-shig-ah]

im in complete love w ur shigaraki selfcest 😭😭 genuine question, do u think that if the reader hadnt come in in duplicity.. that shigaraki would have eventually f*cked himself

This is the best ask I have ever received anon, and I mean that genuinely because I have thought about this a lot. The short answer is: yes. 

The long answer is: also yes. But the real question is how? Selfcest Shigaraki is a desperate, mostly shameless creature, which means it would come about one of two ways: with a level of preparation that borders on obsessive, or through a spur-of-the-moment impulse that will leave him limping for days. 

I’m going to talk about both, but this got long as hell so I’m putting it under the cut. cw for: masturbation, porn, sex toys, anal fingering, anal sex, painal. 

Planning it seems just as likely as not to me. In Duplicity and the other selfcest drabble he tends to really think through each escalation of this particular debauchery, so if the urge strikes him when he’s not already in the middle of watching himself suck his own dick, he’ll probably spend some time thinking about it. The idea of fucking his own double wouldn’t bother him much—a hole is a hole, after all—but the only way this system works is with equivalent exchange, and the idea of getting fucked? That takes a little more consideration. 

But he’s also not not open to the idea. So one night when he’s stroking himself off in the usual style (read: alone), his other hand will creep behind his thigh to tease at his puckered hole, one spit-slicked finger poking and prodding until it slips inside, his teeth catching his cracked lip at the strange sensation. It’s not as horrible as he thought it might be, but it’s not exactly enjoyable either, at least not at first. He’ll be halfway to wondering why people get off in it when he finally strokes over that tight bundle of nerves inside and gasps, and from there it will only be a few rocks of his hips before he’s whimpering and making a mess in his hand. 

After that, you can bet he's going on a deep dive. I love a bi Shigaraki headcanon, but in this situation I imagine him straight, because it adds a whole extra level of indignity to what it is he's doing. He’ll wind up engaging in lots of  'research' that amounts to nothing more than searching 'straight guy gets fucked in the ass' on porn sites and watching every video he can find, alternating between those gay fetish videos for accuracy's sake, and femdom pegging scenes because yeah, maybe he never thought about taking it in the ass before, but suddenly he's thinking he might be open to it in situations outside of desperately diddling himself, if he’s ever lucky enough to find himself engaging in this kind of debauchery with a living, breathing woman.

There’ll also be plenty of experimentation before he commits, including a number of questionable purchases charged to AFO’s credit card. Working with just his fingers gets awkward fast, and Shigaraki’s not about to waste precious time with his double on simply warming himself up; plus, those fancy prostate massagers and contoured dildos start looking pretty interesting after the first couple times he milks himself dry with his fingers shoved knuckle-deep in his quivering asshole. 

That new masturbatory discovery alone will be enough of a rush to get him by without his double for least for a couple weeks, but eventually he'll impatient to try the real thing. He’d never admit it to himself, but it’s not just the anticipation of finally burying himself in a warmer, snugger hole that has him excited at this point, either. No, there’s a part of him that’s just as eager to close his eyes tight and pretend it’s one of those busty brunettes with the glossy strap-ons wrecking him, instead of just himself. 

His stomach will still twist a little when it finally happens, but even the heavy weight of shame and embarrassment will only have his cock leaking all the worse by the time he’s waiting for his double to breach his waiting asshole, and after that first time those solo-but-not-solo sessions are never going to be the same. Stroking or sucking his double off is a chore, but now he's stumbled onto something they can both enjoy. It'll be a toss up on any given day whether he'll be the one sinking his lubed-up cock into himself, or gasping on all fours as he fists his length and sparks of pleasure shoot up his spine at each nudge against his sensitive insides.

But again, that's just one possibility. 

Shigaraki is also impatient and selfish. So, as easy as it would be for him to go down a rabbit hole that leads to even more thorough self-abuse, there’s also a chance it would happen impulsively. The act, anyway. The thought will cross his mind more and more, but on a normal day he’ll consider it a boundary he doesn’t want to cross. 

In less rational times, though? When he’s abusing his double’s throat and longing for something more than the feel of rough lips and a slick tongue wrapped around his cock? Well, those usual hesitations might not be quite so discouraging. 

He’ll still try not to think too hard about what he’s doing when he yanks at the head of white hair buried between his thighs and bends his double over, tugging their pants down and aligning himself with their tight hole. Might even pause to see if his double is going to protest, but they won’t; they’re him, after all. They’ve been thinking the same thing, and they know that what they endure they also get to enjoy. So they’ll simply mumble ‘get on with it’, red eyes glaring over a pale shoulder, and even if it’s just him encouraging himself, that will be enough for Shigaraki. 

If his double is lucky, he might think to grab lube and slick himself up first. But if he’s already close? Lost in the haze of his own arousal? There’ll be nothing but the spit slicking his cock to ease his entry. 

His double won’t complain either way. Shigaraki’s suffered plenty of discomfort in life, and most of it has offered less reward than the guarantee of getting to bury himself in a tight hole. The double will focus on that as they await their turn, and while they grit their teeth and bear it, Shigaraki will think of nothing besides the pillowy walls massaging his length as he pistons his hips, swearing and whining as he hurtles towards an extraordinary release. 

Shigaraki will question the wisdom of the decision afterwards, gut knotting as he comes down from pumping himself full of cum. It’s embarrassing, clambering onto hands and knees to be used like this, and his face will redden in a way it hasn’t before as he prepares to endure that violation. 

But again, he’s known far worse discomfort and indignity, so he won’t complain or hedge about it either, will only brace himself and utter no more than a grunt when he’s split wide open. The throbbing pain is worse than he expected, breath forced from his lungs as his double sinks themself in with one thrust, but he won’t try to squirm away. Unique though it is, Shigaraki’s no stranger to pain. 

Besides, he’s playing the long game here, and he trusts his body to adjust eventually, even if getting there is a process that has him feeling vaguely sick and sinking his own teeth into his arm until there’s a bloody ring marring his skin. 

Of course, his double has one advantage. At the end of it all they turn to ash, and Shigaraki’s the one for whom the aftermath of that impulsive debauchery lingers for days. It’ll have his mood sour, his fingers twitching and ready to dust anyone who dares to ask him why he’s walking funny in the days after. 

But that doesn’t mean he won’t be planning to do it again. 

[breakyeol]

— SQUIRM, BABY.

You don’t like Doh Kyungsoo. Especially not when he’s got his fingers buried knuckle deep inside of you and your seeing stars —goddamn stars!— but can’t make a sound unless you want the entire library to know exactly what he’s doing to you under the table.

┗ Pairing: Tutor!Kyungsoo x Reader

Genre: college au, tutor au, enemies w benefits au, smut

Words: 4.7k 

Rating: 18+

Warnings: strong language, sexual acts in a public setting, fingering

A/N; tomorrow is going to be my 1 year anniversary as an EXO-L!! oh my goodness that feels so crazy, time really flies. so here is a little present from me to you, enjoy lovelies!!

“These are all wrong,” Kyungsoo mutters blankly, “start over.”

A loud groan is ripped from your throat, the sound earning you more than a few sideways glares from the surrounding tables but you can’t really bring yourself to care. You’ve been here for two hours, studying one of the most intolerable subjects in the world: Calculus. The mere mention of its name made you shiver in disgust.

To be blunt, you’d always been shit at math. Numbers and equations were never your strong suit, not in high school and definitely not now with the added complexities of derivatives and differential equations (neither of which made even the slightest bit of sense to you). You much preferred the gentleness of literature and history to the strict logic and rules of mathematics and science. Unfortunately for you, the latter subjects were just as vital a part of your education, and opting out of them was not an option.

“Can’t we take a break?” You almost whine the question, pressing your fingers into your throbbing temples. “My brain feels like it’s going to explode.”

“No.”

You scowl at the bluntness of his rejection. “I’m paying you.” You point out, stabbing a finger into his bicep for emphasis. “Shouldn’t I have a say in when we take a break?”

He rolls his eyes, swatting your hand away and shoving the paper back in your direction. “I’m giving you your money’s worth. Do it again.”

You let out a noisy huff of air, slouching over dramatically in the stiff plastic chair until your chin is pressed against the cold table. “I hope you know I am deeply regretting some of my life decisions right about now.” You grumble, shooting him an icy glare that you hope conveys the absolute loathing you feel for both him and the set of problems laid before you.

“I thought that was a daily thing for you.”

Scoffing, you bury your mouth in the thick sleeve of your hoodie. “Your face is a daily thing for me.”

He doesn’t even bother to look at you, though you could almost feel the intensity of his deadpan. “I think that was the shittiest comeback I’ve ever heard.”

“Your face is the shittiest comeback I’ve ever heard.”

“You do realize that that makes absolutely no sense.”

“Your fa—”

“Shut up and do your work.”

He either doesn’t hear or consciously chooses to ignore the colorful array of curses you grumble spitefully in his direction, though simultaneously resigning yourself to the fact that you won’t be able to put off your work inevitably. Kyungsoo was a stickler for proper time management. If he had an agenda set in place for your tutoring session (which he always did), then you better believe he’d be checking off each item within its designated time frame. And if you don’t cooperate— well then, your best bet is to pray that there isn’t a mechanical pencil within his reach.

He might not always be able to reach the top shelf, but Kyungsoo had ways of getting what he wanted. Usually, that chilling glare was enough to get those around him to bend to his will. He could be a scary little shit when he wanted to be. You’ll admit, even you had been the tiniest bit intimidated when you first met him. He was quiet, reserved, strict in manner, but also the dangerous unpredictable type, you gathered that much quickly enough. Maybe that’s why the two of you didn’t get on too well.

Where he was cool and standoffish, “a man of few words” some might say, you were more vocal about your opinions, social by nature, always eager to meet new people and make new connections. You had a tendency to speak loudly when excited and talk with your hands when passionate about a subject. That was something most people learned about you very quickly. Unfortunately, upon your first official meeting at a party in your freshman year with your mutual friends, Kyungsoo had no idea just how emphatic you could be until you’d knocked his drink clean out of his hand and spilled it down the front of his brand new shirt.

It was an accident, of course. You’d apologized profusely and he’d accepted it (albeit somewhat begrudgingly), but that was probably the first of many missteps in your... unique relationship.

