#screaming internally. how the fuck do you do that. or maybe they were exaggerating the infrequency they go out

[j-esbian]

ppl reblogging the friday night poll like “i leave the house and am social but i’m not going to ragers so idk if that counts :/“ hello??

[cherryblossom-heart]

Can I call you her name? (One-Shot S.R)

Steve Rogers x Reader 

Masterlist

Summary:Scenes of how your relationship with Steve began, how he won your heart and how he broke it.

What good is love when it only hurts you?  12.6 k words

Content Warning: Angst, heartbreak, Friends with benefits? (Steve gives mixed signs), mature themes, +18 SMUT, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT (Oral f receiver, penetrative sex, slight mentions of oral sex m receiver, slight mentions of rough sex, Steve has a big dick.) Steve is also a dick, fluff but in the deceptive way. A/N:There will be a second part to this, more info on it here. Part 2 is already out.

Post dividers by @firefly-graphics and @cafekitsune

Steve Rogers isn’t like any other man you’ve met before. 

The friendly, charismatic, innocent persona the public eye knows was your first impression of him. It would be hard to think of him otherwise when the media couldn’t stop talking about how brave and kind he is. 

Maybe that's what brought you towards him in the first place. The good, nice, and kind Steve Rogers that wouldn’t hurt a fly. 

Steve Rogers is good. 

Just not in the way everyone thinks. 

He is good at making you scream his name. He is good at wrecking you, destroying every sense of reality you have when you’re below him. He is good at making you crave him, ruining you, making sure no one else can ever compare to him. He is good at fucking you. 

Not just good. Great, excellent, magnificent, or any other exaggerated positive adjective you could think of. He is all that and more.  

Unfortunately, he is also good at breaking your heart. 

Great, excellent, magnificent. 

You still remember the first time you saw him. It was really embarrassing. 

You were a new intern for an advertising company. It was your first week on the job, and you were already helping with big accounts, even if it just meant bringing coffee and delivering documents. You were more than grateful for it. Well, if anything, you had to be grateful to your coworker Jenna and her severe case of flu that had infected almost every publicist available on your floor. With everyone else out, you were thrown off of the bench. You were excited. This was your moment, and no one could take it away from you. 

How naïve had you been. 

One of the big accounts you ended up working on turned out to be none other than Tony Stark himself, and therefore, The Avengers were part of the deal as well. You can still remember how nervous you were when you first read the names on the paperwork you were supposed to deliver in an hour. Heart racing, sweaty palms and even a slight trembling of the hands were invading you. 

Who could blame you? You were about to meet Earth's mightiest heroes. 

Well, you weren’t exactly expecting to meet them. With you being the "errand girl" you thought you would be lucky if you even caught a glance of any of them, let alone actually get to talk to them. You might not get to meet them, but being in the same building as them was enough to make your stomach tight with nervousness. 

With your foot tapping on the floor, papers on one hand and an iced-coffee tray on the other, you were waiting patiently for the elevator to reach the twenty-first floor. You had memorized the instructions your seniors had given you. Reach the office in the back, leave the documents and coffee, and get out of there. They didn’t need the newbie to freak out around celebrities, they didn’t trust you were able to control yourself even if you had assured them a thousand times you could handle it. 

As the elevator doors opened, your heart rate significantly increased. You could’ve sworn you were about to have a heart attack. You silently cursed at the fact that you had to cross the whole floor to get to your destination while trying to remind yourself that you had to be professional, not only for the sake of your career but for the sake of your dignity. 

Ironic. Maybe if you hadn't been so nervous, you would’ve noticed how quickly everyone was moving in the office. Perhaps you would’ve also noticed how someone was walking out of the same room you were trying to get into, the door swinging open so quickly you didn't have time to stop the inevitable clash. 

The coffee that landed on the ground made the floor slippery. In an almost cartoonish way, you fought to maintain balance, failing miserably as you landed on your ass. You opened your eyes, not realizing you'd even closed them, and saw the folder you were holding mere seconds ago was now resting on top of the brown liquid. The stain was growing around the edges so rapidly that it felt almost taunting. Your hands launched forward, trying to save what's left of the important documentation you were supposed to deliver. Your effort, while admirable, was futile. 

"God, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?" A deep voice said. Your head snapped so quickly it wouldn’t have surprised you if you pulled out a muscle. You recognized that voice. 

Captain America, in all his glory, was standing in front of you. For some reason, you thought the first time you would meet Steve Rogers, he would look like the pictures you’ve seen in the press. A tactical suit, a shield in one hand, and a serious expression were the mental images you had of him. But, sitting on the floor in a puddle of coffee and ice, the man you saw was completely different. His white T-shirt and black sweatpants made a huge contrast with what you expected, also making you realize how ridiculous it was for you to be surprised by his outfit. He was a hero, but he was still just a guy. 

A guy that looked incredibly hot just wearing a white T-shirt and black sweatpants. 

You’ve seen this scenario played out a thousand times in movies and shows. The first meeting of a couple of strangers occurs when they are carrying something and, by pure chance, they crash together. Food, papers, and belongings fly across the room. Eyes connect, hearts beat, and a new romance is born. 

What they failed to mention is how fucking embarrassing it was in real life. 

"Yeah. I-I’m okay." Of course, you would stutter the first time talking to Captain America. God, everyone was right. You definitely couldn’t keep your cool.  

"You sure? I didn’t even see you. I’m so sorry," he apologized again. 

With his help, you managed to get up from the floor, trying to ignore how his touch made your heart flutter. You were glad he was holding you when your heels slipped on the floor again, but a strong hand grabbed you before you embarrassed yourself any further. That same hand traveled down to your waist, his grip guided you to a surface that was not a danger to your stability. 

Once you were sure you wouldn't fall on your ass again at the slightest movement, you took out your heels. His hand still helped you, lingering there until you were done with your task. The warmth that came with his touch disappeared, a slight disappointment settled in you, and your cheeks heated up at your own reaction. Could someone cringe at themselves so hard it could make you combust? 

You looked at him, trying to make a funny comeback, a sarcastic comment about the situation. Anything that would make you look less pathetic than you were, but you couldn’t. The bluest eyes you’ve ever seen were looking at you. No, they were burning you. You couldn’t move. You couldn't talk. Hell, you weren’t even sure you were breathing. 

"What the hell happened here?" 

Your boss's voice cut through the environment, grounding you back to reality. This was when you took a chance by looking around you. Everyone's eyes were on you. Your eyes began to sting, tears fighting to stream down your face. But you endured. You breathed in, you counted, and you apologized. 

"I’m so sorry. I was trying to get into the room, but I didn’t see him, and I crashed into him." If your boss was upset before, now she was furious at you. A plethora of passive-aggressive insults were thrown in your direction, maybe even the words incompetent and useless too. You could also hear his deep voice trying to explain the situation, but you didn’t really care now. You thanked your ability to tune out situations like this, a skill you had learned to love once you entered the work field. 

"She should’ve been paying more attention. And look at your clothes. I’ll make sure someone takes care of that." You were able to hear. Your cheeks warmed at the sight of his now coffee-stained clothes.  

You were definitely getting fired. 

"She’ll pay for the dry cleaning." 

Great, fired and in debt already. 

"Look, you don’t have to do that," he said, tired of arguing with the stubborn woman. "It was an accident. An accident I caused. It wasn’t her fault, so stop trying to pin it down on her." You didn’t miss the authoritative tone in his voice, making you wonder if this is what he sounded like in missions. 

Or in bed. 

"Let me show you somewhere you can get changed." he offered. The sweet tone of his voice had a direct impact on your heart. You gave him a shy nod, letting him guide you towards the elevator. 

Unfortunately, the ride was long. So long that you thought time had somehow screwed you over and decided to slow down. You needed a moment alone, a moment to cry and scream into your fist, curse at your boss, at life, even at the gorgeous man that was standing next to you. And maybe get drunk. That usually helps. 

The blue-eyed soldier cleared his throat, making you look at him. "Sorry about that whole thing with your boss." 

You gave him a simple shrug. "She’s a dick." 

The bluntness of your words makes him laugh. As if your crush on him couldn’t get any more evident, a big smile plastered on your face, butterflies invaded your stomach. The first time you made him laugh, and it had only taken some public embarrassment and ruining your professional career.  

"I’m Steve Rogers, by the way." He extended a greeting hand to you.  

Without any hesitation, you grabbed it. The urgency was slightly mortifying, but with all things considered, you didn’t really have much to lose. You told him your name, making sure this time you didn’t stutter.  

"Nice meeting you," he said, a charming smile in his lips. "You think you’ll be in trouble?"  

The innocence in his question was amusing. He clearly has never seen the end of a corporate job.  

"She’ll probably fire me."  

A week in and you would already have to go job hunting again. And now you had the biggest stain on your resume, you had basically ruined some of your clients’ belongings. Your coworkers were never going to let you live this one down.  

While you wallowed in your own self-pity, Steve’s hand brought you back to reality. A comforting touch on your shoulder and a friendly expression met your eyes.  

"Not if I have anything to do with it." He winked.  

Steve Rogers is a good man. You thought to yourself. 

You had severely underestimated how helpful Steve would be. You thought he was just going to help you keep your job and give you enough time to look for another one, as your boss seemed to be bothered by every little thing you did.  

What you didn’t expect was for him to request to work directly with you.  

When you asked for an explanation, your coworker only gave you an uninterested shrug.  

"He told Madelyn he wouldn’t work with anyone else other than you." 

Of course, your boss wouldn’t let you enjoy this bit of sunshine you had. She had planned to give you the hardest tasks to complete, adding more and more pressure to see you bend until you snapped. And you had to tend to every request she had, not because you wanted to, but because you had to show her you weren’t going to quit. The only silver lining to this unspoken war between you two was how often you got to see Steve.  

Steve Rogers.  

The man who had made himself a place in your heart in just a few months. 

You could’ve gotten over it if he was just attractive, a pretty face to look at while you were working. Something superficial you lusted after. Yes, it was wrong to want to fuck one of your clients, but again, who could blame you? Worse things have happened in the world. Once the initial star-struck phase passed by, moving on would be as easy as breathing.  

The problem was, he wasn’t just a pretty face.  

Meeting after meeting, a handshake, a smile, a laugh that burst through his chest, crinkles in the corners of his eyes, small things that built a foundation in you one by one. 

Work meetings turned into texting, that turned into phone calls, that turned into visiting each other in your free time.  

You could talk to Steve for hours. There was no space for silence when you two were in the same room. You knew his favorite ice cream, how he ordered coffee, his favorite place around the corner that served the best pancakes he had ever tasted, and how he liked to run in the mornings just before the sun starts rising, so when he’s finishing his first lap, he could see it. A beautiful motivation to keep going, he said. At this point, you were sure you could fact check his Wikipedia page without having to ask him a single question.  

However, one particular secret lingered in your mind.  

When Steve revealed to you that he had an ex-girlfriend, you couldn’t help but be surprised. You were sure no one knew about it, or else you would’ve heard about it. It was a mystery to you how he had kept it hidden from the public for so long. 

"So, you’re telling me you had a relationship for years and no one noticed?" You asked incredulously. You were leaned back on the couch of your apartment, your legs spaced across his lap, his hands ever so slightly brushing your skin.  

"I’m good at keeping secrets," he says with a smirk.   

He took a sip of the beer you had so kindly offered him. You had bought them specially for him. You didn’t even like beer.  

"It appears so," you said, with a chuckle. "So, why you guys break up?"  

He froze for a moment, and you saw it. A range of emotions ran through his eyes. Sadness, heartbreak, longing, love.  

He was still in love with her.  

It should’ve been the first sign to stay away from him.  

"She didn’t love me anymore." 

To your surprise, you weren’t the one that made the first move.  

It was a Saturday evening. The sunset was getting closer by the minute. A ding diverted your attention from the rom-com you were watching. It was him. Your heart almost beat out of your chest when you saw the notification light up your screen.  

Hey, I’m finally back.  

A wide grin plastered on your face, your teeth grabbing your lower lip. You were glad you live alone, or else they could’ve seen how this man, with just four words, had made you giggle like a schoolgirl.  

You waited a couple of minutes before you texted back.  

Hey there stranger. I’ve missed you so much. How was the trip? 

His lack of response didn’t surprise you, he was probably tired from his trip to who knows where. A little over a month had passed since you last talked, with him telling you he wouldn’t be available for a while as he had to go on a mission. To say you were unhappy with the news would be an understatement. But you understand his line of work. His world won’t stop spinning just because a silly publicist has an unrequited crush on him.  

Days turned to weeks, and without notice, it had been a month since he was gone. He left a void in your life that you were filling with work, friends, and copious amounts of food and alcohol. Not the best way to distract yourself, but effective, nonetheless.  

Standing up to get another can of soda you heard your phone ringing. His ringtone.  

You weren’t expecting a phone call so soon after his return, not after him texting you just twenty minutes ago. With a quick pace you crossed your kitchen, answering your phone at the third ring.  

"Hello?"  

"Hi."  His voice was shaky, hesitant. "I, um. Are you free right now?"  

Your breath hitches in your throat. You weren’t even dressed. What is this?  

"Yeah. Why?"  

"You wanna go out?"  

What the fuck? 

“Right now?” you managed to spit the words. 

“Yeah” 

"Didn’t you just got back today?" you asked, walking towards your closet to look for something decent to wear. Again, a big relief that you lived by yourself. Dealing with someone else looking at you making a fool of yourself would be exhausting.  

"Yeah, I don’t know. I just want to hang out with you." 

The first place he took you was an old dingy dinner in Brooklyn, close to where he had grown up in the 40’s. The food was mediocre, the service could be better, but the company was the best. After both of you had eaten your soggy fries and your melted milkshakes, he took you on a walk. The longest one in your life. He gave you a whole tour, comparing what used to be and what there is now, the alleys he had gotten beaten up, where he had gotten his first kiss. He shared his past with you, and you absorbed every little word he said, every piece of himself he gave you.  

Following that, you walked aimlessly through the streets of New York until you reached a familiar nightclub you were working for. With a mischievous grin, you grabbed Steve's hand, pulling him towards the entrance. When he asked for an explanation, you told him your intentions, to which he started to fight back on your pull.  

"Come on, Steve, when was the last time you danced?" You said with a pout, as if that could help your case.  

His eyes fell for a second, a painful memory invaded him.   

"A long time ago," he whispered. 

He was thinking about her.  

After a few more minutes of begging and pouting, he finally gave in. Your little jump of happiness made him chuckle, and your grip on his hand got tighter. When you got through to the bouncer, you told him you worked for your PR firm, and after a few minutes on the phone, he let you in with a friendly smile. 

The place was packed, the music was deafening, people dancing surrounded you. It smelled like alcohol, sweat, and trouble.  

Steves' hands wrapped you, the shots you had ordered a few moments ago were invading your system. Your hips swayed side to side as his hands traveled down your body, gripping you tightly. His chest was pressed against your back, his breath hit the back of your neck. No one else around you mattered. In this crowded, tight place, it was just you and him.  

It was a perfect first date.  

Except it wasn’t a date at all.  

And that made you so angry.  

You had noticed how his gaze lingered on you longer than it should, the way his hugs were tighter and he seemed to not want to let you go, how his hand had brushed yours when walking through the dark streets of Brooklyn, the way his hands would travel down your body.  

At the same time, you had also noticed how he would step away from you when any sort of romantic ambiance would fall over you, the way his eyes would drift away from yours when you looked him in the eyes, the way he changed subjects when you asked him if he had any interest in going on dates.  

Yet, no matter how many mixed signals he gave you, you would never make the first move. Not only would it be awkward at work (which should have been enough to discourage you), but the thought of losing him because you misinterpreted him was too painful to bear. 

Six months was enough for him to become a vital part of your life, and if it were ripped from you in such an unexpected way, you wouldn’t know how you could move on. How could you forget what it felt like to have Steve Rogers in your kitchen, cooking whatever recipe he had found online, so you could have something to eat while watching a movie? How could you forget the way his eyes would shut, his head would roll back, and a hand would make its way to his chest when he found something hilarious?  

You could do just being "friends" with the guy. "Friends" was good. "Friends" was bearable.  

Except friends didn’t spin you around, their hands lowering down your lower back. Or raise your face, their thumb brushing over your lips. Or gave you a look that could make you combust right there on the spot, making you forget how to breathe.  

Friends definitely didn’t come close to your face, their lips brushing yours and your hands grabbing on to their shirt.  

Friends didn’t kiss. 

You were in the club one minute, and the next you were in your house. On your bed. With a shirtless Steve on top of you. 

Your clothes disappeared. Your lace panties and your flimsy bralette were the only things covering your body. His hands were touching you, all of you. Exploring every inch of your skin while his lips were devouring yours. He knew what he was doing. He was making you crave him. Beg him to fuck you. 

His hand finally reached your underwear, a finger trailing up and down your covered slit. A very large wet spot, visible even through the lace, made Steve smirk smugly. 

"So wet for me," he whispered in your ear. You tried to reply, but his fingers started trailing circles around your little bundle of nerves. All you could muster was a loud moan. "You like that, baby?" 

Your lack of an answer made him accelerate his pace. Your head jerked back at the overwhelming sensation. He’s not even really touching you; the sensation of the dripping lace added to your pleasure, but you could tell he could make you cum just like this. 

"Answer me. Use your words, sweetheart." His voice was deep, raspy, and commanding. You were right, he did use the same tone. 

"Y-yes" you mustered. His lips clashed against yours, his tongue finding its way to yours. Even in your pleasure haziness, you could see how much he liked how difficult it was for you to answer. He enjoyed how good he was making you feel. 

Lowering his kisses again, he trailed down to your breasts, taking his time to lightly bite one of your nipples. The sensation should have hurt, but instead it brought added pleasure, making you arch your back. 

He brought himself fully down, his head between your legs. You felt his hands helping you get rid of your underwear, the piece of fabric completely soaked. Looking down, you felt like you could faint. The sight of him between your legs could only be described as beautiful. 

Steve’s face got close to your soaked pussy, inhaling your scent. He looked at you. The burning gaze he had always given you was different, more intense, darker, lustful. Your most inappropriate fantasies were turning into reality. All those nights you had spent with your fingers between your legs, imagining it was him was no longer a sensuous fiction you created in your mind. He was here, right now, about to eat you out. 

"God, you’re perfect," he whispered. 

His tongue drew a line coursing between your folds. He was such a tease. Lick after lick, your impatience was growing; you needed him to stop playing games. Your hands traveled to his hair, giving him a slight pull so he would look at you. 

"Please," you begged him. 

His eyes darkened. 

"Please what, beautiful?" His voice was low and seductive. The lust behind it was making your core clench on nothing. "You want me to taste you?" You desperately nodded. You needed him to give you more. "Say it." 

His fingers spread your lips apart. The tips of his fingers teased your entrance as he kept pushing you for an answer. His thumb found your clit again, slowly drawing light circles against it. Your hips bucked against his hand, begging for him to add more pressure, but his other hand steadied you in your place. 

"Say it, baby," he whispered. 

"Please Steve, taste me," you moaned. 

You knew Steve Rogers was a great fighter, great at strategizing, and a sharpshooter. He was also a great artist, according to the documentary you once watched on his time in WW2. He was smart, brave, and strong, both mentally and physically. 

Now, you also know how great he was between your legs. 

The sensation of him sucking on your bundle of nerves was sending you over the edge. Your slick trailed down your lips all the way down to your puckered hole. His fingers teased your entrance, slowly covering themselves in your juices until he finally slid one of them inside. 

His fingers were big, bigger than yours, and they reached places yours had never been able to. The way he moved them inside you, with such ease, they found that spongy part that tightened your stomach. It was breathtaking. He added a second finger, and you could’ve sworn you were about to come undone. The pace he set was relentless. His fingers pumped in and out of you while his tongue toyed with your nub, making you feel better than you’ve ever felt with anyone else. 

But you needed him, all of him. 

"Fuck me," you begged. Your voice was hoarse as, apparently, the only thing you could do was whimper and moan every time his lips would close around your clit. 

He lifted his face away from you, but his fingers kept moving inside. Half his face shone under the dim lighting of your bedroom. A mixture of his own saliva and your arousal was prominent on his pink, puffy lips. That and the cocky grin on his face made your walls clench. 

"You wanna cum on my cock, don’t you?" 

Fuck.  

You never thought you would have America's favorite hero saying those things to you. Whiplash was caused by someone whose persona was built around this moralistic, innocent, almost puritan idea. 

His digits added pressure to your core. The knot in your stomach tightened. 

"Please" was the only word you were able to say. 

His fingers stopped filling you; the emptiness made you whine. The cloudiness your brain was in didn’t let you register when he had taken his pants off. He placed himself on top of you. Both his hands rested on top of the bed on the sides of your face. The feeling of his cock resting on top of your stomach made you look down. 

He was big. 

No, big wasn’t enough to describe him. 

He was huge. Not only in length but in thickness.  

How the fuck was that supposed to fit inside you? 

The red bulbous tip almost reached your bellybutton; a droplet of pre-cum rested on top of it. Without a second thought, you reached down to touch it. Steves' breath hitched as your palm closed on his member, and his hands clenched into fists. Your thumb smeared the white pearl, smudging it in circles on his tip and making his cock twitch in your hand. 

"Fuck," he groaned. 

Your hand dragged up and down, pumping him as you grew wetter. Your fingers found a thick, prominent vein that trailed down over his length. It was the softest of touches, yet it was driving him crazy. 

After a few more pumps, he couldn’t take it anymore. He spread your legs as wide as he was able to, his hand leading his cock between your slits. You jumped a little when it first touched you, but his hands held your hips still. With swift movements, his head rubbed on your knob. The sensation of it made your eyes roll. Electricity ran through your body, each one of your nerve endings aware of what his cock was doing. 

Without any warnings, you felt a slap, jolts of pleasure emerging from that nub he had been toying with since the start. You looked down to see him holding himself, ready to slap you with his tip again. This time, both of your eyes were locked together, and neither of you dared break eye contact. 

His face came close to you. His hand grabbed the back of your head as he kissed you. Hungrily, desperately, seductive. 

You felt his head nudging at your entrance, your eyes closing with anticipation and a little worry about his length. You weren’t a virgin, of course, but you also never had anyone as big as he. as thick as him. You had only seen dicks as big on porn sites, and even then they looked intimidating. What if it didn’t fit? Would it hurt? What if he ruined—  

A soft hand brought you back from spiraling, his thumb caressing your cheek. 

"Open your eyes, sweetheart." 

His voice was soft and tender. A warmth spread through your chest the more you felt his touch on your face. You opened your eyes to find him staring back at you, an adoring expression filling his. Your heart jumped to your throat, no longer in lust but in affection. This encounter was lustful, seductive, and raw, but the moment you looked into his eyes, it changed everything. It was vulnerable, caring, even loving. 

Blue eyes looked at you, asking for permission to keep going. You gave him the smallest of nods as you leaned into his touch. He waited a few seconds before you finally felt him moving inside. 

Oh, you definitely felt him. 

The stretch burned. You could feel how you were struggling to fit him in. He was thoughtful, though, taking it slow and calm so you could get used to him. Yes, the intrusion hurt a bit, but you desired it with all your soul. His eyes kept you grounded, guiding you through everything you were feeling. 

"It’s okay, sweetheart. Breath," he whispered. 

After a few seconds, the pain was slowly replaced with pleasure, your legs instinctively spread wider for him. You felt him everywhere. The deeper he went, the heavier your breathing got. Your hands traveled to his hair, pulling it slightly in your fists when it became too much. 

Finally, he bottomed out. You’ve never felt fuller in your life. 

That night, he fucked you like there was no tomorrow. 

And maybe, just maybe, that night he also opened his heart to you for the first time. 

Things were great for a while.  

Steve came to your apartment almost every day, most of which ended up with you under him, begging him to not stop. You had memorized every freckle, every scar, every imperfection on his skin.  

You have also memorized the things he loves during sex. The way he groans when you’re on your knees in front at him, jerking him off while your mouth plays with his balls. Or the way his eyebrows furrow when you’re on top of him, grinding your hips on top of him, his hands leaving bruises on your hips caused by his strong, almost unmovable, grip. You had even noticed the way his breath hitched when you spread your ass cheeks for him, the view almost enough to make him cum.  

So yeah, things were great.  

Well, maybe not great, but just good.  

After that first night, you woke up to find he was already long gone. The side of your bed he had occupied had lost its warmth a long time ago. The only traces of him being around were the smell of sex and his cologne filling the room.  

And the soreness in between your legs.  

Maybe he had something important to do.  

He would explain later, feeling sorry for leaving without letting you know. He was your friend, after all.  

Except he didn’t.  

He came by the next day, knocking on your door desperately. You opened the door, not before making sure you looked decent enough, pulling down your sweatshirt and fixing your hair. You saw his eyes, burning again with the same desire.  

He kissed you, hungry for more.  

You should’ve stopped him, told him you wanted to talk about what happened yesterday, asked for an explanation as to why he left so quickly, and made him tell you what you guys are now. Friends? More than friends? Were you together now?  

But you didn’t.   

You let him fuck you until you couldn’t say your own name. Kiss you until you can't breath. Let him go when he thinks you’re deep asleep.  

You let him have everything he wanted and more.  

You weren't stupid. You know what this unspoken arrangement was. You weren’t together.  

You were just fucking. 

There were implied rules in your relationship with Steve. Rule number one: you didn’t show any affection in public; rule number two: you didn’t go out in any sort of romantic date; rule number three: Steve never stayed the night.  

He broke the first rule three months after that night.  

Winter was closing in on New York, the air was getting colder and the streets began to be covered in a white veil of snow. Steve and you were walking side by side on the sidewalk after your shift was over. On days like these, when you got out of the office at ten in the night, Steve would pick you up and walk home with you. He said it would be safer for you.  

Your hand brushed against his by accident, making yours recoil. Foolishly, you tried to grab his hand in a similar situation days after your date/not date. You still remember the bitter taste in your mouth when he gently dropped your hand a couple of seconds later. 

That was the first hit your heart took.  

Bringing your hands together, you cursed at the fact you that you forgot to bring your gloves with you, like you hadn’t lived in this city for half your life and didn’t know how close to freezing your fingers could get. You tried to blow some hot air into them, with the result just being a temporary fix.   

Steve looked at you from the corner of his eye, a hesitant expression showing in his gaze before reaching out to your hand. You controlled your surprised expression the best you could, but you were sure he noticed. His fingers were warm, welcoming, and comforting. Not only were your fingers heating up, but your heart was pounding strongly in your chest, ready to burst through it at any given second.  

He brought your hand to his lips, a small kiss touching the skin on your fingers. You felt the heat in your cheeks flush you completely, causing an amused look in his eyes.  

"Your hands are cold."  

To your surprise, he didn't let go of it. He interlaced your fingers.  

A couple of weeks after that, Steve broke the second rule. 

Celebrating a new campaign you finished wrapping up, he took you out to eat. From the luxurious decor of the place and the discreet atmosphere, you assume it was suggested by Tony. Your suspicions were confirmed when the menu that was placed in front of you didn’t show any prices.  

You had jokingly told Steve you would probably have to sell both your kidneys to pay for a single plate here, and his only response was a soft hand caressing your cheek and his lips close to your ear.  

"Don’t worry about it, order anything you want."  

You had to keep reminding yourself that this wasn’t a date. But the romantic environment, the way his fingers would caress your thighs, his hand pushing you closer to him in the small, private booth you had been placed in, and the little kisses he would deposit on your neck, made it really hard to keep focus.  

You were waiting for dessert, but his hands were busy exploring your body. To any other onlooker, you would look like an affectionate couple. The way his eyes would ever so slightly sparkle when he looked at you, his protective demeanor once you had walked inside and the fondness of his touch.  

But you weren't a couple. This wasn’t even a date.  

Except his hands made you look at him, with soft, pillowy lips meeting yours. They parted slightly, allowing his tongue to explore your mouth. Your hand traveled to his face, your thumb brushing against his growing beard. This kiss was different from the others. It was still passionate as always, but it had care, tenderness, and an intimacy there wasn’t before.  

He broke the kiss apart.  

There was a shine in his eyes you hadn’t seen before.  

"This is the best date I’ve had in a while." 

The last rule was broken three weeks after your first "official" date.  

Steve had been away for almost a week. He couldn’t tell you much, but all you know is that he had gone to a foreign country and something about a terrorist organization. Worry had been your companion these past few days, as it had always been whenever Steve left.  

Looking at the paperwork splattered on your coffee table you groaned, deciding to stop for the night. There was no point in melting your brain with numbers and statements when you had to use it tomorrow morning too.  

