#sunshowerimagines

[findmeinasunshower]

𝑩𝒐𝒘𝒕𝒓𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒍𝒆𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝑻𝒓𝒆𝒆𝒔: 𝑵𝒆𝒘𝒕 𝑺𝒄𝒂𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓

word-count: 2k

summary: Mr. Scamander introduces you to his bowtruckle...and he may or may not be falling for you as he does.

warnings: none :)

“You have a bowtruckle in your pocket.”

Newt halts in his fiddling with the locks on his case and looks up at you through the wispy, caramel hair that’s constantly obscuring his eyes from your view. You’re perched on one of Tina and Queenie’s dining room chairs. Jacob carried it into the living room for you earlier when you all first arrived. Newt had offered you his seat on the well-worn, but plush lounge, but you had refused, stating that you can handle having a conversation without a cushion, thank you very much. 

Your legs are crossed daintily at the ankles, and you lean forward as you consider Newt. Or, more specifically, Pickett, who has clambered up his shoulder to huddle shyly behind his neck. Only the creature’s eyes and the sprig on top of his head can be seen, and you smile sweetly when you make eye contact. Newt blinks at the way your perfectly curled hair flutters around your eyes like curtains in the breeze when you move. He can tell you’re curious, and realizes that you’ve never seen a bowtruckle before. The corner of his mouth turns up fondly at the thought.

“That I do,” he responds, shifting in his crouch as he finishes locking up his case.

“Why?”

Newt finds himself blinking once again at the bluntness of your question, and he tilts his head up to look at you fully. Your gaze meets his inquisitively, and he’s quick to look back down before you can see the blush spreading across his cheeks. He rolls out of his crouch with a small sigh until he’s sitting on the ground with his back against the lounge, legs spread out in front of him. “Well,” he starts, “I keep bowtruckles in my case, but Pickett has what Queenie calls ‘attachment issues.’”

You raise your eyebrows and an amused smile creeps across your face. “Attachment issues,” you repeat, encouraging him to elaborate.

Newt backtracks, eyes flicking to the ceiling as he thinks of a way to explain. He holds his hand up in front of his shoulder, encouraging Pickett to wrap his spindly limbs around his thumb and pull himself up. Once his little friend is standing comfortably on his palm, Newt runs a gentle finger over the sprout at the top of his head. “He doesn’t like his tree,” he clarifies simply.

You chuckle softly and lean forward out of your chair to get a closer look. “But aren’t bowtruckles guardians of their trees?” you ask. A pleased warmth spreads through Link’s chest at your knowledge of one of his creatures. You laugh again when he nods in confirmation. “Why doesn’t he like his tree?”

“He says the other bowtruckles bully him.” Newt shifts to cradle Pickett in both of his hands and sits up, crossing his legs. He regards you with a small smirk, green eyes twinkling with mischief. “But I have a suspicion that he’s actually just sensitive.” He whispers the last part as if it’s a secret, making you giggle and Pickett whirl around to glare adorably at his keeper. 

Newt frowns right back down at him. “What?” he asks incredulously. “You and I both know it’s true.” You’re absolutely delighted when the bowtruckle blows a raspberry, and Newt rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “Again, that behavior is so beneath you, Pickett.”

You snicker and slide off of the dining chair and to the floor so you’re sitting next to Newt on one hip, with both of your legs folded on top of each other. The magizoologist flushes bright red from the tips of his ears to his chest when you settle next to him, despite you maintaining a respectable distance between the two of you. He’s glad you’re too occupied with mesmerizing Pickett to notice his current state—The little creature had shied away from you when you first moved closer, but now he’s watching in fascination as you conjure flowers about the size of the pads of Newt’s fingers out of the tip of your wand. Pickett watches them all the way as they shoot up to the ceiling only to gently float back down to the floor. 

“So,” You shoot a baby blue flower across the room, causing Pickett to reel around in search of it, “Does that make you Pickett’s tree?”

Newt whips his head around to look at you with wide, green eyes. “What?” he splutters. You grin at his reaction and unthinkingly magick an array of tiny, yellow flowers to rain around Pickett. The soft petals tickle Newt’s hands when the flowers land in them, and he finds he quite likes the feeling.

“Like I said,” you continue, “bowtruckles live to guard their trees. And if Pickett is always with you…” You fix him with a teasing smile underneath your lashes, “...that makes you his tree.”

Newt gapes at you, jaw moving up and down as he tries in vain to come up with something to respond with. What does one say when a beautiful acquaintance compares you to a tree? He swallows to clear his dry mouth and mumbles: “I suppose it does.”

Your lips spread into a wide smile and you snicker giddily at the baffled expression on the magizoologist’s face. At this point, Pickett has clambered up the lapels of Newt’s white collared shirt so he’s perched on his collarbone. And while you look back at the creature, Newt finds it impossible for him to tear his gaze from you. You twirl your fingers in a “hello” to Pickett, and if his heart wasn’t already melting at that small movement, the way your nose crinkles when you smile warms him completely. Newt’s mouth twitches up once again, and this time a glint of his teeth shines through his smile. 

A breathy laugh escapes from his lips when you raise your wand and resume your flower shower. You look back at him at the sound, smile dropping slightly when you see the way Mr. Scamander is looking at you.

You’ve only known him for a couple of days, but from what you’ve seen, he’s never held a significant amount of eye contact with anyone. He tends to keep his head bowed, raising his eyes only for certain amounts of necessary eye contact. This close, you can see flecks of golden-brown hidden in his forest green eyes, like the first hints of autumn that appear in September. You find yourself searching for every last one of the beautiful imperfections while he maintains stunned eye contact with you. You get to see up close as his eyes soften, beholding you as if for the first time.

Newt’s eyes flick down to your lips briefly before raising back up to yours, and your cheeks flame at the minuscule gesture. You look down at your lap in an attempt to hide your flaming cheeks and notice Newt doing the same out of the corner of your eye. 

“Miss (l/n)?” Newt’s quiet, husky voice penetrates your being, and you stop tapping your knee nervously. You look back up at him through your lashes to let him know you heard him and his eyes falter from his own lap to your eyes and then back again before he smiles bashfully. “Would you like to meet the rest of my creatures?”

A soft, but still shy smile spreads across your face. “I would love to.”

A full-on grin breaks across Newt’s face and he scrambles to his feet, gently guiding Pickett up until he’s perched on his shoulder. Then, he holds out a hand to you, and you smile as you allow him to pull you to your feet. Neither of you are quick to let go of the other’s hand, and you find you quite like the feel of his worked, calloused fingers in yours.

Newt’s the one who lets go first, but it’s only to reach down and flick the locks of his battered case back open. You watch as he pries it open and lets the top end fall to the floor with a thump. He stands back up to his full height and huffs out a breath and you look at him curiously when you feel him look back at you with a subtle smile. “Ready?” he asks.

Your heart flutters, and you feel like the sudden lightness in your chest has the power to lift you off the ground. “Ready.”

~*~

Jacob steps over the Goldstein’s threshold with a relieved groan and holds the door open for Queenie. He scans the living room tiredly, and what he sees has him suddenly much more awake. His jaw drops slightly, but he schools himself enough to say, “Um…Queen?”

“Hm?” Queenie bounces clumsily into the flat after him. She catches Jacob’s shoulder to stop herself from tripping over her own two feet, and her blue eyes widen as she takes in the living room. “Oh, dear.”

“‘Oh dear?’” Jacob parrots, closing the door behind his girlfriend. “What the hell happened in here?” When the two of them and Tina had left two hours before, the Goldstein’s living room was meticulously clean, thanks to the elder of the two sisters. Now, it looks like a meadow exploded. What seems like thousands of flowers lay scattered across the carpet and the furniture, most of them concentrated around Newt’s closed case in the middle of the floor.

Queenie’s careful as she walks further into the room, for some reason doing her best not to step on the tiny blossoms. “We’re lucky Teeny got called in,” she chimes. “I’m sure she wouldn’t be happy to see this.” She snorts softly and then giggles, returning to her examination of the sitting room-turned-field. “I just don’t know why either of ‘em woulda done it.”

Jacob turns around in a slow circle, face still scrunched up comically. “Where the hell are they?”

Queenie squints when she frowns. “I don’t know.” Her eyes flick down to Newt’s case laying inconspicuously in the middle of the carpet. She grins toothily and hums at her epiphany before scurrying over to the case and kneeling in its surrounding flowers. 

“Don’t tell Newt I did this,” she whispers as she points her wand at the case and mutters, “Alohomora.” The locks flip open with a satisfying click, and Jacob walks over to join Queenie in peering down into Newt’s garden shed.

Queenie then proceeds to tip the entire top half of her body over the side of the case so her torso is dangling over the edge and into the other world.

Jacob splutters and grabs hold of the back of her calves just as she starts to slide. “Jesus, Queen, what’re you doin’?” he hisses, keeping his voice down in case Newt is close to the shed.

“Whoops!” is the only explanation she gives. Jacob sighs tiredly.

“There are a lot easier ways to do this, you know. Like climbing down the ladder.”

Queenie ignores him and turns her head to the side, blonde curls swishing into her face as she does. She blows harshly to get them to fall back out of her eyes before stilling once again, blue eyes flicking around the shed as she searches the thoughts of the different creatures in Newt’s tiny world. 

It doesn’t take her long to find the two of you, but one, simple word reigns supreme:

Pretty.

Queenie smiles as the warm feeling you and Newt are taken with fills her up like a balloon. She swings herself back up into the apartment, and Jacob rips his hands off of her legs to avoid being sat on. Yours and Newt’s thoughts die down until all she can feel is Jacob’s confusion and Mrs. Esposito’s frustration because apparently Janey downstairs brought another boy in without permission.

Jacob frowns when he sees the way Queenie is smiling. “What?” he asks. She huffs and shrugs, still smiling, and Jacob raises his eyebrows at her slightly-crazed state. Her bob is now more of a frizzy pom-pom look and she’s practically twitching with excitement as what she just felt whips through her head like a summer storm.

“We best not bother those two for a while,” is her only explanation.

[fandom-what-ifs]

I LIVE.