With such conflicting personalities, it was understandable that you got into frequent arguments about one thing or another. Petty disagreements would often grow into something larger than they really needed to be. Mostly because despite having such contrasting personalities, you shared the trait of innate stubbornness, neither of you willing to admit when you were wrong. It was easy to argue with him, and you liked when you proved him wrong. You liked the way his brows furrowed and his cheeks flushed. You liked the way he glared, the way his lips pouted. You like the challenge he presented you with every time he opened his mouth. Above, you loved to win. Especially when it was against him.

So you pushed, and he pushed right back. And before you knew it, you found yourself a proper ‘frenemy’, though you aren’t sure that that’s quite the right word to describe whatever it was you two were.

But that’s just how the two of you are, how you’d always been. If you were being honest, riling him, seeing that usually so stoic, so controlled expression crack when you pushed just the right buttons— it was fun. You thoroughly enjoyed fucking with him, discovering new and creative ways to get under his skin. And you knew he got just as much satisfaction from doing the same to you, rendering you speechless with witty comebacks, flustering you with his sharp tongue and impressive rebukes.

So really, was it such a terrible thing?

Not to mention, a number of not-so-terrible things occurred as a result of one of your many arguments, such as hiring him as your calculus tutor. One that started out with you claiming he would probably be the shittiest teacher to ever exist (which seemed a valid argument at the time considering how short tempered and impatient he could be *cough* with you *cough*) to which he rebutted with the claim that he could “teach a goldfish advanced calculus” if he set his mind to it, and considering that you “had an IQ equivalent to one”, he could without a doubt teach you. His words, obviously.

It just so happened that you had a calculus exam coming up that next week, so to prove his point, he tutored you for the three days preceding said test. Even though you loathe being proven wrong, you ended up getting one of the highest scores you’d ever gotten on a math test in your entire academic career.

Putting your pride aside, you made the suggestion that he continue to tutor you. He only agreed when you offered him green in exchange for his troubles and admitted that he was right (it took a few extra hours to convince yourself that your grades should be held above your ego before you could bring yourself to verbally admit defeat).

And now here you are, not flunking out of calculus. You’d consider that worthy of the bruise to your pride, even if only by a small margin.

“Kyungsoo, why’d you mark this one wrong?” You frown at the large red X marking problem two as incorrect. You’d been glaring at your scribbled work for almost two minutes, running over the problem in your head, but you couldn’t seem to figure out where he thought you’d gone wrong. It looks right enough to you.

Kyungsoo shifts over to get a better look, his arms pressing against yours in the process and you are briefly stunned by the sudden, unexpected closeness, wholly unable to stop yourself from noticing the faint, woody scent of his aftershave that caresses your senses. Fuck. You can’t tell if you hate or love the fact that he smelled so good. Partly love it because good hygiene is always something to admire in a man (even if that man was Doh Kyungsoo), partly hate it because dammit it’s Doh Kyungsoo and you loathe finding anything that has to do with him attractive. Plus, it’s distracting. You’re here trying to learn and he has the audacity to go around smelling like pine trees and fresh moss after a rainfall. Unfair.

“Right here.”

The scowl you don’t realize you’re wearing immediately drops away as the low baritone of his voice thrums through the cavity of your ribcage and you lean forward to see exactly what he’s pointing at.

“You multiplied straight through instead of distributing.” He explains further upon seeing the uncertainty on your face. A few seconds of further inspection and you finally see what he’s talking about.

“Fuck,” you hiss, “I’m so stupid.”

“It’s an easy mistake to make.” He reassures.

“Yeah, but I should know that by now, I should’ve—” you turn your head, only to nearly choke on air as you discover that any space that once existed between the two of you has virtually disappeared, “... seen it.”

He’s close, so close that you can feel the cool rush of his breath against your skin as he exhales, goosebumps bristling across your arms in response. He’s close. Too close. You can’t think straight, can’t even breathe. The moment that surrounds you feels fragile, like even the slightest disruption would rupture it completely.

Frozen, you can only swallow around the sudden dryness of your mouth as your treacherous eyes drop to trace the plush line of his lips. Who even has lips like that? They’re just so big and so pink, that dark, kissable kind of pink that every girl just wishes her lips could be. You, included. They look soft, and you can’t help but to wonder if they’d still taste like the strawberry bubblegum he’d been chewing on at the beginning of your tutoring session.

“Careful, ___.” The sound of Kyungsoo’s voice, raspier than you recall it being before and laced in a faintly taunting pitch, is enough to break you from your trance and, once freed, you whip your head around fast enough to give yourself whiplash.

“Fuck off.” You cough, jaw clenching as you attempt to drag your mind out from the gutter and back onto the calculus problems you have yet to correct. But for whatever reason your brain refuses to cooperate, instead filling your head with images of his pretty mouth and everything it could be doing instead of rambling on about something as uninteresting as calculus. Damnit.

No doubt seeing the distress written clearly across your face, Kyungsoo chuckles, the sound low and smooth where it drips from his lips, and a familiar heat blossoms in the pit of your stomach.

You can feel his eyes on you now, every cell of your being suddenly hyperaware of his presence beside you. The pressure of his knee where it nudges against yours, the teasing curl of his lips as he watches you struggle to focus, the warmth of his palm caressing up your thigh, the— wait what?

Your gaze whips down, breath hitching at the sight of Kyungsoo’s hand gently gripping the lagging clad flesh just above your knee. It’s another few seconds before you’re able to find your voice again.

“W– What’re you—?”

“Focus.” He cuts you off smoothly, fingers soothing over the inside of your leg, squeezing gently. When you don’t look away from him, he smirks, jerking his chin forward in a manner you can only interpret as challenging. There’s a familiar glint in his eye, a dangerous glint that doesn’t fail to provoke your competitive side. You know that look well. He’s challenging you.

And you don’t back down from a challenge.

Especially not from Doh Kyungsoo.

Determination flairs up inside of you, your jaw clenching as you strike him with a single, heated glare that read plain and simple ‘you. are. on.’ before honing all your attention onto the worksheet in front of you. It’s not too difficult to focus at first, to disregard the tingles that erupt across your skin where his hot touch sears into it. You manage to find and correct your error in one of the problems (impressive for you even if Kyungsoo wasn’t feeling your leg up under the table).

But whatever pride you find in doing so is quickly quelled when his hand suddenly shifts higher, and you feel the faintest pressure against your heat. It’s a sensation that robs you of your ability to breathe entirely for a handful of seconds, and you can’t stop the shiver that ripples down your spine.

This, you see, is one of the more recent developments in your oh-so complicated relationship with Doh Kyungsoo. Yet another that began with a disagreement at a party, over something you can’t even remember anymore thanks to the haze of alcohol that clouded both your minds at the time, that spiraled way out of proportion. You remember yelling at him, insulting him, stabbing your finger into his chest, feeling the sting of his lethal glare. God, he’d looked so pissed off, and you just fed off of it, fed off the rage and the frustration that festered like lava in those dark brown eyes. The angrier he got, the harder you pushed, until he finally snapped.

You’re still not sure what you expected to happen. What you expected him to do. But you sure as hell hadn’t anticipated him grabbing you by the throat and pulling you into one of the hottest, most mind numbing kisses you’d ever experienced.

Next thing you remember is being in a bed. Whose bed it was, isn’t important. What is important, however, is the fact that that night you had the best sex of your entire life with the man you thought you couldn’t stand.

Hate sex with Doh Kyungsoo opened your eyes to a whole new world of mind boggling pleasure that you’d never experienced before. Pleasure that no other person had ever been able to give you. God, the things he did to you. No one had ever touched you like that before. It was like he knew all the places on your body that made you unravel. He honestly ruined all other men for you that night because none have even come close to comparing. Which was beyond frustrating especially considering that, at the time, you thought it was a one time thing.

The morning after you both pretended that nothing happened. In the two weeks following as well, neither one of you mentioned it. You tried to erase the memory from your brain, tried to go back to normal, but it was hard considering every time you needed some sexual release (which was more often than you care to admit), it was his hands, his mouth, his cock that you imagined while you touched yourself. You replayed his moans in your head, his deep, rasping voice growling your name, and fuck, you never came harder.

But it was still nothing compared to the real thing.

As time passed you only grew more and more frustrated. Worst of all, you could tell he was feeling it too. It was obvious in the way he looked at you, with fire burning in eyes, in the way he spoke to you, with a pitch of something hot and wanting in his voice, in the way he lost his cool far quicker and far more often than he had in the past, your arguments fiercer and more frequent than they’d ever been. The tension between the two of you was palpable, thick enough to be cut with a knife. It got to the point where even your most oblivious of friends started noticing it as well, though they knew better than to voice their curiosity.

The second time it happened, you were both sober and, somehow, it was even better than you remembered. The pleasure was more intense, more overwhelming, a feeling you can’t even put into words. Then it kept happening. Late at night when he’d show up unannounced at your door. Early in the morning when you had an important exam later in the day and you needed some pre-test de-stressing. Between classes in the back seat of his car just because you could. At parties when your friends were too shit faced to notice the two of you slipping into an unoccupied bedroom.

Just sex. That’s what you both agreed to when it became blatantly obvious that your little ‘arrangement’ wouldn’t be coming to an end any time soon. No strings. Just sex. Just really, really good sex.

And that was perfectly fine by you.

Exhaling shakily through your nose, you try to block out the feeling of his thumb as it begins to caress gently up and down your clothed core, suddenly very grateful for the layers of fabric that separate you from his intoxicating touch. But it’s a gratitude that’s short lived. Just as you manage to adjust and scribble down a correction, he cups his hand over your mound and squeezes. A gasp escapes you, and you try to cover up the sound with a series of short coughs, the sting embarrassment intertwining with the warmth of pleasure as a few eyes briefly glance in your direction.

“You’re such an asshole.” You hiss under your breath, thighs tightening around his hand, locking it in place.

He throws you a lopsided grin, brows lifting and you don’t miss the glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “I’ve been called worse.” What he means is you’ve called him worse.

Your lips part, but any intelligible words die on the tip of your tongue as he grinds the heel of his palm down, directly against your clit. Your head drops, eyes squeezing shut, teeth locking down firmly on your lower lip in order to silence the soft moan that threatens to break free.

“F- fuck.”

You hear him coo tauntingly beside you at your slip, the tips of his skilled fingers easily locating your entrance and prodding experimentally. At this point, you don’t doubt he can feel the fabric of your leggings growing hot and wet with your arousal.

Despite being used to the quick effect he had on your body, you can help but to feel the slightest twinge of shame at how he was able to rile you up this much with little more than a few well-placed strokes of his fingers. But fuck, it felt so good. You’d already been feeling somewhat deprived since you’d both been so busy this past week with exams and projects and what not. This is the first time you’re spending time with him since almost a week ago.