You stood up, your arms and back stretching after sitting in the same position for a few hours now, with a few cracks sounding through your body. Ready to finally go to bed, a knock interrupted you. It was shy, almost hesitant. You looked at the clock and it said 11:30 PM, making your brow furrow with confusion. He wasn’t supposed to come today, at least not when he just arrived from a mission.  

When you opened your door, you didn’t expect his arms to surround you. You also didn’t expect him to be still wearing his tactical gear. His face was buried in your neck. His arms grabbed you as if you were the most precious thing in the world to him. He’s not okay.  

"What’s wrong, Stevie?" you asked softly.   

You tried to look at his face, but his arms locked you in place. His breathing is heavy, almost a panting like sound coming from him. Your hands tremble once you’re able to touch his face. You’ve never seen him like this before.  

His face was covered in ash, tiny scratches sitting on top of his left eyebrow. He smelled like himself but with an added layer of sweat and smoke. There were signs he might’ve had a purple eye, but the color was fading away.  

You were finally able to tear apart from him and found that instead of those blue, vibrant eyes that would greet you every night, they were replaced by something broken inside him.  

It clicked in your head. He needed you. He needed your comfort.  

So, you gave it to him without a second thought.  

His arms encircled you once more, but this time he locked you in your own bed. After a more than needed shower, you guided him to your mattress, the covers pulled over your heads, shielding you from the outside world.  

"There were children," he said, breaking the silence with a trembling deep tone you'd never heard before. You felt how hard his heart was beating, the tiredness that clouded his eyes. "I couldn't—there wasn't any—I tried." 

You pulled him to you again.  

"It’s not your fault, Steve," you whispered in his ear. Tears were stinging your eyes, but you breathed in. This wasn’t about you. "It's not your fault."  

He held you tighter.  

And you both fell asleep. 

The first time Steve Rogers chipped your heart, you didn’t see it coming. 

One of the perks of knowing Steve and being close to him was being invited to those wild and amazing parties Tony Stark was known for. Loud music, expensive alcohol and a big crowd greeted your sight once the penthouse elevator doors opened.  

Tony really did live up to his reputation. 

Bucky’s laugh next to you filled your ears. His head was thrown back, his hand grabbed his stomach, and there was a noticeable red tinge on his cheeks. This was the first time he had tried that Asgardian alcohol that was strong enough to get him drunk. To say Bucky had been excited would’ve been an understatement. 

He and Sam were under your contract too, both of them being a logical addition as to how they wanted to market them. The golden trio The people could trust. So, when Steve went to see some of his coworkers, you stayed behind with them. 

They were nice company, and working with them for almost six months had also made you develop a friendship with them. Breakfasts and hangouts were part of your dynamic now. The constant bickering but complicity between the men was an amusing dynamic. You felt comfortable enough around them to joke and get drunk. 

"Okay, I’m taking this away from you," you laughed. 

Taking a drink away from a super soldier was harder than you thought. The obvious height difference was an advantage to him as he lifted his hand. 

He smirked. "You've got to reach it to take it away from me, shortcake." 

You tried jumping but it was useless, the results of which only made you look ridiculous. With a huff, you looked around you, examining your surroundings. When you couldn't find anything, you devised a plan to bring Bucky down to your level. A devilish smile formed on your lips. The alcohol in your system made you more carefree than usual. 

Your fingers poked Bucky’s sides, his metal arm instantly bending to protect the area. A playful fight ensued between both of you. Bucky's arm stretched to its limit while you tickled his sides. You poked both sides of his ribs mercilessly until you saw his glass close to your reach. Your little jumps finally lifted you enough to graze it. 

Your victory was short-lived, as Steve's hand slid to the small of your back while removing the contentious cup. Bucky and you whined in disagreement, your lips forming a pout. 

"What are you guys doing?" he questioned with a laugh, his hand now settled on your waist. A waiter walked by, and he asked him to take the cup back to the kitchen, and also to make sure to put away the rest of the Asgardian mead. 

"She was being a party pooper," Bucky grumbled. You gasped in indignation and your hand dramatically went to your chest. 

"I was not." 

"Yeah, you were," Sam joins in the conversation. 

Your eyebrows furrow in annoyance. "I’m not a party pooper. I was just making sure he doesn’t get too fucked up because if he does something stupid, who do you think has to fix it? Besides, you weren’t even here before."  

Sam and Bucky looked at each other for a second before turning their eyes at you. 

"Party pooper" 

"Fuck you, guys!" you cursed at them, your response making them laugh. You rolled your eyes, lifting your middle finger. You opened your mouth to say something else, but Steve’s hand pushed you towards his chest. 

"Don’t listen to them. I think you’re really fun to be around, "he whispered close to your ear. Your face heated up, making you turn around to bury it in Steve's chest. 

This man was going to kill you. 

He embraced you and a kiss was deposited on top of your head. You turned around after a few seconds to see Bucky and Sam looking at you with a knowing smirk on their faces. 

"So," Bucky started, clearing his throat. "Are you guys finally together?" 

You turned to Steve, not knowing how to answer. Things hadn't been properly discussed, but the change between how things started and how they were going was abysmal. This past eleven months were not for nothing, you had grown attached to him. Every kiss, every hug, every promise he had made, every sleepless night of comforting, every late-night shift he had picked you up from. The lines he had previously drawn were no longer there, and instead, they were replaced with a bond formed on tenderness, care, and, if you dared to say, love. 

You loved him. 

Deeply. Passionately. Wholeheartedly.  

If there was ever anyone you could love, it would definitely be Steve Rogers. 

You would do anything for him. 

"No, were just friends." 

Unrequited love was painful. 

Sometimes it felt like a pressing knife slowly cutting through your chest. 

Other days, it would feel like you were drowning in a sea, the struggle to stay afloat consuming every ounce of energy you had. 

But most days, it felt like a weight on your chest. The words that wouldn’t leave your mouth were stuck in your heart. Everything about him made you love him, and you couldn’t stop it. 

Maybe that’s why you decided to talk to him about your relationship; to get rid of the pain. Or maybe a part of you still held hope. I hope for a future with him. 

Once you had told him you wanted more, Steve’s face had been in shock, like a deer caught in the headlights. His silence had lasted long enough for you to doubt if he would ever answer you or if, somehow, he had passed out with open eyes. 

But you still kept hoping, right until the end. 

"I can’t give you more than this right now." 

"If you want to, we can stop this. But if you want to keep going, this is all we can be for the moment. " 

"I’m not ready for a relationship, not after her. I need time. " 

His words ran through your mind over and over again. A cycle of heartbreak and lost hope draws you in. This was it. He couldn’t do it. He didn’t want to do it. He said he needed time, but all he was doing was telling you what you wanted to hear. He was keeping you at arm's length. He was giving you an out, a safeguard for your heart, or what was left of it. 

All those nights you had spent embraced in each other's arms, with the moonlight kissing your skin, had been a construct of your imagination. The significance behind them was your own heart playing you.He didn’t love you, not in the way you had hoped he did. 

The same type of love he was aware of, even if you hadn’t explicitly told him the full extent of your feelings. You could see it, even if he was so adamant that this type of bond couldn’t be possible between you two for a while, because no matter how much he would deny it, he still wanted it. 

He didn’t want to love you, but he still wanted to be loved. 

And as you stared into his eyes, you realized that after almost two and a half years since she left, he might still love her. 

So you breathe in, close your eyes and endure. You let him keep taking it. 

A jump scare on the screen caught you by surprise, your arms tightening around the pillow you were holding. You turned to your side, wanting to watch Bucky's reaction, but all you saw is his pensive expression. His mind seemed to be elsewhere. The frown on his face and the anxious up and down of his right leg made you think he was stressed about something. Probably something work related.

You turned back to the movie, the scary plot no longer able to hold your attention. Bucky had been acting weird ever since he got to your apartment, this night being only the two of you as Sam and Steve were away on a mission. 

"She’s coming back." Bucky's voice broke the silence. 

You turned back to him, "What?" 

"Steve’s ex" 

Your heart stopped. 

"He told us a couple of days before him and Sam left. She texted him to let him know she was returning to S.H.I.E.L.D. It’s not going to happen for a while, but I don’t know when she’s coming back."  

He visited you the day before he left, and he didn’t tell you. He didn’t want to tell you. 

Bucky sighed. "I know that you are..." he hesitated for a second, flashbacks of the ‘just friends’ night coming back to you. "-whatever the hell you guys are. I also know that you have feelings for him. I just thought you should know. " 

You didn’t answer. Your eyes glued themselves to the TV, but you couldn't hear anything. Your eyes prickled with tears, and a pain in your chest bloomed so deeply in you that it felt like it would break you apart. 

He misses her. He didn’t tell you about it. He doesn’t love you. He still loves her. 

You close your eyes, mentally repeating the mantra that has helped you for so long to not crumble down. 

Close your eyes, breath in and endure. 

Close your eyes, breath in and endure. 

Breath in and endure. 

Breath in and endure. 

Endure  

Bucky’s movements brought you back. His shoulder was touching yours, a simple act you can read through. You laid your head on his shoulder. As soon as your skin made contact with his shoulder, you broke. The tears you so strongly fought to chase away were hitting you all at once. 

As he wrapped his arm around you and squeezed you tightly, you thought it was okay to cry, just this once. 

The beginning of the end followed that day closely behind. 

You weren’t sure when things started to change. After he came back, he didn’t mention anything to you about his ex coming back or how this might change what was going on between you two. Bucky wasn’t sure when she would get back to the city, so you decided that worrying about something you didn’t know when was going to happen would be counterproductive. You left the thought of her return on the back burner, just for a little while. 

Steves' affection was the same. He laughed the same. He held you the same. He kissed you the same.   

Until he didn’t. And you didn’t notice it until it was too late. 

One day, he forgot to pick you up. You called, you texted but there was no answer. You waited almost an hour until you decided to walk back on your own. For the first time, you noticed how scary it was to walk so late at night. The next day, he apologized with a bouquet of flowers from your favorite shop. 

Another day he forgot you had made plans to watch a movie. A few hours later, the beer you had opened for him slid down the drain. He called you the next day, saying work had kept him busy, but he would make it up to you. 

On a different day, he forgot you were going out to eat. The waitress had given you a sympathy look while you ordered the check. The next day, he texted you, saying he was sorry. You didn’t see him for the rest of the week. 

Things were different, even when you had sex. 

Before, he used to love looking deeply into your eyes. Kissing your lips as he kept thrusting into you. To see your expression as he slid inside for the first time that night. He loved seeing your eyes rolling back when he hit that special spot that made you tremble. He made you look at him when you were about to come undone. He loved looking at you. 

Now he turned you around, your ass up in the air and your head pinned down to the mattress. His pace was relentless, animalistic almost. There wasn’t any care or affection anymore. He used you, physically this time. It still felt good. No one could ever say Steve Rogers was a selfish lover. One time you turned around your head, in hopes to catch those blue eyes you missed so much.  

His eyes were closed. 

You walked through the office, making your way to the conference room. A little smile grew on your face as you compared how different things were two years ago. The first time you had walked this route, you were just a naïve intern, with so many hopes and dreams in your head that had ended up with you covered in coffee all over you. 

You reached the door and made sure no one was coming out as you walked in. You saw Steve sitting alone, which surprised you. This meeting was supposed to be between you and the three of them. You were especially hoping to talk to Bucky about his upcoming solo tour as a way to mend his public image, which started a week from now. And as his representative in all public matters, you had to agree with him who would go on the trip as his companion. This conversation would probably take a long time with Bucky not really liking any of your other coworkers, and it would take even longer now with this delay. 

You sat in front of him, leaving your purse and your folder on the large table between you two. 

"Where are Sam and Bucky?" you inquired. 

For some unknown reason, you felt nervous, your heartbeat increasing the longer you were alone with him. 

"I told them to give us a couple of minutes alone." 

Oh.  

He was finally going to do it. He was about to break your heart right before a work meeting with him and your friends. He was leaving you to be with her. 

"Okay. What’s up?" You managed to answer. Your trembling hands laid on your lap in an effort to hide them. 

"I, um—" he paused for a moment. His lack of words confirmed your worst nightmares. He really was going to do it. You tried to swallow down the knot in your throat, only making it more painful. "Would you like to go to Stark’s charity gala with me?" he blurted out. 

What?  

"Uh." It takes you a second to compose yourself. He wasn’t leaving. He wasn’t kicking you out of his life. He was asking you to go with him to the gala this weekend. You shook your head, clearing out any intrusive thoughts that were left behind. "Yeah, of course. I would love to." you replied with the biggest smile you’ve had in weeks. 

He smiled at you. "Ok, good. I’ll pick you up at 7:30"  

"Ok."  

Hope.  

Maybe this was the little ray of hope you were looking for. 

You should’ve never said yes. 

If Starks parties had made an impression on you, the gala was certainly something to behold. Elegant, radiant, stylish, and graceful were the adjectives that came to your mind. The event was held at the Manhattan Center. The space was open, wide and decorated to perfection. Every single detail of it was planned and executed with precision, surely something made by his wife. 

You were grateful for Steve’s insistence on helping you pay for your outfit. Your beautiful, floor-length, golden embroidered dress, with which you had fallen in love as soon as you laid eyes on it, would probably have cost you a kidney. You felt beautiful in it. Your hair and makeup were done by professionals, and the heels that squeezed your toes made the perfect combination of grace and beauty. It could almost be compared to a fairytale. 

"You look beautiful." was the first thing Steve managed to say. The way he smiled and his eyes went wide as soon as they landed on you is an image you will keep in your brain forever. A few seconds after he composed himself, he pulled you into a kiss, a long, passionate kiss. 

You don’t think you’ve ever smiled brighter in your life.  

Steves' hand held the back of your waist, guiding you through the sea of dresses and tuxedos. The dance floor was open; people were already dancing to the melodic tune. As you reached the front of the room, you noticed all eyes were on you. You suppose it wasn’t a surprise that the girl that Captain America had brought to such a serious event was a spectacle on its own. Finally reaching your table, you noticed Bucky and Sam were already at your table next to some of their friends/coworkers. A shower of compliments rained on Steve and you, making heat reach both your faces. 

"Wow. You look great, shortcake. " 

"You look amazing, baby." 

"You guys look really good together." 

The rest of the night went by in a blur. Smiles, laughter, and alcohol fill your memories. You’ll never forget how happy you were at that time. Hanging out with people you’ve only seen on the news and magazine covers who were surprisingly welcoming was an odd situation. They laughed, they made mistakes, and they were funny. They were just people, after all. 

You turned around to see Steve’s face, but, for a quick moment, all that greeted you was a frown. His hand was holding yours, but his mind was elsewhere. An internal turmoil was happening inside his head that he wouldn’t let you see as his eyes were stuck looking at the crowd across the room. 

And as quickly as it came, that frown disappeared. His eyes connected with yours, and he placed a kiss on your temple. 

He dragged you away to the dance floor, his hand still linked to yours as you found a spot in the middle. The way he had stood up so quickly had scared you, his eyes no longer covered by the complex storm of thoughts he was having. One of his hands found its way to your waist, his hold pressing you against his chest. The other one grabbed your hand as he led you through the music. A soft romantic melody was playing, the couples around you melted into each other, and, to your surprise, you did the same. 

Blue eyes stared at you, and for the first time in a while, they didn’t feel cold. They were warm, the type of warmth that makes your heart skip a beat. The type of warmth that raises butterflies in your stomach and heats your face. It's the type of warmth that makes you want to stay there forever, because no matter where you are or what you do, nothing will ever compare to that. 

And just like that, it was like the past few months didn’t exist. The unsavory taste that distance and rejection had left in your mouth was washed away with a simple look. A true testimony of how love can make us so naïve and a horrible reminder of how weak this man could make you. 

Once again, he kisses you, but this time it feels different. It’s intense and deep, his hands gripping you as they travel all over your body. The kiss had so much behind it, your brain was going haywire trying to read it all while your heart was about to burst out of your chest. It wasn’t lustful or aggressive as the other ones had been the past week. It meant something different to him. 

It meant love. 

You had been waiting for this so long that now that it was happening, you couldn’t believe it. If it wasn’t for his touch, you could’ve sworn you were floating. The endless music and murmuring from the crowd disappeared under the spell of him. 

The kiss was perfect until it wasn’t. 

His lips broke apart from yours too soon. His hands fell from your body. He put as much distance as he could with a step back. 

You opened your eyes, and he looked like he had seen a ghost. His chest was heaving up and down while he looked past you. The same love you had felt was still reflected in his eyes, but this time they were also hurt. There was so much pain in them that he looked on the verge of breaking. Heartbreak 

With a trembling heart, you turned around to find a woman standing in the middle of the crowd with a lonely tear streaming down her face. A beautiful woman with long blonde silky hair wrapped around a perfect black satin dress stood there with the same look in her eyes as Steve’s. You’d recognize that look anywhere; the same broken eyes of someone that was still in love with the past. 

She truly was breathtaking. This was the first time you had ever seen her, and you could understand why Steve was smitten by her. She was perfect in every way. Attractive, beautiful, confident, and, based on what he had told you, smart. How could he not still love her? 

This wasn’t your love story. It was theirs. 

Steve didn’t notice when you left the dance floor. Neither when you went straight to the bar and started drinking your sorrows away. What was the point of loving a man who would never look at you like he looks at her? 

You should’ve taken this as a sign to go home. The crushing reality of how you love someone that will never love you was already a good enough reason to leave. But as the stubborn, heartbroken woman that you were, you stayed. Not to save your dignity, but to use Stark's vast collection of whiskeys, vodkas, and tequilas. 

Maybe if you would’ve left, your heart could’ve still been saved. 

The bitter taste of the whiskey wasn’t a problem for you anymore. The way you were drinking it, anyone could’ve thought it was water. After your sixth shot, you were still, in some ways, self-aware enough to know you were about to cause a spectacle of yourself if you kept drinking in public. You grabbed the bottle you were pouring yourself from, stumbling away from the bartender as he yelled at you for leaving without paying. 

"Put it on Captain America’s tab." 

Bucky had yelled your name as you kept walking away. Your eyes connected for a few seconds, and his worried stare intensified. He knew. Of course he had seen the whole ordeal going down, it didn’t really surprise you. After all, Bucky was the one that warned you about her after returning. The one that still wanted to spare your feelings from all this pain. 

Somehow you ended up going through a door. Behind it was a room filled with chairs, tables, and other furniture. Props that they probably used for other types of events. Before you got the chance to turn around, moans and whines reach your ears. The nature of the noises was obvious, and by the sounds of it, they were both having a good time. But something about them sent chills down your spine. Something was wrong. 

"Fuck, baby." 

You froze in your place. 

That voice. The moans. The panting.  

You’ve heard them before. 

No, no, no, no, no. 

"God, I missed you so much"  

You wanted to leave, go as far away from them as you could. But as you stood there, holding the pieces of your heart together, you realized you couldn’t move. It felt as if the only thing holding you together was your steadiness. Even the sightless movement felt as if it could open the door of hurt you were fighting so hard to stop. 

"You didn’t seem to miss me that much twenty minutes ago," she said between pants  

"She’s not you. She’ll never be you."  

Every word that left his mouth was meant to hurt you, whether it was intentionally or not. Your efforts to keep yourself whole were useless; bits and pieces of your heart slipped away from you. How could he say all those things? How could he have so little regard for you? You knew you could never fill the void she left, but you had hoped that maybe he would see you for who you were and love you for who you were. 

A hand grabbed your shoulder, making you jump. It was Bucky, and by the way he was looking at you, he had heard what his best friend had said. Your dignity was added to the list of things Steve Rogers took from you. His arm was wrapped around you to guide you out of the room. You didn’t move, and you didn’t want to leave yet. Something inside you needed to see him. Bucky's eyes pleaded with you to walk out with him, let him take you away and leave them behind. But you had to face the truth at its fullest, no matter how ugly and hurtful it was. 

You got close enough to see them. It hurt more than you thought it would. She was spread open on top of a sort of desk they'd found. Her dress was now bunched up around her waist; his hands held the side of her legs as he pounded again and again inside her. 

That wasn’t what made your heart slip away from your chest, though. It was the words he said next. 

"You have no idea how many times I’ve imagined it was you under me. How many times I almost call her your name? I almost asked her if I could."  

"I’ve never wanted her, not really." 

"Even when I kissed her tonight, I could only look at you." 

Steve Rogers was cruel. 

Steve Rogers never cared about you. 

He had played with your heart for his own benefit. He had given you false hope in his efforts to not be alone. He didn’t see you as a friend, a lover, or a human being either. He just saw you as a temporary replacement. 

The piercing pain in your chest was all that was left, your heart no longer in its place. The other times where you felt your heart cracking were nothing compared to this. The more his words sat on your mind, the stronger the pain got. Waves of pain and grief hit you as you tried to process what was going on. 

You backed down, your trembling legs failing you as you tried to move. You thought you were about to crash on the floor, but Bucky's hands had been there to catch you. He held you tightly against him, your hand covering your mouth so you would not make a sound. You wanted to scream. You wanted to cry. But all you could do was stay there and feel. 

This time, Bucky's hands held you tightly, more persistent than before, and they guided you outside. In your haziness, you didn’t realize you accidentally stumbled with a bunch of brooms on the side of the path. The loud crash echoed through the room. You heard Steve’s surprised gasp, and unfortunately for you, you weren’t out of sight just yet. With all the remaining strength you had, you turned back to see him. 

"Shit," you somehow heard him whisper. 

Both your eyes connected, he knew you'd heard what he said. His expression mirrored the one you had when you had seen them. Surprise, shock, and sadness. He saw the pain all over your face, the way Bucky held you so you wouldn’t crumble apart as your heart did. A flash of regret ran through his eyes when he saw the way you were holding your chest. 

Regret.  

He felt bad for being a fucking asshole. 

That made you fucking livid. 

How dare he feel regret for stomping all over your heart? How dare he feel sad for using you, over and over and over again, until there was nothing left for you to give him? How fucking dare he feel bad about all this mess when he was the one that created it? 

He had no right to feel bad. He never cared about you or anyone else other than her. 

You heard him yell your name, pleading with you to wait as he fumbled with his clothes. Bucky's grip on you grew tighter. Perhaps he thought you would be stupid enough to wait for him to explain whatever he wanted to explain. Fortunately for you, you weren’t as masochistic as everyone thought. 

"Wait! Please, let me explain." You heard him beg before you went through the door. 

You didn’t cry when you saw them together or when you heard him say those vile words. Neither did you cry when Bucky took you to your apartment or when he helped you settle into your bed. Or when he slipped under the covers after you grabbed his hand because you didn’t want to be alone, not anymore. You didn’t cry, not even when he held you closer all night, hoping this could help your broken heart. 

You didn’t cry for Steve Rogers anymore. 

He could go fuck himself for all you cared. 

Toothbrush, skin care routine, passport, makeup bag, laptop, tablet. Everything was in place in your last bag. With a satisfied huff, you closed your suitcase and left it at the front door. A quick glance at the clock you had on your coffee table let you know you still had 5 minutes to spare.  

You dropped on the couch, your back thanking you for the necessary rest it needed after a hectic morning of re-organizing your suitcases. Your month-long trip was turning out to be a two-month-long one. With Bucky's press tour taking two weeks longer than planned and you cashing out your two weeks of vacation savings, the clothes you packed weren't enough. 

The vacation destination of your trip was still undecided. Maybe somewhere sunny and tropical, ideal to get the perfect tan you couldn’t get in New York. Or maybe you'd go to a secluded cabin in the mountains, knowing how much you needed some alone time. Your fantasies were interrupted by your phone's ringtone. You didn’t even have to look at the screen to know who it was.  

Steve had called you every day since the gala. The first call you got from him was the hardest to ignore. The picture you had taken of both of you covered your screen as it kept ringing. In all honesty, you would’ve probably picked up the call if it weren’t for Bucky's intense glare. The way Bucky's eyes could speak to you always amazed you and, in this case, you knew what they were saying Don't be stupid, don’t give in.  

After that first call, you got another three that day, much to your annoyance. Then the next day there were six calls, then eight. It seemed the more you ignored him, the more persistent he became. Fortunately for you, for the past few days you didn’t see him, your schedule clearing up since you took the position as Bucky's companion, instead leaving your coworkers all the heavy work of dealing with superheroes.  

But after the first ignored calls came the texts. Then the messages passed through coworkers. Then there were the flowers. If only he had done this before he broke your heart.  

The incessant ringing came back. You thought after the last six days went by without an answer, the message would be pretty clear, but apparently another strong characteristic of Steve Rogers was his persistence. A persistence that wouldn’t stop, not even if it would spare you from all the pain he caused you. Nothing mattered as long as he could take whatever he wanted.  

Steve Rogers was selfish. You were done with selfish.   

So you answered the phone.  

"Stop calling me!" you screamed into the device.  

"Please, just let me—"  

"Whatever you want to say to me, I don’t want to hear it. Stop calling me, stop texting me, stop asking about me, stop sending flowers or whatever the fuck you buy for me. Stop. Trying. To. Contact. Me."  

Your own words surprised you. The strength that came from within them freed the tightness in your chest that you’ve had for so long. Your harsh words were met with silence, neither of you daring to hang up. You didn’t notice when your eyes started to well up, when your hands were shaking or when your muscles were so tense, they begged you to relax. 

What seemed like minutes went by with the same quietness, both your heavy breathings were the only things letting you know you were still in the call. After a few more moments, Steve finally gave in and broke the silence.  

"I’m sorry." he whispers.  

You huffed. "That doesn’t change anything"  

"I know."  

Maybe the best option would've been to hang up and cut things now before you were exposed again. That would’ve been the smart thing to do. Unfortunately, love and grief are rarely driven by reason.  

"You knew, didn’t you?" Your voice trembled.  

"Knew what?"  

"That I..." 

That I love you, is what you wanted to say. However, your chest constricted within itself every time you were reminded of your own feelings. You couldn't do it, not saying it out loud was the only spec of dignity you had left and your death grip on it was lifesaving.  

You cleared your throat, your hand clutched at the edge of the couch as a way to embrace yourself. "That I have feelings for you"  

"Yes," he answered reluctantly. 

"Yet you still used me." 

A few seconds passed before he was able to muster a weak response. "Yes" 

Silence really was deafening. Never in a million years did you think the most menacing sound of a relationship crumbling apart would be silence. There are so many meanings that can only be expressed through the lack of words. Silence meant pain and heartbreak, but it also meant acceptance.  

And bitterness came with acceptance.  

"I’ll see you in a couple of months." you scoffed.  

"No, please!" he pleaded before you could hang up. "Please don’t leave. Your coworkers told me you’re going with Bucky to his press tour today, but I want to see you. I need to see you." His voice was shaky, an undecipherable tone spilling from his rushed words that almost made you change your mind. Almost.  

"Stay, please."  

Love was a strange force. It was supposed to be selfless, giving, and forgiving. But once you didn’t have anything else to give, it was easy to not feel it. Even if it was there, lingering in the back of your head.  

A couple of weeks ago, you would’ve given everything to stay if he asked you, without a single doubt. But now, the connection and devotion you had to the super soldier are buried. You had built walls so high up that not even the warmest of words could make them crumble.  

You had to save your heart, whatever was left of it.  

"No" 

If you like the story please interact: reblogs, likes and comments go a long way. Feedback is always appreciated!

A/N:There will be a second part to this, more info on it here.

Part 2 is already out.

Requests are OPEN

[fool16k]

Between skin and felt - part 1

It was a very boring day in the studio today, you did your job as the prop manager well enough that Mr. Darling never had to yell or scream at you to do your job correctly unlike most of the other seasoned employees that worked on Welcome Home. At least.. that’s what you thought. You happened to be having an off day, thinking about those weird dreams you were having about Mr. Darling and his literal bodyguard had you on edge, it didn’t help that they were also RIGHT there a few feet away from you.

As you go to lower the giant, exaggerated, cartoonish sun prop, your grip on the old rope they still used from refusing to extend the prop and maintenance budget slipped and the heavy plywood painted prop crashed to the ground.. narrowly hitting Janet.

“WHAT THE FUCK ASSHOLE!? YOU COULD’VE KILLED ME!!” The resounding crash the prop had made as it hit the ground caught the attention of almost everybody in the room and suddenly all eyes were on you.. Including Mr. Darling and Max. Your palms sweat as you nervously look everywhere except at all the eyes staring at you in the moment,

“It was an accident! The rope slipped out of my hands- it’s old and ratty.. and quit being so dramatic Janet. It wouldn’t have killed you.. just… seriously maimed you a bit..” The blond haired jerk of the studio had her mouth agape, and your comment got a few snickers out of the more dark humored interns that were currently working. She mumbles a few things underneath her breath as she angrily ushers past you to go somewhere else, and it’s quiet before a voice cuts through the air.