My darling followers,

Ok, so...it’s been literal years. I can’t tell you how good it feels to post here again, but it’s bittersweet knowing that this is the last time.

I’ve really missed this blog over the last couple of years. I’ve written a lot, but was always too anxious to post...and I recently realized it’s because this blog isn’t a good fit for me. I’ve outgrown it.

But, just because I joined this hell site on this blog doesn’t mean I need to stick with it.

I’ve decided to start fresh on a new blog: @findmeinasunshower  She is quite barren right now, but I’ll be bulking her up throughout the coming months. I hope that some of you will follow me into this new chapter of my life. I’ve greatly missed the camaraderie this blog provided me and, as always, I’m wishing you all of the love!

- K

[findmeinasunshower]

𝑫𝒂𝒎𝒏 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑪𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒔: 𝑷𝒆𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒌𝒆𝒓 (𝑴𝑪𝑼)

word-count: 2k

summary: fluff, takes place after spider-man: no way home

warnings: none :)

Anyone else wouldn’t have heard the near-silent sound of someone landing on your balcony. But after nights and nights of waiting for that telltale noise, it rings through your head loud and clear. You hop out of bed and throw open your double windows before Spider-Man can even knock on the glass.

He pauses in his knock with his hand midair. “Hi.”

You smile and pull yourself up onto your balcony. “Is the city safe?” you ask.

The hero sighs and turns so his back is away from your bedroom, leaning his elbows on the railing. “Yes, it is. Everything’s fine now.”

You nod. “Good. I didn’t think you were going to visit tonight after seeing the news.”

Spider-Man turns his head towards you, giving you the impression that he’s looking at you through his white lenses. “And miss spending time with you?” he jokes. “Never.”

You snort and roll your eyes, turning back toward your bedroom. “Alright, cornball. Well, I’m glad you came, because I still brought these up–” You pull the huge Ziploc bag of M&M’s off of the table by your window and hold it out to the web-crawler, who gasps and takes it greedily. “I’m always prepared,” you say proudly.

Spider-Man lifts the bottom of his mask, and you blink in slight surprise at the sight of the lower half of his face. It’s always strange seeing something other than the red and blue covering his visage, but you lose the reverence immediately as the hero shoves a handful of M&Ms into his mouth and lets out a truly ungodly sound. “You are a chocolate angel,” he moans.

You laugh at his enthusiasm and join him in leaning on the railing of your balcony. Earlier that day, you had been caught in the middle of a small battle between Spider-Man and a group of bank-robbers, who were engaged in a shootout with the cops. He had (very unnecessarily) scooped you up off of the ground and swung you three blocks away before depositing you on the ground. He gave you only a salute before he took off again, back toward the fight.

But he had saved your life. It’s not like you didn’t notice the guns that were turned on you when the thugs saw a civilian within their range–A shot civilian makes for a good distraction. But your late-night friend had stopped that from happening. You frown when said friend puts your bag of M&M’s on the ground but he explains by muttering “big dinner” which makes you smile. He doesn’t pull his mask back down.

You tilt your head at him, examining the way his mask and the small area of skin shine in the moonlight, and decide that a thank you is in order. While he was still looking toward the street, you raise up on your toes, softly and quickly brushing your lips against his cheek. Or at least that was what you meant to do. You meant to only kiss his cheek and then thank him for saving your life earlier that day, but apparently, your sudden proximity had spooked the spider. His face shifted the second your lips had neared his cheek, turning his face towards yours ever so slightly. Just enough so that your lips brushed the corner of his mouth.

Just enough to seem accidental, but enough that you’d felt just how soft his lips are.

You can imagine his eyes widening beneath his mask, just as yours currently are. Your noses bump as you very obviously try to put at least some distance between the two of you, but not enough to be out of reach, and never enough to not be able to feel him close.

A millennium could have passed, or just two seconds. Neither of you could be sure. Your warm breaths mingle in the cool night air, and Spider-Man becomes suddenly hyper-aware of everything that makes you you. Your bright (e/c) eyes are expectant, waiting to see what his next move will be because you sure as hell aren’t moving anytime soon.

“(y/n),” he whispers. “I think I’m going to do something really, really stupid.”

Stupid, because he’s a superhero. And you’re a girl from his class...before he disappeared off of the face of the earth. But you … you are just so beautiful and filled with absolute grace and courage, and if the two of you were in another world, you would have him knocking on your window every single day. Every day until you would have him for good. He can see it and although you would never admit it, you can see it too.

But you don’t move. And even though you don’t know it, your captivating eyes are gazing directly into his through the mask. He can only imagine what’s going through your head. Peter realizes that he has two choices: He could run away and keep the semi-normality that is his fucked up life; or, he could just fall. Risk the inevitable explosion that he knows is there.

He decides to fall. Consequences be damned to hell.

He closes the distance between the two with far more confidence than he actually feels. Spider-Man’s gloved hand frames the side of your face and his lips press against yours softly, but curiously, feeling just how soft they are and just how right they feel against his. If he was being honest, the hero’s only intention was a mere brush of his lips against yours, just to get a little taste of your warmth.

He was also sure that you were going to reject him, push him away, and he was already half-braced for what he thought was imminent rejection the moment he feels your fingers close around his wrist. But you don’t shove him back, much to his surprise. Instead, you stand up on your tiptoes and kiss him back, pulling him ever closer. Encouraged by you, Spider-Man’s other hand slides towards your waist before resting on the small of your back, and he curses every god that exists and could possibly exist for the gloved hand that prevents him from actually touching you.

You shudder against him, and he realizes that his hand is resting on the bare skin of your back, and it occurs to Peter that he might be going too far. He should stop. He thought you would stop him! This wasn’t why he’d started stopping by your balcony, or why he’d wanted to get to know you.

But then your tongue brushes timidly over his bottom lip, and Peter loses every ability to think coherently. His grip on you tightens and he presses his hand harder against the exposed skin of your back, drinking in the gasp that comes out of your lips. Sparks shoot all through his nervous system, and just like that, a soft and sweet kiss turns into fire. Whatever voice that was pleading for him to keep a hold on his sanity is exiled to the hidden corners of his mind the minute he feels you tug his face down closer to you.

You run one of your hands over his scalp and whimper, mourning the fact that you can’t run your fingers through the hair you feel shifting beneath the spandex. Peter is happy to oblige and give you the closeness that the both of you desire. His hand slides from your face to your neck, and the movements trail goosebumps along your skin that he can’t feel as he deepens the kiss, pressing your body flush against his.

He could kiss you for hours, but after a couple moments of letting his lungs scream for oxygen, Spider-Man breaks the kiss so your panted breaths meet between the two of you. Neither of you moves or even think about moving. For once, the city that never sleeps seems to be silent around you, and the stars watch with bated breath as the hero very reluctantly extracts himself from your embrace. You immediately miss the feel of his torso pressed against yours as the cool, night wind weaves around your body.

When you finally feel the pressure of his fingertips disappear from your neck, you manage to look up at him shyly. Your eyes meet nothing but a pair of swollen lips and two, blank white eyes. you blush deeply and, although you can’t really see it, Spider-Man does too.

“I have to go,” he whispers. You nod and look down at your bare feet on the metal of the fire escape. He takes hold of your wrists. “I don’t want to.”

You lift your gaze back up to him and blink up at him timidly through your lashes. He resists the urge to groan at how beautiful you look at that moment. As much as you’d like him to stay and kiss you all night, you know that he can’t. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” you inquire.

The boy beneath the mask grins and nods. “Yeah. Yeah, tomorrow.” You giggle at the way his voice cracks slightly, and you’re grateful that he seems to be just as nervous as you are. Spider-Man takes a step back and pulls the bottom of his mask back down to cover the bottom of his face. After tucking it into the fabric around his neck, he allows himself to look at you one more time. “Good night, (y/n).”

You smile fondly and cross your arms over your chest in an attempt to ward off the sudden chill in the air now that you’re not wrapped in the superhero’s arms. “Good night, Spider-Boy.”

He chuckles nervously at your teasing and gives you a smaller version of his signature salute before vaulting over the edge of your tiny balcony. You sigh in content and raise your trembling fingers to touch your lips. You can still feel them tingling with a glorious energy, and you smile to yourself, laughing almost incredulously at what just happened. Spider-Man just kissed you.

And you know that there will be consequences. There will be conversations about what this is, and what you want it to be, and how it’s going to work. There are complications that come with any relationship, but ten times more when it comes to a romance with a masked superhero. With someone who you don’t even know his name, and the unavoidable secrecy that hangs over the both of you like a cloud.

You lean your elbows on the cool metal railing and sigh to yourself, staring blankly into the street below. You think about the numerous nights that the boy has visited you, and the two of you have shared bags of M&M’s and various other snacks. You think about the late-night conversations about the most random of things, or more serious subjects where the two of you just lay it all out on the table. You realize that any sort of problem would be worth it as long as the two of you at least had a chance.

A loud bang rips you out of your stupor and you gasp at the feel of your fire escape shaking beneath you. When you look up from the alley, it’s to see Spider-man perched on the opposite side of the railing. “I’m sorry, I just had to do this one more time.”

And with that, he slams his lips against yours, and you don’t care that there’s a layer of fabric between the two of yours’ mouths. Kissing him through his mask is a strange feeling, but it has the same effect on you. Fireworks explode in your chest as you lean forward to cup his face in your hands. You feel him smile beneath his mask and you respond with a giggle of your own. You’re just two teenagers reveling in the wonderful, confusing feeling of newfound love.

Spider-Man leans back just enough that you can’t reach his lips with your kiss anymore, no matter how far you lean over the edge. “Good night,” he repeats himself, and with that, he lets go, spiraling into a free fall before he catches himself and swings off into the night.

Yes. It’s definitely worth it.

[findmeinasunshower]

𝑹𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔: 𝑺𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒐𝒖 𝑯𝒊𝒕𝒐𝒔𝒉𝒊

word-count: 3.1k

summary: shinsou's been seeing you for a few months now, and he's struggling to put into words just how he feels about you. here's how he figures it out.

warnings: weed, mentions of intimate times but nothing explicit, fluff :)

part i

It’s past midnight the first time Shinsou finds himself unable to look away from you.