And you are in need of a fix.

“You look like you’re having a bit of trouble on that problem. Do you need my help?” Kyungsoo leans into you, his face right up next to yours, and you have to resist the sudden urge to kiss him right then in there in front of everyone in the stupid library.

Instead, you grit out an unconvincing, “I’m fine,” and force yourself to stay focused on the dizzying mess of numbers and letters on the worksheet in front of you and not on the delicious warmth of his hand where it is applying just the right amount of pressure to keep you teetering between pleasure and the insatiable need for more.

“You sure?” There’s a certain lightness to his voice that tells you he is thoroughly enjoying watching you struggle. Sadistic bastard.

“Positive.”

And just like that, he’s gone. You almost gasp as a rush of cold air fills the places he had been, and you can’t help the frown that tugs at the corners of your lips, disappointment and irritation coloring your features before you can reel them in. From the corner of your eye, you chance a glance in his direction. The smug, knowing little smirk staining his lips sends a wave of heat pulsing into your cheeks, and you grit your teeth in frustration.

“So what, you’re just going to stop?” You whisper sharply, not making any attempt whatsoever to hide your annoyance.

A look of feigned innocence overcomes his features. “You said you didn’t need my help.”

You grit your teeth, glaring at him as hard as you can manage with how incredibly turned on you are. But he remains unfazed.

“If you want my help,” he continues, voice dropping an entire octave, “you’re going to have to ask for it... nicely.”

Nice wasn’t a word in your vocabulary when Kyungsoo was involved.

Seeing the resistance you are still putting up, he feathers his fingers over your thigh, tracing slow designs across the thin, black fabric. You swallow, unable to look away as they trail dangerously higher, teasing closer to where you both knew you wanted them most.

“You do want it, don’t you?”

Fuck, you want it so bad.

You know that he knows you want it. It’s just the getting yourself to actually say it out loud part that proves to be a challenge. But that’s exactly what he wants you to do, he wants to hear you say it, wants to see you cast aside your stubborn pride and beg for it. Beg for him.

Lifting your eyes, you glance unsurely around the library. It isn’t overly crowded anymore since most of the other students have begun to trickle out as late afternoon approaches. Plus, the table you were seated at was tucked into the far back corner of the room, secluded and out of the way. But still, your nerves buzzed at the thought of someone seeing. Though maybe — just maybe — there was a buzz of something else as well. Excitement, perhaps?

Grip tightening around your pencil, you chewed on the corner of your lip, refusing to meet Kyungsoo’s penetrating gaze as you let out a soft murmur. “...ease.”

He leans closer, mirth shimmering in his eyes. “What was that? I couldn’t quite hear you.”

Groaning, you shoot him a scowl, shoulders slumping in defeat. “Please help me, asshole.”

Laughter bubbles at his lips, the genuine kind that makes his cheeks lift and his nose wrinkle. You like it when he laughs like that. Makes him look a lot less like a serial killer.

Sinking his teeth into the pillowy flesh of his lower lip to stifle his laughter, he shoots you a lazy grin, “that’s all you had to say.”

Next thing you know, his hand is slipping beneath the elastic of your leggings and into the soft cotton confines of your underwear. Your mouth fell open, a sharp inhale filling your lungs with cold air as his fingers slid through your slick folds.

“I knew you were wet but shit.” He hisses, thick brows furrowing at the feeling of your heavy arousal coating the length of his digits. “I must say, I’m flattered.”

“Don’t be,” you breathe, eyes fluttering, “even Chanyeol can get me this— ngh!”

Without warning, he plunges his middle finger inside of you, and the remainder of your sentence pitches into a strangled moan. One look at his face, jaw clenched, nostrils flared, lips down turned, tells you he isn’t all too pleased at the mention of another man’s name, especially when he’s the one buried knuckle deep in your greedy cunt.

A hazy smirk curls onto your lips and you let out a low hum of pleasure, walls squeezing around him. “You’re sexy when you’re mad.”

“Is that why you enjoy pissing me off so much?” He questions, tone biting and low, and you shutter involuntarily as he rolls the pad of his thumb harshly over your aching clit.

“Partly.” You admit, somewhat breathless. “But you’re also just a really fun person to piss off.”

He chuckles dryly in response, though the sound lacks any genuine amusement. “You are such a brat, you know that?” He emphasizes the word by stretching you around a second finger, and you have to drop your pencil in favor of clasping your hand over your mouth, unable to swallow down the soft whimpers that tremble up your throat.

“You love it.” You manage to get out before you’re forced to bite into the tender flesh of your palm to muffle a desperate cry when the slow thrusts of his digits suddenly picks up speed. Your thighs squeeze around his hand, hips jerking up to grind your throbbing clit against the heel of his palm. Electricity ricochets through your veins, and you feel that distinctive tightening in the pit of your stomach. Kyungsoo also feels the way you throb and clench around him, and makes sure to grind down hard against your swollen clit.

Heat immediately spreads through your core, the intensity of the pleasure becoming more than you can handle. “Oh god, Kyungsoo.” Your voice comes out louder than you intended, and you quickly duck your head, doing your best to make it seem like you’re focusing on your work and not the fingers drilling relentlessly into your g-spot, praying to god that no one had seen the blissed out expression on your face. Still, you can’t help the quiet whine that escapes you when his ministrations slow.

“Are you trying to get us caught?” He asks in less than a whisper, breath hot against the shell of your ear. “Ever hear of subtlety?”

“Ever hear of suck my dick?” You snap back without missing a beat, only to jolt as his fingers curl inside of you, pressing directly against that sensitive bundle of nerves. Every muscle in your body tenses, and fuck you’re so close you can almost taste it. Frantically, you thrust your hips, desperately trying to fuck yourself down on his digits.

“Sit still.” He growls, and you quiver when he sinks his teeth into the lobe of your ear, obeying only because you really don’t want to get banned from the campus library if someone happened to catch on.

“Soo— fuck,” the force with which you bite into your lip is nearly about to break the skin, but you can’t be bothered by the pain, not with how quickly your orgasm was approaching. Sensing as much, Kyungsoo goes the extra mile of drawing hard, fast figure eights over your clit with his thumb while simultaneously thrusting his fingers into you so fast that you swear you can almost hear it.

All at once fire roars through your veins, euphoria consuming you as your high crashes over you. Your walls spasm around his digits, painting them with your release.

He doesn’t withdraw from you until you go slack, thighs spreading, body slumping back in your chair, eyes fluttering as a hazy, blissed out smile touches your lips. You can only watch through hooded lids as he brings his glistening fingers to his mouth, sighing in amazement as he sucks them clean. There’s a twinge of arousal in your core as he moans softly at the taste of you on his tongue, a downright lethal sound that somehow manages to rouse your positively spent pussy.

This man is going to be the absolute death of you one of these days.

“Fuck.” You chuckle airily, heady gaze flickered over him lazily, only to do a double take when you notice something standing upright beneath the zipper of his jeans. The corners of your lips twirled into a mirthful grin, eyebrows raising slowly.

“Need some help with that?”

“Yes.” He answers shamelessly and without hesitation, grunting softly as he adjusts himself in the tight confines of his jeans to make the raging hard-on he’s sporting somewhat less obvious. “But not here.”

“I figured. So... your car or mine?”

“Didn’t you just get a new one with reclining seats?” He questions, running the tip of his tongue over the seam of his lip at the mere implication.

You strike him with a wicked grin, already beginning to shove your things into your bag. “I did indeed.”

“Then what are we— wait.”

“What?”

“You didn’t finish correcting the worksheet yet.” He points out, drumming his fingers across the paper that had completely slipped your mind.

You pull a face, pausing in the act of gathering your belongings long enough to cross your arms pointedly over your chest. “No offense, Kyungsoo, sweetheart, but I’d much rather suck your dick than do one more of those stupid fucking calc problems.”

His brows leap to his hairline, and he offers a single nod of acceptance, in no position to argue with such a valid point.

“Noted.”

[the-beskar-alchemist]