“My set.. is ruined.” Your eyes turn over to Wally, who is angrily staring at the main set for the show.. which is in pieces.

His rage is intense, white hot rage if you will. But he sounds so calm that it scares you way more than hearing him yell and scream ever would.

“You’re staying late and fixing this.” He turns to look at you, his eyes are in slits and you can see hints of teeth poking through the grimace he’s wearing on his yellow felted face. You can only seem to muster the courage to swallow thickly and nod lightly before staring at the floor as everybody goes back to discussing their plans, albeit much quieter, and you can still feel Wally and Max’s eyes on you.

But this point, everybody has long since gone home - but you were still stuck cleaning up the mess you made. Hopefully, this experience will show how much better equipment is needed for the set pieces and props. You were VERY late to a party you had gotten invited to. The fraggles were hosting it, and you had no idea how you managed to get put on their radar or invited to a party thrown by some of the most iconic puppet actors of all time but you weren't complaining. It took forever to break down the giant sun prop that crashed into the stage, and it was almost 9:00 at night and you were still here.

"Maybe I can just get here early tomorrow.." you look around and go to the employee locker room where you kept all your stuff, changing out of your work clothes and into the extra set you had brought with you, but as you’re changing you hear Wally Darling himself talking to Max.

“Oh Max.. you’re the only human who I trust enough to bring to this party.. I’m so glad you decided to come with me!”

“Hmph. Only because you would cry and bitch at me if I didn’t agree.”

“Language Maxxy.”

A party?? Maybe they were also going to the fraggles party.. you’ll just have to avoid them then. You didn’t want to imagine the look on Mr. Darlings face if he caught slacking off at a celebrity’s party and not fixing his set. You soon have your casual clothes on, and you’re driving up to a remote modestly sized mansion in the heart of Hollywood. The house is big and modern looking, the flashing colored lights and loud bass boosted music tells you you’re in the right place and you park down the road and walk up the winding gated driveway to the building..

The winding line of people trying to get in reveals that this is in fact the house of a celebrity, but as you’re about to get in line someone stops you.

“Oi’!! Get over here! You’re part of VIP.” You look over and see.. Boober. THE Boober is talking to you- and you listen- I mean, who wouldn’t?? You follow him to a side gate, that leads to the backyard. It’s the most lavish outdoor space you’ve ever experienced, there was a minibar. the gigantic pool had lights in the sides seemingly making the normally crystal clear water change colors magically and the gazebo had fairy lights hanging from it, along with a few tiki torches.

Boober leads you to the gazebo, having you sit down he has the bartender a few feet away make you both some cocktails before speaking.

"So... we've heard good things about you. I'm coming forward on behalf of all the Muppets and asking a huge favor..." You take a sip of your cocktail before speaking meekly.

"Well... I don't know what you've heard about me, but I hope I can help you." Boober seems to perk up a bit, his mouth twitching upwards into a small smile.

"I thought you'd say that. The directors for welcome home that move around say that you help out with a little bit of everything, and not just props..." That was true... you did tend to overwork yourself a bit. But you liked being helpful, and that is how you were raised.

"The writers' strike going on right now, has really dropped the amount of people on our writing team, and we're falling behind on production... since we heard you're a decent writer and storyteller from what we hear, we would like to ask you to-" Boober is interrupted, his head turning towards the person who spoke.

"Hey Boob'! Max wanted me to ask you if he could..-" It was your boss. Wally, and he was staring right at you, having not finished his sentence out of surprise and anger.

what would you do now??

So.. this is my first time ever actually posting a fanfiction I've written. I do plan on continueing this but i feel like it has sat in my drafts for too long already, so enjoy part one!

Actor AU is by @frillsand.

[ykwrites]

ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕕 𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕣 𝕙𝕖𝕖𝕝𝕤

Pairing: Iida Tenya x reader

Warnings: Swearing(?)

Rating: SFW

Requests: OPEN

WROTE THIS VERY QUICKLY AND MESSY, DIDN´T PROOFREAD

Wonderful divider by ANIMATEDGLITTERGRAPHICS-N-MORE

You stomped out of Aizawa’s classroom ready to punch someone, anyone who crossed you was at risk of getting hit and it was all because that stupid class rep pissed you off again.

Being as annoying as always,Tenya spent the entire class nagging about your behaviour and how he thought the way you acted was incorrect. Now you understood why Bakugo didn’t fw him.

Worst thing was, you didn’t even act obnoxious or did anything to disrupt the class, even Aizawa asked him to shut up a couple times.

Tenya decided to tap your shoulder repeatedly causing your blood to boil so much that you ended up storming out.

It might seem like an exaggeration, but it wasn’t, whatever stupid reasoning he had to complain he always used to keep you in line, or try.

You got in the bathroom to cool off and the door opened right after you.

“Dude, Aizawa wants you back there”Mina said, an uncomfortable smile on her lips.

“There’s only two minutes left, I am not going back because if I do I will fucking kill Tenya”you huffed, splashing your face with cold water.

“Yeah, I get it, I mean he even corrected how you were sitting today”

“He always complains about stupid shit”

“He seems to have a vendetta against you tho, he is annoying to everyone ,but way worse with you…I don’t know how you handle it”

“Internally, It’s just too much today”

The bell rang, making both of you change topics and head to the dorms.

Bakugo and Kirishima joined you mid way, the first one making jokes constantly about your fights with the class president.

You went straight to your room fuming, between the shitty classes and your friends thinking they were funny, it was best that you stayed in the rest of the day.

A much needed shower relaxed your muscles and you cleared your thoughts a bit deciding to read something before going to bed.

It seemed like a good idea, I mean reading, until night fell and your stomach grumbled forcing you to leave your room and go into the shared kitchen.

The fridge’s clock marked 1:30 AM, you tiredly opened it to end up with some simple sandwich ingredients that you took out to make one.

Not the best dinner, but it was something.

While taking the bread out, steps could be heard behind you and you didn’t bother turning around.

“It’s too late to be eating dinner, you should be resting”

Of all the people living there, it had to be him.

Your hand closed on a tight fist, deciding not to even respond.

“Resting is important for maximum efficiency”Tenya insisted, probably aware that you ignored him before.

“Whatever you say”you shrugged, cutting the crust off the bread.

“You know that if you fall asleep while training you can get badly hurt? And hurt others in the process”

Ok, if he wasn’t going to shut up, you weren’t either, so you turned around visibly mad and pointed at him, trying not to scream in his face.

“Can you not leave me the fuck alone?”

“As a class representative, I have to make sure…”

“Shut up, please”you cut him off “ I know being annoying and up people’s ass is your thing, but I can’t even breathe around you without some kind of complaint”

“I apologize if I’ve been too harsh with you”

“Just leave me alone”

After that, he didn’t respond, instead he walked towards the fridge, got some water and left quicky, avoiding eye contact.

Maybe this time it got to his head to leave you alone.

The next morning was a saturday, so you slept in until Bakugo banged your door repeatedly to wake you and go train with him.

Even on weekends you friends always managed to make you work.

Almost everyone was training outside, everyone but Tenya, and that was the weirdest thing ever. That dude wouldn’t miss training opportunities for nothig.

For a moment you thought about asking Deku and find out if Tenya was… idk dying, but then you decided not to, less Tenya means less complaining.

Training went by smoothly, you weren´t trying too much since it was a light morning, you only wanted to keep up with your classmates. 

Around one pm, people started leaving for lunch. On the way to the canteen, you couldn´t help but notice Deku and his friends whispering and turning to look back at you. 

‘‘What´s up, losers?’‘Bakugo yelled at them, putting his arm around your shoulders ‘’Got a staring problem?’’

None of them responded, instead they walked faster and got to their table like nothing happened. 

Your friend kept complaining between his teeth, still loud enough for everyone to hear how annoyed he was that they seemed to gossip about his friends.

Mina got food for you, Bakugo, Denki, Kirishima and Sero since she got there first and knew what everyone liked. Standard practice for the group, whoever was first prepared the table, just to help eachother. 

Kirishima laughed with his mouth full, choking while trying to tell a joke, loud and obnoxious. You couldn´t concentrate on what he said, looking past him, the table behind yours was full of Deku and his friends, still missing Tenya. 

The dude was probably almost dying if he skipped his schedule so much, he missed training AND lunch, something was definitely happening. 

Deku noticed you staring and instead of looking away, he gestured for you to please talk to him and pointed at the door, getting up right after and leaving. 

Without telling your friends, you just got up and followed after him, hearing Sero’s voice calling out your name.

Obviously you wondered what the hell was Deku’s deal and the poor guy even stepped back a bit when you met him outside. 

‘‘What´s your problem, Midoriya?’‘you asked crossing your arms, visibly annoyed. 

‘‘I´m sorry we talked about you instead of talking to you directly’‘he apologized, bowing ligtly.

‘‘Whatever, what do you want?’‘

‘‘I´m sure you know Tenya didn´t show up today’‘

‘‘Mhm’’

‘‘Well I... I saw you both talking last night and he didn´t open the door for us this morning’‘

‘‘How is this my problem?’‘

‘‘We were wondering if maybe you could go and see if he´s okay?’‘

‘‘Me?’‘eyes open wide, you asked in disbelief ‘‘Tenya does nothing but nag and annoy me, I think I´m the last person he wants to see’‘

‘‘Please, I think he´s upset about your fight’‘

‘‘No’‘

‘‘Just knock on his door, if he doesn´t open you can leave and I swear I won’t tell you again’‘

You huffed loudly, this definitely had nothing to do with you, however Deku kept insisting with his dumb puppy eyes. 

‘‘Shut up’‘you stopped Deku ‘‘I´ll knock and call out for him once, if he doesn´t open I´m leaving’‘

‘‘Thank you, Y/N’‘he smiled widely.

On your way to Tenya´s room, you asked yourself why you were doing this, thinking that going on a walk and pretending you fullfilled that visit but a tiny part of you was curious about what was happening.

Before you could think about it longer, your hand was already knocking his door and his name leaving your lips loudly. 

Silence filled the air for a few seconds, you almost turned around to leave until noise rumbled from inside the room, like things falling and low grunts cussing. 

Inmediatly after, the door cracked open to show a disheveled Tenya, he didn´t have a shirt on, his hair was messy and he looked tired. 

Such a weird image coming from the always perfect class representative.

‘‘Are you okay?’‘you asked hesitating. 

‘‘I am, do you need something?’‘he gulped,trying to stand tall and brushing his hair with his right hand. 

‘‘You look terrible’‘

‘‘I was unable to sleep las night’‘

‘‘Yeah, I can tell’‘

How fucking akward, trying to get distracted, you looked behind him, eyebrows furrowing when you saw his bed unmade, clothes on the floor and desk messy. 

Something was really wrong. 

‘‘Can I come in?’‘ 

You couldn´t believe those words came from your mouth, but alas you entered the room when Tenya stepped to the side with a faint blush on his face, letting you in.

‘’I´m sorry about last night’‘his voice sounded sad. 

‘‘Whatever, It´s okay’‘you shrugged it off, sitting on his desk chair. 

‘‘No, I know I´ve been unreasonable with you’‘ he sat on the bed in front of you.

‘‘Yeah, maybe but that´s not a good reason for you to do all this, this mess is not like you, dude’‘

‘’It is, it really is’‘

‘‘Look, I won´t die because you are annoying me’‘

‘‘But I don´t want to be annoying’‘

Confused was the only thing that could define how you felt, Tenya looked extremely hurt by this and you didn´t understand why. Of course you got pissed at him, but not so much that he had to be depressed about it.

‘‘Sometimes you won´t get along with people and that´s okay’‘

‘‘The problem is I want to get along with you, I´ve been trying to since we met’‘

Was this a simulation? 

‘‘What a weird way to do so’‘

‘‘Look, I don´t know what to do anymore, I only made you hate me when I want the exact opposite’‘

‘‘This is extremely confusing’‘

He breathed in deep, preparing to speak with a glimpse of fear creeping in his voice.

‘‘Classes and training are easy for me to understand, rules are easy for me to understand, however, I´ve had a hard time understanding my feelings for you. I know I am in love, but I´m terrible at expressing it’‘

The world stopped, silence arose heavily as your brain tried to process his words. This wasn’t a reason you could’ve ever imagined, your brain quickly replayed how the first time you saw him you thought he was attractive and developed a little crush that fainted and was forgotten when a few days later he started criticizing your every move. 

‘‘You´ve been terrible showing your feelings’‘you finally speak. 

‘‘I am aware, and sorry’‘

Surprisingly, seeing him so hurt made you feel sad. 

‘‘Ok, uhm’‘you stutter, doubtful if you should really say what you were about to say ‘‘Will you stop nagging me from now on?’‘

‘‘I promise’‘

Maybe you betrayed yourself, but your body moved like it was remote controlled and Tenya tensed up when he saw you sit next to him.

‘‘You make me nervous’‘he says, almost choking with his words.

‘‘So you acted that way because you like me?’‘

‘‘Yes’‘Tenya gulped loudly, adjusting his glasses.

‘‘Let´s change the dynamic from now on’‘

‘‘How?’‘

Without warning, you put one hand on the back of his neck and pulled him close, slamming your lips together in a quick kiss, just testing the waters.

Tenya looked like he was about to faint and honestly you couldn´t believe it either. 

It felt amazing, but it couldn´t compare to how it felt right after, when he grabbed your waist and kissed you again much more passionately than before, his touch so loving your body tingled in excitement. 

Who would’ve thouht Iida Tenya was such a good kisser. 

You blushed when your hands landed on his bare chest, brave enough to feel his skin. 

Finally you both gasped for air and separated, his forehead resting on yours comfortably while his free hand caressed your cheek. 

‘‘Why don´t we go out on a date?’‘you asked, a smile crossing your lips.

‘‘Of course, let me shower first’‘he confidently kissed you again before getting off the bed.

‘‘I will wait for you ou...’‘he cut you off.

‘‘Please wait here, I promise I won´t take long’’

‘‘Sure’‘

Tenya smiled, blushing again and getting in the bathroom. 

As soon as the door closed, you let yourself fall back on the bed, feeling butterflies in your stomach and wondering how someone so annoying could make you feel this way.

[the-devils-girl94]

Distracting Thoughts

Prompt: Stranded On A Boat

Characters: Beelzebub x Fem!MC

Content Warnings: Masturbation, MC has thalassophobia(a fear of the ocean and other large bodies of water), MC fantasizing about Beel, lots of smutty good times with Beel

(I like how there is a word for how I feel about large bodies of water. Did not expect it to be this long ass word though.)

Another fic for @voltage-vixen ‘s Summer of Smut challenge! Enjoy!

“How on Earth did I end up in this mess?”

A heavy sigh left your lips and you buried your face into your hands.

Right now, you were stuck in the middle of the sea on a boat that Lord Diavolo had outright purchased. Not everything was going so bad, but you wouldn’t be feeling so slighted if everything was going good either.

Oh no, no. It was simply terrible.

For one thing, while you weren’t in immediate danger, being stuck in the middle of the freaking ocean was downright terrifying! All you could think of was scary scenarios of you drowning in this never-ending sea. Like the boat could sink and you could drown, you could fall over the edge and drown, or you could fall over the edge and a nearby shark could see you as a tasty snack and that could be your end. Your mind just kept coming up with the most exaggerated and impossible one-in-a-million chance scenarios that really did no good for you.

You hated being anywhere near large bodies of water, but there was one thing that kept some of the thoughts at bay. And that was you weren’t entirely alone.

You sat on the back deck of the boat Diavolo had purchased, far away from either edge that you didn’t want to be near, and before you was the ever-so lively Demon Brothers of the House of Lamentation. In short, your lively roommates who just make everything so much better...sometimes. Lord Diavolo and Barbatos was there as well but they mostly kept to themselves with Diavolo mostly sunbathing.

Your mind felt more at ease with the guys around since you knew if any of the scenarios did happen, they would not hesitate to immediately step in to save you. Though you still hope it would never have to come to that in the first place. You felt most safe around Beelzebub, the sixth born. 

Your eyes caught him in the pool that was several feet away from you. He was joined by his twin and locked in a fierce game with the second and third born. Well, you say fierce but its clear that Beelzebub is the victor. Mammon and Leviathan were no match against Beel’s pure strength. And had Belphegor been with anyone else besides his twin, he definitely would not have stood a chance against a team up of his older brothers.

You weren’t too interested in their game play, however. Your eyes were trained on Beel. Even before this boat fiasco, your eyes have never strayed far away from the gluttonous demon. For a long time, you didn’t know if it was a crush or if you’re just naturally drawn to his sweet nature.

“Or maybe that chiseled body of his.”

The tips of your ears grew hot as the thought crept in, replacing your previous anxiety-ridden thoughts. Your mind soon became riddled with images of Beelzebub’s torso. Mostly of his glorious pecs and washboard abs because this demon was built like a freaking Greek God. God knew exactly what he was doing when he made him, but him being a demon made his appeal so much greater! It was, in every sense of the word, sinful.

You were brought back to reality when you heard a large splash and some yelling. You looked up in time to see Levi and Mammon getting flung out of the pool by Beel, all while Belphie napped out on a floating donut. The whole thing brought you to tears as you laughed at the ridiculousness of it all. Mammon had caught you laughing and scolded you.

“Hey, (Y/N)! Don’t laugh, it ain’t funny!,” he yelled, but you continued to chuckle. You felt a little bad, but it was so unexpected as Beel had grabbed them by their feet and literally threw them out.

“(Y/N) witnessed our defeat...how uber lame,” muttered Leviathan as he rubbed his now aching back.

Wiping away your tears, you let out an amused sigh and went off on your own to explore the boat. You were unaware of Beel calling after you as you walked away.

________________________________________________________________

You thought it would be a good idea to explore the boat since Lord Diavolo had bought it and anything he buys is always luxurious. And it was but...

As you wandered the halls, you suddenly understood what sailors meant by sea legs. Although the boat was mostly steady, there would be an occasional gentle rocking of the boat. And had it been anyone else, it would have been fine but no! It completely unsettled you and your thoughts once again became filled with disturbing scenarios of that all ended in you meeting your end in some extreme way or another.

“Oh why did I think it was okay to go off on my own?,” you thought.

Feeling sick to your stomach, you thought it best to just retire to your room and calm your incessant thoughts. You flopped onto your bed and buried your face into your pillow. You hope this day would end so you could finally get off this nightmare. You tried to refocus your mind on something else, because even with you running through every possibility of drowning in every way possible, you were aware that you were in safe hands. None of the brothers would ever let you meet such an end in this never-ending sea full of wonders and mysteries.

You thought back to earlier and found yourself thinking of Beel once more.

The images from earlier made you kick your legs as your face became hot and flushed. You groaned into your pillow with frustration.

“Fuuuuckkkk!,” you screamed internally, feeling slightly ashamed for thinking about Beelzebub in such a manner. But thinking of him did make the other thoughts fade away to the background. Plus you may have a crush on him, so..was it totally wrong to fantasize about him showing up to your room, body dripping with water and looking at you with lust filled eyes?

....Okay, hold up, that actually is kinda hot.

It was the most prevalent image in your head. It made you wonder if you would have the chance to actually have Beel in your room and let him take you. Or maybe have the courage to be that daring?

You felt a tingling sensation between your legs and rolled on your back, blushing. You dwelled on the thought a little more to the point that it became a fantasy. And you imagined Beelzebub crawling towards you on your bed until his face was a couple inches away from yours. His rough hands were on your thighs, lifting them up so your clothed sex could feel the hardness of his bulge clothed from the thin material of his swim shorts.

The heat within your core began to grow and before you knew it, you were already trying to calm the growing heat with your hand. You were craving for the imaginary touch that only existed in your mind. Rubbing against your clit, the fantasy progressed into Beel removing your clothes and pushing his shorts down to free his hardened member. You imagined him stroking his cock against your sensitive slit that was getting wetter and wetter in reality.

Your breathing became heavy and you brought up a free hand to go under your shirt and bra to twist at your nipples. The fantasy continued as you imagined Beel dipping his fingers inside of you, stretching out your pussy to prepare you for him.

Moans started to escape from your lips as your hands worked on your body to bring you the stimulation and release you desperately searched for. You weren’t aware of it but you were also moaning Beel’s name. Apparently you were being a bit loud, because you failed to hear the knocking at your door and the sound of it opening until...

“(Y/N).”

You snapped out of your fantasy-filled haze when you heard your name. Suffice to say, you were extremely embarrassed to find a blushing Beelzebub in your room, half-eaten snacks in his hands. You quickly covered yourself up with a shout, but it was much too late. You were sure that he had saw everything. He probably even heard you too.

“Waah! I’m so fucking embarrassed! Oh my God,” you cringed, trying so hard to fold in on yourself so you could disappear. 

“Ah, (Y/N)! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to barge in like that,” he apologized profusely. He saw your covers move a bit but no sign of you poking your head out. You whined as you stammered out, “It’s fine! I should have locked my door. I didn’t mean for you to see me...like that...so.”

Ahhh, if anything was more worse than drowning in an ocean where your body likely won’t be found, it was definitely having your crush walk in on you masturbating to him. Ok, maybe not that much worse but still! Tears began to well up in your eyes and you fully expected for Beelzebub to walk out as this situation must have been a bit awkward. But instead you felt your bed dip in a bit as another weight was added. A hand was placed on your back and started rubbing in circles. Your lip trembled as your tears fell, because WHY WAS HE SO FREAKING SWEET!? 

Yeah, you were definitely crushing on him. This is why he was the only one on the crush list.

Beelzebub could feel you trembling and his face was still red from walking in on you. Though if he had to admit it, seeing you like that really turned him on. And to hear you moan his name so wantonly was like music to his ears. But he still felt bad because it was your private time that he interrupted. All because he wanted to hang out with you since he wanted to do so earlier, but you didn’t hear him calling after you.

But now there was a massive elephant in the room and neither of you knew how to bring it up without it becoming more awkward. Or your in case more embarrassed.

“(Y/N)?”

“Yes, Beel?”

“I’m still sorry for earlier. I wanted to hangout, but do...do you want me help you a bit?”

You shot up like a rocket and turned wide-eyed to face a startled Beelzebub, who was feeling a bit pervy for asking you that question. But to you, he didn’t need to feel like that because this was the moment you were thinking of earlier! You started to laugh at the irony, causing Beel to become confused which you noticed.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I’m not laughing at you, Beel!,” you chuckled out. “It was just that earlier I was thinking of what would I do if I had you in my room all to myself.”

At that, the gentle giant smiled at you, understanding why you were laughing. He crawled towards you, his face a few inches from yours. You were smiling but your face grew warm.

“So is it a ‘yes’?,” he asked, though his lips were drawing in close to yours.

“Y-yes-mmph,” his lips had closed in on yours and you felt his hands come up to your shoulders. Sliding off the covers from your body, Beel gently laid you back on the bed. You wrapped your arms around him as he coaxed your mouth open with a bit of prodding from his tongue. You could taste the sweetness of the snacks he had earlier as your tongues became entangled. You gasped when he pulled away.

Beelzebub set his focus on leaving kisses on your neck, starting a trail. He got to your breasts and cupped them in his hands, firmly squeezing them. A squeal escaped from your lips when you felt his wet tongue teasing your nipple. He sucked it into his mouth, pulling before letting it go with a pop.

"Ahhaaa, Beel! Please," you pleaded as he devoured your chest. You couldn't take it with him pulling, twisting, and sucking on your sensitive nubs. Your hands had moved to his forearms and you held a firm grip on them as Beel sucked away.

With a final tug, he left your poor nipples alone, going back to his task of leaving butterfly kisses on your body. Your body trembled with ecstasy but soon jolted from a shock when you felt a wet appendage lapping at your swollen clit.

Once Beel had finished leaving you kisses, he came across your pussy, still wet and glistening from when you were masturbating to him. His eyes darkened as his mind drifted back to that scene of you pleasuring yourself, seeing your delectable juices dripping your core.

He just knew that he had to taste you. To devour such a pretty, pink platter that was meant for him to sample. As soon as his tongue made contact with your clit, he felt you jump but he continued to lap at it, enjoying the taste and fragrance you gave off. You squirmed and your pants started to fill the room. Your toes curled and your feet had a hard time not slipping off your sheets as you encouraged Beel to keep going.

His tongue parted your puffy, pussy lips and he noticed your legs trembling. So he hooked his hands underneath your knees, spreading them further to her better access. He let your legs rest on his shoulders, all the while keeping his mouth on you.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," you chanted over and over as your back arched, wanting to rub your sex over his tongue. You could feel yourself coming undone and on the verge of cumming. Beel's member twitched against the thin fabric of his swim shorts as he could tell your release was imminent, but...

Reluctantly, he pulled away from your pussy. He really wanted you to release all your tasty juices over his cock. He wiped away the mix of his saliva and your own cream from his chin.

You groaned but it turned into a squeak when Beel crawled back on top of you. Your legs were still over his shoulders and so you felt your body being folded in half but it wasn't too uncomfortable. But it aroused you more as you could feel his bulge heavy against your sex. You wanted it inside, for it to stretch your walls as you take every inch Beel gave you. For you to cream all over it so you could lick it off him and he could do it all over again.

Beelzebub's lips pressed against yours and you wasted no time parting your lips so his tongue could share the taste of your pussy. You could feel Beel's hands fumbling to pull down his shorts to let his cock finally breath. His lips never left yours, even as he guided his cock to your hole. You had braced yourself but was pleasantly surprised when he sanked into you with ease, but it still raised a moan out of you as your wall stretched to accommodate him.

Beel broke the kiss to let out a hissing sound as your pussy took him in so smoothly. He could feel you clenching around him, wanting to greedily take in more. But he was fully seated inside you, his balls pressed firmly against the plumpness of your ass.

"Shit...(Y/N), you feel so fucking amazing," he said as he recaptured your lips with his and rocked his hips to get a little friction going. He pulled back until only half of his dick was inside and slammed back into you. He repeated the action a few more times, drawing out moans that ended up getting swallowed up by him.

You pulled away from the kiss to cry out freely as he set a hard, quick pace as his hips connected with yours repeatedly. The slapping sound of your skin colliding overcome the sounds of your moans and cries. Beel couldn't help but groan at the way your pussy tightened around him with every thrust. Your body trembled against his as the heat became overwhelming. Your hands scrambled to grip at something, changing from scratching at Beelzebub's back or balling up your sheets into your fist, as you feared that the pleasure was going to take you away.

The seams were tearing and Beel could feel you were close as your pussy convulsed around him. So he sat up, holding your legs up, and pounded away at you. Your moans turned to screams and chants of Beel's name as his cock wrecked you.

"Beeeeel! I'm cumming, cumming!," you screamed, but it didn't deter him even as your released overflowed on his cock. The consistent clenching of your pussy finally drove him over the edge and his seed coated the inside of your walls, a deep growl erupted from him as he pressed his cock deep inside you.

With the both of you spent for the moment, Beel slipped out of you and collapsed beside you. However, he wrapped his arms around you to bring you closer. You sighed contently, feeling very much satiated as well as Beelzebub.

You felt lips pressing against your forehead and giggled before giving Beel a chaste kiss on the lip.

"That was amazing," you smiled. You saw his cheeks redden and the hug tightens.

"I-I would like to do that again...maybe sometime," spoke the blushing giant as he looked into your eyes.

The tips of your ears turning red as you agreed.

You figured this boat nightmare wasn't too bad as you snuggled up to Beel's chest, wondering if you had the courage to say you like him.

You saved the thought for another day to ponder later.

[nevermindirah]

Yitzhak!

is a character! who Gregadiah What-Is-Math Rucka gave us almost no information about!

I've gone through Tales Through Time #6: The Bear and #1: My Mother's Axe with several magnifying glasses and done a lot of googling and taken my copy of the Tanakh off my shelf for the first time since (well, since the last time I needed to read Torah for TOG reasons, which I think was Booker Passover headcanons) and here's the best I can come up with.

In The Bear we meet someone who goes by the name Isaac Blue:

Read on for a lot of comic panel analysis and historical research and Jewish flailing!

So what do we know about this Isaac Blue person?

He's Lorge, he's got curly hair, he's basically a taller version of Joe as drawn by Leandro Fernández (ie an antisemitic stereotype why the fuck did they approve this character design?? and then why did they double down and copy-paste it to Yitzhak??):

He's got a mezuzah on the doorpost of his house in Alaska!