No matter the season, it never gets quite dark enough in your neighborhood—it’s the reason Shinsou wanted to move here in the first place. He likes how the lights of the city reach like probing fingers even into this inconspicuous corner.

And he finds he likes the view even more when you’re framed in the center of it.

You’re seated on top of a washing machine in the crappiest laundromat he's ever had the displeasure of setting foot in, and yet you're gazing out at the neon lights curling off of the rain-blasted concrete like it's the most interesting thing you've ever seen.

He’s not sure what emotion has strung itself through his body, but he does know it grows larger every time he looks at you.

It started the first time he saw what you look like first thing in the morning, face bathed in gold as you blinked up at him sleepily and placed a chaste kiss on his chin. He hasn’t been able to get rid of the intrepid butterfly ever since. If it has a name, Shinsou’s never known it. And he can’t be the first to say it when it doesn’t have a name. 

So it hovers in the air when the two of you find yourselves lounging on his fire escape at sunset, enjoying the last warm rays of autumn; spins a web even larger when you hip-check him as you cook dinner together, and even bigger two months later, legs tangled together on Hitoshi’s too-small couch and your chest moving against his as you simply breathe together, fingers intertwined. 

It’s yours—Shinsou knows that much from the way it sticks to the roof of his mouth, unable to escape. It aches under his tongue like a sore, and the mere thought of it and his inability to figure out what the fuck it is makes him slam the washing machine hard enough to topple the detergent bottle on top of it. 

“You smoke too much, hero?” 

And suddenly, his earlier frustration evaporates like a puddle in the sun. Hitoshi laughs at the comical eyebrow you have raised and nudges your thighs apart so he can stuff his bed sheets into the third washing machine. You squint down at him playfully when he lingers between your legs after straightening up, and Shinsou suddenly decides the crook of your shoulder looks inviting.

The clock on the wall reads 12:13 a.m.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” you gripe teasingly when his hand slides higher on your thigh, but you’re already opening your arms for your boyfriend to slump into you. Hitoshi presses his nose against the hollow of your throat to catch the last fading notes of soap from the shower you took earlier and follows the crease of your hips with his hands until you're held securely in his embrace. He closes his eyes and breathes deep to fight off the yawn he knows is coming. 

You loop your arms around his neck and begin to scroll through your phone behind his back. “It was your idea to smoke before coming here, so I’m not dragging you back if you fall asleep.”

“‘m not that high,” Shinsou mumbles into your neck. Your chest vibrates against him when you laugh. 

“Sure, hero.”

Hitoshi has a retort at the forefront of his mind when he pulls back just enough to look at you, but it dissolves like sugar on his tongue when his eyes meet yours. 

It’s here—looking at the way your eyes reflect the stuttering fluctuations of the laundromat’s eerie light, your half-dried hair, the way you’re biting down on your lip to keep yourself from smiling—that Hitoshi finally feels that indescribable something catch on the tip of his tongue.

There’s a name for this. He knows it.

He’s distracted even further when you pull back to smile at him, teeth tinged pink by the neon sign dangling in the window. “What are you smiling at, jerk?” you whisper, and Shinsou finds himself entranced by the way your nose scrunches with the force of your amused smile. “Busy thinking about how lucky you are to be in this shitty laundromat in the middle of the night?”

“Yes,” he replies immediately. 

Your eyes widen at the speed the word drops from Hitoshi’s mouth, and the indescribable feeling deep in his chest regresses slightly again. Maybe he was too blunt. Maybe he's wrong.

But then your smile widens even further, and your fingers are tightening their grip on his shoulder blades. “Good. Because I was thinking the same thing.”

Hitoshi can't help the lazy, self-satisfied smile that spreads across his face before he kisses you and tucks the words into his heart for safekeeping.

~*~

Shinsou knows that the pro-hero lifestyle can strain relationships. He's seen it firsthand and he knows it well, which is probably why he never really cared for seeking out those types of things. His friends have always described him as picky, and he supposes that's true too.

You were the best surprise. You walked into his life and simply took a seat, and the moment you smiled at him, he knew he didn't have a choice but to ask you to stay. To find his own place in your life.

But Hero life takes a toll. And crossing that hurdle with you, the reality of his career…he didn't know what that would look like.

It's autumn again and Shinsou misses you. He's been stuck in Tokyo for a mission, and all the two of you have had for weeks now are texts or hushed and hurried phone calls that make his heart ache. And he was so tired that despite not a hint of disappointment existing in your voice, he couldn't help but feel disappointed in himself, that he was letting you down somehow for letting his job take him away from you for so long.

He bids goodbye to Midoriya the second the threat has passed and his role is fulfilled, and his friend smiles at him in a knowing way Shinsou doesn't know what to do with. He doesn't even retort when Kaminari calls after him, typical shit-eating grin evident in his voice: "In a hurry, huh MindJack?"

All Shinsou can think is that he needs you. Desperately.

It's almost morning by the time he slips in through your living room window. Your cat lifts her head and blinks at him once, sleepily, before deeming him not a threat and curling back up on her tree. He makes sure to give her a good scritch behind the ears before he heads into your room.

A thick wall of rain clouds has enveloped the city for the past week, so your room is still dark when he walks in. He's grateful to see you're still asleep—Shinsou's been awake way too long, even for him, and doubt started to creep into the edges of his mind long before he got here. He needs some time to just hold you before you wake up and have the inevitable conversation. Has he been gone too long? Was this separation and stress too much for you? Would you still want him?

He's tapping your shoulder before he can stop himself. You jerk awake with a start, eyes wide and scanning the room for threats before they land on him. "Hitoshi?"

The way he says your name is like a prayer. "Hey…" His voice catches in his throat. "I missed you."

You're groggy, but clearly awake now, and Shinsou's heart tightens as you scoot over toward the wall and lift your comforter in invitation. "Come to bed. You look exhausted."

He can't help the relieved laugh that punches out of him. "Ever astute, you are," he replies.

You giggle sleepily. It's adorable. "Come here, you. I missed you too."

And then he takes off his gear and accepts the invitation into your embrace and you're warm. You're warm and you smell good and familiar and your bed is so comfortable. And you don't complain that he hasn't showered in a few days, that he's fresh off a battlefield.

Shinsou wraps you tighter until you're practically nose to nose and your sleepy gaze meets his, eyes searching for what, he doesn't know.

You just tuck yourself closer to him and Shinsou wraps you tighter until you're practically nose to nose. Maybe this is when the questions come. But when you do ask a question, it's so unexpected he doesn't know what to doo with it.

You simply ask: "Everything finished?" And Shinsou's heart breaks in the best way possible. You don't ask him any more questions, don't expect anything more from him. You just let him hold you, and hold him in return.

He nods, unable to form words. You smile and nod back, then nestle back into his chest and promptly fall back asleep. Shinsou can't help the chuckle that rumbles through him at the quickness of the movement—for someone who complained consistently of sleep issues, it doesn't seem you've ever had any trouble when he's in bed with you.

He thinks, just before he is taken by the blackness of slumber, that if he doesn’t figure out a way to tell you soon, he might just lose his mind. 

~*~

"Saw you on the news today."

Your friend (Boyfriend? Partner? You hadn't really discussed labels yet) stops abruptly, steaming cup halfway to his lips. His violet eyes are carefully blank over the plastic rim. "Did you?"

You hum in affirmation and tuck your arm through Hitoshi's, cuddling closer to him on the cold metal bench. Autumn descended quickly on Japan. Half of the park trees have already dropped their yellow leaves from the sudden burst of cold, and despite his cool exterior, Hitoshi tends to be a walking heater…and he finds he quite likes the feel of you pressed into his side.

Shinsou cups his hand over yours and settles back on the bench, pulling you to relax against him. A comfortable silence washes over the two of you, but he knows you well enough to know you're chewing over what to say next. And although he's nervous, you haven't done him wrong yet—in fact, you've done him right in ways Hitoshi didn't know he deserved. So, he's happy to wait and observe the park around you, one ear on the shrieking children on the playground next to you, and the other on the whirring of your thoughts next to him.

You'd always been curious about Shinsou's quirk, of course—He's a goddamn Pro. His quirk has to be insane in comparison to yours. But he never asked about your own, and that was…unique, to say the least. You met Shinsou as Shinsou first, and you liked being able to provide him that bit of anonymity. A true escape from the reality of his work. You figured his quirk would come up when it was important.

But then, you saw him on the news this morning alongside the numbers one and two heroes. You had nearly dropped your breakfast plate when an absolutely beaming Deku pulled Shinsou in front of the camera and praised him for his help diffusing a rather difficult hostage situation. But, that's all Deku said. No mention of Shinsou's Quirk, or how exactly he guided the crisis toward its end point. Just that there were no casualties and minor injuries. He was successful.

Hitoshi's attention turns back to you when you rest your cheek on his shoulder. He looks down at you, wishing he could see your face, but your eyes (that he swears are all-seeing) remain fixed on the park in front of you. He's just about to break the silence himself when he feels you inhale against him and ask: "The students are all okay?" Even though, you already know the answer.

Shinsou takes a shaky breath. Lets it out slowly, fights down the confused tilt of his mouth. "…Yeah. Everyone's okay."

You lift your head only to drop your chin on his shoulder, and Shinsou surprises even himself when he sputters out a laugh at the goofy grin on your face, the light in your eyes. "Way to go, hero," you whisper and straighten up to press a kiss to his chin. His smile falters at the feather-light touch and your eyes flicker briefly with concern. "What is it?"

"I love you." It comes out in a breath, nearly a wheeze, and the only reason you hear him is because you're so close. It's your turn for your smile to drop, but it comes back just as quickly. And then it's as if the first cold day of autumn doesn't exist because your smile is brighter and warmer than any sun Shinsou Hitoshi will ever hope to see. He smiles widely in return and slides a hand up to cup your neck, the back of your head, laughing in awe at the joy radiating out from you. "I love you," he's unable to stop himself from telling you again.

"I love you too, jerk," you whisper, and your smile clacks against Hitoshi's when he kisses you. One of his gloved hands passes down the length of your arm and you shudder, pressing closer to him on the cold bench. His other arm works around your back, pulling you half onto his lap, and you can tell by the satisfied hum he lets out that he thoroughly enjoys the way you gasp into his mouth.