Alright....*cracks knuckles*.....I have things to SAY 

- Okay Din having the baby help him fix a part of the ship he can't reach? That's fitting honestly. He's tiny, he can crawl into the area Din needs to reach, but can't because they're still in space and he can't very well access the particular spot from outside (I'm assuming it's one of those areas only accessible via a hatch from the roof or something). - Also......OMG THE BABY HELPING DIN AND DIN BEING SO PATIENT HE'S SUCH A DAD - I have to wonder about the baby's pain threshold, he seemed only mildly inconvenienced from getting electrocuted (and for some reason I kept thinking about Tito from Oliver and Company fucking around with the wiring in the limo and getting shocked) - CHIN ACTION CHIN ACTION CHIN ACTION......(I truly do NOT understand the fuss over it being Pedro VS Brenden Wayne in the suit, does it really matter???? You're only seeing his chin, not his whole face, calm down) - Din honey broth/soup can only take you so far, TRUST ME, you can't make meals off of flavored liquid, you'll just be hungry again an hour later. It's NO WONDER that kid kept inhaling the eggs lol......BUT....at the same time it's only logical that Din's resources are stuff that's easily frozen/stored and can just be heated without any prep work.  The stuff the baby seems to crave tends to be things that would require a way to preserve/store large amounts of food and the Crest isn't built for that sort of thing (I'm thinking about making a slight analysis post about the ship at some point) - The fact that the old covert hideout is empty (save for black-market dealers) tells me that the Armorer is long gone and it's unlikely that anyone would know where she went (I noticed people bringing this up, that neither Cara/Greef checked on her), let's be real: They probably thought it wasn't their place to go poking around a Mandalorian covert just because they're friends with one of them, ESPECIALLY if the mutual friend isn't even around to vouch for their presence - Even though G*na has ruined any chance of me enjoying her as a person, I still appreciate her character as a separate thing. She continues to be badass, and I loved the fighting techniques she implemented in the sewers. - Yeah that crest is sputtering like an old beat-up pickup truck, just barely running - I really love that Karga spoke in such an affectionate manner to the baby. I know that Din tries to talk to him, but the way he does it is reminiscent of two adults talking. Karga actually talks to the baby like he's a child, no baby-talk but definitely with a higher pitch in his voice (the equivalent of the customer-service voice when you think about it) - SOMETHING FISHY ABOUT BEADY-EYED ALIEN DUDE. NO ME GUSTA - ONE OF THE SCHOOL CHILDREN REALLY DOES LOOK LIKE LITTLE REY - I felt like Din was experiencing separation-anxiety about leaving the baby, but I also feel like part of his hesitancy was an immediate reaction to the children whispering and laughing at the baby. I'm sure they weren't trying to appear cruel or anything, but it makes me wonder if he was having a minor flashback of having an experience like that and how it affected him - YODITO YOU PRECIOUS LITTLE SHIT YOU CAN'T JUST TAKE SOMEONE ELSES FOOD - I truly don't think that Karga/Cara see Din as anything less than a good friend, but I really wish they wouldn't treat him like his presence is only valid so long as he's helpful (LET THE MAN TAKE A BREAK) - WHY DOES THE IMPERIAL BASE LOOK LIKE THE PORT FOR A CABLE ON A CPU?? - I really don't like G*na's approach to acting where she thinks she has to sound as tough as possible in order to make her character more appealing/stronger - There are two separate comparison discussions you can take from the infiltration scenes: 1) It's a contrast to S1E6 where Din infiltrates a prison ship with the mercenaries and he's forced to follow their lead, OR 2) Din was awkwardly following the other Mandalorian's in the last episode, but with Karga/Cara he's confidant and even takes the lead - Imperial architecture be like: OSHA???? NEVER HEARD OF HER - I think it's important to note that, while Din is ready and willing to hunt down the Mythrol again if necessary without remorse, he still thought of him enough to keep him from falling down the lava shaft - Din's "I don't like this" had me in my feels a bit, usually he's so nonchalant in trying to act like nothing bothers him but he felt comfortable enough to express his unease in front of his friends - Okay the fact that they're vaguely referencing midi-chlorians, and it looks like this lab is a branch in Palpatine's cloning scheme, makes it seem like they're starting to tie into the movie franchise, but not outright.....it's a "just the tip" situation it seems. I'd honestly prefer they didn't delve to far into the movie canon, I feel the show will lose it's heart if they do. - Pershing mentioned "the volunteer", which has me curious about the kind of person that would allow themselves to be tested for what Gideon has planned. It's possible we're getting another major/unique character in the works.  Pershing could've just referenced test subjects in general, but he mentioned a specific one, so that has me wondering what other players are on the board. - That whole chase scene was nerve-wracking - DIN TO THE RESCUE DIN TO THE RESCUE - OMG THE BABY WAVING HIS ARMS LIKE HE'S ON A ROLLERCOASTER - DIN BABY YOU MAKE FLYING THE CREST LOOK SO SEXY - Din was all "Look what I did! Did you see that???" wanting to show off to the baby.....and then baby went BLEEEEEEGH.......AND THEN DIN WIPED IT WITH HIS CAPE???? He's such a DAD - The scene with Cara and officer talking about her losses was kind of emotional. G*na's acting is so wooden, it was honestly a combination of the music and the other actor's performance that seemed to get me, but more importantly its the fact that Cara is such a 3-dimensional character, that has so much potential, but she's being made superficial because of the portrayal - Also......she says she's not a "joiner", but she's eyeing that badge very closely, like she's contemplating a career switch. Perhaps there's a chance we may get revenge-driven Cara joining the New Republic in the future? - I'm glad they didn't actually show where the device is planted, it really adds to the suspense, I prefer a little mystery over having too much explained - Moff Gideon standing amongst the dark troopers like Saruman in the basement of Isengard where they bred the Uruk-hai army in LotR, this guy is pulling out all the stops to be ready to take on a singular Mandalorian and his friends. Does he think that Din will get Mandalorian reinforcements and therefore he needs the numbers? Are they stormtroopers or some form of droids, like the battle droids in S1? They're build kind of "human", and the attendees were using blasts of cold air like what would be used in a cryo-chamber, but what if they're not human? What if they are humanoids? Cyborgs? - It's interesting to think about what types of vessels/hosts Gideon would rely on for midi-chlorian testing. Obviously not just anyone can handle the transfusion, so would he require modifications to some extent to make the host more susceptible? Until next time!!!

[first-and-last-neocount]

*cracks knuckles*

Alright. 

You can all thank @theobscurepotato for bringing this to my attention, they sent me a screenshot of this description and even the furious keysmashing I sent them in reply did not assuage my burning wrath, so now I’m making a Thing of it and doing a proper dissection. 

What the shit is this. 

The rest of my vitriol will be under the cut, so I don’t completely nuke everyone’s dash with six miles of Coldfire ranting. 

Every line. Every line of this is wrong. I’m going through this in order, because otherwise I wouldn’t even know where to begin. 

“A priest tasked with helping other humans tap into the planet’s stores of magic.” Even if you’re trying to categorize this with other fantasy books and make it sound more familiar to non-fans, the fae is explicitly not magic. The text directly addresses the fact that magic is controllable and predictable, and that the colonists wouldn’t be nearly so fucked if they could actually control the fae, which is a natural force that reacts to the subconscious instead of conscious influence. If you’re looking for a traditional magic system and not hostile alien weirdness, the Coldfire Trilogy is NOT the series for you, this is giving people the wrong impression right off the bat. 

“He’s soon sidetracked, however, when his lover falls victim to a brutal attack.” This is slightly less glaring of a fallacy, but I would argue that Damien’s not getting sidetracked at all, because the text heavily implies that demon-hunting comes before teaching in the priorities of the Knights of the Flame. Their order is first and foremost tasked with eliminating hostile faeborn, and the teaching gig is something of a secondary concern - they haven’t even been doing it in the west, the program that Damien’s running is something of an experiment and the Patriarch treats the whole idea with poorly-hidden disgust. Damien himself makes the point, when he’s talking to the Patriarch about the expedition to the Canopy, that he’s duty-bound to hunt down these demons now that he knows about them - he found out about them sooner and is more personally incensed because someone he cares for was targeted, but it’s very clearly within the proper scope of his service to the Church, and that’s why the Patriarch sanctions the mission and gives him the Fire. It’s not like he drops all his duties and goes rampaging off to take revenge for Ciani. 

“She once could see the magic in the world, but now that her abilities have been taken away from her, she begins to lose her will to live.” This. This is pissing me off the most. I got the impression during my FFN lurker days that Ciani is... not exactly a universally loved character in the fandom... but I don’t think you have to be a huge fan of her personally to recognize that this is just completely wrong. The way this is written makes it sound like she’s some damsel in distress who has to languish on her fainting couch while her knight (hah) in shining armor goes off to save her, and that’s just - that’s not even close. She’s a badass. She’s tough and independent and goddamn fierce, and the fact that she even survives what the Dark Ones did is a testament to that. Even though she’s been viciously assaulted and essentially undergone the psychological equivalent of having a limb violently amputated, she goes on the quest with the rest of them, she refuses to stay in Jaggonath where it’s safe and is out there risking her neck right alongside the others. ‘Lose her will to live’ implies that she’s given up. That’s the furthest thing from the truth. She fights tooth and nail to get back what she’s lost, she even apprentices to the Hunter to try and relearn some of her abilities from scratch, do NOT try to tell me that those are the actions of a woman who’s given up on life. She’s not perfect, and of course she has some moments where she falters - her entire world’s been upended and she’s lost a fundamental part of her existence, it would be horrendously unrealistic for her not to struggle with that, but like hell has she lost her will to do anything. 

At this point I guess I should be glad that they correctly identified that this is the first book of the series and got the spelling of the name right. 

I think theobscurepotato raised the best point, though, that this description is so wildly off-base that anyone who thinks this sounds appealing will probably not even like the actual book. This sounds like some horribly cliche romance novel. Which, don’t get me wrong, those have a place in the world - but that’s not what this series is. This series is part fantasy part sci fi, with a dash of horror thrown in for good measure, and it’s about taking those familiar comforting fantasy tropes and going “Yeah, but what if we looked at it realistically and it turned out to be horrible”. This summary implies that this is the kind of series where the main hero goes off on a heroic quest to save the woman he loves, he succeeds without too much trouble, and they live happily ever after. This is actually the kind of series where a group of people set out on a quest for wildly disparate reasons, most of them suffer horribly along the way, and the main hero gets his ass dumped by his girlfriend so that she can devote her life to science. And that’s not even touching what happens in the later two books, which hoo boy, that’s a whole other can of worms. 

TL:DR; theobscurepotato said this description gave them hives, I feel like it gave me a stroke, and I am seriously questioning the sanity of the person who wrote it. Maybe let people who’ve actually read the book write the description next time, instead of someone who skim-read the Wiki article and went ‘yeah, this is probably close enough’. 

[heyheydidjaknow]

It’s 200 words under my quota, but, in my defense, I don’t think it makes a ton of sense to make it longer for a variety of reasons. Also, y’all get it a day before the deadline. Please, god, let me write something to lighten up the gloom at some point.

Chapter 7

You were wondering before; yes, apparently it cracks, not splatters like you thought it would.

You are not sure how that is the only detail you remember about today. Some things happened before, you are sure. You do not remember those things, but you know there was more that happened.

As soon as the deed is done, you start climbing down the fire escape. You jump down the last story down onto your hands, wiping the blood off on your jeans as you sprint out into the street, running and busting through the front door. You scramble up the steps towards the front of the building, taking your bag and smashing it through a window to climb through. You hear the cries of combat above you as you grab Murakami by the ankle, crimson staining his skin as you swing him back onto solid ground. Electricity flows through your veins as you grab a shard of glass off the metal balcony, sawing at the rope and cutting him loose. You pull the gag out of his mouth, pulling him, staggering, to his feet as you both start back down the stairs.

He is saying something. You do not hear him, the sound of muffled screams and shattering bones ringing in your ears like a gong, his face tattooed onto your eyelids. A part of you notes how strange it is that you are not being followed; then again, it is not you they are after.

The walk is surprisingly short, you think. You push the door open for him as you both walk inside.

“Murakami?” You hear your voice call out to him.

“Yes, Y/N?”

“Do you have a bathroom?” Why are you so quiet?

“Yes.” He walks behind the counter. “Right in the back.”

“Thank you, sir.” You walk to the back of the shop, pushing the appropriately labeled door open and walking to the sink. You start scrubbing the blood off your hands, scraping what had dried from under your fingernails as you look up at yourself in the mirror. You blink, perplexed by your expression. You look corpselike, the dim lights of the tiny bathroom casting long shadows across your features. You reach up, feeling the structure of your face. Your fingers gently pull your skin out of place to confirm that, yes, that is you.

Your digits are ice against your skin.