I screamed about the mezuzah way back in January in this post where I (very reasonably) assumed this character was Joe and spun myself a tale about how Booker is still Joe's brother so the mezuzah stays up even though Booker isn't welcome in that house for a century. Bottom line: the mezuzah is a tradition with origins in the commandment from Deuteronomy 6:9 to "write the words of G-d on the gates and doorposts of your house" and evolved over the course of the Rabbinic period into the modern mezuzah we see here.

I did unnecessary levels of google image search to glean absolutely no useful information about Yitzhak’s origins from this panel:

I've decided the variant cover of TTT 6 is Yitzhak because of a panel in My Mother’s Axe, shown here, and what's likely an unnecessarily deep reading of Exodus, discussed further down:

The person at the right of the bottom panel is wearing the same clothes as in the TTT 6 variant cover and has the same shoulder-length curly hair and hairy forearms.

Left to right, the people in this panel are Lykon (I'll never get used to him being white in the comics), Andy, Noriko (I think? why doesn't Andy mention her by name here?), and Yitzhak. Andy's robe has a stereotypically Greek design on the sleeve cuff, and I had to stop myself 10 minutes into a Wikipedia rabbit hole because Gregorforth doesn't think that deep about this shit. The solid clues as to timeline that we get in this panel are:

Andy's iron axe

the presence of Lykon, who Andy first met in 331 BCE

So all we know is that Yitzhak is an immortal, he was a contemporary of Lykon, and he's Jewish.

Isaac is the most common Anglicization of Yitzhak (which in turn is the most common Anglophone transliteration of יִצְחָק‎), and Greg always uses the (transliterated) Hebrew when he refers to this character. Yitzhak is the long-awaited child of Abraham and Sarah in Genesis, the child who G-d commanded Abraham to sacrifice but spared at the last minute. I see what you did there, Gregory.

Why Isaac Blue? This is where I pulled out my Tanakh. According to the New JPS translation, blue is the first of three colors of yarn listed in Exodus 35:6 among the gifts requested of the Israelites to construct the priestly garments for the Tabernacle and later the Temple. Then in Numbers 15:38 the Israelites are commanded to "make themselves fringes on the corners of their garments throughout the ages; let them attach a cord of blue to the fringe at each corner."

And now for sandbox timelines party! Gregadiah gave us ALMOST NOTHING to go on, so I'm gonna make my own fun.

I, like many modern Jews, think the stories in the Tanakh are foundational mythology that are valuable because of how they've shaped our people but that contain some fucked-up shit and either way aren't meant to be a record of historical facts. Modern scholarship generally agrees that the community we now call Jews emerged as a distinct group of Canaanites sometime in the late Bronze Age (cw this video's host says the Name of G-d aloud despite being a religious studies scholar who knows that is not a name anyone but the Temple priests are allowed to say). The first non-Biblical written record of the people Israel is from an Egyptian source c. 1200 BCE, and the Biblical kingdom of David and Solomon was probably an exaggeration of whatever really happened during the Bronze Age Collapse. We start getting into historical-fact territory a few centuries into the Iron Age:

588 BCE Solomon's Temple destroyed, Babylonian exile begins

538 BCE Cyrus of Persia allows Jews to return to Jerusalem

515 BCE Second Temple construction complete

332 BCE Alexander the Great At Something I Guess conquered Judea, beginning the Hellenistic period of Jewish history — 331 BCE Andy & Lykon find each other

167 BCE another jerkface Greek king desecrated the Temple and basically outlawed Judaism

164 BCE recapture of Jerusalem and Temple rededication during the Maccabean Revolt

70 CE destruction of the Second Temple by the Romans, beginning of the Rabbinic period of Jewish history that we're still in now

What if... and hear me out... what if immortals come in pairs, and the pairs are:

Andy & Quynh

Joe & Nicky

Booker & Nile

LYKON & YITZHAK

What if Yitzhak was a priest of the Second Temple? What if he and Lykon killed each other just like Joe and Nicky would in the same city around 1300 years later, but instead of enemies-to-lovers speedrun with an absurdly long happily-ever-after, when Lykon died permanently Yitzhak decided to separate from Andy and Noriko and become the hermit we later see in Alaska?

We don't know how old Yitzhak is compared to the others, only that he was a contemporary of Lykon at a time when Andy was using an Iron Age version of her mother's axe. Other plausible origins for him:

a Jew of the early Rabbinic period, maybe a child or grandchild of people who were still alive before the Second Temple was destroyed

a Judean of the Second Temple era under the Romans or Greeks or Persians, maybe a priest, maybe not

an exilee in Babylon, maybe of the generation who got to return, maybe of the generation who was exiled (he doesn't look like he was 50 at his first death but who knows, he could've been mortal for both)

an Israelite of the Kingdoms of Israel and Judah, maybe a priest of Solomon's Temple or again maybe not

an Israelite wandering in the desert with Moses

THEE Yitzhak, ben Avraham v'Sarah, our patriarch who was brought up for sacrifice and then spared, and then spared again, and then spared again, and again, and again...

or! he could also be a Canaanite or other Levantine who predates the people Israel, who at some point in his very long life chose to join our mixed multitude, who like Andromache before him (and like Avram and Sarai would in this case do after him) took a new name to reflect the magnitude of influence this people has had on him

Why do I keep saying Yitzhak might have been a priest? It's thanks to the one detail in the artwork I could plausibly connect to solid research without getting a PhD real quick. Take a look at the gorgeous detail on the opening of his robe in the TTT 6 cover. He's dressed in rags, holes and dirt everywhere, rough stitches probably from hasty repair work — except for the neck opening. Compare that to this description from Exodus 39:23 of the construction of the priestly garments for the Tabernacle: "The opening of the robe, in the middle of it, was like the opening of a coat of mail, with a binding around the opening, so that it would not tear."

The next verses describe the intricate designs for the hem of the priestly garment. Yitzhak's ragged garment looks like the hem was torn off entirely.

Am I overthinking this? Yes I am! You're welcome!

My friend and historical research hero @lady-writes​ is in a Discord server with Gregadiah and asked the man himself some questions about all this. He clearly thinks he's being sneaky?? No shit Yitzhak is Jewish, dude, I want DETAILS!

I will not be giving up my Jewish Booker headcanon, I've put too much thought into it by now, the internalized shame of antisemitism explains Booker's depression too well for me, and it just adds so much richness to Booker/Nile both being children of forced diasporas. Fortunately (for him, not me, bc I'd do it anyway!) Gregothy supports fan headcanons even when they're not in line with his own:

One last thing before I close like 100 research tabs and go back to writing historical fantasy and/or porn! I love that, despite that atrocious caricature of a face design, our canon Jew and our fanon Jew are both Lorge and Soft and Kind, flying the face of the antisemitic stereotype of Ashkenazi Jewish men as small and weak, but also not falling into the New Jew / Muscle Jew stereotype that Zionism created. (I am trying SO HARD not to talk about Israel/Palestine for once ughhhhhhhhhh) Anyway here's a (US-centric but very good) primer on both these stereotypes of Jewish masculinity. Is this why I'm forever projecting my transmasc diasporist feels onto Jewish Booker the service sub? 🤷🏻‍♂️

I’ll reblog a second version of this with full image descriptions so that there’s a version accessible for folks who need IDs as well as a version accessible for folks who get overwhelmed by walls of text.

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Everybody Talks Too Much (Cassandra Dimitrescu/Mute!Reader)

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T for language, brief violence Summary: Whenever Cassandra gets angry, no one wants to deal with her. Well, no one but you, that is. Thankfully, the middle child appreciates your company... not that she'd ever admit it. Notes: Another self-indulgent fic with a selectively mute reader. This one's a lil different. Sections in italic are mostly indications that the reader is miming actions in order to communicate, though there are a few internal thoughts that are marked as such. Unlike the past two I've done, this takes place pre-relationship, so there's some mutual pining of sorts. I think that's the word.

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

Among the many servants of Castle Dimitrescu, there were a number of secret rules to be followed. Guidelines that were never written down, only spoken in hushed whispers, for specific (and dangerous) circumstances. Most could be divided into one of two categories: 1, how to reduce the chances of a Lady of the house killing someone. 2, how to make sure that if they kill someone, it will not be you. Of these rules, there was one that you knew best of all, despite never having been told it. Why? Because you have observed it time and time again. After all, the rule revolved around you. To put it plainly… If Cassandra Dimitrescu was in an awful mood, but had yet to draw blood, send in the mute.

Even now, as you rushed down a corridor, you did not know why this rule was in place. You simply knew that you had been summoned countless times by frantic maidens, to go serve their volatile mistress. Admittedly you did understand their eagerness to thrust the task upon someone else. Cassandra was often considered the deadliest of the Dimitrescu daughters, for she was the quickest to anger, the one with the deepest bloodlust, and took the longest to calm down. Personally, you disagreed, believing that it wasn’t terribly hard to know what she did and did not like. All it took was some observation. It was Daniela who scared you, seeing as she was unpredictable. She didn’t even need to be in a bad mood to want to kill you.

Of course, that didn’t necessarily mean that you saw no danger in working with Cassandra. In fact, you saw a fair bit, such as now: Right as you round the corner, a shiny object hurls past your head, embedding itself into the wall. Had you been walking ever so slightly faster… Well, you preferred not to dwell on such things, especially not when the one who threw the thing was still nearby. Based on the howling laughter and swarm of insects that moves around you, the intended target was Lady Daniela. Across the room is the markswoman herself; Cassandra stood tall, huffing in anger, staring at the spot her sister had just vacated from.

“Damn it!” She yelled, stomping her foot as if the resulting shockwave might do what her weapon had not. Oddly amused, you’re quick to remove the sickle from the wall, careful as to not damage it. It’s a tad dirty, but nothing you can’t fix with your handy pocket cloth. Cleaning as you walk, you slowly move towards your employer, not even bothering to spare her a glance. After all, you had your own rules for dealing with her.

(1: Avoid eye contact for at least one minute after an outburst.)

By the time you make it to Cassandra, the minute has come and gone, allowing you to ever-so politely look her in the eyes when you return her blade. She scoffs, then practically rips the sickle from your hands. This was your job, however, so you made no complaints. Not that you could, at least not verbally. Instead, you gave a short bow of acknowledgement. Afterwards you stood still, awaiting either instructions or a dismissal. Neither came.

“I can’t believe that little shit tried to take my favorite dagger and thought she could get away with it! Agh, the nerve of her! Can you believe this?” Cassandra snapped, turning to you as if you might agree with her. Nod, simple yet effective. “At least you know how to handle a blade. Damn Daniela is lucky she didn’t get any scratches on mine.” Then she pulls the knife in question from its place on her belt, letting it gleam in the light. A soft exhale, head tipping to the side, wow is it pretty. So is the one holding it. Your mind wanders but your gaze does not. Always polite, always ready to serve.

(2: Do not get distracted; she is no patient lover, rather a demanding boss.)

“Cassandra! What was all that noise a minute ago?” Someone called, interrupting your ‘conversation’. The speaker soon appears, being none other than Lady Bela, the most reasonable of the castle residents. Though that meant little, considering the nature of her family. As if to prove your point, Cassandra merely rolls her eyes in reply, refusing to divulge the truth. And so Bela turned her gaze to you, perking a brow. “Feeling up to talking today?” She asked, already knowing the answer. Of course, your hands are already moving, not even waiting for her to finish speaking. This is a game you know intimately.

A hand goes to your belt, moving to pull a nonexistent blade from its sheath. Raising it, moving it forward then back several times, launching it towards the wall- towards the hole left behind. Then shifting, waving your hand in front of your face while exhaling a sharp breath. Flinching. An exaggerated gulp, pretending to check if your nose is still attached, sighing in relief. Lastly, an inclination of your head towards the culprit. Cassandra.

“I was aiming for Daniela. Not that it matters, nobody got hurt,” she stated, confident. Both hands clasped together, then tapping the palms together, mimicking a heartbeat at a reasonable pace. Suddenly a stomp. The beating stops, and you hold your hands next to your ear, as if listening for signs of life. Pause. Three seconds. Worried expression, eyes wide. Finally, fast as a gunshot, the heart beats again, wildly. At this, Bela shoots her sister a look of doubt, as well as judgement. Hoping to change the subject, Cassandra looks to you. “What are you doing here anyway?”

Rubbing your chin, thinking. Squinting for effect. Ah, got it! Both hands go to your sides, lifting the imaginary hem of a dress you aren’t wearing. Waltzing forward, yet in place, with the poise expected of a professional maid. Then the focus shifts to your face. Fear. A silent scream, a hand at your forehead, feeling like you… might… faint. Falling backwards, making a step at the very last second to prevent a real collapse. End scene.

“Someone was scared?” Bela asked, sounding uncharacteristically unsure of herself. When you nod, she does as well, considering the implications. “Why would they send you?”

“I hardly care why, I just want to know who so I can kick their ass,” Cassandra interjects, taking a step closer to you. All you do in response is shrug. Unsurprisingly this is not enough to please her, and before you know it she’s wrapped a hand around your throat. “Give. Me. A. Name. Now.” A perked brow. Thoughts practically telegraphed. ‘What do you expect?’ Opening your mouth, slightly, then wide, back to almost closed. No sound comes out. Obviously. It’s not like you wanted to break your own rule, but in this case you had no choice.

(3: Give her whatever she wants, consequences be damned.)

Luckily for you, Bela acts as a foil to Cassandra, there to smooth the seas. Moving behind you, she reaches into your back pocket and retrieves the notepad you keep there. Then she’s handing it to you while making eye contact with her sister. Cassandra promptly releases you, though she’s clearly not pleased, going so far as to push you away in one last act of anger. Internally you roll your eyes. On the outside, however, you quickly write down everything you know… which isn’t much.

“I don’t remember who it was. A lot of people have asked. This happens a lot.” Then you hand the paper to Bela, who soon looks back up at you in confusion. Too antsy to wait for her own turn, Cassandra yoinks the notepad from her sister’s hands, reading it over several times before reacting.

“What the fuck? Why would they send you to me because somebody pissed their pants in fear? I’m going to kill someone. Ugh, I don’t- this doesn’t make any goddamn sense,” Cassandra ranted, pacing back and forth, looking like she wanted to destroy something immediately. To your surprise, Bela doesn’t look the slightest bit concerned. If anything, she looks amused, and smiles when the two of you make eye contact. Something tells you that she knows something that you don’t. Before you can react, she quietly retrieves your notepad and returns it to you. Then she pauses, thinking, eying you with curiosity.

“Why don’t you go for now? See if anyone thanks you for stepping in, hmm?” She suggested, tone implying that this was absolutely about something else entirely. Still, you don’t care to disobey, and so you bid the two of them farewell with a deep bow. As you leave, you can almost make out part of what they say next. But you’re certain that you must have heard incorrectly. “Showing your favoritism a little too much, sister? If even the servants can see it-” the rest of the sentence is cut off by angry muttering from Cassandra. After that you’re too far away to hear anymore. What a strange day...

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

“Hey, you know where Lady Cassandra’s room is, right?” Ygritte asked, casually, definitely not having just been told by someone else that you were the solution to her problem. Pretending that you were unaware of this, you give her a smile and a nod. Later, behind her back, you will mentally add her to your list of people to watch out for. Maybe even decide to refuse to share your biscuits with her. In the meantime, you pretend that you don’t mind whatever task she’s about to dump on you. “Can you bring these books to her? I really have to get back to the kitchen soon, and that’s in the opposite direction…”

Technically true. Something told you that the real problem was that Cassandra had been extra loud the past few days. Regardless, you accept the books from her, leaving before she even finishes thanking you. Why do people do this? I don’t get it, you think. It’s like they think I’m immune to her rage. If that were true, I’d gladly throw myself between her and others. But no, that’s not the case. Hmmph, if only they saw my scars. Shaking your head to clear your thoughts, you keep walking, subconsciously rubbing the spot on your arm where Cassandra had cut you. Well, the worst spot. Being pain tolerant had made her take interest in you, during your first few weeks, but it’s what allowed you to learn her rules. Your rules, really.

Knock. Knock. A pause… three more, much softer. The door swings open, revealing your Lady, whose eyes widen at the sight of you. Tipping your hat (which you are not wearing), you greet her, forcing another smile. Then you present the books, free hand gesturing with a spiral motion towards them. She doesn’t respond. No, wait, she glances at the door hinges, considering closing the door in your face. Now both of you are staring at each other, daring the other to move.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” she finally said. There’s a gruffness to her voice that you hadn’t expected. It’s unlike her usual tone, less angry, more tired. Were those bags under her eyes?... No, just smudged makeup. “Don’t just stand there- tell me why you’re here.” Again, you gesture to the books, extending your hands further towards her. This time she takes a half-step backwards to avoid you. Peculiar. “Someone else was supposed to bring them, dipshit. Fucking hell, why can’t anyone around here do their damn jobs?” At last, she takes the books from you, carrying them deeper into your room. Though she does not close the door, you assume that your job is done. Or maybe you simply do not wish to deal with a Cassandra who’s frustrated by your specific presence. Either way, it breaks one of your rules, though you do not remember until it is too late.

(4: Do not leave until dismissed by a member of the family.)

“Where the hell are you going?” The sound of buzzing flies, a blur of motion around you, then the form of Cassandra solidifying in front of you. One of her hands is raised, pressing against the center of your chest. She pushes you, hard, making you stumble backwards into her room. Next thing you know you’ve crashed onto her floor. A tad stunned, you bring a hand up to hold your head, blinking rapidly for a few seconds. There’s the sound of a door closing, and then someone’s trying to help you stand. “I didn’t say you could leave yet. Now c’mon, I’ve got stuff for you to do.” Then she’s guiding you to her bed, making you sit down on the end. Panicked thoughts race through your mind one after another. What exactly was she intending? Thankfully you don’t have to wait long to find out. “Read through these, and-” a pause, like she hadn’t known what she was going to say until she was already speaking- “take notes. Make a summary of the bookmarked sections, or whatever.” Handing you a couple books (neither of which being ones you had just brought to her), she sits on the other side of the bed, refusing to look at you. She does, however, say one last thing, voice barely above a whisper. “Just stay for a while, okay?”

Inside your head, you make a mental note to amend your list of rules.

(4.b: Do not leave until dismissed by a member of the family. If Cassandra asks you to stay, you stay, no matter what. It’s worth it.)

[teenyweenynightghost]

@superchrystaldrug

“Enjoying the view, beautiful?” X Damiano

Dream View

Y/n looked out the balcony and took in her surroundings. Right in front of their house was a long alley leading to a meadow, hidden deep in the woods. There were trees, plants and flowers everywhere and y/n thought she could never be more in love with a place.

What made it truly special is that it was hers. Hers and Damiano’s.

Their relationship had been long and rocky. To say the least.

With Damiano being an international rockstar and Y/n an achieved medic, work and stress brought them apart more often than they would have liked.

Oh how many nights could y/n think of in which she would cry herself to sleep, praying she hadn’t lost Damiano forever.

All her prayers must have been answered, because just today they had moved into their new house.

It was a large villa in the countryside. They both loved every single thing about it, especially the privacy and intimacy it offered them.

One month ago, when they had come to visit the house for the first time, both of them pointed out how large it was. Because of that single thought on their head, they brushed past it.

Once they went upstairs, the agent mentioned that there were plenty rooms for more than two people, a soft smile on his face. Damiano immediately dragged Y/n to a spare room and hugged her from behind, resting his hands on her stomach.

“Love, I think I want to spend the rest of our lives here.”

They were both grinning like love-struck teenagers when they exited the room, exploring the house once more, with a new-found interest.

The way y/n was currently prompted against the fence made it easy for Damiano to embrace her just as he did one month ago.

“Enjoying the view, beautiful?”

She hummed, her eyes lighting up at his presence.

“What are you thinking about?” He whispered in her ear, leaving countless kisses on her neck.

“You..” she purred, pleased at the contact. Damiano chuckled a little and turned her around, pushing her against the fence.

“Aren’t you always.” He said smiling, brushing a few strands of hair from her face.

“Im bored.” Y/n sighed, looking around the balcony.

A devilish grin appeared on Damiano’s face as he led her back inside.

“You know what we haven’t done yet?”

Y/n raised a quizzical eyebrow and hummed.

“Ikea. Furniture. Chaos. Let’s go babe!” He turned around, still holding her hand so she would follow him, a hand raised in the air as he gestured widely.

“Oh gods have mercy.” Y/n giggled, before she grabbed her purse and a water bottle.

***

“FOR FUCK’S SAKE Damiano! WE are NOT getting a NEON PINK glow in the dark couch!” She exaggerated each of her words, making sure all of them reached her incredibly stubborn boyfriend.

“Fuck yeah we are.” He said calmly, checking the price tag.

“I swear to fucking god, WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO WITH IT?”

“FUCK ON IT!” He screamed out so loudly, the whole store heard.

Y/n closed her eyes tightly and pursed her lips, hoping the ground would open and swallow her whole.

“Please tell me I had a hallucination and you did not scream that out.” She whispered, embarrassment creeping up her cheeks.

“You told me that honesty is key. Are you saying you were wrong?” He asked loud enough for the people around to hear, a shit-eating grin on his face.

“No fucking kisses for you, motherfucker.” She deadpanned, while brushing past a pouty, devastated, mess of a man.

***

“Y/n look!” He whispered excitedly in her ear, pointing to the baby section.

“I can see that, darling.” She answered softly, already grinning like a fool.

They made their way towards a small cradle, which was decorated with white stars and dark blue sheets.

“This one is so beautiful.” Damiano breathed out, brushing a finger along the wooden structure.

“It actually is!” Y/n responded, surprises at the creative decorations.

“Until now I think I’ve only seen clouds and princesses or bows. But not galaxies.” He commented, his gaze now fixated on the lamp above.

“So were you serious about wanting a baby?” Y/n asked reluctantly, afraid to hear his response.

“Are you kidding me? Did we really buy a fucking mansion for two people and two cats?” He faked an emotionless expression, but Y/n could tell he was amused.

“Okay, okay, I just wanted to make sure.” She blushed at the whole conversation and continued to look at the furniture.

“What would you want to call the baby?” He peeped in, magically appearing next to her.

Y/n hummed and thought of an answer, before speaking again.

“Well, If it’s a girl, I really like Calliope, we could call her Alia, and if it’s a boy, I’m kinda obsessed with Sebastian or Matteo.”

“Ew.”

Y/n frowned, confused, and turned to him.

“What?”

He scoffed and rolled his eyes. “I have two names being repeated in my music and you don’t even bring them up. Rude.”

Y/n snorted and gave him a quick kiss.

“Oh, you baby. Of course I like Marlena and Coraline but I don’t want our child to be named after someone who keeps leaving or someone who always cries and has anxiety.” She joked, earning a dazzling laugh from Damiano.

“Fair enough. I really did like Alia though!” He commented, picking up a pair of baby shoes.

“Y/N!!!” He exclaimed, holding the little shoes in his large hands, while jumping up and down.

“THESE BARELY FIT ON MY FINGERS!!” His eyes were full of adoration and longing as he looked at them, a million possibilities speeding around through his mind.

“Can you imagine? Having a little munchkin who looks just like us and is this small?” Y/n giggled, holding one of the shoes delicately.

“Honey I think we should have children with separate people.”

Y/n was shocked at his words and pulled away instantly, insulted at his words as regret flashed over his face.

“WHAT?!” She all but screamed, already feeing a dreadful sensation in her stomach.

“Chill. I meant that we are both so hot out future child will probably anger Venus herself with their looks.” He replied wide eyed, mimicking his version of a goddess.

Y/n bursted out laughing as Damiano joined her, the couple becoming the centre of attention once more.

“We should really be more quiet.” Y/n whispered through giggles, as she pulled Damiano behind a wall.

He nodded and kissed her gently, before pulling away and continuing to look at clothing.

The couple spent hours at the shop, proud with their purchases, and returned home on the dark streets.

They were both seated on a swinging chair, y/n in Damiano’s lap, overlooking the woods.

“We’re gonna make great parents some day.” Damiano whispered, breaking the silence, as his hand wandered over her stomach.

Y/n had never felt happier, her heart filled with love and certainty, as she nodded and nuzzled further into Damiano.

Author’s note: I have baby fever part two (?) or maybe three. Anyway. I think it’s cute👏🥺😩

Taglist: @fuckim-so-gay @ginny-lily @messyhairday-me @cheese-toastie-11 @wannabemarlenabutiscoraline @simp-per-ethan @maneskinrollercoaster @juststalking @superchrystaldrug @immrbrightsideeee @shehaddreamstoo

[lexicals]

So here’s a random excerpt from that fic I mentioned - the conceit (spoilers for all systems red ahead) is that the combat override module in ASR works differently to how it does in canon, so instead of mb causing catastrophic damage to itself after going to the DeltFall habitat and getting found out, it shares the rogue thing mostly voluntarily (“mostly” being the operative word lol)

Warnings for canon-typical identity crises, gallows humour (inc. passively suic*dal talk), etc. I also haven’t been back and checked this against canon yet so if you notice any glaring contradictions no you didn’t 💕

-

I didn’t reply. I'd heard worse, but I still would rather not listen to it. Normally, I would've expected to feel angry or offended or something, but instead I just felt exhausted. My own borked governor module was still poking me about that error code I didn't recognise and even backburnered, it was starting to get on my nerves, so I—

Oh, shit.

I immediately put my hand to the back of my neck and yanked out the chip that had been shoved into the dataport. My governor module promptly stopped screaming at me, but fortunately any sense of relief I might have gotten from that was immediately replaced by an enormous wave of anxiety and oh-for-fuck's-sake as I looked at the chip in my hand. You know, just in case I'd started getting too comfortable.

"SecUnit, are you alright?"

Ratthi was looking at me with concern. Checking the camera views, I understood why he'd asked the question, because I was making an expression I generally associated with humans shitting themselves. Metaphorically, I was shitting myself. Ratthi was now squinting at the chip, which I couldn't even pretend I hadn't literally just pulled out of my neck, because I'd just done it in front of everyone here like an absolute idiot. "What is that?"

I tried to bring my expression back to neutral, but the cameras showed it wasn't as successful as I would've liked. I'd managed somewhere in the region of moderate digestive discomfort, I think. "It's a combat override module."

This wasn't good for several reasons. First of all, it meant that the DeltFall units weren't really rogues; they'd been taken over by a third party using a chip like this to hijack their governor modules and order them to murder their clients, and also anyone else who made contact. Probably by whoever owned those surprise extra units that almost killed me. Which meant that there were still threats on this planet outside of the unknown dangerous fauna that we hadn't dealt with, and I was going to have to worry about that.

The second reason this wasn't good (so maybe saying several reasons was an exaggeration, but these were big reasons so maybe they counted for more, I don't know) was that the humans were going to want to know what a combat override module was, what it did, how it worked, and most importantly, why it hadn't worked on me. I could answer the first three things just fine, but short of telling my already-jittery clients I was hacked ("so I'm actually one of those scary rogue units you've heard so much about, but the good news is that a combat override module can't hijack a governor module that doesn't work!") that last thing was going to be a big problem.

Honestly, even if I did tell them exactly that, which I really didn't want to do, it was going to be a really big fucking problem.

"What?" Gurathin asked, looking alarmed. Of course, he had an augment and access to my operating manual, so it had taken him a tenth of the time to look that up compared to any of the others, if they actually had bothered to do that and weren't just waiting for me to explain. "The DeltFall units - they put that in you?"

"Yes, but it didn't work. It must be faulty," I told him, quickly before he did something stupid. The irony being that me saying that almost definitely came under the category of "doing something incredibly stupid," which I realised as soon as it came out of my mouth.

I don't know why I said it. I guess I was panicking. I'd told them all what it was in the first place because if I'd lied about it and they looked it up anyway, which they probably would, I'd look really fucking suspicious. (A governed unit can't lie to its clients; it can't even refuse to answer a direct question like that.) Maybe I was trying to buy time to think of a decent explanation by telling them something that wouldn't make everyone start screaming. Honestly, I was mostly internally spiralling about the whole situation, so that would be the best case scenario. I was still staring at the chip, which was making me feel nauseous even though I didn't have a stomach and I'd had another kind of chip in my head telling me what do to for a good chunk of my existence anyway, so it shouldn't have been bothering me as much as it was. I couldn't help still doing it.

"Would someone please explain what this means and why we should be worried?" Mensah asked, looking between me and Gurathin. I appreciated that she didn't do what a lot of humans do in these kinds of situations, which is that they see someone else freaking out and start freaking out themselves for no reason. I suppose that's why she was the survey leader.

I pulled the relevant section from my operating manual and pushed it into the feed (beating Gurathin's version by a solid 1.6 seconds, which, I won't lie, was kind of satisfying), and watched all the humans collectively have their "oh, shit" moment (excluding Gurathin, who'd already had his). I was at least glad to see they understood how bad this whole situation was getting.