And the way Shinsou looks at you when he finally pulls back and strokes a thumb reverently down your cheek have you saying: "Let's go home, hero."

~*~

He makes you breakfast in the morning.

You come to slowly, tilting your nose toward the smell of brewing coffee and stretching your beautifully sore muscles. You can't remember the last time you woke up feeling this well-rested, this content. "I love you," Hitoshi had told you yesterday…and he spent the entirety of last night showing you just how much he meant that. The smell of breakfast cooking in the wake of such fantastic events is just the cherry on top of the cake. A giddy smile stretches across your face and you fight the urge to kick your feet in the comforter like an overly-excitable toddler.

When you finally do get up, you head straight to your boyfriend's closet to steal one of his most coveted black sweatshirts—the ones he got from a brand deal about two months ago. You gave him a lot of shit when you opened up the package to see the hero's purple logo snug next to the designer's trademark, and to your surprise, Shinsou had blushed all the way up to his purple hair.

You pull on the sweatshirt with a happy little hum, then make your way slowly into his massive combined kitchen and living space. You hiss quietly when your bare feet make contact with the hardwood floor, and silently mourn not pulling on the ridiculously fluffy slippers Shinsou received from one of his friends (another package you gave him a hard time for receiving).

"Get back in bed."

A smirk forms on your lips at the demand, especially now that you know he could actually send you right back to bed if he wanted to. But, you also know that he never would.

The two of you had returned to his apartment in a flurry of hands and kisses, but Hitoshi had managed to peel you off of him long enough to gain your attention with a serious look. His revealing his quirk to you had been a turning point for you both, but especially for Hitoshi.

He fell in love with you just a little bit more when you simply nodded at his deep dark truth and said: "I trust you, hero. I feel like that should go without saying by now. Now, if you don't finish what you started, I'm going to scream."

You ended up screaming a little bit anyway, not that you complained.

You wrap your arms around Hitoshi's strong, slim waist when you finally meet him at the stove, and nearly topple backwards when he leans his weight back into you. "Hitoshi!" you squeal, desperately trying to tilt his heavily muscled body off of you. "You're gonna crush me."

"I thought I did that last night?" He spins around in your arms with a cheeky smile, just in time to see you blush furiously before landing a solid hit on his shoulder. "This is supposed to be a romantic, breakfast-in-bed type deal," Hitoshi continues, though the way he runs his hands up the length of your arms betrays him. "Now go back to bed."

"Mmmmm no." You smile and roll up onto your toes so you can press a kiss to Hitoshi's cheek before stepping out of his arms. He reaches out to pull you back, but you smoothly evade him and walk back around the counter to take a seat on one of the plush barstools. "I think I'd rather enjoy the view. Plus, I already smelled the coffee."

Shinsou scoffs playfully and turns the stove off. "And what, you think you're gonna get it sitting all the way over there?"

"I thought this was supposed to be a 'romantic, breakfast-in-bed type deal?'"

"That was before you decided to be difficult."

You roll your eyes playfully. "And to think I thought you'd be in a good mood this morning, jerk."

"I'm in a fantastic mood." You gasp when Shinsou's voice is right next to your ear—you had completely missed his approach. His smile is radiant as you sit up a little too eagerly, just barely avoiding smashing your nose against his as you do, and you roll your eyes again at the smug way he's watching you. "Do that again and your eyes will roll out of your head," he warns.

"If that were true, you would have been eyeless a long time ago," you retort. You're so close you can smell the coffee on his breath. "What, so no coffee, and no 'good morning' either?'" you ask.

Shinsou responds by pressing his lips firmly against yours. You relax against him with a sleepy sigh, but he keeps you upright with a hand on your cheek so he can kiss you deeply, thoroughly before slowly pulling away and whispering against your mouth: "Good morning."

You smile and press another quick peck to his lips. "Good morning, Hitoshi."

"Coffee?" he asks, though he still doesn't move away. You giggle as his nose brushes yours.

"It's cold, no?"

"Long cold," Hitoshi confirms, and you giggle again when he sneaks his hands along your waist (underneath his sweatshirt) to lift you easily from the barstool. He whispers the last of your conversation against your lips as he carries you back to the bedroom. "We'll make more later."

[findmeinasunshower]

"𝑨𝒍𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕, 𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒏": 𝑱𝒐𝒆𝒍 𝑴𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒓 𝒙 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

word-count: 2.2k

summary: Eight weeks after arriving in Jackson, Ellie drags Joel to the Tipsy Bison, where he meets you :) soft get-together fic because joel deserves some happy fluff, dammit

warnings: none :)

“Joel, right?”

The man in question finds himself ducking slightly at the sound of an unfamiliar voice saying his name. He'd managed to avoid The Tipsy Bison for eight weeks after he and Ellie settled in Jackson—his reputation as Tommy’s brother precedes him around town, and to be honest...he hasn’t been inclined to make small talk for years.

So Joel isn’t exactly welcoming when he glances up at the bartender who spoke to him. You smirk, unperturbed by his scowl, and raise your eyebrows in a gentle prompt for him to answer. Joel clears his throat. “Uh, yeah. That’s me.”

“Hm. Maria’s description was spot on.”

Your smile widens at your quip, and it’s Joel’s eyebrows that raise this time. He can’t remember the last time anyone besides Ellie ribbed him without having an ulterior motive. A joking smile spreads across your pretty face, lit by the warm lights of the bar, and something in Joel relaxes a little at the sight.

His mouth responds before he can stop himself: “And what exactly did Maria have to say?” he asks, leaning forward in his seat.

“Tall, dark, and broody,” you respond simply, eyes trailing down his shoulders and to the bar. You lean down to place your freshly-shined glass underneath the counter, and Joel finds himself tracking your movements. “'Clint Eastwood come to life.' Figured you’d sit at the corner of the bar to avoid the crowd, but that you’d also pick a seat that can see the entire room.

"Plus, I figured I wouldn’t see you in here until Ellie dragged you.” You flick your gaze pointedly to something behind him—Ellie, he takes. “I recognized you as soon as you sat down,” you tease.

He leans back with a hum, impressed and, admittedly, intrigued. Three years ago, he would’ve felt threatened by the way you managed to take him apart so completely before you even spoke a word to him. Now, he’s just stunned that anyone cares enough about him to do that sort of analysis. “Anything else?” he asks dryly.

You smirk and begin shining a new glass. “Tommy’s the only other person in this town who orders Tito’s straight. You Texas boys are all the same.” Joel nods and chuckles internally.

“In some ways,” he agrees. He takes a moment to swirl the aforementioned drink in his glass before he lifts his gaze back to yours. “You know Ellie?”

“She just might be the most entertaining person I’ve ever met," you deadpan, and Joel finds himself huffing a small laugh at that.

“Yeah, that’s one way to put it.”

“How would you put it?” you ask, and the hardened survivor finds himself stumbling slightly under the sincerity of your gaze.

One of the first things he learns about you is that you can’t hide a damn thing on your face. Your question is an honest one; you genuinely want to know how he, a man you just met and have heard who-knows-what about, feels. And while something about your sincerity makes him uncomfortable, he feels himself opening his mouth to respond. He wants to delve into this conversation with you, any conversation with you. He wants to flirt with you a little bit more.

Just as he begins to stumble toward an answer, a familiar gangly form shoves itself onto the barstool next to his. “Hey, (y/n)!” Ellie greets you brightly.

“’sup, kiddo?” You greet her so casually, Joel can tell you and the girl are already well into being friends. He regains his composure as you finally begin cleaning the glass in your hands. “Staying out of trouble?” you ask.

“Yup.”

“—Nope,” Joel interjects.

You smile at the way Ellie and Joel glare at each other, him with an exasperated sigh and Ellie an incredulous scowl. “I’ve been good!” she insists.

“Just because you haven’t been caught don't mean you’ve been good,” Joel growls.

You find yourself laughing out loud at that as you set the newly-shined glass back on the rack. “Now I’m really curious.”

“Don’t be,” Joel grumbles.

“What’s taking you so long?” Ellie asks Joel, happy to change the subject. “Tommy’s been waiting for his drink.”

“His complainin’ is exactly why I’m still over here. Just...” Joel sighs. “Gimme a sec.”

Ellie rolls her eyes and snags the lemonade you proffered her off of the bar, along with Tommy’s own glass of Tito’s. “Nope, let’s go. Maria’s orders.”

Joel sighs deeply at that. “Alright, alright.”

“Later, (y/n)!”

“Bye, Ellie.”

Joel groans and pushes off of the barstool and to his feet, eyes on his drink, as for some reason he finds himself unable to meet your eye again. “It was—” He clears his throat before continuing: “It was nice to meet you.”

The smile you offer him when he looks back up is endearing in its honesty, and Joel finds himself thinking about it when he closes his eyes that night.

~*~

The second time Joel winds up in the Tipsy Bison, it’s the absolute last place he wants to be.

He, Tommy, and a few other guards on the night shift successfully prevented a rather large raid in the early hours of the morning. The raiders had scouted the city and discovered what they thought was a skeleton shift in the patrol…not knowing that Joel is basically a one-man army.

So, he was dragged to The Tipsy Bison to celebrate. And now, he’s looking at you from across the bar as you catch his eye and hold up a rocks glass in silent question. Joel shakes his head and fights a small smile.

He had seen you around town a few times since the night you met. You greeted him with a friendly wave each time, sometimes even a conversation. But you always left him with a look that lingered just a little bit too long not to be some sort of hint.

Joel’s lip twitches when you duck back down beneath the bar, only to pop up cutely with a pint glass and an innocent tilt of your head. Joel glances down at Tommy and Maria, still deep in conversation with a woman he can’t remember the name of, before shaking his head at you again.

You nod dramatically and start to reach for a margarita glass on the top shelf, and suddenly Joel is covering his incoming laughter with a fake coughing fit.

Tommy gives him a strange look. "You alright there brother?" he asks, and Joel swallows when his younger brother’s gaze flicks to you briefly.