You remember more details than you wish you did about what transpired the minutes before. You remember how much he strained not to shake underneath you. You have muted memories of talking of some sort, but when you try to focus on the memory, your ears fill with static.

‘I must have dissociated or something,’ you reason to yourself, trying to cling to your own body as you relive that scene in your head.

You remember the sounds he made before you let go. You remember how his shirt was drenched with sweat as Leonardo tried reasoning with your enemy. You remember how he had squirmed underneath you, how odd you found that; he must have known that he would not be able to make it out of this unscathed, you are sure.

You feel your fingernails graze your now pale complexion. Paler than usual, anyways; you were never the observant type.

You remember securing your position with one foot against the edge of the building, your heartbeat irregular as you held him there, knuckles going white around his clothing and skin. You remember hearing what you thought was a laugh as you leaned forward. Oh, how he had tremored, eye to eye with his executioner.

“If you knew what was coming next,” you murmured into his ear, “you would thank me.”

You had promised yourself not to look over the edge when you dropped him. There was nothing you could do about the sound.

Your middle and ring fingers feel at the ledge of your eye sockets. They gently tug your eyelids apart, holding your eyes open as you stare yourself blankly in the eyes. A lump rises in your throat as your limbs tingle from the excess adrenaline.

‘I killed a man.’

You wipe your face off with your sleeve as you shut off the faucet. You flick your hands dry, wiping the excess on your pants as you walk back onto the main floor, collapsing in one of the stools and resting your head on the counter. Time is swirling together now. Is that normal? You do not know.

‘You solved a lot of problems.’ You close your eyes, replaying his last few moments on repeat. ‘If he survived, he’ll never be able to do ninjutsu again. Taking only Xever down will be a cakewalk by comparison, and Karai… there’s no way Shredder can get allies to the states that fast.’ You hug your sides. ‘The episodes after next, besides the Stockman ones, cannot happen, meaning I have more time to come up with a game plan regarding Karai’s arrival. I doubt he considers us much of a threat, even now, so as long as I can figure out how to get the guys to survive next—’

Your thoughts are interrupted by the ceramic thump of a bowl being placed in front of you.

“You must eat, my friend. Food heals the mind.” He smiles gently. “Your murmuring speaks to your distress.”

You look up at him, sitting up properly despite yourself. “Thank you, Murakami.” Your fingers wrap around the handle of the spoon. It shakes violently in your hand; you place your hands on the table, for now, not trusting yourself to not spill the broth over yourself.

“Would you like me to lend you my ears?”

You hum in discontent. “I’m alright.” You chuckle dryly. “You should probably sit down more than I should; you must be in quite a bit of shock after what happened.”

“That is true.” You watch him pour himself his bowl. “Yet I feel as if we’ve experienced equivalent amounts of pain over both of our lifetimes.”

That made you smile, if only weakly. “Hardly.” You fold your hands together, scratching at a piece of dried gore that you had apparently not gotten off the back of your hand. “You have quite a few years on me, sir. The stories you could probably tell would make my head spin.”

“My life has, thankfully, been rather peaceful.” He sets the bowl down next to you, sitting and starting to eat. “I came to New York when I was a young man, and I’ve run this shop since then.”

You hold your hand up to see if the shaking has lessened; it has, slightly. “And your family?”

“Thankful for my health and wellbeing.” He smiles. “I see them, still. They live farther downtown.”

“For your sake, I’m grateful.”

He chuckles. “I’m sure they will be quite excited by my story.”

You slow your breathing, taking a sip from the bowl and humming softly. “Did your mother teach you to cook?”

“She did, although,” he nods, “I must admit that her food will always be better than mine.”

“I feel that.” You smile shakily, taking another bite. The dryness of your throat does not lessen. “I’ve been trying to get some family recipes down for at least two months on my own, and every time it’s just not the same.”

He nods slowly. “As always is the case with these sorts of things, I’m sad to say. It doesn’t get better with age, I’m afraid.”

You rest your head in your hands, closing your eyes. You can still hear him. “That totally sucks.”

He laughs. “Yes, well,” he sighs, “that is the nature of getting older.”

He reminds you too much of people you knew for you not to smile at that. If nothing else, this conversation serves as a slight distraction, some sort of relief from the ringing in your head; you do not even know how you would talk to the Hamatos about this sort of thing. They may be the only friends you have right now, but they are hardly known for their tact or reassurance. You do not want their advice to let it go or to hear that this whole thing will pass. They cannot understand this, you do not think. “You know what?” You take another bite. “Getting old, from where I stand, seems completely and totally overrated.”

He smiles. “You remind me so much of my son; he used to say the same thing before he left for college.”

“And after?”

He clears his throat. “’It’s not totally overrated.’” He chuckles. “He has a wonderful little girl. She has the sweetest voice you’ll ever hear.”

“I guess that’s true.” You pause. “It just feels like, sometimes, I’m never going to be that old, you know? Never have kids or a life after high school.”

He nods. “I’ll tell you this right now: every adult you’ll ever meet has had that same thought. There’s no way around it; everyone has that sort of doubt.” He sighs. “But there are a lot of adults out there with kids and lives, so we must be doing something right.”

Maybe Murakami does not fully understand what you mean, but you feel better, talking to him. You might have talked to Yoshi about this, but you doubt you would want to; he seems too high up, almost, too important to bother with this sort of thing. “I guess that’s true.” You sigh. “It doesn’t make it seem any more possible, though.”

“Well, there isn’t anything I could say that could make that change.” He takes another bite. “But never forget that things, no matter how bad they are, have to get better eventually. Life comes in waves, and if you stand your ground against them, the calm will come.”

You pause, sigh. You reach into your bag, pulling a wallet out and placing a twenty onto the table. “Thank you, sir.” You finish your food, getting to your feet. “I’m sorry about roping you into all of this. Hopefully, at least, the others will be able to help you more and keep break-ins to a minimum.”

“You don’t have to pay.” He smiles. “You saved my life, after all.”

“I insist.” You rub the back of your neck. “Besides, the guys are probably going to come to see if you’re alright in a bit, and I don’t want them to raid your kitchen.”

He laughs. “For the young men that saved me? I owe them my life itself. Gyoza is the least I can provide.”

“Still.” You start towards the door, pulling it open. You look back at the man.

‘This is worth it.’

You wave back at him. “I’ll see you later, Murakami.”

“I look forward to when we meet again.”

You close the door behind you, starting up the street towards your apartment.

You feel sick.

Table of Contents

Chapter 6 part 1

Chapter 8

[welllpthisishappening]

21 for the kiss prompts. because I am me LOL

Alright, so, full disclosure, this is not CS fic. I was going to write CS fic for this. i was! I had this vaguely angsty Emma gets hurt and Killian loses his mind thing happening, but then—I didn’t write that. Instead, here’s Will Scarlet gets hurt and Belle French loses her mind and it’s hockey. It’s 2,000 words! I don’t know how that happened. Anyway, the prompt here was “bloody kiss” and I love Will Scarlet with the force of a thousand suns. If you guys want to send more kiss prompts, I’m still waiting for people to respond to my emails.

“You’re mad.”

“Your powers of deduction are truly unparalleled. What gave me away, exactly?”

Will bit his lower lip. Let his teeth dig down until he tasted blood and, well—more blood, he supposed. Six stitches later, though, and there wasn’t much blood left on his face, just a pair of narrow eyes doing their best to glare a hole through his cranium and he didn’t think that was entirely possible. 

Biology had never been his strong suit, really. Unless you counted hauling off and punching some rat-faced bastard on the Caps who couldn’t keep his goddamn mouth shut about a possible offsides that had maybe happened two periods before and they’d been winning and it was fine. Totally fine. This was his job. Punching and bruising up assholes. Just a little bit, to remind them who they were playing and what was on the line and—

It was entirely possible Belle’s eyes were not entirely human. 

His face flushed. Heat raced through either one of his cheeks, threatening what he could only assume was the structural integrity of his own eyes because Will couldn’t remember when he’d decided to widen them, exactly. Just that they were starting to dry out a little bit and Ariel was going to kill him. 

She’d made that very clear post-game. 

There might be a two-person line to wreak havoc, now. 

“You get this little pinch between your eyebrows,” Will said, leaning forward until the top of his head nearly hit the bottom of her chin, “makes it easy to tell.”

Belle huffed. Crossed her arms. Nearly punched him in the face, which would have been something close to the peak of irony at this point, and then maybe Ariel wouldn’t threaten to kill him again. No, that was wishful thinking. 

It’d be a miracle if they were allowed uptown later. Ariel had probably sent out an APB, or whatever the culinary equivalent of that was. No admittance until the blood had dried off his forehead and he laid prostrate at her feet, begging forgiveness for the error of his ways. 

Like hell, he would.

This was his job. He was the—

Fuck, maybe he was a goon. He hadn’t scored in a while. Not even a secondary assist, or anything. Skating at the edge of the blue line on a fledgling power play did not an All-Star make, and, well, now that he thought about it, maybe Will had started jawing first. There were mumbled insults, at least. 

From him, specifically. More than once, actually. 

“I don’t think you’re supposed to be back here, y’know.”

The pinch got—

Pinchier. Deeper. Like a tiny, little crevice between what Will was starting to realize were meticulously cared-for eyebrows and maybe he should get a CT scan or an MRI or something because it had taken him this long to notice she was also wearing his jersey. Too-long sleeves grazed the slight bend of her knuckles, looking as if she was actively stopping herself from fisting her hands at her side and that thought wasn’t supposed to make him smile. 

Still. 

Will’s lips tugged up. His eyes thinned. Nose crinkled ever so slightly. Something that had been growing increasingly familiar in the last few months of the season jumped between his ribs, like little flutters of wholly imaginary wings, and she kept wearing his jersey. Kept coming to games, and that was good because they’d gotten past the labels and expectations, all of which were sky-high on the NHL’s most romance-prone hockey team. 

God, maybe he wasn’t just a goon. Maybe he was a complete and total asshole. 

“This is Cap’s fault,” Will announced, and he’d been ready for the pinch. He was less prepared for those eyebrows he was starting to become a tad obsessed with to soar up Belle’s forehead, past the swoop of bangs that regularly messed with his cognizant reasoning. 

She scoffed. “Are you fucking with me?”

“No, but maybe when we get back to—”

“I will kick you in the shins, Scarlet, I swear to every God you can think of.”

He tried not to deflate. Really, he did. But his name seemed to crack out of her, punching the bridge of his nose like Belle had actually pulled her right arm back and her scoff was more like an exhale that time. That had never happened. 