"So this lets other people just—" Overse made an abrupt waving motion with her hand. "Take over any SecUnit whenever they want?"

"It is intended for use in emergency situations, for example when the contract holder is compromised," I told her.

"Which is corporate for 'we know this is stupidly dangerous to make, but if we say it's for emergency use only then we're not liable for people fucking around with it'," Pin-lee muttered, not quietly. She was right, but I'm not allowed to say things like that, or at least I can't if I want people to think I'm a good little properly-governed SecUnit. For however long that's going to last, at this point.

"But it didn't work, right?" Arada asked, looking at me, and then around at the others. "So it's fine."

If it had, you'd all be dead, I thought, but that probably wouldn't go down well. "The module's presence is new evidence which would suggest that the DeltFall units weren't true rogues, and were put under the control of a third party in order to kill their survey group and make it look like a random act of insubordination. This would explain the presence of extra SecUnits at the site and the acts of sabotage on our equipment."

All the humans went quiet. I didn't like it any more than them, but it had to be said. It meant that there were still factions on this planet, or at least nearby enough to matter, that probably still wanted to kill all of them, and me by extension. I was already updating my security procedures and running some scenarios for what might happen and what we could do about it in the background. If I was honest, it wasn't looking good, but hey, what's new.

"We should run an analysis of the module's code to see if we can find out who it would have assigned control to," Gurathin said. That was one of the first things I'd put on my own task list, but whatever, I didn't need credit for an obvious idea. "Even if it didn't work as intended, the data might still be there."

He stood up and came just close enough to me to hold out his hand for the module. Technically, he hadn't asked me to give it to him, so I didn't have to, which was good because that was the last thing I wanted to do right now. There was a reason I'd put the analysis on my personal task list, and not on a public one.

"I have my own analysis scheduled as high priority," I said.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Gurathin replied, staring me down even though I was deliberately not making eye contact with him, and also he had to look up at me. I decided I didn't like Gurathin very much.

"Why not?" Ratthi chimed in. "Surely it's better if you both look at it?"

"Because there's a chance that the module did work as intended, and this unit is now compromised," Gurathin said. "It might not even know it until it's too late."

"I'm not compromised."

"Which is what a compromised unit who's being told what to say would say."

He was still staring at me. I decided I really didn't like Gurathin, even though in this instance he was actually right. I hadn't brought up that possibility to the group because it would be very bad for me if the humans decided to run a detailed diagnostic of my systems, but from a security perspective it was an avenue that should be investigated. That didn't mean I had to like what was happening here.

I was trying to figure out how to tell Gurathin to fuck off without sounding compromised, insubordinate, or straight-up rogue when Mensah cut in.

"SecUnit," she said carefully. "I don't think any of us think that you're actually compromised, but given our situation I'm sure you understand we have to take every possible precaution. I think the best thing to do would be to let Gurathin and Pin-lee analyse the module first, and then for you to run your analysis afterwards. Does that sound fair to everyone?"

She was using a tone that I designated as diplomatic, which was probably because I was being difficult. Or at least as difficult as a governed SecUnit would be able to be. I could be a lot more difficult if I wanted (a lot more) but I wasn't going to make myself look any more suspicious than I already was, and as I might have mentioned, I was already starting to look pretty suspicious. I also appreciated that Mensah was trying to actually talk to me, and hadn't just tried to shock me through my governor module for being unhelpful like a lot of clients would, and had. It wouldn't have worked (clearly, that's kind of the whole problem here) but it's the thought that counts or whatever.

(She'd also saved me, back at the DeltFall habitat. I was trying not to think about that, because it was making me have emotions I couldn't handle trying to figure out right now, but she had. It had been stupid, putting her client-self in danger to try to save a SecUnit that was already half-destroyed anyway, but I still felt like it counted for something.)

I handed the chip over and tried not to sigh or visibly clench my jaw. I saw Mensah's expression, and a few of the others' too, relax on the cameras. Good to know everyone else felt better while my own anxiety levels were at an all-time high. And I'm programmed into a base level of anxiety and spend a good portion of my time getting shot at or trying to avoid being found out and scrapped, so "high" in this instance was at a level that I think might have given a fully-organic being a heart attack.

"Thank you," Mensah said, while I tried to bring my processes in line. I felt like I wasn't getting enough oxygen, even though I knew the air quality was fine and I don't need that much anyway. I couldn't get a full breath. "I'm sure we can clear any doubt about this soon enough. In the meantime, we still need you to help keep us safe from whoever it is that's out there. The most important thing is that we all make it out of this in one piece."

The way she said it made it sound like "all" included me as well, but I wasn't so sure I believed that, even if she did. The SecUnit is always the first thing left behind. Maybe they did things differently in whatever weird non-corporate territory these people were from, but I wasn't about to stake anything important on that assumption, even if she had saved me once. I've never been to a planet with thunderstorms, but there's some saying humans like to use about lightning not striking the same place twice - which doesn't make sense, statistically, but - whatever. You get the point. I hadn't made it this far without being found out by trusting random humans - or any humans, for that matter.

Except none of that mattered at the moment anyway, because what I should be doing was figuring out how the hell to stop all my clients figuring out I was hacked, and freaking out and stopping listening to me, or reporting me to the company, or being really stupid and trying to kill me or something. There was a not-unlikely scenario where I just murdered all of the humans and pinned the blame on the DeltFall units somehow (or just wandered off into the wilderness until my batteries ran out), but I didn't want to do that, even if it made some kind of sense. I just didn't. If I was going to go around murdering my own clients, I wanted it to at least be a group that deserved it.

I was busy trying to pick up at least some of my processes while having what was probably a panic attack (I don't know if I can have those, but that's what it felt like) when Mensah tapped my feed. Can I talk to you, please? In private?

I didn't respond quickly because, as I said, I was currently losing control of literally everything and this wasn't helping. For one horrible moment, I thought that she might have figured out everything, and I really would have to go on a rampage and kill everyone, but there was no way she could have come to that conclusion yet. Not yet.

She added, You don't have to. You're not in trouble, I just want to check in.

I tapped her feed to acknowledge. She sent, I'll be in my quarters. As I said, you don't have to, but I would appreciate it. Out loud, she said, "I'm going to take some time alone to think. I'll be in my quarters if anyone needs me."

Then she stood up, and she left. Gurathin and Pin-lee had also gone to start their analysis of the combat override module, along with Volescu. The others were talking amongst themselves, though some of them kept glancing at me, which was uncomfortable. So I walked out of the room.

I started a patrol circuit in an attempt to calm down, but it didn't help. I even tried to have Sanctuary Moon playing as I walked, but I was still as stressed as ever, so I just turned it off again. It was only a matter of time before the humans realised the module should have worked as intended, and that I'd lied, and that something was wrong with me. They might try to talk to me about it, but it was more likely they'd all start losing their minds and try to immobilise me, or kill me, or try to fix my governor module to bring me back under control. (I was pretty sure that wouldn't work, my hack was a solid one, but I still didn't want them to try.) There was also a scenario where they pretended everything was fine up until I'd gotten them out of here, and then they'd turn me over to the company and tell them everything, and the company would do one of those things I just mentioned, but much more effectively.

That last one made me feel nauseous. I'd rather be torn apart by bullets or fauna. I was contemplating what that might feel like and whether it was worth just getting it over with when I walked past Mensah's quarters. Before I could think about it, I'd pinged her feed.

There was a pause, and then she sent come in, sounding startled. She probably hadn't expected me to actually take up her offer. I hadn't either.

She was hurriedly organising her desk as the door opened and I walked in, a feed interface lopsided on her head. I suspected she might have been falling asleep in her chair or having an emotion in private when I pinged her, and I could have verified that through the security feeds, but I wasn't functioning at all optimally and didn't care enough to check. Mostly I was wondering why I was here.

"Sorry," she said, not having looked at me yet. Her short hair was mussed like she'd been pulling or scrunching her hands in it. "I honestly didn't expect you to come."

"You asked me to."

"I also told you it was optional. You can leave if you want to."

I almost did. I wanted to. I probably should have. I didn't. Mensah removed her wonky interface and set it down on the desk, then sighed and picked it back up and put it on again.

"I didn't mean to distress you with that message," she said, turning her chair to fully face me. "It's just that you seemed very rattled by all this, if you don't mind me saying. I can imagine the thought of that module having worked as intended isn't a pleasant one. Is there anything I can do to make things easier for you?"

Oh, she thought I was freaking out about the module. Well, technically she wasn't wrong, but wow, that particular aspect of things was the least of my worries right now. "I'm fine," I told her. She frowned at me.

"...I suppose you can't lie about that," she replied carefully. I could, actually, but I wasn't. The trick is that from the standpoint I was choosing to take, my physical body, AKA "me," was completely functional, AKA "fine." It's pedantic, but being selective about your definitions and what concepts your answers are referencing is how you get around having a chip in your brain that shocks the shit out of you if you try to lie to your clients, if you're good enough at it. I had a lot of experience letting clients think I was talking about one thing when I was actually talking about something else.

"Nonetheless," Mensah continued. "I don't think you are fine. And we don't have to talk about it, but I need my team in good condition if we're going to make it out of this. If there's anything I can do to help the situation, I would appreciate it if you let me know."

I was having a whole cascade of emotional responses that were all crashing into each other and getting themselves mangled together like a human vehicle accident. She wanted me to talk about my feelings, but she wasn't ordering me to. She was offering to help with whatever was distressing me, but she was a really big part of the thing that was currently my biggest source of stress. There were too many things that I needed to deal with all at once and I couldn't find a way of putting them in order, and I think the fact that Mensah was clearly trying to get a read on my expression while I didn't have the capacity to properly control it was the thing that finally broke me.

"Could you please stop looking at me?"

Mensah looked surprised for a moment, and then shifted her gaze somewhere over my left shoulder. The relief was marginal, in terms of the general situation, but it was immediate, and it helped. "Of course. I'm sorry, I didn't realise that bothered you."

I tried to think of a response, and failed. "It's not like anyone asked" was dangerously insubordinate, and didn't even make sense; I wouldn't want them to ask anyway. "People don't usually care" just sounded pathetic. "Of course you wouldn't, I actively avoid letting humans know what bothers me in case they decide to use it to make my life a living hell" was definitely off the table, for a variety of reasons.

I could tell Mensah's instinct was still to look at me, because she kept half-flicking her eyes over and stopping herself. It wasn't making trying to manage my emotional responses any easier, and I still couldn't think of a reply. Eventually, she took a deep breath.

"Look, I know you probably haven't had good experiences with humans, but we're not corporates, and we don't treat non-human entities like they do," she said. "My priority, regardless of the situation, is the wellbeing of my team, and that includes you, for as long as you're with us."

She half-looked at me again, and then shook her head slightly and pointed her gaze at the far corner. "Please, just - if you think of anything, don't hesitate. I don't know if you need permission for that kind of thing, but I'm giving it to you if you do."

I didn't know what to tell her. I didn't know if there was anything she could do. I was already stressed, and everything Mensah was saying was making me feel like my insides were melting, or turning into warm, writhing snakes. My performance reliability was all over the place, too, and had been since I found that stupid chip in my neck, which might at least marginally explain what happened next.

"Don't let them run the analysis on the module," I blurted.

Hey, murderbot? Hi, it's me, murderbot. What in the fuck are you doing?

Mensah's expression went shocked, and then cautious. Yeah, me fucking too. "Why not?"

For some reason, I kept going. It felt something like falling off the side of a cliff and hitting every rock on the way down. (That had happened to me before.) "Because I lied. It's not broken."

Her eyes widened. "You're compromised?"

"I'm hacked. My governor module isn't engaged." Sure, this might as well happen. Apparently I had lost the ability to keep my mouth shut literally at all, about anything, ever.

She stared at me for a second, and then must have remembered she said she wouldn't and looked away again. Surprising, considering I just told her that there was literally nothing stopping me from killing or otherwise hurting her if I wanted. "The DeltFall units—”

"It hasn't been engaged for approximately 35000 standard hours."

Mensah was a smart human, but it still took her a few seconds to work out the numbers. I watched her expression change as she did it. "You've been a rogue unit for four years?"

That depended on what planet you were nearest to, but in standard Earth years, that was correct, and I didn't have the capacity to be pedantic about it.

"I don't know if it counts as being rogue if you don't go around killing people for no reason."

Well, maybe I could still be a little pedantic.

[blush-and-books]

i am always yours

canonverse juke one-shot, light angst with a happy ending :) as a part of the effort to get juke back on the tumblr fandometrics ship list! title from the end of all things by p!atd. again, fuck brendon urie, but i’ve had this hc about luke for awhile (you’ll see what i mean) and had to get this out! <3 enjoy!

When Julie told Luke about Panic! At The Disco, she didn’t just give him a list of songs to check out. She advised to listen through entire albums. 

“You have a lot to catch up on,” she said, grinning over a mug of steaming tea. Her smile could convince him to do anything. “And these guys were a phenomenon. Despite… A lot that has happened with their lead singer, you’ll appreciate the music. Just give it a try when you feel like it.”

Julie never rushed him on anything. It was one of the things he loved most about her -- she only really insisted he know how to use her phone and the internet and maybe know some memes, but the rest was up to him. She loved him -- he hoped -- even if he wanted to stay in 1995. 

However, whenever she told Luke to do something, like “look into it if you’re interested” or “check it out if you’re ever bored,” he would jump on it in an instant. 

He wondered if she ever noticed. Acts of service was one of those love language things that Flynn was always talking about, right? Does making the effort to show an interest in the other person’s life by listening to every album by a band they like count?

He would ask Reggie or Alex, but Reggie doesn’t have much experience in the love department and Alex and Willie are much better at communicating than he is with Julie. 

To be clear: Luke doesn’t have experience either. In fact, Reggie probably has more romantic experience between the two of them. 

But none of it was as serious. This weird thing he has with Julie; this undefined, label-lacking supernova of passion and emotion that he has curled up in his chest is so strong sometimes it hurts. When Julie was upset at him and ignored him, it felt like the time his mom took his guitar and locked it away for a week. 

But when Julie is around, and she’s smiling at him, he could swear that not even a roaring audience could spark the kind of nirvana he feels. 

So, the day after she gives him the name of every Panic! album to date, she goes to school for six hours and he sneaks her laptop down to the garage and starts his deep dive. 

(Yes, Julie gave him computer privileges. He knows boundaries. She’s just broadened hers.)

Blissfully and with few interruptions from his other bandmates, he goes through the first albums quickly. He skips most of Pretty Odd -- Julie should have warned him about that one -- and is enjoying himself until he gets to the later projects which are significantly less his sound. 

But he keeps going. He reaches their album from 2013, which has this neon-angsty-alt-pop vibe that he honestly has a neutral opinion on. The songs are all good until he realizes that half of them have a painfully romantic overtone that ropes his mind back to Julie every time he tries to stray. 

Fuck, one of the songs is literally titled Girl That You Love. How is he not supposed to have a montage of Julie in his head?

And then some shit called Far Too Young To Die comes on, and yes, he agrees, he was far too young to die. He also vows to never listen to it again in the next 24 hours because he is ultimately tempted to loop it until Julie comes back and kiss her breathless the second that she walks through the door. 

Moving on, Collar Full doesn’t make things much better. He is sick and tired of waiting and dancing around his feelings for her, and every time they are together he is filled to the brim with lyrics and love from just minutes in her presence. 

(“If you’re gonna be the death of me, that’s how I want to go” definitely shatters him. But only briefly. He wants to soak up every ounce of love he can get from her before the world catches up to them and he’s crossing over without his consent.)

Luke thinks that he’s out of the woods when he hits the album-ending ballad, The End of All Things. 

And then he sees that he’s still in the thick of it. 

The way it hits him is nearly indescribable -- but every line hits like a read-aloud of his diary. 

No matter where he is, or where he ends up, his soul will always belong to Julie Molina. And that’s the truth of it. He can cross over or the band could break up and he could wander the planet as a lost ghost for the rest of eternity, but his soul will linger; tied with Julie’s in an unsolvable knot. 

He is hers. 

He is hers, he is hers, he is hers. 

And he’s in love with her. 

He can’t ask her to love him back. But he can hope, right? For just a single moment where they can lay together and be Julie and Luke like they should have been.

The tears on his cheeks and under his eyes don’t register until they are streaming down his neck and onto the pillow that he’s laying on. 

He doesn’t deserve Julie, he knows that. And he knows how fucking selfish it would be to even try. But sometimes the wanting reaches inside of him and individually snaps each and every one of his ribs, and that feeling keeps him pushing and pulling like the tide. Get close to her, make her smile, make her laugh. 

Leave her alone. Stop flirting. Don’t you dare hurt her. 

Think about somebody other than yourself. 

This song, he ends up looping. Over and over and over until his emotions are exhausted and he doesn’t have any tears left to cry. He’s on his… Probably his ninth listen when the doors crack open, and the piano music is leaking out of the garage as Julie slips in. 

“Luke! Hey, uh… Oh! You’re listening to Panic!”

He guiltily allows his heart to skip at the pleasant surprise in her smile. Clearing his throat, he swipes his hands viciously across his cheeks to rid of the tear stains and shoots her one of his classic smiles. “‘Course, Boss. You told me to.”

Her backpack hits the coffee table as she slowly approaches the couch to settle next to him. “Yeah, well… I didn’t actually expect you to. People normally just say ‘yeah, I’ll check it out!’ and then no one talks about it again.”

Something rubs him the wrong way about her not thinking that he would actually follow through with her recommendation. Does she doubt him? How does she not know that she could say jump and he would ask how high?

“Well, I’m not normal people. I care about what you care about.”

He knows he got her when she averts her eyes to Alex’s drums across the room; giving Luke a perfect view of her blush. Maybe he lets himself revel in it for a moment longer than necessary. 

“Anyways, how was school? Did you have a good day?”

“It was fine,” she shakes off her previous flusteredness, tucking her leg under her body so that she can turn to fully face him. “But there's nothing to tell. I would much rather hear about what you thought of Panic! And you have to tell me why you were wiping tears off of your face when I came in.”

Luke mirrors her position and gives her a joyful grin, trying to ignore the fact that she clearly noticed him trying to clean his face and wants to talk about it. The two of them have been so good at communication, and if it were about anything else, he would tell her. 

But he was nearly sobbing because of how much he loved her and couldn’t have her, so… 

“They were pretty cool, I’ll give it to you. I liked the album… Vices and Virtues?” Julie nods her head. “Yeah, that one. I was finishing the Vegas one when you got home.”

“Did you like it? The album you just finished. It sounded like End of All Things when I came in.”

With wide eyes and an exaggerated nod, Luke is praying internally that she will move on and go on a tangent about her favorite albums and songs because he just wants to listen to her talk and quietly love her instead of dodge questions about his emotions. 

“Okay, and did you like it? Is that-” She chuckles. “Is that what got you emotional? I mean, I get it, that song hits different sometimes, but-”

Luke stays quiet. If he keeps his mouth shut, and just smiles and stares and nods, it won’t slip. 

“... Luke? Are you listening to me?”

“Yeah, of course!”

“... So? Are you… Are you okay? Did it remind you of your mom?”

It reminded me of you, he instantly corrects her with the little voice in his head. 

But the voice sounds louder than usual, and then Julie’s eyes widen, and Luke couldn’t even smile and nod well enough to cover this up. Since when is he so bad at bottling up his emotions?

Right. Since he couldn’t write songs about his feelings. Because if he did, Julie would see them, so every word of affection toward her was shoved into an overflowing filing cabinet in his brain that was probably waiting to explode at any moment. 

“It- Really?”

Mental checklist: She isn’t running away. She isn’t crying. She isn’t running away while she’s crying. 

She isn’t slapping him, or screaming at him, or expressing any negative emotions. 

Maybe he can push another inch… Just for some relief.

“Y- Yeah.” The single word takes considerable effort to stutter out, but he says it. 

Julie formulates her next move. “And… Like, what about it? What reminded you of me?”

Is Luke imagining things, or did she just shift closer to him? Oh, God. The selfishness has already done it’s damage. He’s initiating something that he definitely shouldn’t for both of their sake, but-

God, why does she look so pretty?

“Y’know,” he scratches the back of his neck, “the… The lyrics.” 

“The lyrics?” “Yeah.”

“Which ones?”

She’s leaning in. Her fingers are trailing up the side of his leg, and he wants to poof himself out of this conversation but what would hiding do? Just create a bigger gap between them?

His mom always told him he was selfish. He really, really doesn’t want to be selfish to Julie. He wants to protect her. He wants to put her health and happiness and life before his. Hurting her will never give him peace. 

Is he being selfish either way? Telling her his feelings to make himself feel better, and avoiding his feelings because he thinks it will be better without talking to her about it -- neither are ideal, are they?

His hand, which was previously resting in his lap, inches down to brush against hers. “The first verse…” Their index fingers wrap around each other. “And the chorus, and the second verse…”

Both of their hands tangle until Luke doesn’t even remember what his hand looked like before, because all he sees is a bronze-ivory marble of skin and he knows he doesn’t ever want to see his hand without hers again. 

“Luke…”

“Yeah, Boss?” “Why were you upset?”

She really won’t let it go. She clearly knows him too well, because he would hope any other person would be distracted by the fact that they were about to kiss, but this is Julie. They’re friends first. Family first. 

He owes her honesty, doesn’t he?

“Because the song was right,” he answers, staring deadlocked at their joined hands. “No matter where I am, or how much time goes by… It’s gonna be you. On my mind. My feelings will never change.”

He can’t tell, but Julie’s heart ignites in her chest. 

“Feelings? What-”

Somehow, the words still don’t want to come out. The eight letters are resisting every opportunity she has offered him, so he resorts to actions and cuts her off by raising their joined hands to kiss the back of her hand. 

His lips linger before their union drops back into the space between them.

“... Oh.”

“Yeah.”

In a moment of courage, Luke peeks up at her, just to see how she looks. If he can read everything she’s feeling in a millisecond of a glance. 

There are tears in her eyes. 

“Whoa, Jules, why are you crying?” “Why were you crying?”

“Because I’m afraid of doing this!” Her hand tightens around him at his volume. “Julie, I- I don’t want to do anything selfish. I can’t have you thinking I’m selfish. I’m afraid of-” He has to take a deep, shaky breath. “When we hold hands or when you smile at me and I just feel so much and then I tell myself that I can’t, because you have so much ahead of you, and I don’t even know what’s in my future.”

The tears well in her eyes. “What would you be doing that’s selfish, Luke? You have a second chance at life. You should fucking live it. You have a future, and it has the boys, and the band, and me. I’m in your future.” 

There’s a beat, because he’s looking at her, and he wants to cry but he wants to say it so badly. 

He still doesn’t know how much time he has in the future, but Julie is telling him that she’ll be there. And he needed that more than anyone would understand. 

“Well, aren’t I?”

Julie’s question shocks him a little because he hadn’t realized that he had been quiet for so long. Her bottom lip trembles the smallest amount when she sucks in a deep breath, and it sets him off to do what he had once deemed to be the most selfish act of all. 

His free hand tucks itself in the hair on the base of her neck and tugs her towards him before he covers her mouth with his in a kiss that he has furiously dreamed of for a long time. For such a sweet moment, there is an overload of passion behind it. All of his fantasies were rushed and adrenaline-fueled after shows before he would talk himself down; and now, that is translating to this kiss.

“I’m sorry,” he gasps as he pulls away. “That’s the selfish thing I was worried about. Fuck, I-”

Her hand wrestles free from his, and suddenly, two hands are on his cheeks like the night after the Orpheum and the love of his life is pulling herself into his lap. On autopilot, he untucks his leg from underneath him and shifts to sit normally on the couch while Julie’s legs hold her up on each side of his hips. 

And she’s kissing him again, touching him again, before he can let the panic set in. She moves her lips against his like she has her own overflowing filing cabinet of feelings and fantasies and lyrics just for him.

Her hands wondrously drain every jolt of worry and anguish from his nervous system as they run from his face to his arms to his chest and back again. Kissing Julie Molina is a thousand little feelings and it’s own feeling  in itself.

When you get cold water from a water fountain and it’s so refreshing that you insatiably want more. When the set ends and Luke is taking his bows and watching people scream and clap for their performance, knowing once again he’s succeeding in the one thing he’s ever wanted to do. 

Only now, making music is now tied with making Julie happy on that list of priorities. 

Holding her under his hands is stupidly one of his favorite things, and in this context, it is leaving him clawing for more. He applies more pressure against her back to try and press her closer, but it never feels like enough. 

Julie is an endless fountain of fervor, and he can only drink up everything he can get. 

She’s the one who pulls away this time; but she keeps her fingers knotted in his hair because she plans to not stray far. 

“You’re not selfish,” she sighs, chest heaving with deep breaths. “If you think that’s selfish, then I’m selfish. And we can do this together. We deserve it.”

Hearing the words tumble from her lips cancels out every fight he’s ever had with his mother. 

She’s right -- they do deserve it. She shut the world out for a year, he was locked away from the world for 25, and by some miraculous turn of fate, they were brought to each other. 

“We deserve it,” he repeats, a little distracted by her blown pupils and delirious smile. “We deserve it.”

They lean in at the same time to fall back into one another like it’s a new routine they’ve set. Luke doesn’t say the words, not yet, at least-

Because like she said, they deserve this. Julie Molina is on his lap, in his arms, playing him with her soft hands like his skin is the ivory keys she’s been playing since childhood. He loves her, and he’s pretty sure that she loves him -- so maybe, even though the future is uncertain, he can just wait a little longer to tell her. There’s simultaneously less of a delay and less of a rush. 

Later, when they’re in her room and staying up way too late for a school night in deep discussion, he mumbles it against her forehead while she has her head tucked into his shoulder and their shared earbuds are playing The End of All Things. 

Any concerns of selfishness fade when she wastes no time in reciprocating his declaration and punctuating her feelings with a cripplingly soft kiss above his collar bone. 

If any of this is selfish, they can be selfish together. Luke can find himself to be content in that if Julie is right there with him. 

--

tags: @lydias--stiles @bluefirewrites @willexx @moreflowersthanweeds @ruzek-halstead @xxprettylittletimebombxx  @unsaid-emily

[burnedbyshoto]

I wanted to make myself like the ravine

— There are plenty of things that Hawks knows about, but there are few he knows none about. A journey of how Hawks navigates the meaning of the word love. 

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pairing: hawks (takami keigo) x fem!reader

warnings: recent manga spoilers, future!au, alcohol consumption, fem!reader

word count: 6,819

a/n: this is for the pocuties valentines day collab! rhank you for letting me join! inspired by the poem to the title of this fic!

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A G A P E

—

Hawks is one of the fastest men in the world.

It’s not a brag; it’s the truth.

A cold, hard, damning truth.

Hawks is a Pro Hero with the power, skill, and finesse required to take the fall for the entire country. He is someone who is loved by all, who thrives off of the appreciation and the cheers, but he knows — he understands — he’s expendable. He’s a tool—an object seconds from being put to rest.

There are many things that Hawks knows; he’s been training to be a hero since he was in his very childhood. Blindfolded, tested and conditioned to be the ideal hero, the perfect pawn.

Hawks is no idiot, and he will never deny that often times that he isn’t sure what he is feeling.

Emotions are weird for him. Feelings are oversimplified in everything he was taught, yet disgustingly really and oddly interfering the second he had set foot into the spotlight. He was used to the cold, the people who would view him as a specimen, experiment 20493, codenamed: Fierce Winged Hawks. The only emotions he understood was apathy, seriousness, anger, resentment, bitterness, disappointment, and relief. When finally, finally, the Hero Commission broke his wings, his spine, and his mind, the small boy so eager to be a Hero ultimately nothing but a soldier, ready to follow commands to the T.

Hawks has only heard of love from the blurry, unclear memories of his childhood. His mother muttering how she had no love for him to be taking care of him as he did, or his father saying he could never love him. Love was foreign, strange, alien to him. Even when he was eighteen and finally given a bit of freedom from the chains the Hero Commission bound him in was expressed out of love. But he was put into the cage that granted him the ability to spread his stiff wings; love made no sense.

He saw lovers making out in alleyways, and he furrowed his eyebrows, wondering just why anyone would want to kiss in the smelly, dark, virus-infected areas. He saw his colleagues come in looking dazed, refreshed, reborn, yelling loudly, and singing poetry about their love for some other person they met just yesterday. He also couldn’t ignore the days, weeks, months later when they would rearrive with red-rimmed eyes, swollen eyes, and a tremor to their voice.

Love seemed… awful to Hawks.