“Yeah, just...” Joel rubs the back of his neck and sighs in defeat. “I’ll be by the bar.” He ignores Tommy’s not-so-subtle whistle as he shoulders his way through the crowd. It ain’t his fault he’s rusty, who cares if he’s being obvious or not?

When he arrives at your little corner, you’ve set out a martini glass, a pint, and a rocks glass. “So, which is it?” you ask, blinking up at him expectantly.

“How about two of your specialty and ten minutes of your time?”

You lean back slightly in surprise, heat rushing to your face at the intensity of Joel’s gaze—He decides to catch you off guard more often if you look this adorable when he does. But, despite the heat in your cheeks, you’re quick to recover. You smile at him as you pull out two clean glasses and set them on the bar top. “Are you flirting with me, Joel Miller?”

He nods slowly. “If that’s alright with you.”

“It’s more than all right,” you mumble shyly.

Joel crosses his arms and shifts his weight, satisfied and inexplicably warmed by your answer. “Alright then.”

You join Joel on the other side of the bar for the rest of the night, thankful that your coworkers were more than happy to cover for you. The dimly lit corner might as well be its own little world with how intently the two of you focus on each other, knee to knee as you talk. When it comes time to close, you lean over and kiss his cheek underneath that flickering overhead light, before leaving to help your coworkers close up.

Joel can smell cherries in the air as you walk away.

~*~

A week later, Joel can’t take the lingering looks anymore.

You smile up at him so sweetly when he approaches you at the bar with Tommy at his back. His brother claps his shoulder before peeling off to speak with someone else, and Joel silently thanks him for the privacy. He allows himself to melt a little at the sight of you now that Tommy isn’t around to see him, and he’s nearly distracted enough that he doesn’t hear you speak:

“What’ll it be tonight, Joel? Everything’s on the house, considering you cleared a basement full of clickers—”

“How about some hot cider at mine?” Joel interrupts. Your mouth forms an o-shape at the abrupt question, and he backtracks when your eyebrows raise in surprise. “Not to—I mean, if—I just—”

“I think I’d like that, Texas.”

Joel blinks. He looks down at the bar. Settles himself. Looks back up at you. You're unable to move beneath his gaze, eyes reflecting gold under the lights of the bar, like a midwestern summer sunset. “Would you like to go on a date with me, (y/n)?” Joel asks, calmly and slowly.

“Really?” you ask. “I just, uh,” you trail off, carefully folding away the cloth you were holding. “If I’m being honest, I thought I was imagining—”

“—You got an active imagination,” Joel agrees, leaning across the bar toward you. You gasp slightly at his sudden closeness, inhaling the smell of pine and the sweet lemon tang of saddle cleaner as Joel tilts forward and into your space. “But you ain’t imaginin’ this,” he finishes.

You smile and lean back slightly so you’re looking down your nose at him playfully. “...Alright, then.”

~*~

Joel offers his arm to you for the walk to his house, and you don’t hesitate to accept. He likes the feel of you pressed against him, shamelessly using his broad frame to block the harsh winter wind. He likes how much more bashful your smile is now that you’re on the same side of the bar. He likes the way your breath hitches slightly when he drops a hand to your waist to guide you over a particularly icy patch.

He likes you.

When the two of you finally settle in front of his roaring fireplace, hot mugs of cider in hand, Joel is unable to look away. You tell him about how you ended up in Jackson not long before he did. A month after you arrived, Maria dragged you to the Tipsy Bison and forced you to learn to bartend, fed up with your inability to socialize on your own. You like people but have never been one to actively seek out crowds. You’d rather get your hands dirty in the greenhouses or help out in the clinic, and let that be the extent of your social life.

You’re vibrant in the way you talk about your life and the people and things in it and, for the first time in a long time, Joel is actively interested in learning about another person. When he asks how you met Ellie, you outright laugh before even starting the story, and Joel finds himself chuckling along with you. You and Ellie bonded over training Buckley to do the most inane things, pissing off Tommy to no end that the sweet old dog could never learn normal tricks.

It feels too soon that you insist you should be heading home. Joel walks you as far as the edge of his porch because you insist he not brave the bitter winter wind for you again when his house is so warm right now. A light breeze buffets you both as you step outside, sending the windchimes above his door into a happy little dance. His hair is tossed into messy curls when you turn to face him, and you long to sink your fingers into it.

You’re just opening your mouth to say good night when Joel takes one last, hopeful step toward you. “Can I kiss you?”

You sag in relief and grab the collar of his flannel to pull him closer, running your thumbs over the worn lapels. You roll up onto your toes, nose bumping his as you whisper: “Please.”

His lips are chapped from the wind when they meet yours, but you sigh against him anyway, pressing your fingertips into the soft edge of his beard. Joel hums and circles his arms around you, pulling you so close that you’re practically able to feel the heat of his hands through your thick winter coat. You gasp when he tugs you up onto your toes, sealing his mouth to yours anew.

Joel’s arms are the only reason you’re still standing when he pulls away and presses his nose to your temple, breathing you in. “Are you sure I can’t walk you home?” he murmurs.

You sigh and press a kiss to his jaw. “If you did, I don’t think I’d let you leave.”

Joel’s chest rumbles against yours when he laughs, and you immediately become addicted to the sensation. “That’s alright,” he murmurs, and your breath stutters as he drags his lips down your cheek to hover over your mouth. “I don’t want to rush.”

“I don’t either.” You pull back just enough to look him in the eye and run your hands down his broad shoulders. “But keep kissing me like that, and I’m going to get impatient.”

Joel’s warm breath ghosts across your face as he chuckles, and you find yourself smiling along with him. “Alright, then.”

You sigh when his lips meet yours in another warm press. A few more minutes couldn’t hurt.

[findmeinasunshower]

𝑪𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒆𝒅 𝑪𝒐𝒇𝒇𝒆𝒆: 𝑺𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒐𝒖 𝑯𝒊𝒕𝒐𝒔𝒉𝒊

word-count: 2.4k

summary: pro-hero psyche moves into your neighborhood, and you bond over your local convenience store <3 (y’all. when i tell you it took me a wholeass season to write this.)

warnings: fluff. just fluff

part ii

When you stumble into Kondō Convenience on a rainy summer evening, you nearly stop in surprise at the sight of another customer in the hallowed space. 

Since you moved off campus last year, it’s been your Friday routine to stop at the convenience store below your apartment and get yourself a treat. The little corner store is usually pretty lonely, save for during the morning rush when practically the whole neighborhood stops in for coffee and a small breakfast. 

You can tell the stranger is handsome even from behind — He’s clad simply in flowing black pants tucked into expensive combat boots, and a black shirt tight enough to emphasize the lean muscle he’s built up (though, most of the view is hidden underneath a thick purple scarf and an even brighter purple mop of hair). 

"Ah, my favorite student,” your attention is pulled away by Kondō, the uncle that runs the store. He smiles at you kindly when you make eye contact over the counter. “How was your week?”

You smile at the man. “It was good. Thank you, Ojisan.”

“What will you be getting this fine evening?”

“I’m not sure yet. Any suggestions?”

“Well, our new neighbor is already exploring our caffeinated selection.”

New neighbor? You look back at the stranger just in time to see him turn around curiously. You’re immediately stricken by his arresting violet eyes, matching his coiffed mop of hair perfectly. He looks from Kondō to you and gives you a tentative smile. “What can I say? I’m a man who likes options.”

Your mouth twitches up at the tired, deadpan way he jokes. Despite having just met the man, you immediately decide you like him. 

“You new around here?” you ask, walking over to join him by the row of fridges.

"Yeah, just moved around the corner. I'm Shinsou," he introduces himself with a small smile and a dip of his head. You give him your name in return.

“Well, welcome to the neighborhood,” you say, and you genuinely mean it. Shinsou smiles again, and you can’t tell if the shiver that runs through you is from that or the chill of the open fridge. You clear your throat and gesture to the different selections of canned coffee. “Any suggestions?” you ask.

“Uh...” Shinsou turns back to the fridge with a thoughtful frown. “I’ve actually never tried any of these brands. But, my friend has said good things about...” He reaches in and retrieves an amber can of cold brew. “This one.”

You smile and pluck the can out of his hand when proffered. “I do like caramel. Thank you, Shinsou.”

“You’re welcome,” he responds, and the slightly raspy quality of his voice as he tacks your name on at the end makes you look back up. His hair has fallen over his forehead and almost into his eyes, giving him a younger look in spite of the signs of stress that exist alongside his smile lines. 

You feel a flush starting to creep its way across your neck and turn to walk to the counter before you embarrass yourself. “Well, I live just across the street if you want help learning the area.” 

Kondō raises his eyebrows at you as he rings you up, and you give him a look, imploring him to stay quiet. You don’t know what made you say that, but the offer flew out of your mouth before you could stop it. In the year you’ve been coming here, Kondō has never seen you with so much as a friend, let alone even interact with anyone in the store outside himself. So, your immediate interest in the purple-haired stranger could not be more obvious. 

Shinsou smiles at you as he joins you at the counter and lays 100 yen on the counter. “I just might take you up that.” He nods once more to Kondō before spinning around towards the door, coffee in hand. “I’ll see you around, neighbor. Ojisan.”

“Stay safe out there, MindJack.”

You frown and turn back to face Kondō just as the small bell above the door jingles to signal Shinsou’s exit. “‘MindJack?’” you prompt. 

“That boy’s a hero,” your friend says reverently as he slides your can of coffee back across the counter.

You blink in surprise and look back towards the door, where the bell is still shaking at the top. “Really? What’s his quirk?”

“I’m not sure. But, I’d recognize a hero costume anywhere.”

“Huh. I’ve never seen him before either.” You reach into your jacket for your wallet and ask, “How much for the coffee?”

Kondō shoots you a teasing smile. “Psyche left more than enough to pay for both of you.”

~*~

The rains stop toward the end of May, giving way to the traditional blistering summer heat. You had taken a few summer courses upon yourself in the hopes of graduating sooner...but if you're honest with yourself, you probably should've taken a break. On the way home one evening, you walk past a group of kids shrieking and laughing as they run through a sprinkler park, and can't help but feel your jaw tighten with envy.

“Need another coffee?”