Even before. Before the labels and the attempts at setting up Killian and watching that entire season and how often he stared longing at Emma, before Regina and Locksley continued to be parents extraordinaire and the jealousy started to eat away at him. Slowly, but surely and he never talked about that, but he figured she knew because Belle knew everything and—

“Bet you twenty bucks you could name more gods than I could.”

Another sigh. A tilt of her head. It made her bangs shift. He wasn’t sure what was happening in his chest. Expanding and contracting, a painful rhythm that hurt way more than the stitches or the shitty metaphors and he was glad she’d snuck into the locker room. Will didn’t want her anywhere else. 

Naming conventions, aside. 

“I’m sorry—” “—I love you.”

He almost fell over. Impressive, since Will was still sitting down and his feet didn’t entirely reach the floor from that position. His jaw dropped. He hated that. Partially because it hurt and mostly because he should have been way cooler, wanted to be way cooler, but there were dots of red on his girlfriend’s cheeks and teeth digging into her lower lip, now, and he resolutely ignored the ache in his calves when he slid back to his feet. 

Curling an arm around her waist, he didn’t think much about the precise way he yanked her. Forward. Directly into his chest and that didn’t leave much room to bend his knees, but Will was less concerned with specifics and the staging of this than actually getting to the good part. 

The kissing part. 

Plus, Belle pushed up on her toes. So, that helped. 

He groaned. Loudly, like embarrassingly loud. As soon as her head tilted and he could get his mouth on hers and they were all hands and lips and whatever she was doing with her tongue, tracing the lip he’d been so intent on biting through just a few moments before. Bending his knees did give Will some more leverage. To pull her even closer, moving his arm and ignoring her soft protests. 

Most of them died when he managed to get a hand under her left thigh. 

She groaned. Something to be said about symmetry, Will assumed. Although he also didn’t really...care. About the saying, mostly. Not when he was melting and falling, dropping into the deep end of a pool that was a shock to his system and the best thing that had ever happened to him and she was the best thing that had ever happened to him. Bar none. 

Especially when she did that tongue thing. 

Closing his eyes, he knew he had to tilt his head. Had to breathe and stay conscious and he didn’t want to think about the medical requirements of a professional hockey player at a time like that, but he knew consistent awareness of his surroundings was probably fairly important and the roar of triumph blaring through his brain made that a little difficult. Breathing would have to be enough for now. 

“I can’t—” Belle’s shoulders heaved. Fingers dragged across the back of Will’s neck and he had to admit he was fairly impressed with her balance. Her right foot wasn’t on the ground. “Shit, I—” He pulled her lip between his teeth, tried to memorize the next hitch of her breath and he was about five-point two-three seconds away from losing his mind. Rocking his hips up was a very bad idea. He did it anyway. “Babe, I can’t think when you do that.”

Everything was spinning. He was spinning. No, that wasn’t true. He wasn’t spinning. He was standing and touching and there was barely any color left in Belle’s eyes. 

Pride prickled at the back of Will’s brain. Until pain joined the fray, making a glorious and unwelcome return at the precise moment he realized there was moisture on his cheek again. Warm and red and Ariel was going to kill him. 

“Cap and Emma were making out in the hallway,” Will explained, “pre-game. Nothing they don’t normally do, and I don’t even think they knew I was there.”

“Is any of this supposed to make me feel better?”

He nodded. “I love you, too. Like it’s ridiculous how in love with you I am.”

Silence. As much as there could be in a locker room, at least. Water fell from shower heads a few hundred feet away, the low murmur of questions and Lucas-approved answers, squeaking sneakers and clacking heels, and the familiar sound of wheels rolling across linoleum as the equipment hampers moved down the hall. 

Will took a deep breath. 

Slowly, through his nose. Keeping the nerves off his face was harder than he expected, and even more ridiculous than whatever he’d just proclaimed because Belle had proclaimed first and it was entirely possible they were both colossal idiots. That put them on even ground, though. 

He appreciated that. 

“Why were you mad, ma moitié?”

There was the pinch, again. “Why do you think?” Will shook his head, brushing hair away from her eyes and he knew he didn’t imagine that sigh, either. Softer. More content. All that previous even ground. “Because I—” Belle started, and the color hadn’t left her face yet. “I know you think you’ve got to be this guy. Out there defending, not just the goal but the people and that’s...I’m super into that.”

“But?”

“But it makes me so nervous, I could spit.’

Will genuinely had no idea what noise he made. It might not have been human, really. Tearing out of his throat, his eyes bugged and he bent over without really meaning to, forehead finding Belle’s shoulder like that was the only reasonable landing place. He was still bleeding. Or bleeding again, whatever. 

“Say that again,” he mumbled. Into her jersey. His jersey. Whatever, part two. 

“Spit,” she repeated, making sure to enunciate every letter, “because I know you can hold your own in a fight, and that’s how you think you make a difference on this team, but—”

“It is that’s why.”

“Was my shin-kicking threat not threatening?”

He kissed exactly where his lips were. “Not really, no.”

“‘Cuz I’ll totally do it, I swear. To all those gods and goddesses and then they’ll descend from on high and tell you that they also think you’re an idiot who should know that letting some rat on the ice get under your skin is exactly what they’re trying to do. Plus, it’s way better when you check them, y’know?”

Lifting his head didn’t hurt. Made him a little nervous, anxiety churning his gut and this was not the way Will thought this would happen. Maybe he could get Belle to kick Killian too. For the making out. And the unspoken frustration. He was definitely an idiot. “Is it just?”

“Don’t make me say it.”

“Don’t have to. You’re very easy to read.”

Belle lifted her eyebrows. More. “That so?’

“You think it’s super attractive when I check another dude.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Didn’t have to. Also, I love you.”

“You mentioned that before, yeah.”

“And I am sorry for freaking you out.” Sigh number three wasn’t quite as resigned as the others, but it still left guilt rising in the back of Will’s throat and every single inch of him froze. As soon as Belle leaned around him, grabbed a far-too-large handful of gauze and started wiping blood off his cheek. “That’s way too much, babe.”

“Ariel can deal.”

“Ya gonna kick her too?”

“I’ll consider it,” Belle mumbled, back on both feet again. For, like, two seconds. Before she pushed back up on her toes, kissed the corner of Will's mouth, and added, “Don’t do that to me again, ok?”

“Aye, aye, Cap.”

He had much better reflexes than her. Pulling her back to his side before either one of her shoes could land a blow was easy and bordering almost close to joyful and that was a strange thing for him to be, but it was also easy and somehow even more simple and Ariel let them into the restaurant that night. They stayed for all of fifteen minutes. 

And Will told Belle he loved her once every five minutes on the cab ride back to his apartment. 

He timed it, and everything. Just to make sure the color stayed in her cheeks.

[scriveyner]

let it rest in peace 1/4

James always loved to watch Keith run.

The black wolf was a liquid shadow; compacted into a powerful ball of muscle and potential. It was poetry to watch slowed down, enormous paws dug into the ground for purchase and extending all the way out again, all four legs clearing the ground in a straight shot. Head down, laser-focused on his target, Keith moved so fast at that moment James felt like he was seeing an afterimage, the actual thing there and gone before he could even blink.

Keith ran every chance he got; up and down the long familiar stretch of beach, his slightly smaller frame shadow to Shiro’s enormously powerful white wolf. He ran through the woods, threaded the trees, circled their camps and the truck, and nearly made James dizzy with his exuberance and a seemingly endless wellspring of energy. He loved the most to run in the plains, though, when they went east and spent their nights in fields under an endless expanse of stars.

Run with me, Keith said, both hands on James’s wrists, eyes bright and skin bronzed by firelight.

He couldn’t deny Keith anything, not even this; futile exercise that it was. Before too long Keith would tire of lagging and would be on four legs, bounding back and forth and unstoppable. All the same, James humored him every time, jogged with him until Keith couldn’t bear it any longer, and bolted; across the clearing, across the sand, across the field—ears and tail high.

He loved to run.

He loved James, too.

James panted, hand pressed to the side of his neck, cheek in the dirt. He watched Keith run like this, powerhouse that he was, gone in a twinkling, fury and sound.

“I’ll protect you,” Keith said, calm and confident, sitting up in their motel bed, the covers kicked to the floor and his skin brushed blue by the cold light of the television.

It was an ancient song and dance between them now, months-weeks-years of it, Keith with his lazy certainty that he could take on anything and James with his world-weary amusement, knowing every beat to the conversation by heart. “You can’t, against everything.”

James brushed his knuckles along the outside of Keith’s thigh and Keith stirred, leaned over him and kissed him with a rakish grin. “You don’t know me very well then, do you, Griffin?”

I do know you, James thought, the words drowned in the blood squeezing between his fingers, the darkness starting to claw at the edge of his vision. He exhaled again and coughed wetly, closed his eyes and dreamed of running with his wolf.

Read the rest on AO3 or

let it rest in peace – 1

The sky was in his heart, an endless expanse of blue that reached horizon to horizon. The air was fresh, spring again, the sharp bite of winter’s chill melted in the calm, bright sun. The fields went on forever, lush green landscapes covered in wildflowers cornstalks barely to his hip, wheat swaying in the wind.

It was home, and yet.

“Griffin!” A voice, faint, familiar, carried on the wind of memories. “I found him, shit, shit, Shiro, hurry--!”

“Sing for me,” James said, brushed his fingers through Keith’s hair, the light of the dying embers caught in his raven locks. Keith leaned up on one elbow, smiling helplessly down at him, before rising smoothly on four legs.

James combed his fingers through dark fur, as Keith stepped away and out of reach the loss felt sudden, insurmountable—and he reached for Keith as the wolf raised his face to the sky, a dirge for the moon.

“James, no, no no no--” Keith’s voice, too distant. “Stay with me, please, please--”

The moon was in his blood, fat and heavy in the desert’s endless sky. The stars seemed to go on forever, past the point of the horizon, patterning down, under his feet until everything was night, washed out in the light of a full cold moon.

#

Everything hurt.

James squinted open gummy eyes, listening to the constant steady beep of the medical equipment beyond his line of sight. He couldn’t raise his arm to wipe his eyes, so he lolled his head on the pillow and immediately regretted the movement, paint shooting down his spine.

He let out a small involuntary grunt as he shifted, and that disturbed the dark head leaned against the hospital bed. James flexed his hand, and Keith lifted his head groggily, eyes red-rimmed and stubble so thick James knew it had been days, or longer. “Hey,” James croaked, lining up some kind of lumberjack crack but the single syllable was all he could manage. Keith’s eyes welled up immediately.