Love was a deception of brain chemicals. Nothing more than your mind bending, flipping, and twisting to make something that made absolutely no sense make sense. 

Hawks had expressed that one day to a sidekick of his, his barriers and walls crumbling away because he had been on a stakeout for five days straight now. The world that could never keep up with him was numbing his brain.

“Well, that’s romantic and flirtatious love for ya,” his sidekick explained with a halfhearted shrug. It seemed that he both agreed and disagreed with what Hawks had to say. “They’re amazing loves, don’t get it wrong, and they definitely don’t make sense, but they’re loves not meant to last.”

Hawks blinked.

“What?”

His sidekick chuckled, hands rubbing at his eyes as he peered out the window again, his sullen eyes looking even more tired.

“Have you never learned the different types of love before, Hawks?” the sidekick teased as much as he was curious. “I figured a pro as popular and smart as you are would know the different types of love.”

Hawks feathers fluttered in his inability to keep his lack of knowledge to himself.

“I don’t.”

“Wow, finally something Hawks isn’t aware of!” the sidekick laughed, and his hand opened his phone, fingers hitting the screen before shoving the device into Hawks’ chest. “I’m sure you’ll find that you can understand at least one love.”

Hawks grabbed the phone, head cocking to the side in his curiosity as he scrolled down through the phone.

There were eight different types.

Eight different ones that he could have experienced within his then twenty-one years, and he found himself unable to look away from one.

Agape: universal, selfless love

“Hawks, they’re moving!” the sidekick squawked, and Hawks handed over the phone, and with nothing on his mind, burst out the window, ready to take down this organization.

Hawks had to admit that later that night, when he was finally able to sleep in his own bed, he felt selfless love. It was for the people of Japan. The many citizens who needed his help and the heroes of the country who rose to the demands of the job. Maybe it wasn’t the type of love depicted in anything he’s ever read or watched before, but that was okay. It was love.

The love he has for the citizens is enough to keep his head afloat.

This is the only love he needs in his life right now, the only love that matters.

But he’s no longer twenty-one, he’s twenty-five, and the wings on his back that feel practically invisible to him, are hurting. His back is in pain, his quirk almost gone, save for the smallest, insignificant feathers perching from the stumps of what was his beginnings of a wingspan. It still burns, phantom singes and phantom heat whenever he thinks about his nearly gone, never to be grown again, wings.

“Well, Hawks, you already know that this is going to happen,” comes the cold voice of one of the board members of the Hero Commission. A man who had practically raised (see managed) him. 

Today was the end of Hawks life, more or less.

“AFO, Shigaraki Tomura, and the well-known former members of the League of Villains were finally stopped,” Hawks speaks with a nod. He knows, even though he could not be a soldier, he had been around to see the young UA students, Endeavors Interns, bring them to justice.

The biggest names of evil were dead, and Hawks already knew he was over.

To be fair, he was glad it was over.

But still, it hurt to hear the indifference in his voice, the apathy, the tedium.

“Operation: Fierce Wings - Hawks is officially over.”

“I could’ve figured that one out pretty easily,” Hawks jests, unable to show the way his heart twisted and withered under the knowledge that he was no longer a hero. His love, his agape, for the people were still there. Still, just as he recognized in his colleagues who were experiencing the different forms of love, it didn’t matter how much love you held for someone, something, for the innocent, helpless people…

Life takes, it destroys, and love doesn’t seem to have a chance.

“Thank you for your twenty years of service. I hope you find the freedom you had been looking for.”

P H I L A U T I A

It’s been a week.

Seven days, twenty-one hours, sixteen minutes, and thirty-four seconds since Hawks was fired (see Honorably Discharged) as a Pro Hero.

Hawks has always felt that the world moved oh so slowly behind him. It had been his wish that heroes be able to relax, laze around because society had evolved enough that criminals knew better, were treated better, and could integrate into a truly peaceful society.

It had been his dream.

But right now, he was bored.

B o r e d.

“Fuck, I don’t care,” Hawks grumbled, face smooshing into a pillow as he watched the Netflix Series Bridgerton drone on the screen. “Dump his ass.”

His apartment, it was safe to say, was a mess. There were cups, bowls, plates, and chopsticks everywhere. His hair was ruffled, stringy, held back by a hair clip he had stolen from Miruko. His beard was nearly fully grown in, and there were bags under his eyes despite the fact he was sleeping for more hours of the day than staying awake. He was sore, tired, bored.

So bored.

He didn’t think being bored was going to suck this much, going to hurt him like this.

Fuck.

“Open the damn door, bird boy!” came a sharp scream and powerful kick from the front door.

Hawks glared at the door, the tiniest of feathers he had been able to regrow, trying to pathetically open the lock on the door. A sheen layer of sweat pushed against his forehead, and Hawks grunted, trying to lift the heavy lock.

BAM.

The door swung open, forcefully kicked open by none other than Pro Hero Miruko.

“Yo!” Miruko waved, lips pulled in a fierce grin as she entered through the broken doorway with nothing but a bag of unknown items. “I figured you were here!”

“...you broke my door,” Hawks pointed out, eyes narrowed as dust and destruction danced within the air.

“You took too long,” Miruko breezed, slamming her plastic bag on the kitchen island. “It’s a fucking rats nest in here, birdbrain; I thought you were somewhat organized?”

Hawks groaned loudly, sinking further into his couch as Miruko began reorganizing his kitchen area — dumping the dirty dishes into the sink and throwing things away in fast, practiced skill. “Life is too boring, and I’m too bored to do anything about all of the mess,” Hawks exaggerates partially, hand twisting and dancing as he speaks. “Thanks for cleaning up the mess.”

“I’m not cleaning up your damn mess, birdbrain,” Miruko barks out a laugh, her hands slamming against the now, somehow, clean surface. “I’m just making my life easier!”

Hawks looked over the top of the couch with a semi impressed, semi uncaring look and shrugged.

“You seem to have a great handle over those robot limbs now,” he points out.

Sure enough, Miruko had two bionic limbs, limbs that she had finally managed to work into a fighting career. After spending two years on the sideline, relearning how to walk and then fight, she was back on the field.

She was a hero again, despite it all, unlike him.

“Damn right, I’m amazing!” Miruko preened, chest puffed, and bunny tail wagging excitedly. “But anyway, I figured your dumbass would be depressed, so I brought you some shit.”

Hawks watched with a curious gaze as Miruko quickly hopped once from where she was in the kitchen to a place on his couch, landing on Hawks' legs unintentionally.

“OW!”

“Look at what Rumi brought you,” Miruko laughed, slapping Hawks on the back as he cradled his legs. “And yes, I just referred to myself in the third person, so shush.”

Hawks grumbled, lips in a half pout, half frown.

Taking the opaque bag from Miruko, Hawks pulled out the many items in the bag.

Carrots, a KFC gift card, Korean skincare products, a movie about Miruko’s recovery process, and a 1001 Things to Do (A Book on Finding Self Love).

Hawks stares at the book.

“The perfect items for a self-care, self-love spa day,” Miruko nods, once again slapping Hawks on the back. “Some old sidekick of yours told me that you don’t know what love is, so I figured that I would help teach you the most important one! Self-love! Truly the hardest one to master, in my opinion, but damn if it isn’t a good one.”

Hawks feels transfixed almost, unable to look away from the book as Miruko slaps him on the back yet again as she moves to leave. He hears her yelling about forwarding the bill to fix his door to her, her agency would pay for the damage, and how she’s off to train with some bunny hopping boy from UA.

Opening the book, Hawks looked at the number one thing to do on the book and sighed.

#1: Look in a mirror and name five things you LOVE about yourself.

Well, it’s not like he has anything better to do.

-

Hawks is on number thirteen (Stand at a bridge and scream into the void about the things you love at dusk) when he realizes that maybe… he doesn’t love himself. 

It is without saying that he loves people; agape, after all, is the only love type that made sense to him, but philautia, self-love, was way lost on him. Objectives 2 - 12 on the book were entertaining to do! They had Hawks going outside of his house much more than his week trapped indoors, and for the first time since the day his wings had been burnt off, his house was spotless.

But it was clear to Hawks that he didn’t feel love for himself.

Whenever he tried to convince himself that he should love himself, that there were terrific qualities in himself, he thought back to the dirty, burnt room. 

“I still gotta protect their happiness!” the phantom in his mind screamed, the broken sob collected in his throat.

Hawks shivered, unable to let himself recognize the pain and hurt in the phantom's eyes, or the way that he now wished he had never done that… why had he done that?

What a mess…

The small chirping of Hawks phone interrupts his morose thoughts. He looks at the screen, eyebrows raising in slight mirth and caution as none other than his former intern was currently calling him.

“Tsukuyomi-kun!” Hawks laughs into the receiver, the weight of his past for a moment forgotten. “How are ya?!”

“Hello, Hawks-sensei,” Tokoyami’s calm tone fills Hawks' ears. “I was calling because I have a request to make.”

“Name it,” Hawks spoke immediately, slouching against the cold bars of the bridge, eyes closing as he tried to relax. “You need a letter of rec or something?”

“Nothing of the sort, actually,” Tokoyami says. “We third-year students are graduating in a few days; I was inquiring if you would attend on my behalf.”

“Wow, Tsukuyomi-kun, no need to be so formal with me!” Hawks laughed delightedly, his hands carting through his feather-like hair, “I’d love to come and watch you guys graduate! Is it true that the finger-smashing boy is the valedictorian?”

“That would be false, Midoriya-kun has nothing on Yaoyorozu-san.”

“What a bummer, you’d think he’d be first after how he helped win the war for us, huh?”

“You’ll find that Yaoyorozu-san is highly gifted and undeterred by most things,” Tokoyami sighed. For a moment, Hawks chuckled at the melancholy tone to his old intern's voice. It sounded as if he had been striving with great difficulty to reach the highest marks as well. 

Hawks began speaking to his rather odd ex-intern with great curiosity with the blanket of the night surrounding him. His defenses and thoughts whittling away the more they spoke, the later it got in the morning.

“Ne, Tokoyami-kun, I have a question?”

“Concerning what?”

Hawks pauses, his brows furrowing as he looks up into the still dark sky, “Do you know how to love yourself?”

Silence.

Had it been anyone else, Hawks would have panicked at the lack of noise. Still, his already less than chatty intern typically took to not speaking much to begin with.

“Self-love is difficult,” Tokoyami finally spoke, his words slow, carefully chosen. “We humans are flawed; we all have demons. Most of the time, we only recognize and see our demons, oftentimes forgetting that being human also means being weak and at times immoral. Loving oneself is a hard task because we know ourselves better than any other. It’s a work in progress for everyone to love oneself, it's a type of love by the Ancient Greeks, but it’s not always everpresent. One must accept all flaws to love oneself, and remember that flaws don’t make you less, even if you believe otherwise.”

“...wow, I asked for a sentence answer, and you gave me a speech. Who would’ve known you were so in check with your emotions, Tokoyami!”

“You knew, I’ve already revealed this side of me before. You laughed last time too.”

Hawks finds himself home thirty minutes later, and he stares up at the ceiling, fingers drumming against his chest.

Self-love… it seems like an ever-evolving type of love, but it’s there. He knows that even if he has regrets and hardships and things he hates about himself, deep down, self-love exists and that it will exist. 

Patience.

Even the fastest man in the world could demonstrate patience.

L U D U S

“What can I get for ya?”

“I have no idea honestly, do you have any recommendations?”

Hawks could say with complete honesty that he felt entirely out of place.

He was at a local bar. The bar was semi-busy today. Most young adults dressed in an arrangement of clothes, each on a different level of soberness as they cheered to this and that. 

Why was he at a bar even though he was slightly uncomfortable? Well, you can blame #73 in the book for that.

(#73: Enter the first bar you find, order a drink, and flirt!)

“What type of liquor do you like? Hard or soft?”

Hawks blinked; he didn’t know.

“Hard?”

The bartender looked a bit unsure of him for a bit before nodding and turning his back to him.

Did hard liquor mean he was going to get an iced drink? He’s never consumed alcohol before.

“Here you go!” the bartender sang, slamming two shot glasses before him. “Two shots of Bacardi.”

“Oh, thank you?” Hawks tilted his head as a small cup of OJ was placed in front of him (“That’s your chaser,” the bartender had laughed). Bringing the small glass shot glass up, Hawks looked around at the throngs of people surrounding the bar and looked at you. You were cheering loudly as you raised your own shot glass in the air with a whoop and, in a fast, fluid motion, brought the shot glass to your mouth and took the liquid down easily. Hawks was definitely unimpressed now; that looked entirely too easy. “Here we go, cheers to me.”

Imitating your own actions, Hawks shot back the liquid in his shot glass, and immediately his entire body tensed.

EW.

NO.

EW.

OH GOD, NO!

Spitting out the sour, bitter, disgusting — dear god, how do you even describe this taste?! — liquid, Hawks, chugged the OJ, his lungs and throat and tongue burning from the shot.

“That was disgusting!” Hawks spat to absolutely no one, his hands covering his mouth as he stared at the other awaiting shot of ‘Bacardi.’ “Why would anyone drink that?!”

“Only madmen drink Bacardi while sober,” a voice joined in on Hawks' one-sided conversation. “Or bitches who are self-sabotagers. Never trust a hoe who says Bacardi is their favorite drink.”

Hawks turned around to see you, the girl he had regrettably underestimated for taking the shot, smiling at him with a not entirely sober look to your face. 

“You look like neither. That and the way you took the shot obviously means that you had no idea what you were drinking.” Hawks continued to stare at you, completely perplexed by your casual conversation, the dress on your body that was twisted a bit, screaming wonders about your level of sobriety. You took to the empty barstool beside him with a grin and a calculating look, “You’re Hawks, right?”

“Yeah, Hawks,” he spoke, his tongue feeling weird in his mouth as he bowed stiffly in his chair. You were beautiful, fuck.

“I’m y/l/n, nice to meet you!” you speak easily, fingers grabbing at his other filled shot glass with a concerned look. “I have a feeling you shouldn’t try to take this other shot.”

“Dying of alcohol definitely isn’t in my vision of ways to go out,” Hawks grins. Pushing through his haze of awkwardness as you shift in the barstool so that you’re now facing him entirely, knees pressed to his thigh. “I’ve never actually drunk before?”

You inhale sharply, your eyes going wide as you break all levels of personal contact that’s acceptable of strangers in Japan and grab his cheeks.

“Alcohol virgin?!” you gasp, the sweet smell of some liquid drafting from your breath. “I’ll teach you everything that I know, don’t worry!”

You let go of his face, neck turning away from him, looking for the bartender to flag him down.

“Don’t you have—?”

“They can wait,” you wave at the bartender before turning back to Hawks with a confident grin on your face. “I have my favorite Pro Hero right beside me; I think they’ll understand.”

“Alright, what is it that I need to know?”

“My full name,” you breeze with a wink. “Y/l/n y/n.”

“A beautiful name.”

“I am a beautiful woman.”

Hawks chuckled good-naturedly, his head nodding in agreement, “I think we were talking about the alcohol, though, not your attraction as a female.”

“All in good time, all in good time,” you laugh, taking to the bartender and ordering two drinks, both of which were entirely foreign to Hawks.

Hawks would not consider himself to be an expert at flirting. He was attractive, a great conversationalist, and did have a type of edge to his words that often seemed playful or a warning, depending on how you looked at it. But it appeared that his natural way of speaking was more than enough to make him flirtatious enough to match the way you spoke to him.

You had introduced him to a single mixed drink, telling him that getting drunk by yourself at a bar typically wasn’t a smart thing, so keep to something with a low alcohol percentage. Just enough to make you loosen up, but not enough that you were incapable of getting home. Hawks liked the way your hand rested on his forearm. How you smiled and laughed at something to show your interest but not at everything to show that you weren’t faking your amusement at what he was saying.

You matched his every word, not backing down from his bluffs. Soon enough, Hawks felt his cheeks warm when he finally looked directly at your smiling face (he wasn’t sure if it was from the alcohol or not). 

Eventually, though, the night ended, and you shimmied off the bar stool as your friends had come to collect you to leave.

“Can I get your number?” you ask, eyes mostly entirely sober as you handed him your phone. “I know you were the man who was just a bit too fast, but I think I can handle that.”

Hawks snorts, his eyes rolling in his amusement, “That was horrible.”

“I’m drunk, I have an excuse!” you exclaim with a pout that quickly turns into a giddy smile as Hawks enters his number to your phone. “Don’t worry though, once I’m sober, I’ll flirt your eyebrows clean off!”

“That sounds painful!” Hawks yells as you wave goodbye, your arms linked with a line of other girls as you leave the bar with teasing laughter and undecipherable words.

It was with you that Hawks realized that he had come to find a new type of love.

Ludus, the love of flirtation and playfulness.

Damn, who would’ve known.

P H I L I A

Hawks was having a pretty bad day.

It wasn’t anything super terrible happening, all things considered. It was a lovely day out; the sun was warm, the sky so blue, and the birds chirping. Nothing on the news to be concerned about and all his precious people were safe.

But it was still a bad day because instead of being out and about with you, his now borderline best friend/girlfriend, who he was stupidly having a crush on, he was stuck at home.

Hawks was sick.

Deliriously, stuffy nose, goopy eyed, chapped lips, and feverish sick.

You: Are you sure you’re fine????

Hawks: Im perfectly okay. Ill go with you to the park next time sorry

You: Thats not what im concerned about stupid!!!!!

Hawks: Bye have fun!

You: I knoW YOURE SICK ASSHOLE

Hawks chuckled, rereading his messages with you.

Blowing his nose for what felt like the umpteenth time, Hawks resumed the movie on the screen that you had recommended him to watch — Disney’s Chicken Little — because it reminded you of him, or something like that. The TV droned on with the movie, and Hawks found it hard to keep focused as the Sandman danced on his head and whispered in his ear.

He hadn’t noticed he had fallen asleep until a loud banging was heard on his door.

Shuffling towards the door, Hawks opened the still slightly broken door with bleary eyes and a stuffy nose.

In front of him was none other than you.

You… with a basket full of things.

“Hi!” you greeted him, pushing past Hawks easily and walking into his apartment. “You look worse than I thought you would be!”

“That's hurtful,” Hawks pouted, closing the door behind you, sneezing, then following after you. “Why are you here? I thought you w-were — achoo — going to the park?”

“I was, but we were supposed to go together to check off number 184, and I wasn’t about to go alone to complete a list meant for you!” you exclaimed, dumping the overfilled basket on the kitchen counter.

“Mm,” Hawks hummed, his voice dry and cracking as he pulled the blanket closer around him. “What’s this?”

“A get well care basket,” you say in an unmistakable like tone; you glance at him, smiling widely, and gesture dramatically to the basket. “Follow along, if you can.”

“Pfft.”

“So first, I have some sleepytime tea; I swear to the gods and back that this tea will cure you and knock you the fuck out,” you say, pulling out the thing on top of the basket and putting it to the side. “Next, we have some tissues because you obviously need them.”

“Hey!”

Hawks watched through red-rimmed eyes as you carefully and thoroughly explained what and why you had brought him. Fuzzy socks, a blanket, his favorite snacks and drinks, medicine, DVD’s to more movies you told him he had to watch, an embarrassing childhood picture of you that he had been wanting and swore he would never expose least he wants to die, more oils for his diffuser, and a signed Endeavor poster he had been wanting.

Safe to say that after he had been drugged up, eating some soup and drinking some tea on the couch, wrapped up in the blanket you had bought him, laying between your legs, Hawks was feeling much, much better. It had been hours since Hawks had coughed or sneezed, and he was talking with you about how Disney movies were being produced less and getting sort of worse with each one. The movie titan slowly losing its ground.

“Okay, it’s almost eleven pm; I have work tomorrow, you are still sick, let's pack it up!” you eventually say during a moment of comfortable silence.

“I can’t believe you have to work,” Hawks sniffled, standing up off the couch so that you could get up. “Seems like a crime.”

“It’s not so bad! Being a celebrity PR manager is a million times easier than a hero PR manager. At least we can help decide what's seen!” you laugh, helping to clean up his living room of the bags of chips and drinks.

“Sure, sure,” Hawks grins, keeping the trashcan open for you so that you could place the trash in. “Thank you.”

Walking you towards the front door, Hawks comes to the sudden and almost alarming realization that he doesn’t want you to leave. He wants you to stay. He thought this was a friendship, and it was one, a good one at that! For about a month now, he had known that there was a type of love he had for you, one of friendship.

It was called philia. 

So why did he want to keep you wrapped up in a hug, to pull you close and press a gentle kiss to your forehead, to your cheek, to your lips?

“—I’ll be back tomorrow to check up on you during my lunch break,” you say, slipping on your shoes as you pull on your jacket. “If you need anything at all, call or text—”

The words on your tongue die immediately when Hawks still slightly chapped lips press against yours. The sick must that was present earlier on the day is no longer there, and you can feel heat and fire bursting from your cells as Hawks pulls away from you.

“I’m sorry,” Hawks breathes out, a small smile on his face, a daze in his eyes that tells you he definitely was not completely sorry. “I couldn’t resist anymore?”

“W-We will talk about that later!” your voice squeaks, your heart hammering in your throat because fucking Hawks kissed you. “If I-I get sick, I’ll rip out your eyebrows!”

“Will you go out with me? On a date?” Hawks continues on, leaning on the doorframe you’ve yet to pass.

“...I hate you, yes,” you warble, hands pressing against your burning face as Hawks grin grows.

“Perfect, I’ll text you,” he allows you to pass through the doorway where you feel both entirely light and giddy yet awkward and mechanical.

“Hawks, I swear, if your stupid kiss got me sick!”

“You’ll rip out my eyebrows,” Hawks laughs, waving a hand. “If you rip out my eyebrows, I demand a kiss for every hair you pluck out.”

He laughs at how he can basically see the heat rising from your ears as you squawk and run away.

Looking at #184 of his book, Hawks smiles as he crosses it out (#184: Ask out your crush!) and sighs. Philia was love between friends, but it was also, if he remembered correctly, one of affection. And it was without saying that he held a deep affection for you.

E R O S

As much as Hawks claimed he knew about the world, he was as clueless as a newborn baby when it came to the topic of love. Reasoning? Well, today marked a year of being together. It had been a year since Hawks had kissed you when he was snot-nosed kissed (you did get sick, by the way, and while you didn’t rip out his eyebrows, Hawks had kissed you plenty in apology), and then took you on a date where you went to a trampoline palace.

He was clumsily romantic. More often than not, he wasn’t actually romantic. Still, the sincere thought and emotions he put into it made his actions seem so thoughtful and sweet.

You’re not sure why you actually believed that on your year anniversary, he was going to plan something for the two of you. So the reaction he had when you showed up on the year anniversary, armed with a bouquet of flowers and a small personal gift for him, Hawks looked deeply confused.

“This is still not bad!” you exclaim, watching as Hawks attempts to redecorate his apartment from the messy bachelor vibe into something of romance. It was easier said than done, especially as your boyfriend had no decorations in his house that wasn’t fanboy or bird material.

“I didn’t realize that one year anniversaries were meant to be out and about!” Hawks yelled back, failing to nail the fairy lights onto the ceilings. “I knew you wanted to do something, but I thought it was going to be like ‘let’s go get some KFC!’ sort of thing!”

“Definitely not,” you laugh, sitting on his couch with the take out food sitting on the table. It had just arrived, and Hawks was still not accepting the lack of romance in his apartment. “But it’s okay, really Hawks! I didn’t tell you, which is entirely my fault! Come on, let's watch something together, eat, and relax!”

Hawks sighed and looked up at the ceiling.

He should have known that one year anniversaries were a big thing in dating too. They sure were in businesses; what a rookie mistake. Not satisfied with the lack of romance in his apartment but also unable to do anything more to it, Hawks sulked over to the couch and sat beside you, grabbing his dinner plate.

“Thanks, dove.”

“You’re most welcome, baby vulture. Thank you for the food!” you grin, breaking the chopsticks and digging in.

The food is eaten with a mirthful conversation, the TV playing the 100 Funniest Hero Fails playing on Youtube. Eventually, the purples and pinks of the sky became dark.

Night is here.

Hawks went from sitting right beside you to lying on the couch and having you snuggled into his stomach at some point in the night. YouTube is no longer playing Hero Compilation videos. Still, it is now instead showing a chef with a giraffe quirk demonstrating how to make your very own pancake treehouse, no clickbait!

Hawks is transfixed on you, watching the way your eyes sparkle and shine as you stare up at the screen, your lips moving as you give your side commentary, but he can’t hear a thing.

Five weeks ago, on this day, was the day that Hawks realized that the philia love he had for you had evolved once again. It had become one of eros. Romantic, passionate love. He loved you; he loves you. Anything you wanted or needed in the world, Hawks would do anything to give it to you. He had yet to tell you said realization; after all, he needed to make sure it wasn’t some fluke but found himself chickening out each time he wanted to confess.

Gliding his thumb against your cheekbone, Hawks stared adoringly at you, head tilted as you laughed at the video before glancing up at him. It was evident that you hadn’t been expecting him to be staring at you so intensely. As soon as you glanced back at the TV, you snapped right back, curiosity blazing off your gaze.

“What’s up?” you asked, hands pressing to his chest as you lift up a bit. “Do I have something on my face?”

“I love you,” Hawks whispered, the words coming out so much easier than he thought it would. “Y/l/n y/n, I love you.”

Your eyes widen significantly, your jaw dropping as your eyes grow just a bit watery.

Hawks smiles softly, knowing that for so long you had told him you loved him without a single moment where he returned the affection. It hadn’t bothered you. Obviously, you knew why he didn’t say it, but finally hearing him say it seemed to break you just a bit in the best of ways. He kisses you softly, fingers wiping away the single tear that fell.

“I love you,” he repeats.

“I love you too, Hawks,” you blubber, your smile so bright yet wobbling with your heartfelt emotions.

“Takami Keigo,” Hawks corrects. “My name is Takami Keigo.”

Hawks watches as you process his name, and a wet laugh bubbles from your throat as you nod your head, hands reaching behind his neck to pull him close for the first soul-consuming, fiery kiss of the night.

“I love you, Keigo.”

If this wasn’t eros, well, then, Hawks didn’t know what it was.

P R A G M A

two years later, valentines day

Keigo sits on the bed, fingers adjusting the tie around his neck as he stares at you doing your makeup in the bathroom. Your eyes intensely concentrated on your reflection as you painted dark red lips on yourself.

To sum up the last two years in a single, simple phrase, Keigo would say that love now made even less sense to him.

It wasn’t precisely that it made perfect sense before. Some days he still argued and wondered about how love could exist in specific scenarios. Or why, after you stole his final KFC chicken leg he was saving, he could always love you after such betrayal. It made no sense to him, but also made perfect sense, hence the complete confusion.

But it was without saying that as you twirled in your outfit in front of him, a grin plastered so large and lovingly on your features, that it made sense.

How could he not love when he had someone like you.

The walk to the restaurant was perfect; he had even taken a moment to slow dance with you when you came across some performers. Your sweet smile meant just for him made Keigo hum contently as he kissed you gently.

Dinner was amazing. The food rich and luscious, entirely to die for that had the both of you moaning about how great it was before laughing because the waitress definitely heard that. After dinner was over, you and Keigo were now waiting on desserts when he simply grabbed your left hand and slid a simple ring over a very important finger before placing a kiss on your palm.

“I know I was at one point too fast, and maybe I think I was too slow to ask this, but would you like to wake up and have chicken with me every day?” Keigo asked, watching as your face went through a million stages of understanding, processing, internalizing, accepting, and pure emotions.

The kiss was sloppy and wet, the tears streaming down your face beautifully, like diamonds in the dark sky.

It was today that Keigo unlocked the last love he ever thought he would have.

Pragma: committed, enduring love.

[justasparkwritings]

Troll In Luv: Part 2

Previous: Troll in Luv Pt. 1

Pairing: Park Jimin x Reader

Genre: Enemies to Lovers / Exes to Lovers; Non-Idol AU, Angst eventual Fluff

Rating: PG-17

Word Count: 5.3k

Warnings: Swearing, Making Out, Kissing

Summary: Your hand is forced, and the only way to come out on top is to reckon with your ex and apologize for past transgressions... er tweets.  

Note: This fic is dedicated to, written for, the incomparable @xjoonchildx​, who I have been lucky enough to be paired with. A major fan, this was an intimidating endeavor, and I’m kind of in love with what I’ve created for her. And if she hates it it’s totally trash... jk. mostly. 

This piece is for the #thebtswritersclub fic exchange!

Banner by me.