You gasp and spin around toward the sound of the voice, only to see no one. A dry chuckle meets your ears next. “Up here.”

You shade your eyes from the sun and peer upwards—Shinsou’s smirking down at you from where he’s perched on a traffic light, swinging his legs back and forth so you can see the purple undersides of his boots. His hair is glowing in the sun, casting a vibrant halo around his sharp features. 

Okay. So you might have a thing for purple hair. 

Or maybe it’s just the man attached to it.

The two of you have formed an easy comradery in the past few weeks that is both extremely good for you and extremely not. Instead of harboring a stupid, but ultimately futile crush on a Pro Hero, every interaction you have with Shinsou ends with a distinct air of possibility. A possibility that you absolutely refuse to entertain. 

“What are you doing up there?” you ask incredulously.

“Surveilling.” Shinsou takes the last sip of his canned coffee before tossing it perfectly into the trash can below. “Mrs. Agawa’s cat got out again.”

“Ah. So she enlisted our favorite local pro hero?”

“Well, Blue Rider lives a street over. So, I guess that depends on if I’m your favorite.” You drop your hand from your forehead so he can see you roll your eyes spectacularly, regretting it immediately when you accidentally make eye contact with the sun.

You curse and blink furiously to clear the spots from your vision, faintly aware of the shadow of Shinsou's form dropping down from his perch to land in front of you. "Whoa there, you okay?" his deep voice rumbles through you, and you're grateful for his lean form casting a shadow over your face. Through your blurry vision, you see his hands reach for you tentatively before falling back to his sides.

"Yeah, sorry," you reply, but you don't really know what you're apologizing for. You risk a glance at his face, swallowing as he straightens up to his full height. You swear you can feel his body heat he's standing so close, but you cast that thought away quickly, blaming the bead of sweat that rolls down your back on the heat of the day.

You turn away from him to hide your blush and start back off down the street. “You're in second just for that, you cocky bastard.”

You bite your cheek to keep from smiling when after a short pause, you hear Shinsou jogging to catch up with you. He sidles up alongside you, hands shoved in his pockets and a goofy smirk on his face as he walks backward next to you. “How can I be cocky when you don’t even know my quirk?”

“Because you’re cocky despite my not knowing your quirk.”

Shinsou’s mouth turns up at the corners and, after a moment of thought, he spins around so he's now bumping shoulders with you. “Fair point.”

You look at him out of the corner of your eye. He’s smiling to himself slightly as you walk together, eyes scanning the quiet street for a hint toward Mrs. Agawa’s cat. “You’re awfully cheerful today," you observe. "Talkative too.”

Shinsou breathes out a laugh and finally turns his eyes on you. “You might be the only person to ever say that to me.” His eyes soften and drag over you slowly. “Must be something about you.”

Your heart stutters and you find yourself stumbling to a stop, a small smile growing across your face. “Are you flirting with me right now, Shinsou Hitoshi?”

There’s a faint flush decorating his cheeks as Shinsou steps closer to you. “And if I was?”

“And if I were,” you correct, and Shinsou rolls his eyes.

“You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re flirting with me.”

“I am.”

You can’t help how the corners of your mouth turn up in a pleased smile at his admittance. You turn and continue walking before you say anything else, quite liking the fluttery feeling you've been left with. "Alright then."

A comfortable hush settles over the both of you for the next block and you close your eyes briefly, enjoying the sensation of the sun on your back. You inhale the distinct smell of early summer—sun-baked pavement after a night of heavy rain and the sweet aroma of blooming hydrangeas.

“What are you doing?” Shinsou asks.

“Just being.”

“Okay, well, you’re about to walk into a trash can.”

Your eyes fly open just in time. “Shit!” You dodge the offending obstacle and Shinsou laughs, catching you with steady hands when you stumble into him. After you push yourself back to your side of the sidewalk, you make sure to land a solid hit on his arm. “You could’ve said something earlier! Aren’t you supposed to be a hero?”

“You were clearly enjoying ‘just being.’”

“Jerk.”

Shinsou chuckles again and opens the door to Kondō’s, gesturing inside. “Will a coffee make it up to you?”

You cross your arms. “Two will.”

“Deal.”

You jump back with a shriek as a bright flash comes barreling out the convenience store door. Shinsou’s eyes widen and he sprints past you, already halfway through unwrapping his purple scarf.

“Shit! Come here, kitty kitty!”

You cover your mouth to quiet the flurry of giggles that threatens to rise out of you as your friend chases the fleeing orange cat down the street. And if you take out your phone to take a picture…well, that’s no one’s business but yours. 

~*~

A hot wave rolls over you when you step out of Kondō’s a week later. The asphalt is steaming in the downpour after a blistering summer day, and you sigh inwardly at the feel of sweat gathering underneath your raincoat. You tug your umbrella low to your head and begin trudging down the block to your apartment building.

You kick up a puddle as you slow to a stop at the sound of a familiar voice calling your name over the pounding of the storm. You turn around to see Shinsou jogging toward you in his full hero regalia. The mask dangling from his chin is starting to gather water and his hair is plastered to his head, making his tired face seem a lot younger. 

“Hey, it’s the birthday—oh.” You inhale sharply when Shinsou barrels into you and gathers you into his arms. Despite your surprise, you return his embrace immediately, awkwardly squishing the handle of your umbrella between you two. “What’s wrong, jerk? Are you okay?”

You gasp when Shinsou pulls you even closer, lifting you off your feet slightly. His face is wet where it’s pressed against your neck and he’s shaking slightly…you can’t tell if it’s from whatever he’s feeling or the rain. “Rough day,” his voice rumbles through your chest like thunder, and you find yourself gasping slightly at the feeling. 

“I can tell,” you mumble softly. You wrap your arms tighter around him, resting one palm on the cold back of his neck to warm it. “Want to come up and talk about it?”

He pulls back, breath warm where it sighs over your chin, and you find yourself chasing his heat. “Can’t. I gotta get back out there, every hero in the area is on this.”

“Ah.” You lift the umbrella off of where he’d let it rest on his tall head. “So it’s a fucked day.”

Shinsou finds himself chuckling despite himself, despite the things he’s seen and heard and done in the past twelve hours. “Yeah. Today’s fucked.”

“Well, you did say you weren’t a birthday guy,” you tease him with a small smile. Shinsou’s heart sighs at the sight, every inch of him relaxing at the quiet patience you seem to always have for him. 

“I did get you a gift, though,” you continue, the hero stepping back slightly as you reach down and pull an amber can of coffee out of your bag. “Seeing you now, it looks like I chose correctly.”

Your friend’s lavender eyes blink once in surprise before his usual smirk is back in place. He plucks the can of coffee out of your hands and fixes his eyes on you. “Thanks, jerk.”

“Any time, hero.” You don’t know what made you say the new nickname, but you’re happy you did when a dusting of pink appears across Shinsou’s cheeks. “Sorry your birthday is fucked,” you whisper.

“Will you go out with me sometime?” Shinsou asks, and suddenly you find your face getting warm enough to match his. He chuckles nervously, warm breath ghosting over you from his proximity to you underneath your umbrella. “Sorry, that was blunt. But, I mean, it’s about time I asked, huh?”

“I…” You lick your lips. “I guess it is.”

Shinsou grins and shifts his feet, his downcast mood from earlier nowhere to be seen. “Tomorrow?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool. I’ll pick you up.” Shinsou smirks once more before ducking his head and escaping the safety of your umbrella, back into the summer storm and whatever he’d been dealing with before. “Good night.”

He spills out the water that had gathered in the bottom of his mask before fixing it across his chin. This is your first time seeing the device up close, and you realize it's much more intricate than you thought. After a wink in your direction, Shinsou disappears back into the shadows and you stumble backward slightly as if the short conversation gave you whiplash. 

“See you tomorrow, hero.”

[findmeinasunshower]

𝑴𝒊𝒑𝒉𝒂'𝒔 𝑮𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒆: 𝑩𝑶𝑻𝑾!𝑳𝒊𝒏𝒌

word-count: 1.8k

summary: sheikah!reader x selectively mute!Link. Reader is assigned by Impa to accompany Link on his journey through hyrule. You see mipha’s grace in action when you’re attacked by a group of Yiga.

warnings: canon-typical violence (reader and link fight the Yiga), blood, use of weapons

author’s note: it’s winter, which means it’s time for the return of my comfort breath of the wild phase. i hope you enjoy reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it!

The air is ripe with the sweet smell of autumn as you travel through Akkala, and Link smiles and nods when you comment on it. The horses are calm and well-rested from the night spent in Tarrey Town, and they eat up the path of Kaepora Pass in an energized walk. You find yourself leaning into the gait of your mount more than usual, reveling in the feel of the sun warming your back and the gentle swaying back and forth of the mare Link procured for you at the beginning of your journey together a few weeks ago. 

When Link leaves you to conquer the shrine on Rist Peninsula, you’re happy to stay behind and mind the horses. You leave them to graze freely on a ridge above East Akkala Beach where you can faintly see Link moving around the spiral of the peninsula, nothing more than a blue blob carrying a glowing orange orb. Only when all of the monsters have been dispatched and your friend is “safely” inside the shrine do you let yourself lay back on the grass and enjoy the unseasonably warm day. 

By the time Link returns, the sun is nearly down. You’ve just fed the horses each an apple from your pack and are peeling one for yourself when Link pulls himself over the edge of the ridge. “Hey. You greet him with a smile, and he responds with a wide grin. “Someone’s chipper. I’m guessing you didn’t have to fight anything?” He shakes his head. “Good thing it’s your turn to cook dinner tonight.”

When Link groans dramatically, you’re expecting it. You even feel a giggle beginning to bubble up inside you all of a sudden, but you’re quick to take a bite out of your apple to hide it. 

What you’re not expecting is for Link’s groan to cut off suddenly and a semi-familiar voice to roar: “Get down!”

Your training kicks in instantly as you drop into a crouch, and you feel something whistle over your head. You jerk your head up to see Link deflect an arrow with his sword, and you roll between your mare’s legs just in time to miss a second arrow burying in the ground where you just were.