Keith pulled James’s hand up, both of his hands wrapped around it still, and pressed James’s hand to his mouth. “Don’t ever scare me like that again,” Keith’s voice sounded wrecked, worse than he’d ever heard.

It hurt to swallow, fuck, it hurt to breathe but James gathered himself and spoke. “Love you,” he murmured, squeezing Keith’s hands, and Keith let out a small little sob and didn’t raise his head. James smiled as much as he could manage, closed his eyes and dropped back off the cliff, into darkness.

#

When he woke again it was impossible to tell how much time had passed. The lights in the room were the same, although this time when he moved his head it didn’t immediately feel like it was going to come off his shoulders. There were no windows that he could see—just machines, off-white walls and a television up in the corner that was currently off.

Keith was sitting up in a chair beside the bed, looking better than he had. The stubble wasn’t as thick now, he’d shaved at least once; his hair was clean and he smelled like Keith, even with the competing antiseptic hospital smell attempting to overwhelm. He seemed to sense that James was looking at him and lifted his head, closing the folder he’d had open on his lap and smiling shakily for James. “You’re awake. How do you feel?”

James lolled his head on the pillow, swallowed and then spoke hoarsely. “You ever seen Roger Rabbit?”

Keith’s brow furrowed, and James sighed, coughed a bit because the sigh hurt, goddammit. “Of course you haven’t.”

The door opened and they both looked at it—and it was Lance, leaning in the room clearly to get Keith. He looked tired, but lit up when he saw James awake. “Griffin, holy shit,” Lance said. “How’re you feeling, man? That was a fucking close call, if Shiro hadn’t--”

“Lance,” Keith said, his tone dagger-sharp. Lance stopped, gave Keith a look that James couldn’t really decipher, and then Keith said, “do you know what the fuck Roger Rabbit is?”

Nonplussed, Lance looked between them. Then he snapped his fingers, pointed at James and said, “you feel like you got squashed by the steamroller at the end!”

James chuckled, then groaned because that really fucking hurt.

Keith rolled his eyes, set the folder on a small table at his elbow, and got up. He put one hand on the mattress and leaned over, kissing James’s forehead gently. “I’ll be right back, I bet Shiro wants to see me,” he said. “Lance’ll keep you company, though.”

“Mm,” James was already feeling drowsy again, the interaction draining. “Keith?” Keith hesitated, looked down at him. James raised his arm slowly, touching the thick bandages around his throat, felt the ghost of fangs and claws nearly ripping his arm out of its socket, and asked, “how the fuck am I alive?”

There was a split-second flicker of something across Keith’s face he was too drugged up to catch. Keith took his hand away from his throat, patted it, and said, “please rest, James.”

His eyes felt too heavy, but he watched Keith say something in low tones to Lance, caught Shiro’s name but little else. Lance gave James a look and then shook his head, Keith clapped his shoulder and left the room. James closed his eyes and listened to Lance shuffle, pulling the other chair away from the wall to sit on his left side.

James swallowed, didn’t bother to open his eyes. “What did Keith do, Lance?”

The shuffling and scraping stopped abruptly. He heard the chair’s cushion complain slightly as Lance flopped into it, and he could almost see the way Lance tilted forward in the chair, resting his elbows on his knees. He definitely heard the aggrieved sigh.

“It wasn’t Keith’s call,” Lance said softly. “It was mine.”

James slept.

#

“You’ve barely eaten anything,” Keith said, the frown evident in his voice as he dropped into the chair he’d been living out of for the past week and a half—longer, James knew, since before he woke up even if he didn’t know how long that was.

James looked up from his phone, an equivalent frown on his face as he thrust the offending piece of technology in Keith’s direction. “I don’t like this,” he said. “I want my old phone back.”

Keith looked at the proffered phone. “Your old phone is in two pieces,” he said, and after a moment James sighed and retracted his arm, setting the phone on the tray extended over his lap on the bed.

“Yeah, I know. Doesn’t mean I have to like it, what the fuck is wrong with this phone, it’s so…” he poked it. “I don’t trust the Blade not to be using some weird-ass shit magic on their technology, what if this thing achieves sentience? There’s a horror movie for you right there, fuck it.”

“Hasn’t technology run amuck been done to death by now anyway?”

“Probably. I was thinking more in the vein of the phone actually biting people, though.”

“Transformers,” Keith muttered, and James groaned and folded his arms. After a moment Keith tilted his head, gave James a fond grin, and they both laughed. James winced, touched the bandages around his neck, and then laughed again because laughing hurt, but it was a good hurt. He was alive, after all.

He looked at the door, still buoyant in his mood. “Shiro and Lance are here,” he said, a split-second before the knock came; and he caught the way Keith gave him a particular look out of the corner of his eye. “Come in!”

“Someone sounds better already,” Shiro said, opening the door with his left hand and holding it open as Lance pranced in behind him, a courier bag slung over his shoulder. The delicious smell of cheese and grease followed them in, wrapped around Lance like a living thing, and Lance beamed at James as he slipped the bag off his shoulder.

“We bring contraband!”

“Hey,” Keith said, sitting up as Lance pulled a fast food sack out of his bag, dropping an enormous burger on the tray in front of James. “He’s on a strict diet--”

“If you’re going to be Mr. Narc I’ll give James your burger too,” Lance threatened—and they both looked at James, who had immediately begun destroying the burger like he’d never eaten one before in his life.

“I’m not very hungry, anyway,” Keith said, clearly amused at the display, and James tucked into the second burger with relish.

James didn’t realize how off he’d felt until he had two burgers sitting heavy in his gut. Lance sat on the left side of his bed, elbow on the mattress and volleying barbs at Keith, who wasn’t taking them well. Shiro, on the other hand, didn’t get too close to the bed, and kept trying to fold his arms—which wasn’t happening, given that his prosthetic arm was, currently, disconnected.

Of course, that drew his attention because he’d hardly ever seen Shiro without it. “What happened with your arm?” James asked, balling up the wrapper from the second burger and tossing it into the sack Lance had left open on the tray.

“Tech department took it for maintenance,” Shiro said. He lifted his right arm and pointed to the stub. “Have you never seen it off?”

James shook his head, transitioned to a nod. “No, I have, it’s just unusual. Also, you keep trying to cross your arms and that’s, sorry, that’s hilarious.”

Shiro put his one hand on his hip and hung his head, sighing audibly. “Lance made fun of me in the elevator, too. Do I really cross my arms that much?”

“Yes,” James, Keith and Lance all said in emphatic unison.

“Frequently crossed arms is a sign someone is holding back something important,” James said, raising a finger knowledgeably, and Keith snorted, while Lance leaned on the armrest of the chair, in Shiro’s direction.

“So, what secrets are you hiding from me, Takashi?”

Shiro crossed over and put his hand on the back of Lance’s chair, leaning down to kiss the top of his head. “Just how very much I love you.”

Lance caught the front of his shirt, turned his face up, and they kissed properly. “That’s no secret,” Lance snorted, clearly amused.

“No shit,” Keith said, leaned back in his chair and exchanging an amused glance with James.

“And speaking of secrets,” James said, “anyone feel like enlightening me as to how I’m still here right now? Because I really should be dead.”

The room immediately fell quiet.

James looked around at them. Keith folded his arms, met his eye for a quick second and looked away. Lance wouldn’t look at him at all, and Shiro had a pained expression on his face. “Yeah,” James said. “That’s what I figured.”

Shiro slipped his hand from the back of Lance’s chair to his shoulder and squeezed it. “We should go,” he said, and Keith stood.

“No,” James said. “I want to hear it from everyone.”

Shiro gave him an apologetic look, and Lance stood. “We’ll talk later,” Lance said, earnest and weirdly obedient, following Shiro to the door. James watched them go, Keith seeing them out—and his ears caught a few exchanged words, but nothing that made any kind of sense.

Keith closed the door behind them, held that pose for a moment before walking back to James’s hospital bed. He stopped and looked at James, as James tore the last of the bandages off his shoulder, the ones from his neck already strewn across the bed. “James,” Keith said, pained.

James bared his neck, lifted his chin, and said, “I had my fucking throat torn out, Keith, and there’s not a scratch on me. What did you do?”

Keith sat on the mattress, pushed the forgotten tray out of the way, and looked James in the eye. “You were bleeding out in the back of the Jeep,” he said. “We were too far away from everything, remember, Lance even fucking joked about it, before…” Keith sighed, looked away for a second before looking back at him. “You needed blood. Shiro gave you some.”

James exhaled once, pushed his hand back through his hair, and said, “holy shit, I thought you were gonna tell me you sold your soul in some kind of Faustian bargain or something, fucking hell.” He slid his hand down to his face, exhaled again shakily, and said, “he didn’t bite me? Just… a blood transfusion?”

“He would’ve, if I asked.” Keith looked down at his hands. “Maybe even if I didn’t, but it wasn’t the full moon.”

James rubbed his hand over his throat, the new skin raw and unmarred. “So...what. Am I a werewolf now? What does this mean?”

“I have no fucking idea.” Keith looked at him again, looked more tired than James had ever seen. “The full moon was a few nights ago, you didn’t change. Nothing changed, really. You just healed…really fast.”

“Is that why we’re still here, then? Am I under observation or something?”

“Yeah.”

James said, “yeah, okay, observation time is over.” He pulled at the IV for a second before Keith grabbed his wrist and yanked his hand away, leaning over him. “Let me go,” James snarled, and Keith didn’t release him, stared into his eyes and looked as remorseful as James had ever seen him.

“James,” Keith said softly. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t want this--”

“Yeah,” James said, tried to shake Keith’s grip but didn’t have the strength to break it. “Neither did I.”

[aforrestofstuff]

For all heroes, how many would punch out their best friend or master for 100,000 dollars or the equivalent of yen?

Thanks for the request, anon! ❤️❤️

Disclaimer: this is hella crack lol

Would do it:

Tornado of Terror: The closest thing she has to a group of friends is her dumbass coworkers and she thinks about merkin these hoes at least 87 times a day. It doesn’t help that she can make everyone’s head explode with a sideways glare either. You’re gonna have to pay her NOT to rock everyone’s shit at some point. She’s tired.