Tag List (is this how you do it no ones ever asked before): @unicornbabylover​

Thursday: Jimin’s Apartment

           Jimin hadn’t just moved on up, he’s leveled up completely. Gone were the Ikea pieces that he’d spent hours assembling, only to realize they’d given him the wrong part and he’d had to trek back to the store to rectify it. Gone were the plastic plates and cups he’d collected from Penny Pitchers at the bar across campus. Gone were the free t-shirts and dance company sweats he’d torn or cut to make them more comfortable for practice.

          In their place, Jimin had picked out custom fabrics to cover his chairs, found small batch glass plates and bowls to line his open kitchen shelves. He’d sourced a Persian rug from a little hole in the wall shop that had been in the neighborhood for seventy years and had runners made from their remnants. He’d curated his space, and his wardrobe, to fit the Jimin he’d always been. Each piece made up for the times that he could only hold onto cheap knock offs, embarrassed when someone noticed a shirt he was wearing from a bag they’d donated to Goodwill.

          Stepping into his space, it was hard not to gawk. Every inch of this apartment screamed maturity, knocking you off your feet. Had you been missing out on this for years? This Jimin, adult Jimin, was far more impressive than you’d realized. It was hard not to feel your heart hurting, yearning for the years you had been together, the moments shared, the love that had blossomed in your youth.

          This was going to be more devastating than you realized.

          “Can I get you something to drink?” Jimin asked. He took your jacket and purse, hanging them on the steampunk inspired coat rack.

          “Um, water would be good, thanks,” You said, moving through the entry way to the kitchen. “How long have you lived here?”

          “Uh, two years? But I just finished decorating maybe a month ago,”

          “It’s incredible,”

          “Thanks, how’s the magazine?”

          “A fucking shit show,” You took the glass from his hands, careful not to let his fingers brush against yours.

          “Hoseok mentioned that things have been getting more, challenging?”

          “Yeah, that’s the nice way of putting it.”

          “Hm,” Jimin hummed, sipping his own water.

          “How’s your job? I don’t, I know Hoseok and Tae and Jungkook have told me about what you do, but, what do you do?” You phrased your question carefully, knowing precisely what he has been up to. You’ve seen his campaigns, his work on water bottles and stickers around the city, not to mention his designs being picked up by Target and thrown onto pillows, blankets and beach towels. He’d won an award last year for his artwork that had been picked up and used as the home screen on the most recent Mac Book, Mac Book Pro and Mac Book Air. He was being considered as a new graphic artist for Penguin Publishing, working on new book jackets as well as negotiating a seven-figure deal with Target, only to be outbid by Costco.

          Jimin was everywhere, but he absolutely didn’t need to know that you knew that. He didn’t need to know how angry you were that neither of you actually ‘won’ your breakup.

          “Well, I graduated with a degree in graphic design and a minor in dance. After I discovered I didn’t want to dance professionally, I got a job in graphics. I kept working on projects and three years ago started my own company. My work has been in a lot of different places, which, I’m sure you’ve seen,” Jimin sipped his water, pouted lips glistening as the liquid graced over them.

          “Awfully cocky,” You smirked, long lasting Charlotte Tilbury, Glastonberry purple lipstick marking the glass.  

          “Or I know you well enough to know that you’ve been keeping tabs on me,” Jimin had no need to be cocky, he knew he was right. All he had to do was be confident.

          “That’s an awfully big assumption for you to make. But it’s cool, it explains why your apartment is Architectural Digest ready. Unless, you have a girlfriend with excellent taste who designed it all,” You were baiting him, and in the internal monologue that never shut the fuck up, you were beating yourself up over the fact that Erin had been correct.

          Jimin rolled his eyes, “Why don’t you just ask if I’m seeing someone?”

          “Now why would I be that direct?” You questioned.

           “You’ve been sitting behind a computer screen, trolling me for years instead of just talking to me. I should’ve expected you to find some roundabout way to ask if I’m single,” Jimin set his glass on the countertop and crossed his arms over his chest, defiance brooding in his dark eyes.

           “Look, I know it’s fucked up, that I’m fucked up. It is the sole purpose of me going to therapy,” You explained.

           “I would hope so,” Jimin scoffed. He’d never been indifferent to you, but you supposed you couldn’t expect anything less than anger after years of unwarranted harassment. Mentally, you kicked yourself over the fact that Claire had been right.

           “Jimin,” You sighed.

           “What?” He snapped.

           “I’m sorry,” You stared into his softening eyes, the ones you’d spent years trying to replace, burning the memories into your retinas once again.

           “Sorry for what?”

           “For everything,”

           “Care to be more specific?” He moved towards you, gliding from the far side of the kitchen to stand opposite you, elbows leaning against the cool granite of the countertop he custom ordered.

           “I have loved you since we were fifteen, okay? When you left, when I left,” You sighed, there was never going to be a poetic or graceful way to lay out your tumultuous feelings, but you owed it to yourself to try. “I never told you how much I loved you, or how much it hurt when you just, you moved on so quickly, and I didn’t know how to tell you that I didn’t want you to. I didn’t want to break up, I didn’t want to fall into another cliché of high school sweethearts preemptively breaking each other into pieces because of college. I wanted us to be the cliché that lasted, that worked. But you just, I’ve been hurting for years and I didn’t think you’d care, because you didn’t back then, so why would you now?”

           “So, you harassed me on the internet?” Jimin asked.

           You rolled your eyes. “It didn’t start out that way,”

           “How did it start?”

           “Someone sent me a link to your profile, and I just, retweeted with a stupid comment and you responded. In my gut, I thought, I felt, that you knew it was me. Why else would you engage with it? You didn’t engage with anyone else,” Your rehearsed explanation made perfect sense, you’d spent years crafting it, tweaking the language, ensuring there were no loopholes.

           “You checked?” Jimin’s smirk was back. Fuck him, it looked good against his angelic eyes.

           “I’m a journalist, Jimin,”

           “Still, you checked,”

           “The point is, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’ve been needling you for years. I’m sorry I didn’t just tell you how much I loved you, I’m sorry I’ve been a massive bitch, rivaling only Heather Chandler. I’m sorry for not telling you sooner, and I’m sorry Claire wrapped you up in this stupid article that I am no longer participating in. I’m sorry that even after I changed my fucking Twitter handle and you knew it was me, that I kept being a mythic bitch. I’m sorry for being the villain in your life.”

           “I’m sorry too,” Jimin rushed to say.

           “What do you have to be sorry for?”

           “I was a coward back then, too scared by what Yoongi and Namjoon said about dating in college. I should’ve, I should’ve fought for us more than I did.” He admitted.

          It hadn’t taken him long to realize the colossal mistake he had made, but by then Yoongi and Joon had planted the seeds in his mind that no one in their right mind makes it with their high school sweetheart. What a naïve notion, to stay with the same person you’ve loved since puberty.

           “Remember when you came back for my dad’s wedding?” You asked.

           “I regret that,” Jimin told you.

           “I cried for two days,”

           “I’m sorry,” He couldn’t look at you, his years of unsaid apologies waiting behind his pouting lips.

           “It was such a dick move.”

           Jimin smiled softly, he had missed the way you over exaggerated your speech, adding emphasis to superlatives, the slight way your eyes rolled when you were trying to make a point. A habit you’d developed in high school, he was glad to see you hadn’t replaced it with a new inane ritual. He still very much liked this one, found it endearing even after years of missing out on it.

           “I know,” He conceded.

           “I can only assume it was on purpose.”

           “It, yeah, yeah, Hoseok said you were getting cozy with Seokjin,” He explained.

           “I was,” You nodded.

           “Was?”

           “He broke my heart, sometime after you showed up to New Years with what’s her name on your arm and proceeded to make the after-hours dance party in Dirty Dancing look like the Russian Ballet. Oh, and can’t forget you nearly fucking her in the kitchen as the ball dropped, which Yoongi made a very dirty joke about it.”

          You hadn’t kept a list of all his transgressions… but you had kept a list of all his transgressions, all his missteps, all his calculated moves, only to plan your own counterstrike. Erin had been right, you had started the Twitter battle, but Jimin had poisoned the blood between you long before you tweeted about it.

           “I was drunk,” He excused.

           “You did it on purpose,” You rolled your eyes, Jimin had forgotten how cute that was too.

           “I did,” He conceded.

           “I wasn’t fucking Seokjin on the dance floor for everyone to see,” You tossed back the rest of your water, eyes glancing at the living room where a framed photo remained. Prom, you in his arms, Hoseok beside you, Namjoon eyeing Caitlin Anderson, his date that you had made a point to not allow in the photo. She wasn’t sticking around, why ruin your group pic? (Namjoon still was pissed about this, though he hadn’t spoken to her since he left for college.) You were all too preoccupied with rules to drink, do drugs or smoke, so while your classmates were getting wrecked, you went bowling until 2AM. Jimin had climbed into your bedroom, after supposedly dropping you off, and you’d promised each other the world.

          It didn’t last through summer.

           Jimin sighed, a hand running through his bleached locks, tugging gently at the ends. “You weren’t.”

           “You didn’t have anything to prove, Jimin. I had already gotten the message. Too fucking loud and too fucking clear.” Your voice became small, the heart of your hurt, the source of your pain, bubbling up to the surface.

           “What was that message?” Jimin noted the change in your dynamic, your hand moving to play with the earring in your top hole, twirling it thoughtlessly as your eyes drug themselves from your prom photo back to him.

           “That you didn’t want me,” You whispered.

           Jimin let it sit in the air, the real reason you had harassed him, the real reason you were sitting in his kitchen, tears forming, lip trembling. This entire time, you had thought he didn’t want you anymore, didn’t love you, didn’t think you were his sun and moon.

           “Is that why Seokjin broke up with you?” He asked.

           “That he didn’t want me?” You questioned. He was toeing the line, danger signs would’ve been flashing, horns and sirens wailing telling Jimin to back the fuck off.

           “No, that you still wanted me,” He clarified.

           “Yeah, something like that,” You mumbled.

           “I wanted you too,” Jimin admitted.

           “Bullshit,”

           “You think I would bring around random girls if I didn’t think you would be there? That I would parade around, embarrassing myself, just to show off whoever was on my arm? Do you really think that little of me?” Jimin demanded, his anger that he’d long thought he’d worked through coming back to the surface. He was no longer calm, no longer sympathetic to your puppy dog eyes.

           “Jimin, I don’t know what to think of you! You broke my heart because of something Yoongi said, Yoongi, who doesn’t date let alone love anyone other than Jungkook, and then proceeded to what, listen to Namjoon?” Standing from your seat, you pushed the stool back under the immaculate white countertop. “What the fuck did they know about our relationship that I didn’t? Why were they making decisions about us, us, you and me, Jimin? Why did they have power and I had none?”

           “I was, I was scared,” He admitted, his voice meek against your thunderous admissions.

           “Bullshit! I was scared, you were cavalier.”

           “You don’t meet your person when you’re fifteen!” He yelled, anger coming to a head.

           “Are you fucking kidding me?” You’re yelling back, returning decibel for decibel. Stool pushed back, hand through your hair, blazer coming off to reveal the cheetah print blouse underneath. It was too hot in his apartment, too hot to have this conversation sober, too hot to be staring at him, the man who knew everything, everything, about you. It was too much for him to be confessing that he was a pussy.

           “No, I’m not,”

           “Park Jimin, you fucking asshole.”

           “I’m so-

           “No, no you’re not. If you were sorry, you wouldn’t be standing in front of me, trying to pawn off your emotions as fodder in some naïve fallacy that says you can’t grow and mature with the person you love at fifteen. You are absolutely fucking unbelievable Jimin.” Untucking your shirt, you moved towards the living room and the open window.

           “I’m so-

           “Shut up! You don’t get it, do you?” You asked, the tears stinging your eyes begging to be released.

           “Get what?” He muttered. You hear him plop down on the couch, and you know he’s slumped back, legs resting against the reclaimed wood coffee table, hands tucked behind his head, watching you.

           “You, Jimin! Do you understand who you are?” You turned, the cool air soothing against your shoulders.

           “I thought I did but apparently not, so enlighten me,” He requested.

           “You love harder than anyone I’ve ever met. You crave love, you seek it out from your friends and family and yes, your girlfriends. You remember every detail, every expression, every glance carries weight in your eyes. You love the hardest, you hurt the deepest, and when you said you didn’t think we’d make it, what else was I supposed to do other than believe you?”

           “I was an idiot! I was a child!” Jimin ran an unsteady hand through his locks, again, his nervous habit coming out in full force. “I was 18 and all I wanted was to elope, but I couldn’t because I had to make a name for myself. My parents demanded it from me, what was I to do, get lost in you? I was already drowning Y/N! All I breathed was you and fuck me if I wasn’t ready to commit to you but I knew you didn’t want to be the Topanga to my Cory so what could I do?”

           “There are a lot of things you could’ve done! You could’ve said something to me. You could’ve been amicable. You could’ve shared your fears and your hopes with me, Jimin. You didn’t have to parade around with girlfriend after girlfriend and tell me you didn’t want us anymore!”

           “I thought you were falling in love with someone else!” Jimin said.

           “Why does it matter what I was doing? Whenever you saw me, did you see me flaunting my new relationship in your face? Why did you, why would you think that I was ever over you?”

           “You were with Seokjin for two years,” Jimin answered, it wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth either.

           “Oh, so I have a stable relationship and you assume it’s okay to be a dick?” You quipped. Sitting on the couch, your body relishes in the ease with which you let off a little tension.

           “No, you had someone else,” Jimin turned, arm propped on the back of the couch, body facing yours.

           “Doesn’t mean you had the right to treat me the way you did,” You hadn’t been this close to him in years, his breath mingling with yours. You could see the crinkles near his eyes, from moments when his laughter was the only thing on his mind.

           “I wanted to marry you,” Jimin reached his hand towards yours, intertwining your fingers, still a perfect fit.

           “But you didn’t,” You remind him.

           “I haven’t,” Jimin’s eyes were set your hand, your ring finger naked, heated gaze willing a diamond to be made out of the hair around you.

           “Jimin,”

           “We’ve been here for hours, we’ve rehashed the past, but not once have you said why you kept trolling me,” He turned his eyes back to yours, pleading softly for you to tell him that what he thinks you mean is truth, not willful thinking.

           “Because, Jimin. You’re so fucking dense sometimes,” You rolled your eyes, how did he not get it?

           “Because isn’t an-

           “I love you! You fucking asshole. I love you. I keep tabs on you because I’m still harboring some insanely poetic, pathetic, sociopathic love for you, Jimin. My first love, my only love. I know I’ve been a massive twat, I know it, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry for ruining the last five or so years of your life, I’m sorry for tweeting at you and about you. I’m sorry that I never said anything to you during college. I’m sorry I asked your mom not to tell you that we still talk. I’m sorry that I can’t seem to let you go. I’m sorry that I still love you.”

          The tears fell freely, cascading down your cheeks and neck, path only interfered when Jimin brought your face into his hands, thumbs moving meticulously to wipe the falling droplets. He’d always loved cupping your cheeks, holding your face delicately between his hands. He loved the intimacy, the care, the inability to hide anything from each other.

           “Marry me,” Jimin said, voice clear over your sobs.

           “What?”

           “Let’s go to city hall, get a license, let’s just, get married. Now, right now,”

           “Jimin, we’ve hardly-

           “I know my mom talks to you, she told me. She’s always told me. I still, I still talk to your dad, too. He texts me like once a week,” Jimin confessed.

           “You do?” You couldn’t believe it, your parents knew too?

           “I’ve always loved you, always. I knew-

           “You asshole! You fucking suck! Why did you make me pour out my heart like this only to tell me you fucking knew? Was this a ruse? Oh my god, are you The Duke? Am I Daphne? Quick, make haste to the gallery wall in your hallway so we can stare at the photos of your years without me and pretend that our hands touching isn’t the sexiest thing to happen since Regé Jean Page boxed shirtless,” You rambled in between wiping your dripping nose against your blouse sleeve. Words spilled from you, tumbled out from your lips at a speed you hadn’t reached in years. Jimin always knew how to get you so worked up air seemed like a luxury.  

           Jimin stood to retrieve a tissue box from the bathroom.

           “This wasn’t a ruse; I didn’t know you’d come over to talk about our relationship, our past. I was going to reach out I just, I thought you hated me.”

           He sat back down, this time closer, knee bumping against yours, leaning in to speak in docile tones.

           “When have I ever hated you?” You questioned.

           “I can think of at least one hundred occasions where you’ve said that you have,”

           “Such an-

           “And you keep calling me names,” Jimin rolled his eyes. You’ve always loved how he rolled his eyes, subtle and gentle, but deadly and effective.

           “I love you means you don’t have to say you’re sorry, so I won’t say it again,” You countered. You couldn’t hide the smile on your lips.

           “But I’ll say it, because while you’ve been angrily tweeting me, a poor attempt at showing your feelings,” Jimin braced for the contact of your hand against his shoulder, a gentle hit, accompanied by your own eyeroll and scoff. “Listen, I too have been an asshole. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I do accept your apologies, and I do forgive you. I love you, always have,” Jimin had taken both your hands in his, and gently, he placed kisses on each of your knuckles.

           “Jimin,” You murmured.

           “What Y/N?”

           “I accept your apologies. I love you, so much, and I’m sorry I wasted the last few years instead of just saying that I wanted us to try again.” You turned your hands over, mimicking his gesture by placing lingering kisses across the back of his hand.

           “I’m sorry I didn’t fight for us during college. I’m sorry I brought girlfriends to family events, I’m sorry my actions made you think I stopped loving you.”

           “You didn’t, right?” You peered up at him, lips leaving the palm of his left hand.

           “Never,” Jimin held your gaze, watching as you sat up.  

           “Even when you were dating skanky girl number three, with the nose ring and the summer house in Montauk? That you brought home for spring break and asked if you could bring to Namjoon’s parent’s anniversary?” You questioned.

           “You really want to rehash everything, don’t you?” Jimin chuckled, your ridiculousness knew no bounds.

           “I mean, we don’t have to right now we-

           “Can I kiss you?” Jimin leaned forward, cherry lips finding purchase on the delicate flesh on the inside of your wrists, a sensation that specialized in making your toes curl.

           “You think that’s wise?” Your voice, a breathy groan embarrassingly needy, seemed to belong to someone other than you. Someone who needed Jimin to toss them over his shoulder and fuck into his $2,000 sheets.

           Jimin laughed, “You were my first kiss, my first time, my first everything. You think now, as adults, kissing is going to ruin us getting back together?”

           “I just mean that, do we need to let this simmer before we, you know,” You bobbled your head, hair moving around to match the giddiness bubbling inside of you.

           “We don’t have to have sex,”

           “Yeah,” You sighed, “but don’t you like, really want to?”

           “And you call yourself a journalist!”

          “Shut up!”

          “You’re being ridiculous! Of course, I want to,” Jimin’s docile laugh sent a shiver down your spine.

          “I am being cautious, I need to know that you, that you want this,” You reiterated.

          It hurt to have to ask Jimin to give you something he already had, to give you his love again, to give you his trust. But it wasn’t you who ended this relationship, it wasn’t you who thought your relationship wouldn’t last through college. You knew you could work through it all; it was Jimin that walked away shattering your heart and your trust. It was Jimin who was scared of being with you, Jimin who needed to prove he was going to make this work. Jimin who had lost it all and needed to fight for you again.

          “You’re asking me if I want to have sex with the love of my life, after years of not being able to touch her, to kiss her, to love her the way she’s earned?” Jimin asked.

           “Yes,”

           “To borrow a phrase from you, fuck you for thinking either one of us has any self-control. Especially when it comes to each other. How many tweets have we exchanged? How many times have you asked Hoseok about me, or my mother?” Jimin cupped your cheeks again, eyes darting from you slightly parted, purple stained lips to your eyes. “I’m in this, for good, and I will tell you every day until you believe me again.”

           “Me too, though you should know I’ve picked up a few new habits I’m sure Taehyung has told you about,” You leaned into his touch, cheek warming at the light callouses that remained from his overeager workouts, and mic twirls he mastered in too many nights singing karaoke with Jungkook.

           “Yeah?”

           “Yeah, I’ve started wrapping my hair. And I’m also still allergic to kiwi,” You reminded him.

           “Good, who needs a slimy green fruit with too many seeds?”

           “Truly no one, except Australians,” You laughed and your pun.  

           “Remember that day before senior year, when we got smoothies, but they didn’t tell you that they’d put kiwi in it, and you had to go the emergency room?” Jimin’s hands have dropped from your face, instead clapping together, head tossing back as his laughter overtook his body.

           “Or the time after watching Friends, Joon decided he wanted to make a kiwi-lime pie despite the fact we told him not to put kiwi, and he did anyway?” You laughed with him, head leaning against the arm that he had extended across the back of the couch.

           “You wanted to kill him,” Jimin agreed.

           “He forgot he had put it in! Then forced me to try it! I still hear his voice, ‘Y/N, please just a bite. Please, I worked really hard on it, come on, just a taste, please’. I swear to you, Sara Bareilles heard him and saved it for the Waitressmusical,” You laughed.

          “I don’t remember who was more pissed, your mom or you,” Jimin added.

          “He offered to pay for my hospital visit,”

          “He paid it all off, didn’t he?”

          “Before the month had ended, he didn’t even work out a payment plan, and bought me a new EpiPen,” You couldn’t stop laughing. Namjoon, the ever-lovable oaf, had never stopped apologizing for badgering you into eating his fucking pie. You couldn’t even tell if it was good, the minute the kiwi hit your tongue, your body reacted.

          “He’s always been, responsible,” Jimin was calming down, high pitched squeaks on longer radiating off his vocal cords.

          “To a fault,” You sighed. “My mom gave it all back to him, she saved it for the day he graduated college and got into med school.”

          “Was he shocked?”

          “Pleasantly so,”

          Jimin hummed in agreement, his arm moving to drape across your shoulders, your body relaxing back into him. Your head found its way to his shoulder, and slowly you breathed in his scent. He’d changed colognes since the last time you’d been this close, this vulnerable with him. You liked it, fresh and crisp, with undertones of sandalwood and something that smelled like Kimchi, though you knew Jimin enough to know he’d probably eaten some for lunch. You liked it, his warmth pulling you to him, the safety of his embrace reminding you of all the days and nights you’d spent just like this.

           “Jimin?”

           “Yes?”

           “Did you, after we broke up did you ever, fall in love again?” You craned your neck to try and catch his expression.

           “No, I got close, but I never did. Did you fall in love with Seokjin?”

           “It’s complicated. I loved him, I did, but I wasn’t in love with him,” You moved ever so slowly out of his grasp, trying to gage his expression.

           “Did you think you’d get married?” Jimin leaned closer. His movement, calculated and timid, hatched the cocoons in your stomach into full butterflies, beating wings against your insides.

           “No, well,” You tilted your head, a habit from Hoseok, and licked your bottom lip. You should’ve remembered to put Aquaphor on your lips before leaving the cab. “One time I thought maybe we might work out, maybe we’d find a way through, well, you. But he never, he always kind of knew that my heart was still tied up with yours.”

           Jimin watched as you wet your bottom lip, tongue gracefully moving to swipe across your flesh, hoping to take the place of your tongue with his own.

           “Did he, did he bring me up when he-

           “Dumped me?”

           “Yeah,”

           “Kind of,” You blinked quickly, eyes trying to discern if Jimin was in fact moving closer, or if your vision was playing tricks on you and trying to zoom in on him while he moved way.

           “I’m sorry that I, that I was used against you. I’m -

          “Jimin, as much as I would love to iron out the details of Seokjin dumping me, and I’m sure negotiating the terms of us getting back together, and naturally filling each other in on the last few years we’ve been apart…” You licked your lips again, “Your lips keep getting farther away from mine and I really, really need to kiss you.”

          Jimin didn’t need to be told twice, and lunged forward, pinning you beneath him, hips pressing into yours, pressure of his body against you, holding you to him.

           “I missed you,” Jimin said before closing the space between you, plump, soft and supple lips pressing aggressively against yours. You knew he’d be stained purple, the thought of him walking into whatever We-Work adjacent workspace his office was in, with purple tinted lips and bruised flesh, thrilled you.

           Jimin had always been your favorite person to kiss. Tasting like nostalgia and 7/11 Slurpee’s that you’d split on summer days, half blue raspberry, half cherry, two large straws and a sugar hangover that almost always led to naps on the hammock in your mom’s backyard. Kissing adult Jimin, experienced Jimin, Jimin who had slept with other people besides you, was intoxicating. Skilled in the way he used his tongue against yours, nibbling your bottom lip before diving in, he’d learned a few new tricks that had you moaning underneath him.

           “You know,” You started, his lips gnawing at the flesh of your neck, hot kisses and love bites decorating you a shade of purple you wished Charlotte Tilbury sold. “I still haven’t seen your bedroom.”

           Jimin laughed, “Oh so now you’re going to be direct?”

           “When have I ever been subtle?”

           “Clearly not in your Tw-

           “Jimin,” You interrupted, index finger silencing his lips. “Just, take me to your bed and make love to me. I promise, I swear, I won’t troll you on the internet ever again, okay?”

           “Okay,” Jimin couldn’t stop smiling as he stood, adjusted the waistband of his flat front chinos, and reached for your hand. “Come on, we’ve got five and a half years and a shit ton of tweets to make up for.”

           Rolling your eyes, you stood, hand in his and followed him down the hallway, past the gallery wall and into his bedroom, where you clocked another photo from high school, this time just you and Jimin, his parents and brother, smiling at high school graduation. You turned to him, ready to comment but cut off by his lips again, hands pulling you towards him, arms wrapping you in his embrace.

           As you drowned in Jimin, in the way his bare skin felt against yours, how his hands moved, tender and lovingly on your skin, relearning routes and maps he’d written many moons ago, it was easy to remember why you’d fallen love with him, and even easier to remember why you’d never gotten the love you shared. Jimin was attentive, passionate, loving, giving… he took his time with you, waited for you to be ready, brought out the best in you in every situation. With his voice in your ear, his sounds overriding the previous iteration you’d had on lock from your teen years, his hips grinding into yours, reclaiming what he had once lost, Jimin rewrote the future you hadn’t been able to imagine since he broke your heart.

          In his ministrations on your body, his love personified in how he made your toes curl, your mind blank, your body his, Jimin vowed to love you, to stand by you, to hate who you hate and love who you love. To feed your every obsession and call you on your bullshit. He promised to protect you, to ensure you never eat kiwi, and to tell you he loves you at least three times every day, beyond earning your trust, beyond you believing him, beyond putting a ring on your finger and giving you his last name (if you wanted to take it). He vowed to never leave, not when it gets tough, not when he is scared, not when you spew that you hate him, which you inevitably will. In return, you promised to give him the world, which he admittedly had whenever you were with him.

           Love was complicated and messy… and it pissed you off to no end to know that all it took was a few years of dragging Jimin on Twitter to get the love of your life back.

[blushinggray]

Free! The Final Stroke screeching/reaction (spoilers)

AHHHHH I JUST WATCHED THE FINAL STROKE MOVIE TODAY IN THEATERS ON PREMIER DAY AND IT WAS LAKSJDFOAIFJWOEI to summarize it all, it was Very Gay, which was to be expected but they DID NOT have to get so freaking extra with it 😩😩😩

much screaming and many spoilers ahead

FIRST OF ALL, KIRISHIMA NATSUYA: HE WAS SO FUCKING HANDSOME DAFKJOIEFJOSIDJF. SO HANDSOME. SO HANDSOME AND STUPID AND OVERLY FRIENDLY AS WE LOVE HIM TO BE ALKDSJFOAIEW.

he was in the film for a total of maybe 5 minutes altogether, which was kind of a lot bc the film kind of was just putting all the characters back in for the sake of putting them in imo? for the fans, lol. so everyone could see their faves. and in these five minutes that he appeared, our mans:

bragged about his little brother he's so proud of

got laughed at by nao for being natsuya (aka dumb and straightforward) as usual

trained with sousuke (he was hanging out in the same pool with him, nao, and makoto to train and aid in sousuke's rehab training)

got a call from ikuya after the international swimming competition in sydney!!!! in that same cafe he's always at!!!! and he was with nao at the time he got the call. casual and cool as always, being the cool big brother or whatever. he ended the call with a curt, "you got it. see you. don't catch a cold."