In one smooth movement, you unhook your bow and quiver from the mare’s saddle and slap her on the rear to send her sprinting off into the trees. When you swing around with an arrow knocked back, Link is already locked in a fierce back-and-forth with a Yiga Blademaster. Two footsoldiers are trying to flank him, and you’re quick to send an arrow through the furthest one before you sprint to intercept the second, drawing your longblade as you do. 

The Yiga footsoldier barely lifts his sickle in time to intercept your blade, and you immediately know this is a highly trained group when he nearly disarms you with a flick of his wrist. You steel yourself for more of a fight than you were expecting—you’ve never dealt with a Yiga that took you longer than fifteen seconds to dispatch, and a small part of you is giddy for the unexpected challenge. You haven’t had a challenge since you last sparred with Dorian in Kakariko. 

You smirk as you parry away the soldier’s latest blow and aim a well-timed kick to his chest, sending him flying back a few feet. Quicker than a flash, you’ve dropped your sword into the grass and redraw your bow, loosing a single arrow to end the battle. Twenty seconds.

A grunt of pain catches your attention and you spin around just in time to see the Yiga Blademaster gradually pressing Link toward the ridge above the beach—you imagine a fight like this would have been nothing to him before the Calamity, but he’s only barely recovered his strength.

“Link!” You shout and take off toward him. His blue eyes shift to you for a split second, distracting him just enough for his opponent to kick him in the chest exactly as you just did the footsoldier. 

You pass over the patch of grass where you dropped your sword and snatch it up as you sprint by. “Link, the cliff!” you scream out in warning, unable to do anything but watch as Link’s boots scuff the edge of the ridge. You’re mere meters away when you catch one last glimpse of him, hair shining like spun gold in the setting sun. Then, the Blademaster hunches over him and thrusts his blade forward.

“No!” you gasp and finally, finally reach the Blademaster. He’s too large and slow to turn around in time to catch your blade, so you dispatch him quicker than you ever have someone if his stature before. Only once he disappears in a puff of purple smoke and a shower of rupees do you peer down the edge of the cliff. Link is motionless where he lies on the beach, and there’s already a spot of red growing around him.

“Link!” you shout and scramble down the cliff, ignoring the way the rocks tear at your palms. You reach the bottom of the ridge in record time considering you don’t have a shield, and your legs nearly give out as you turn to run the last few steps to the hero. Link rolled to a stop about five meters away from you, and the difference between seeing him now, bathed in the gray light of dusk, versus when the sun was shining on him only a few minutes ago is stark. 

He doesn’t move when you fall to your knees next to him. Not even a twitch. When Impa first introduced you to the revived Hero of Hyrule, you specifically remember observing how his fingers drummed on his thigh the whole time he was kneeling in front of your tribe elder. You’ve never seen him so still before, and the sight fills you with dread.

Tears well up in your eyes as the realization that you just heard Link speak for the first time hits you like the swing of a Hinox. And it was to warn you just in time to save your life. Impa had told you of the vow of silence he took when the princess was placed under his charge—that in order to remain one hundred percent focused on his mission, he would only ever speak if undoubtedly necessary. 

You never thought you’d hear his voice beyond his faint grunts in battle, or when he chuckles quietly at Beedle’s inane jokes. And the thought of never hearing his voice again has your hands hovering over him uselessly, at a loss for what to do. The knees of your armor are starting to soak through. Please, please, please.

That’s when his body erupts into turquoise flames.

You’re glad no one is around to hear the way you screech at the sudden flash of light, or how you scrabble backward in panic. Link seems even more startled than you as he shoots up with a strangled gasp, back arching off the beach as if to escape his prone position on the ground. 

“Link?” you hiccup, tipping forward on your hands and crawling back toward him. “You…”

Link sits up with a low groan of pain, effectively cutting you off. You watch him warily as he looks at his hands as if seeing them for the first time, then lifts up the front of his blood-soaked shirt and examines his bruised abdomen. You follow his gaze to the short, newly-raised scar in the middle of the bruising. “It worked,” he mumbles, and you gasp slightly, heart skipping a beat at the sound of his voice once again.

“What worked?” you ask. Link’s eyes whip towards you in surprise, as if he’d forgotten you were there. Mipha’s Grace, he signs, and your heart stops at the simple explanation. Link’s never been one for words, usually answering you with short sentences and leaving you to sort through the rest of the context yourself. This time is no different, but you find yourself stumbling into the explanation rather quickly. 

You were accompanying Link a fortnight ago when he freed the Divine Beast Vah Ruta with the help of Prince Sidon of the Zora. When you asked what he discovered in the ancient machine, he had merely signed: A gift from Mipha. She said she’d heal me when I need it. 

The statement had baffled you too much to ask any more questions…but now, the reality of his words click into place. 

“You died?” you shriek, and Link reels back at your sudden volume. You scramble forward the last couple of inches and cup his cheeks, dragging your hands down to his shoulders as you cry: “Please tell me I didn’t just watch you die and be brought back to life by a goddess-damned ghost, Link—” Link’s eyes widen at your unholy words. Sure, he’s heard you curse and joke before, but never in this way. Never so desperately.

He pulls you down into his arms to avoid looking into your tear-filled eyes any longer. He can feel your chest heave as you sob, the fear and adrenaline of the past few minutes finally catching up to you. After a few ragged breaths, you reach your arms up from where they’re bunched awkwardly against his chest and wrap them around his neck, and suddenly Link’s arms are full of you.

You smell like blood and metal from the scuffle on the ridge, but Link can still detect the warm smell of sunlight in your hair above it all. There’s a tear in the waistband of your armor when he bands his arms tighter around you, pulling you ever closer when he realizes that you could have died too. And you wouldn’t have come back.

He tightens an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him as he guides your head onto his shoulder with his other hand. His nose brushes the tip of your ear, breathing in your sunlight as he runs a soothing hand down the back of your head.

“Goddess.” Link finds himself chasing you when you draw back suddenly and look at him with concern, ignoring the tears still running down your cheeks. “Are you okay? Are you hurt? I can’t believe I’m crying when you’re the one who just died—”

Link blinks as you continue to ramble, watching your face closely as you cup his face and turn it side to side, examining him. Your sudden change in demeanor is giving him whiplash and he finds himself wishing you were still tucked in his arms. He lifts his hands between you and signs your name directly in front of your nose to get your attention, forcing your eyes to cross so you can see his words. 

I’m okay, he continues with a smile he hopes is comforting. I’ve died before.

Despite yourself, you find yourself laughing as Link finishes his sentence, and your giggles grow slightly hysterical when you focus back on his face to see him grinning. You’re an idiot, you sign in lieu of speaking through your laughter. 

Obviously. I just died, he jokes again.

You laugh once more and tug him sharply back into your arms. His chin collides with your shoulder at the force of it, but you couldn’t care less. He hugs you tightly to him again as he feels your arms shaking around him. “Idiot,” you repeat. 

[findmeinasunshower]

𝑷𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒂𝒌𝒆𝒔: 𝑷𝒆𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒌𝒆𝒓 (𝑴𝑪𝑼)

word count: <1k little baby blurb, more of a character study

summary: the morning after a rough mission. fluff/angst

warnings: mentions of canon-typical violence

“Hey.”

You look up from mixing pancake batter and smile up at your boyfriend. His hair isn’t the typical “my hair is mussed up because I just rolled out of bed” look. It’s all blown to one side, making him look lopsided. It’s adorable, but you can’t help but giggle. “You look like you spent the night in a wind tunnel.”

“Shut up,” he mumbles, brown eyes blinking tiredly. He runs his fingers through his hair absentmindedly and shuffles closer to you. You feel yourself relax a little bit as he leans against the counter next to you, watching you spoon out the batter onto the pan. “What are you doing?” he asks.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” you ask playfully. Sleepy Peter is so easy to mess with.

“Why are you making pancakes?” he asks. A sad smile spreads across your face, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Peter.

You flip another pancake. “I thought we could all use it. Breakfast food has always been my happy food, and . . . the past couple of weeks have been rough. I figured we could all just relax for a second and enjoy something.”

Peter smiles fondly down at you. Your thoughtfulness is one of the qualities he loves most about you. You express it in small ways and gestures, never asking for anything in return. No matter what, you always put a smile on other people’s faces.

And Peter wants to do the same for you.

He leans closer and grins at you cheekily. “You know you have to make Steve at least 50, right?”

You chuckle and flip a pancake that’s done onto a plate. “I already asked him, and he said twelve.”

Peter frowns and pretends to think. “Is he on a diet?” You can’t help but burst out laughing at the question. Peter grins. Make (y/n) smile: Check.

Now for his next goal.

“You know,” Peter starts, leaning in close to your face. “You still haven’t told me ‘Good Morning.’”

You roll your eyes at your boyfriend’s antics, but your heart betrays you and flutters at his words. Looking up at him, you smile and stand on your tiptoes to kiss him chastely before lowering back down to your normal height. “Good morning, Peter.”

Little do the two of you know, the team is watching you from the living room, which is just across the room from the kitchen. Although they may tease you and Peter for kisses or flirting or hand-holding, they secretly love it. Seeing the way you two act with each other is the one glimmer of light in such a dark time.

You don’t realize that the two of you are giving your team hope.

[findmeinasunshower]

𝑵𝒐𝒕 𝑱𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑭𝒊𝒓𝒆𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒔𝒌𝒆𝒚: 𝑯𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝑷𝒐𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓

word count: 1.2k

summary: “If only you could see yourself the way I see you, because, holy shit, you’d realize how much I’ve fallen for you.” one-shot, fluff.

warnings: alcohol use

“Sometimes I wonder why I took this job.”

Harry frowns at the ceiling before allowing his head to loll drunkenly to the side to look at you. You’re the only one still in his small Hogsmeade cottage after the end of term staff party he took upon himself to throw. The plan was to finish off the last bottle of firewhiskey together and then you’d go...but, you’re still here on the sofa next to him, and another bottle was opened a long time ago.

“What? Why?”

You shrug thoughtfully. “I just can’t believe I took that big of a risk. A woman shows up on my doorstep and offers me a job to teach witches and wizards about non-magic folk.” You chuckle to yourself. “It sounded so nonsensical. I think the only reason I did believe it was because it was Professor McGonagall who told me.”