Silverfang: it’s canon he beat the shit out of Charanko just so the little fucker wouldn’t get tied up in the Garou situation (which backfired horribly), so he’d definitely uppercut the poor bastard for 100,000 big ones and then give Charanko like 15% of it (plus a firm handshake) as reparations. Silverfang also has an older brother. So, speaking as someone who also, unfortunately, has an older brother, I can say with absolute certainty that he’d punch Bomb for free. Maybe not now, but definitely when they were both younger.

Atomic Samurai: his best friends are his disciples. I’d be lying if I said he didn’t occasionally slap Iaian upside the head in a mom sort of way when the young lad first starting training. He doesn’t do that anymore now that Iaian’s gotten older and more disciplined, but Bushidrill, however, has been a fucknut since day one and Kami ain’t gonna miss the chance to kick that fucker down the stairs for some money.

Child Emperor: his only friend is none other than the absolute disaster, Zombieman. Child Emperor would be really hesitant to rock his shit at first, but Zman would convince him to do it because A: he’s immortal and couldn’t possibly die and B: 100k is a fuckton of money and one little punch is well worth it. So, Child Emperor does it, breaks Zombieman’s nose, and they both happily split the cash. No hard feelings.

Metal Knight: would nuke a small island nation for some boneless wings.

Zombieman: the closest thing to a best friend he has is his adoptive bastard, Child Emperor, and he’d lightly suplex tap the kid in the face, then split the cash evenly as an apology. Child Emperor would be hella salty at first, but then consider it a sound financial decision soon after. No hard feelings.

Drive Knight: see Metal Knight.

Pig God: it’s simple. More money = more nom noms.

Watchdog Man: tell me you don’t look into those pitch black, lifeless eyes and see death and suffering. He’d rock someone’s shit for free. Anyone. All this bitch does is sit on a rock all day, just waiting around for someone to try him. You can’t tell me he wouldn’t jump at the opportunity to knock some poor fucker’s face unconscious for some money when he does it for a bootyass paycheck 24/7. Motherfucker is ruthless.

Flashy Flash: like Tatsumaki, the closest thing to a group of best friends this lonely bitch has is his dumbass coworkers. Although he’d really rather not engage in a one-on-one deathmatch with anyone, he wouldn’t say no to it if there was a hefty sum of money on the line and/or if he was sure he could win (because ninja pride).

Tanktop Master: he’d refuse because he would never lay a hand on one of his homies, but the entirety of the Tanktop Gang all volunteer regardless. 100k is a fuckton of money and they’d all gladly risk a concussion for it. So, he would do it, but only to someone he’s sure could take the hit. Then, they’d all split the cash evenly and go out for drinks. No hard feelings.

Puri-Puri Prisoner: he’s all about non-consensual touching! All the better if he gets paid for it!

Amai Mask: see Flashy Flash. Although, he would be the one to engage a one-on-one deathmatch with someone for free, let alone a fuckton of cash. It’s canon that he was ready to risk it all and throw down with Metal Bat and Flash just because they dissed his shit, imagine if he actually had another motivation? No survivors.

Bushidrill: would push Kami down the stairs for free.

Fubuki: Like the Tanktop Gang, everyone in the Blizzard Group would gladly volunteer to get punched if it meant they all get to split 100k. This is a really easy decision to make because Fubuki isn’t super strong muscle-wise like Tanktop Master is, so there’s no real risk factor involved. She’d punch someone, they’d say “ouchie” and then they’d all go about their business a little bit richer. Probably gonna put that money towards buying a small herd of cars to match the one they already have in order to engage in T A C T I C A L C A R P O O L I N G, of course.

Little bitches that wouldn’t do it:

King: he wouldn’t do it, but only because all of his friends are ultra-powerful godlike people that could obliterate his atoms without even breaking a sweat. This dude is too timid to ask for extra ketchup packets, let alone ask anyone of his coworkers/friends if he could punch them for 100k (and even if he did summon the courage to ask, he’d give himself away with how weak his punches are). The only person he’d feel comfortable enough with asking would be Saitama, but his knuckles would probably turn to dust if he punched Saitama.

Metal Bat: Zenko would propose a joint agreement that includes her giving Badd permission to punch her lightly and then split the money evenly. Badd would refuse because he knows he would accidentally give her a concussion and that’s a big no-no. If he didnt have overwhelming strength, however..... he still wouldn’t do it because that’s his baby precious little angel sister and he’d rather be caught dead than hurt a hair on her little precious baby angel head.

Genos: would NEVER hurt Saitama. The fact that someone would even CONSIDER—

Iaian and Okamaitachi: would never lay a hand on Atomic Samurai because they both respect the shit out of him and know he’d rock their shit without even hesitating.

Saitama: If he wasn’t basically God incarnate, it would be an instant yes. However, a punch from him is a death sentence. It would be a really hard decision for him to make because 100k could turn his life around for sure, but he’s not willing to kill anyone for it.

Mumen Rider: baby

Superalloy Darkshine: see above

[labyrinth-runner]

Hey, Im not sure if you already got any requests for this but could you do the Relationship Alphabet with Obi-Wan? Tysm!!! 💕💕💕

*Cracks Knuckles*

A- Activity (What is their favorite activity to do with you.) 

Obi-Wan likes do yoga and meditating with you. It’s how he feels one with the force, and even though you may or may not feel the force as deeply as he does, he likes being able to share those moments with you and help you find your own inner balance.

B- Beginnings (How do they act in the beginning of a relationship)

He’s very hesitant. He doesn’t want to get too attached because of the code. At first it’s very clear that if he had to choose, he wouldn’t choose you, but that slowly starts to change throughout the relationship, mainly because of a fight where you complained that he wasn’t giving it his all and he realized that you were right. Then you asked if he really wanted to do this and he said yes and since then he’s been all in.

C- Communication (Are they good communicators? How do they normally talk about their problems or solve issues)

They don’t call him the negotiator for no reason. He’s very good at communicating. Whenever there’s a problem, he usually tries to find a compromise that everyone could agree to. 

D- Drunk (What are they like when they’re drunk)

He insists that he’s not drunk. He’s very affectionate. He’ll call you darling and give you a string of slightly coherent compliments. 

E- Emergency (How are they in emergency situations? You get hurt, they get hurt, someone is dying etc..)

Obi-Wan works surprisingly well under pressure. If someone gets hurt, he’s doing very well at keeping himself in check, although on the inside he’s breaking. He’s trying to be strong for you.

F- Free Spot (I’ll give you any headcanon I come up with)

If you’re out super late, he stays up to wait for you. He looks like a dad waiting for their teenaged daughter to get home with his glasses sliding down his nose as he reads, but he’s not mad. He just can’t sleep until he knows you’re home safe.

G- Gifts (What kind of gifts do they give? What kind of gifts do they get?)

He likes to write letters and poems. Sometimes he’ll write them in different languages so that you also get a puzzle to figure out. He likes to get homemade things. It shows that thought went into it, and you’re giving him a little piece of you.

H- Hugs (How do they show affection/cuddle)

If he hasn’t seen you in a while, you’re getting a crushing hug. He just wants you to know how much he’s missed you. Other times, he gives the best hugs. The only equivalent would be a bear hug. He’s almost always the big spoon, because he likes to make you feel safe, but on occasion he needs comforting he’ll want to be the little spoon.

I- Irritation (What is something that irritates them? How do they show their irritation?)

Anakin. Jkjk. He is very particular about communication. He spent years dealing with Anakin having feelings and not trusting him enough to be open about them. He hates when people don’t tell him the truth or bottle things, because it will only cause a bigger issue later on. His jaw twitches slightly and he gets sassy.

J- Jackpot (How would they spend their winnings if they won the lottery?)

I’m very big on him giving a lot to charity. The rest would probably go into savings because he’s practical. He just doesn’t know what to do with all of it, though. He’s used to a simple life.

K- Kryptonite (What is their ultimate weakness?)

Love. He loves deeply, despite the rules on attachment. It can blind him into being too trusting and missing warning signs.

Also, he’s ticklish.

L- Laughter (What makes them laugh?)

Wordplay. He pretends to hate puns and witty retorts, but they always make him chuckle. Also, when you’re trying to make dinner and you get distracted so it goes up in smoke and you end up needing to order take out. Because, you tried so hard and it was so cute.

M- Morning ( How do they wake up in the morning? Are they a morning person or a morning grouch?)

It depends. If he has to wake up at the crack of dawn, he’s cranky until he gets caffeine. If he’s well rested then he’s fine.

N- Needy (When do they feel particularly needy? How do they show it?)

He’s needy after hard missions when he looses a lot of men. He’ll just wordlessly come home and hold you close as a reminder that not all is lost.

O- Oasis (Where is their happy place? Where would they go if they didn’t have anything holding them back?)

Definitely not Tatooine. He’d go wherever you are. But, for a physical place, he’d probably go to the Temple. It’s his home.

P- Pain (How do they handle pain? How do they handle when you are in pain?)

Oh he’s very much “Oh, I’m fine” as he’s bleeding out. He sucks it up like a trooper because he doesn’t want anyone to worry. However, when you’re in pain he is fawning all over you and telling you to take it easy.

Q- Quote (What’s a quote that fits them and your relationship)

“Come what may, I will love you til my dying day.”

R- Reunion (How do they celebrate seeing you after a long time of being apart)

Oh, in private, he’s running to hug you and hold you close, and then he’s picking you up and you’re heading to the bedroom.

S- Stress (What stresses them out? How do deal with stress and how do they relieve it?)

The amount of loss that he faces on a daily basis stresses him out. The fact that he’s very much never gotten over his grief for others, so he’s worried about seeing something and being brought back to Qui-Gon and not being able to get over it. He meditates. 

T- Terror (What are they afraid of?)

Losing everyone he loves. His heart can take a lot, but it feels like the universe keeps taking.

U- Unique (What is a quirk that is unique to them?)

He’s very good with animals.

V- Violence (Do they fight a lot? Are they a good fighter? What is their fighting style?)

He doesn’t fight a lot if he’s not on a mission. He definitely prefers to use fighting as a last resort.

W- Wow (What do you do that really surprises them? What do you do that they really like?)

Massages. When he first got one, he was very hesitant, but then he was putty in your hands.

X- (Explicit headcanon. For all you degenerates)

When he’s stressed, he’ll take you anywhere. He’s very much into gripping your hips while you fuck and he loves when you ride his face.

Y- Yucky (Is there something that grosses them out so badly that they can’t deal with it?)

Anakin eating bugs.

Z- ZZZ’s (What are their sleeping habits? Both with and without you)

With you, he’s very cuddly. He stays to his side, but he’ll meet you in the middle. Without you, he takes over the bed.