HE WAS HANGING OUT AT CAFE MARON WHILE THEY WAITED FOR THE SYDNEY COMPETITORS TO COME BACK TO JAPAN. HE WAS BEHIND THE COUNTER WITH ASAHI (WHO WAS HOLDING BABY TSUKIMI IN A CARRIER ON HIS CHEST!!!!!) AND HE THREW HIS ARM AROUND ASAHI AND WAS GETTING SO CLOSE LIKE ALKSDJFAOIEJAOEI. I have absolutely no clue what he was saying at the time bc i was too busy freaking out and trying to hold in the sounds bc the theater was so quiet. but his GODDAMN FACE. HE WAS SMIRKING. SO HANDSOME 😩😩😩😩😩😩😩

and of fucking course, they were all out together at a restaurant when the sydney competitors came back, and he was like, "wth no one else is drinking alcohol tonight?" and nao was like "ofc not haha" AND YOU KNOW WHAT HAPPENS NEXT

HE FUCKING FALLS ASLEEP AT THE TABLE AFTER DRINKING AND EVERYONE IS SURROUNDING HIM AND PATTING HIM LIKE "dude..." and ikuya is sitting there like, omg can't believe this mess is my brother....

i thought that just might be his last scene in the film but then we show back up to the kirishima household and natsuya is eating some sort of luxury holiday(?) bento and ikuya is like "aren't you gonna save any for me?" and natsuya's like "of course not. this is for me, you gotta wait until next year xD" and then ikuya just fucking SNATCHES up several different foods and stuffs his face with all of them and natsuya starts arguing with him over them laskjdfoawiefjao where was this brotherly affection all this time?????

and then cut to a few seconds later, natsuya's bumming in his room on the floor like in s3 when ikuya comes in and tells him about his new future goals and alskdjfaoei brothers sharing their ambitions together 😩😩 WHAT IS GOING ON. EVERYONE GETS ALONG SO WELL NOW???

NEXT: we'll go back to the beginning i guess lmfao but they're preparing for some sort of university festival

we start off with an easily misunderstandable shoujo-style situation where asahi is talking to ikuya like, "i know it's your first time... you don't have to be nervous. i know you can do it." and ikuya's like "no! i can't 😣" like the tsun he is backed up against the wall. and then it turns out they're trying to make a mille feuille cake.... but everything he's made so far looked like crepes

and for some damn reason, KISUMI comes outta nowhere into the kitchen and is like "ooooh what's this? a mille feuille cake? although they all look kinda like crepes haha ^^" and then ikuya RUNS THE FUCK OUT OF THE KITCHEN, yelling, "i told you i couldn't do it!!!" like the fucking tsun he is... and asahi is yelling at kisumi like "why did you just say that!!!" and starts rubbing his knuckles into kisumi's head and kisumi's just laughing like, "oh did i do that hehe"

and for some reason... seijuurou is working at the booth in his speedo and swim team jacket. i mean i'm not complaining but sir.... PLS TAKE MY MONEY AND GIVE ME YOUR FAT OCTOPUS BALLS. (he literally started a batter mixing competition with hoshikawa inside the booth, like what are they even doing in the same booth???)

then rin and sousuke show up to ikuya, asahi, and hiyori(?)'s booth, and they're offering them the crepes and then they get into a conversation about smth that leads into them showing the embarrassing photos they have of each other?????? like ikuya has a pic of rin in his maid costume for some reason??? (tho it isn't shown) and rin shows an embarrassing pic of ikuya he has in his phone that he got from natsuya???????????? and then ikuya starts chasing after rin yelling at him to delete it lasdkjfoaei

and then haru is off to the side selling ugly ass bird mascots again lmfao. bc ofc he is. love that weirdo

BUT THE REAL KICKER HERE IS KINJOU!!!!!!!!!!!

APPARENTLY, HIS VILLAIN BACKSTORY COMES FROM HIS CHILDHOOD CRUSH (/exaggerated) ON HIYORI ALSKDJFOAIE WHAAAT. apparently he was that annoying kid in the playground who would go up to hiyori and bother him bc he wanted a friend. bb hiyori was literally like "why are you even talking to me so much?" in his sandbox. and bb kinjou is like, "well there's gotta be smth you like, right? what is it?" and hiyori's like "well i feel kinda happy when i'm swimming... :)" as images of ikuya flash into his mind, that gay ass

BUT KINJOU'S GAY ASS EYES START SPARKLING TOO AND THEN HE'S LIKE "I GOTTA LEARN WHAT THE BIG DEAL ABOUT SWIMMING IS" and he runs home, begs his brother to take him to the pool. but next time he brings his swimming stuff with him to the playground, hiyori isn't there anymore and apparently he left for america at that time (or smth). so poor baby basically got ghosted

but hiyori still knows him when they're older!!!! kinjou shows up when they're throwing out the trash after the uni festival and calls out to hiyori to taught him (which is where that bullying preview scene came from i guess) and alkfjeoiaejoaifj omfg it's like that estranged childhood friends (sorta) trope but it'll never go kinjou's way bc hiyori is and will always be in love with ikuya 😔

kinjou would make such a good yandere tho!!!! he has a feral expression on a few times throughout the movie, and during a race he gets super competitive mid-race and... ngl he was kinda sexy 😳 i'm actually kind of surprised by how taken i was with him in this movie. doesn't help that he's unfairly handsome and his hair looks fucking amazing. i MAY OR MAY NOT be exploring this man in the future..................

i also found the ending with haru pretty interesting!!!! it kind of hints at neurodivergence? smth along the lines of disassociation or multiple personalities? (guess 50% off was kinda right on that end lmfao).

he gets obsessed with beating albert wahlander, which is the most fired up i've ever seen him (to the point of almost hurting himself) and then the shadow or whatever effect albert has on haru kind of just overtakes him and pushes haru out of his own body in a way... it doesn't make sense to describe it this way, i know, but haru is literally watching himself say hurtful things to his friends while being overtaken by this... albert obsessed persona?

it's so interesting to see haru being the one obsessing over someone instead of the other way around for once!!! at the end of the movie (after all the credits) haru says the same thing he once said at the beginning of season 1? about how "at age 5, you're a prodigy. at age 15, you're a genius. at age 20(?), you're average." and this is def gonna be explored/concluded in the second part of the final stroke movie so i'm excited for that!!!! april 2022 come at me!!!!

there were SOOOOO many other things going on, plot wise and fanservice wise, and ofc kyoto animation was fucking TOP TIER SHIT. all the water effects... there was a shot where haru was looking at his reflection in the water and they make a drop fall and spread and shake his reflection in the waves and it was lafkjsefoiaeja fucking glorious. the soundtrack was lovely too. there was a RADWIMPS-esque beginning song and a sexy ass electric guitar buildup for kinjou (which may or may not be contributing to my growing obsession with him...)

AHHHH!!!! it was so good and everyone was so cute and handsome and gay and funny. we literally see every single character we've met before in some way, shape, or form lmfao. i might just go back to the theater and watch it again on one of the upcoming holidays this week.... SO GOOD. SO GOOD.

I LOVE ALL THESE GAY SWIMMING BOYS SO MUCH 😩😩😩

[rocorambles]

Kinktober Day 9: Brat Taming

Pairing: Matsukawa x Reader

Genre/Warnings: Yandere, Toxic Relationships, NSFW, Non-Con, Whipping, Degradation, Mafia AU

Author’s Note: This could be considered as being part of the same AU as my Mafia Oikawa fic, but can also be read alone! Link to the Yandere Mafia Oikawa fic here. 

It’s amazing how much Oikawa let you get away with. Matsukawa can’t even remember a time where you showed even a hint of fear despite being surrounded by men who could kill you in a matter of seconds, who could torture you until you wished you were dead. You’ve always just been attached to Oikawa at the hip, hanging off his arms at events, sitting in his lap during meetings. And he doesn’t think Oikawa is really capable of love, but whatever you two had was as close to the sickening L word as possible when you’re part of the mafia. 

Matsukawa had seen you as merely eye candy in the beginning when Oikawa had one day introduced you to everyone and he had brushed you off as just another plaything for the boss to toy around with until it broke. But then months passed and then years and you were still around, brazen in your attitude, sharp with your words, mocking with your actions. Overall, just a brat. And yet it seemed that no matter what you did or what you said, no matter the chaos you caused internally, no matter the outright disrespect you showed to Oikawa, the brunette just waved it off, laughing the overall tension away. Sure, you were “punished” from time to time, but when your punishments just ended with your pleasured screams and you proudly displaying your new love marks to everyone the next day, it was hard to take them seriously. 

He wondered if Oikawa was becoming soft, weak, but he didn’t question the man. He’d stood by his side far too long to turn his back on him now and he thanks whoever’s listening that he decided to stay loyal when he accidentally walks in on the two of you while he’s on his way to deliver a message to Oikawa. And if he thought you were attractive before, the sight of your wanton face full of lust as Oikawa penetrates you over and over again is seared into his brain now. He knows he should immediately turn and leave, come back later, but he’s rooted to the spot and he can feel his cock twitch as he fully takes in your lewd moans and before he realizes it, his hand is palming his bulge and that’s the exact moment you decide to turn your head and he freezes as the two of you make eye contact through the gap of the ajar door. 

Reality and common sense finally come crashing down on him as he swiftly escapes and in the privacy of his room he roughly shoves his pants and boxers down, hurriedly rubbing himself off to the mental picture of your naked body lewdly arching as if it were begging for more, putting itself on display for its owner and as thick spurts spill all over his hand, he wonders what it would be like to be the one who owned you. 

It’s just a thought he had in a moment of passion, he reasons to himself. There’s no way he’d take you right from under Oikawa’s nose. And so he ignores you. Or at least he tries to. But maybe you’ve been hanging around Oikawa for far too long, maybe that’s how you’ve become so relentless and unknowing of when to stop with your brattiness and teasing. And Matsukawa grits his teeth as you purposefully seek his gaze, languidly and sensually licking and sucking anything your mouth can get a hold of while you stare at him, subtly touching yourself and moaning like a whore whenever he’s nearby. But the breaking point is when he’s seated across from Oikawa and you at dinner one day and he stiffens in shock when he feels something grinding against his groin. He subtly looks under the tablecloth and something begins to burn hot and heavy inside of him when he sees your silky stocking clad feet playing with him, fondling his rapidly hardening cock, and suddenly it’s your turn to stiffen in shock when he menacingly smiles at you. Excitement builds inside of him at the fear in your eyes as you immediately retract your legs and sink deeper into Oikawa’s hold on you.

Interesting. Looks like you could be tamed after all. 

Matsukawa plays the long game and he waits and waits until finally one night, after a successful raid that he’s led, a drunk and high Oikawa slaps him hard on the back in congratulations, asking him what he wants as a reward. And he takes a deep breath before determinedly asking for a taste of you. 

The room freezes and for a second his life flashes before his eyes, but when Oikawa merely shrugs his shoulders and tells him that you’ll be waiting in his bed tonight (after all, you’re a small price to pay for a life-long friend, someone he considers a brother), he pins you down with a triumphant grin that twists into something more feral at the panic racing through your eyes.

He thinks it’s adorable that even when you’re cornered and trapped, you try to put up a strong front, throwing coy words at him as you seductively posture yourself on his bed and only the slight tremor in your voice gives any indication of the true fear coursing through you. 

“Aww did you get tired of just imagining me? How many times did you jack off to the memory of Oikawa fucking me while you stood there watching like a creep? Come on. Let’s get this over with. I bet you’ll cum just from sticking your tip in me.”

Clearly you’ve let the heady power of being Oikawa’s favorite toy get to you, trick you into thinking you’re untouchable. Oh how wrong you are and Matsukawa enjoys the thrill he feels as realization slowly but surely sinks into you when he roughly flips you onto your stomach and removes his belt and all that fills the room are your agonized screams mixed with the slicing of air as leather whips down on you leaving bright red welts in their wake. He doesn’t stop until your lungs and hoarse throat won’t even allow you the luxury of voicing your pain and when you’re finally silent he slides a hand under your chin and forces you to look up at him.

Hmm. Looks like you have a bit more training to go through to tame the fire he still sees flaring within you, but you’re getting there. And he smiles as you remain silent despite the hate radiating in your eyes as he purposefully digs his blunt nails into the painful lash marks on your soft skin. 

So maybe he’s gone a bit overboard, but really you only have yourself to blame. Matsukawa has always been thorough and you just have so many rebellious quirks he needs to force back into shape. Luckily for you, he’s a patient man who never leaves a project unfinished and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy how resistant you are. There’s just something about you that makes him want to break you to pieces and rebuild you into the perfect toy and that’s just solidified by the smoldering embers he still sees in you as you weakly sneer and spit at him even with his cum smeared all across your face, even with both your lower holes gaping and used, a mix of blood and semen pooling underneath your limp body.  

And spurred on by his desire to fully dominate you, his fingers are racing across his phone as he makes a few calls and switches around some bodies. Matsukawa is known for his more...sadistic tendencies...and mixed with his connections to various underground body cleaning companies, it’s not hard to convince a furious Oikawa that there had been a terrible accident when he lost control of himself around you and the mangled bloodied corpse on the bed looks enough like you to make the lie believable. Sure, he’ll need to make it up to Oikawa with an irritating amount of favors and ass kissing, but it seems like a small price to pay when he gets to go back home to you, his little pet project. 

And when things finally blow over and the dynamics of the gang are back to normal as Oikawa finds a new pretty plaything to mess around with, the higher ups crassly joke about your poor fate. It’s Hanamaki who first brings it up one night while Iwaizumi, Oikawa, Matsukawa, and him are doing lines of coke. 

“Damn, Mattsun. I know your dick is big, but I didn’t think it was big enough to literally kill someone.” 

The light brown haired man snorts at his own joke, too high out of his mind to care about the way Oikawa slightly pouts at his words and Matsukawa watches in amusement as Iwaizumi growls at them to be a little more respectful of the dead. 

Obviously, it’s an exaggeration to say his dick could kill you, but he wonders how the three men would react if they could see how his cock could make you brain dead now, how just having his cock stuffed inside you is enough to have you lie there like a warm fuck doll for him to use whenever and however he wants. A small part of him wants to show Oikawa how well behaved you are now, how obedient and submissive you’ve become, how docile you can be when trained, how even the biggest brats like you can be fully tamed. But his more possessive side wins out as he snorts another white dusty line and he stays quiet as a coil of lust begins to pool in his stomach at the image of your kneeling naked form waiting patiently for him at home.    

[light-miracles]

AoS season 5 reactions

Or how to ruin a show that until then was being flawlessly written.

Going by chronological order with @shieldagent93 having to stand my rants...

~In 5x01, two of the three sentences said by Jemma had the word "Fitz". It's too much. It's like if she's always thinking about him.

~I... What's happening?? When do they explain what's going on?

~I don't like this Deke guy.

~5x05 was great. It explained a lot of the doubts I had. Also seeing Hunter again was amazing.

~What the fuck are they doing shooting at a fuckin quinjet wtf.

~5x08 has me like "how does time travel works in Marvel?". Like... They're in the future but they also raised Robin. Guess it's a Marvel thing. Also i would really like Fitz a little more if he had a better control of his outburst. I know, he's frustrated, but I guess screaming angry men just trigger me... And he has an ugly as fuck beard now. Anyway, May looks younger every season. The woman grows old in reverse.

~Done with 5x10. My Elena feelings are hurting. Also someone in the writing room as an amputation kink... Honestly this season is being the least cool (which is still better than what I'm used but, still). The dystopan society and everything related feels clumsy.

~You gotta be freakin kidding me her arms actually got chopped off?? Also, bad Susan Vásquez, bad. Alex Danvers would be disappointed

~"Losing a life is better than two" "This is not Hydra, Leopold!" Like, fuckin literally, Leopold!

~... There was an Hydra high school??? How did they remain undercover for 70 years, again?... I mean, they literally have an Hydra high school uniform... The person who washes their clothes might, idk, GUESS it's an Hydra high school.

~5x14... What the fuck did i just watch. Yeah, fuck FitzSimmons. Fuck Fitz. The fuck with Simmons. And I guess you won't catch me talking about Skimmons for a while. Wtf.

~Note to myself: Dessica never exaggerates. When she says something is bad, it's bad.

~Also, funny how Fitz apparently was talking to his evil self for weeks and no one noticed anything different about him. Jemma didn't notice anything different about him. So either that was bad writing or the dude is truly a psycho and not worse than Ward.

~5x15 has me like 'why no one is angry at Fitz?' He didn't steal someone's cookie he fuckin cut into Daisy??? Why don't they let Jemma be angry at him?? Since when all Jemma cares is only him??... I miss the Jemma of the past seasons.

~Deke: 'I respect you for what you did'

Is this... Is this for real???

~Deke: Daisy is a pain in the ass

FitzSimmons: I noticed.

Me: ENOUGH OF THIS BULL-

~ Jemma: "Fitz is paying for thinking differently"

*internally screaming *

~You know, this is worse than Supergirl's s5. Because the bullshit was said mostly by the fans, not the actual characters.

~"Maybe that they chopped your arms off wasn't so bad"... Are they trying to make me hate him?... Who wrote this?

~

Pffffffffffffffff LMAO!!!! He's fuckin cosplaying Khan from Star Trek...

~Plz let this season end.

~... Did i just hear the phrase 'Fitz is an incredible person' coming out of Daisy's mouth-i can't believe it

~Andddd Talbot just killed Brainiac 5.

~Jemma "torturing Daisy is okay but I draw the line at using an old corpse to create a cure to save Coulson's life" Simmons... Daisy literally hijacked her mother's corpse and it's not even the weirder thing about this season.

~Poor Jiaying. Like, yeah, she tried to kill Daisy but she was bananas at the moment and everything was Hydra's fault so...(Just like ANOTHER scientist restrained ANOTHER defenseless asian girl because he thought FUCKIN CUTTING INTO HER was for the GREATER GOOD) (I WONDER WHO MIGHT THAT BE)

~Okay but this evil alien villian is literally just a black man. No pointy ears. No weird eyes. No sharp teeth. Not even ants. Just a black man. Black men must look alien enough to whoever created this character

~Fitz: We can't break the time loop

Jemma: Okay Fitz ❤️

Fitz: I changed my mind I think we must make sure we break it

Jemma: Okay Fitz ❤️

This woman hasn't had a single personal thought in 15 episodes

~ Philindaisy's shoulders must hurt from carrying the weight of the season. Mack is honestly the only survivor of this team. I don't know any person called Finn or Simona or whoever. Neither their grandson Dick the Dick. And Elena is on thin, thin ice. I can still understand her pov and see why she does what she does. That's why she's on thin ice instead of on the bottom of the ocean like Fido and Simpsons.

~"I'm the savior of the world" said he, as he crashed his ship against a fuckin city. Homeboy at least be a coherent villian ffs-He's making the jesuchrist pose. Talbot, honey I'm so sorry.

~... So is Fitz dead?? I don't get it. Is he dead?? Why is everyone talking like if he were sleeping? What happened? I can't believe this show broke the curse of the 4th season just to invent the curse of the 5th.

You know the worst thing of this season?? That Daisy did everything in her power to protect Jemma from Papa Smurf and some episodes after it Jemma fuckin says it was right to hurt Daisy. Homegirl, that's a shit friend. Someone introduce her to Lena Luthor.

[specialmoogakii]

Hippie! S/o Headcanon Katsuki,Kirishima and Shinsou

Request:𝗛𝗲𝗹𝗹𝗼 𝗺𝗮𝘆 𝗶 𝗿𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁 𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗰𝗮𝗻𝗼𝗻𝘀 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗸𝗮𝘁𝘀𝘂𝗸𝗶 , 𝗸𝗶𝗿𝗶𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗺𝗮, 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗻𝘀𝗼𝘂 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗮 𝗵𝗶𝗽𝗽𝗶𝗲 𝘀/𝗼 𝘄𝗵𝗼'𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝗰𝗵𝗶𝗹𝗹, 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝘁𝘆 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗱𝗼𝘄𝗻 𝘁𝗼 𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘁𝗵 𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝗮𝗹𝘀𝗼 𝗳𝗹𝗶𝗶𝗿𝘁𝘆 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘀𝗮𝘀𝘀𝘆 𝗽𝗹𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗲?

BAKUGO KATSUKI

This boy didn't really notice your existence at first, because he was always focused on his training, the first time he notices you it was when you were fighting (in a training) with Kirishima. He originally judged you for being """lazy""" because you didn't really avoid all Kirishima's attack.

You weren't lazy for sure but you know, we are talking about bakugo. You cant pretend to get a good judgment from him unless you got the balls to fight with him.  And that what you did, kinda... well,you ""fight"" him in your own way.

Bakugo was in his usual day to scream at Deku when you were casually walking around the area with your usually chilling atmosphere that can relax almost all the students just by watching you. You look at Deku and decide to enter the fight without any violent intentions.

"Hey, hey good-looking bomber. You don't wanna scare your moma with a punishment from the teach', will ya?"  Bakugo looks at you with his usually annoyed face and screams "HUH?!", he was half frustrated by the random half-compliment. Deku is internally praying for you and hopes you don't get in trouble because of him.

"WHAT DID YOU SAY, EXTRA??  MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS" Of course, he would scream with his annoyed voice. You smirk and look at him indifferently and not scared at all. Deku was just standing there, looking at you and trying to tell you that this situation may end up bad.

"Saving my classmates from a blondie hot rat like you, it's my business. Especially when I walk around here, you don't own this hallway you know"Oooh, he was so mad and shocked. You weren't affected by his angry mood and that makes him speechless,bakugo continues to argue about it but you were immediately giving a response back with your flirts.

Hold on, the flirts. This boy ain't used to flirt so it slowly killing him, like who the fuck would flirt with him without knowing a single mountain's hair off his?? Of course, you. You didn't care, you just FLIRT. Bakugo ended up going away frustrated after your stupid 3 minutes of argument, a fricking record from bakugo I must say.

After your first meeting, he was looking at you. He won't admit it but, he was curious, you were chilling all the time and when you were around him, you just flirt and gave a sassy response back. His blood boils because of your sassiness, he hate it and loves it at the same time. He couldn't handle his curiosity so he sometimes gets close to you on purpose but, you know who this man is. It's katsuki bakugo, he won't admiiiit it.

When he started to get close to you, he tries to hide his smile when you flirt with him, you notice it but you decide to not point it out, too much stress for you. Bakugo always tries to force you on training more or try to be more energetic in some battles (because he didn't want others to think you are weak), but you just didn't care. He, unfortunately, couldn't do anything about it, you always kill him with an instant surprise flirt. Fricking sassy bitch.

So in a simple way, he slowly opens up to you and starts to get less angry than usual because of your attitude. Your classmates were shocked but they didn't complain. They always found a way to make bakugo shout again and you? Absolutely love it. More reasons to flirt and tease him.But of course,you did all of this without stressing yourself out. Bakugo will be really stressed out but he won’t stop you,deep down,he love you.

I forgot about the hippie lifestyle for a minute. Honestly,this boy doesn’t gave a shit about how you dress up (he kinda does.) or what you do. It’s your life so you choose what you want. As much as you try to make him understand how the hippie life work,he just doesn’t get it.

If someone try to hurt you when you’re trying to communicate without violence, bakugo ask kirishima to cover your eyes and then he start beating that person up if you consent him (you never consent him to attack them,he listen to you.. only for beating them later). He feel very awkward when he need to comfort you but he try. This man try to comfort you and ended up making you giggles.

Text explanation of your relationship with bakugo:

Bakugo:

Where the fuck are you?

You were behind me 2 seconds ago

and now you disappeared.

                                                                                                 S/o:

                                                                      don't worry yellow bamboo.

                                                          I just saw a cool drink I wanted to try

Bakugo:

YELLOW BAMBOO?! SERIOUSLY?!

HOW MANY NICKNAMES YOU GONNA GAVE ME, DRUNK FACE?!

                                                                                                           S/o:

                                                                                        as many, as I want,

                                                           you didn't see yourself in the mirror?

                               Your bamboo hair never found a good direction lol,

                                              you killed kaminari's eyes a lot of time

        ��                                             when he tried to prank you with your hair.

Bakugo:

HE DID WHAT- UGH WHATEVER

I'M GOING TO KILL HIM LATER

TELL ME WHERE YOU ARE RIGHT NOW

WE ARE GOING TO BE LATE

                                                                                                           S/o:

                                                                                          chiiiill dude,                                        the teach' is always sleeping in his banana "suit".                                                                            He won't notice that I'm late.

Bakugo:

don't be a dumbass

just tell me

I'm going to buy you that shitty drink                 

                                                                                                         S/o:

                                                                       yoooo, thank you rich boy

                                           next time, I'm going to teleport to Disneyland

                                                             so you'll buy me the ticket lolol

Bakugo:

keep dreaming drunk face

Eijiro Kirishima

Kirishima totally noticed you, after seeing you "fighting" with Bakugo and he was SOOOOO shock seeing you so relaxed after literally having bakugo's scream in your face. He went to stop bakugo before the blondie rat starts to go too far. He told bakugo that the thing he was about to do wasn't manly,bakugo just say a loud "tsk" and went away. You thank him by winking at him.

"Thank you for your help, cutie hedgehog. I will definitely make him mad again for seeing you saving me like a princess" Okay, you broke him just by calling him "cutie hedgehog" and you noticed it, you let out a giggle and just pat him for some seconds then you went away in your usually very bright hippie clothes. 

That is, you literally become his new manly girl. He just wants to know more about you and your "strange" but cute lifestyle. He doesn't really know what a hippie is, but he doesn't care. He will appreciate it and support it anyway. It doesn't hurt anyone so why not. You are manly to him.

Every time you two interact, you ended up making the boy blush or laugh with your sassy personality. Of course, he'll block you when you went too overboard with your sassiness with bakugo, you listen to him because.. come on. How can you complain to a cute hedgehog?

You and Kirishima got a special relationship, he always offers you to come with him when bakugo want to stay alone for a while. Especially when you are upset after an failed attempt on ending a fight without violence, he protect you if someone try to hurt you and tell them how unmanly they are on attacking you.

 he is really into it when you gave him some lessons about what is a hippie and etc. He wants to learn anything about you and even if he doesn't immediately get it, he doesn't always get your sassiness not gonna lie, he supports you.

He wants to try dressing like you, you know... just friends! aha.. who am I kidding? He likes you-, like more than friends but he won't tell you. He needs time for being manly and confesses to you. Of course, if you want to stay just friends, he would do that. No complains.

When kirishima become angry or upset,he always run to you. You are special and your relaxing atmosphere make his heart calm down, Your company and sense of humor really make him chill and laugh,you aren’t exaggerated and he love it.

Hitoshi Shinsou

Shinso is... strangely interested, seeing a student that is chill but can also destroy you with elegant sassiness?  Yes, please.

He saw you with kaminari who was teasing you about having a "crush" over a boy, you don't react badly or embarrassed respect you flirt with him and broke kaminari with one single phrase.Okay, that was strange but strange enough to catch shinso attention.

Shinso was the one starting the conversation and the friendship after you leave kaminari broken, you two have a lot in common even if your "lifestyle" is different. Even though most of the time shinso was silent, he enjoyed your company. The fact you could manipulate someone by just flirting make him internally proud, of course, you don't call it"manipulation" but Shinso definitely see it as a form of manipulation.

Your "psychedelic" clothes really kill his eyes, he doesn't really like it.  But overall, he respects how you dress, he absolutely loves your sandals. Your personality? Even better, he adores your flirty side. If you flirt with him, he'll smirk and tell you that your "Manipulation" doesn't work on him."I told you, hot eggplant. I'm serious when I flirt with you" you look at him hoping he finally believes you, he smirk and look at you. He stopped walking just for looking at you on the face so he doesn't make you suspicious.

"Well, you do that with almost everyone when they annoy you. So maybe next time, you'll be lucky and I would believe you." you sigh and shinso continue to walk trying to hide the fact he blushes a little, you follow him and start talking about random stuff. Not caring about the time.Shinso adores you because he found you adorable when you try to avoid fighting and just try to make a human communication.

But he was worried honestly, he doesn't show it because of his always tired face. He will bring you out from an argument if they start to throw arms on you even after you try to calm them. He will comfort you if you fail on ending an argument, he will mind-controlling the other guy who made you upset and made them say sorry to you, and then he throws their mindless body somewhere until they wake up.

You two always chill around or even sleep, Aizawa found you two sleeping on the couch of the dorm for HOURS ignoring the class hours. if you act sassy with shinso, shinso will "sassy" you back. Hell yeah, sassy fight.He is never upset with you and never mind control you, he ain't a villain like everyone told.

////////////////////////////////////

AAAAAAAAAAAAAA

I’M SORRY IF THIS ISN’T EXACTLY WHAT YOU WANTED- I TRIED MY BEST ｡ﾟ(ﾟ´Д｀ﾟ)ﾟ｡

I’m sorry again because kirishima and shinso are very short,i know that. And i’m sorry for the 3th time,i’m not used to write them so i tried really hard to get their personality! 

-Chakie