“That and my whole summer spent taking you ‘round the Wizarding World and convincing you,” Harry adds, and you nod in agreement. “You are right though, it’s hard to argue with Minnie’s face.”

“Oh god, don’t call her Minnie. It feels so wrong.”

“I honestly can’t believe that just came out of my mouth. She was my Head of House in school I didn’t think I’d ever call her anything but ‘Professor.’”

You laugh and shake your glass of firewhiskey playfully. “Alcohol, my friend.”

Harry laughs with you and the two of you fall into a comfortable silence once again. You scan the room for the thousandth time tonight, taking in his charmingly cluttered living space. Despite it being late May, a fire crackles in the fireplace. Stacks of books take up almost every surface, as there’s no room for bookshelves, and moving photos cover every wall. You’ve found yourself studying each and every one of them at some point throughout the night.

All of a sudden you find yourself speaking again: “Speaking of you showing me the wizarding world...remember when you took me to Honeydukes and the first Chocolate Frog card I got was you?”

Harry groans dramatically and sinks deeper into the plush couch next to you. “Oh, don’t remind me. One of the most embarrassing moments of my life, and that’s saying a lot.”

“I’m glad you were so embarrassed, because I was beyond mortified.” At that response, Harry looks at you curiously. He had expected you to poke fun at him like you usually do when you bring up that day.

“Why were you mortified?”

The laugh you offer him is a bit forced. “Because not only had I been introduced to a whole new world, but the man who was supposed to be my coworker was a bloody teenaged war hero.” Harry’s shocked to see tears welling up in your eyes. “How am I supposed to hold a candle to that when my students can fucking conjure candles?”

“I just...” You sigh in frustration. “Sometimes I feel out of place at Hogwarts. I love my students, and I think they like me—”

“—Trust me, they do—”

“but—” You struggle for the right words before huffing in frustration and falling against the back of the couch. “Ugh, I don’t know. I don’t even know what I’m trying to say.”

Harry’s quiet for a moment as he watches you, trying to hide your traitorous tears from him.

“You know, I was raised a muggle.”

You look at him in surprise. “No you weren’t.”

“I was.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

“Really?”

He chuckles and nods. “Yup. That’s why McGonagall gave me the task of showing you the Wizarding World before you took the job. Well, that and the fact that it was my idea to hire a muggle to teach Muggle studies. But that’s beside the point: There was a time it was all new to me too.”

“And I wasn’t just raised by muggles, I didn’t even know I was magic until I got my letter to Hogwarts, and even then I didn’t know what it meant until Hagrid showed up and explained everything to me, just like I did to you.” You find yourself tucking a leg underneath you and sitting up straight so you can better face Harry on the couch, watching the flames dance in his eyes.

“So, I know what you mean when you say you feel out of place. I still feel that way. Hell, I was an auror for four years before I came back to Hogwarts to teach. No one expected the great Harry Potter to become a bloody teacher, but it’s what makes me happy.” He pokes your leg playfully. “And I know teaching at Hogwarts makes you happy too. It has that effect on people.”

You giggle softly. “You’re right. It really does.”

He looks at you thoughtfully. “But you still sometimes feel like you don’t belong because you can’t do magic?”

Your smile slides off your face. “Yeah.”

Harry sighs and leans forward to set his drink on the coffee table in front of you. “(y/n), if only you could see yourself the way I see you, because bloody hell you’d realize how much I’ve fallen for you.”

Your heart stops. Whatever you were expecting to come out of your friend’s mouth next, it certainly was not that. “What?”

“You heard me.” Harry gently takes your drink from your trembling fingers and places it next to his. “I’ve liked you since my students came in from your first class talking about how interesting fucking electricity was. And they pronounced it correctly. And if there’s one thing my life has taught me, it’s that there’s no time like the present.”

You’re speechless. Completely, utterly, embarrassingly speechless. Of course, you’ve liked Harry since almost the first day you met him. He’s handsome, and charming as all hell, and his arrival in your life completely turned it on its head. And he’s only continued to change it for the better by being your greatest friend over this past year.

So it’s not just the firewhiskey when you close the distance between the two of you and kiss him like Voldemort’s back (see that wizard term? You got it.)

The small grunt that comes out of him when you kiss him makes your heart flutter, and you sigh contentedly when you tangle your fingers in his hair. He wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you closer, allowing him to kiss you even deeper.

After a few more kisses, Harry pulls away and rests his forehead against yours. You stay there for a moment simply breathing together before he pulls back to look into your eyes.

“You know,” he breathes, “Half of me thought you didn’t feel the same.”

You laugh disbelievingly and peck his lips once more. “Well, it’s your lucky day, Potter. Because I’ve fallen for you too.”

[findmeinasunshower]

𝑩𝒍𝒖𝒆 𝑪𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒎𝒂𝒔: 𝑺𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒖𝒔 𝑩𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒌 𝒙 𝑷𝒐𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓!𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

word-count: 2k

summary: Sirius comes to spend Christmas with you and your family, but you notice the Holiday blues hanging over him.

warnings: discussion of abuse, crying, angst.

You’re sure that the Potter house has never been as quiet as it is now. The bitter winter wind howling outside serves as the only buffer to the silence permeating your home. Your wooden shutters slam against the side of the house for the millionth time that night and you sigh, rolling over yet again in a futile attempt to find sleep. Your mind has been restless since you got off the train at King’s Cross, and you know it won’t be still until you get him out of your head. 

At first, Sirius Black was just a story—letters from your brother about the first friend he’d made at Hogwarts and their mischievous adventures. Then, one friend became two, and two became three, but Sirius continued to stick out to you, the sentences written about him seeming to jump off of the page. 

You met him two years later. The Marauders were third-years when you arrived at Hogwarts for the first time, and it was nice having four older students at your back. Remus always has time to help you with your homework, and he made sure to teach you his favorite charms and hexes. Peter was always the first person to make you smile after a hard day and of course James is the best big brother you can ask for, even if he is an ass most of the time. 

But Sirius was always something...different. Something intangible separates him from his friends in a way you can’t quite put your finger on.

In your second year, a group of fifth-year Hufflepuffs decided it was a good idea to pick on you, as James had lost his latest match to their team. Sirius got detention for punching one of them in the jaw, then proceeding to take on all three by himself.

You vividly remember leading Sirius to the hospital wing. How he rolled his eyes as you apologized to him the whole way for his various injuries until he looked down at you with a smile that split his lip and promised:  “C’mon, (y/n). I’d never let anything happen to you.”

You had done everything in your twelve-year-old power not to swoon.

But, despite the amount of times you’ve seen Sirius hurt or angry . . . you had never seen him like this. 

You were the one who opened the door for Sirius when he arrived on your front door at about midsummer with only a suitcase, his Quidditch duffel, and a small backpack. James had had quite a few hushed conversations with your parents in the weeks before, so you were expecting him to come, even if you didn’t know what exactly was going on. But, it didn’t take you long to understand that whatever was happening wasn’t good.

Sirius barely ate that first month, and his usual wide grins retreated into forced, thin-lipped smiles. There was no laughing. He pretended to be okay and was mostly successful when it came to your parents, but you saw right through him. All you had to do was look at his eyes to see exactly what he was feeling, how much he was trying to hide. 

You went back to Hogwarts for your fourth year, him and James for their sixth, and suddenly, Sirius returned to his old self. You’d find yourself looking up in surprise when his loud laughter rang through the great hall, and then suddenly, you’d be the one laughing as he stuffed himself with food for your amusement. You couldn’t work up the courage to ask what was bothering him, not when the real Sirius had returned. If anything, he seemed more recklessly happy than he was before. 

But, then he came home with you and James for Christmas, and the long-lost look in his eyes gradually returned. His genuine laughs and crooked grins remained, but something about them was false. There was a battle raging inside of him, a battle only you seemed to be privy to. 

You groan at the thought and sit up in bed, hating how the blankets tangle around your sweaty legs from all of your tossing and turning and the heat spell your mother had conjured over the house. You just want your racing thoughts to stop. You drop your head and dig the heels of your hands into your eyes in a vain attempt to press away the oncoming headache. 

You startle with a gasp when the floorboards outside your room creak. The normally unnoticeable sound cuts through the quiet that had previously hovered around you like a knife. It can’t be James, considering he’s snuck outside to play Quidditch more times than you can count—he knows every creaky floorboard in the house. Plus, your parents’ bedroom is downstairs, so it’s very unlikely it’s either of them.

So, what the hell is Sirius doing up in the middle of the night?

Frowning, you push your comforter back and swing your legs over the side of the bed, welcoming the cold air that soothes your warm skin. You hiss softly when your feet make contact with the cold wooden floor, and you’re quick to slip on your nightrobe and slippers. Lastly, you grab your wand hastily off of your dresser and stuff it in your robe pocket. Just in case. 

Your mother had told you she put a spell on your door to stop the horrible creaking that used to plague you, so you’re pleased when the door swings open soundlessly. You slip down the hallway as silently as you can, not daring to even mutter Lumos for fear of being caught. You reach the stairs without a hitch and step down onto the second stair, avoiding the creaky first one altogether, and you’re about to start a quick journey down when you hear a sniffle behind you.

Your robe brushes against your calves as you swivel around in surprise. How could you have missed that? Swallowing nervously, you pad carefully back down the hall until you’re standing in front of the bathroom. Now that you’re closer to the door, the heartbreaking sound of what you deduce to be Sirius crying is much more prominent, but still quiet enough for no one to hear. You bite your lip nervously and knock gently.

The crying comes to an abrupt stop, as if your knocking was a button to cut it off. You shift your feet as nerves start to bubble up in your stomach. “Can I come in?” you whisper.

Another long silence passes until you hear the doorknob rattle as it’s unlocked. You push the door open slowly to give Sirius time to stop you, and then you’re looking at him sitting on the seat of the toilet. 

Your heart sinks at what you see. He’s a complete mess, hair more disheveled than usual and hanging in front of his dark eyes, which are red from crying. He’s tapping his foot anxiously on the floor and has his hands laced together in front of him in an effort to hide his shaking. 

“Padfoot . . .” you whisper and flit into the bathroom, shutting the door behind you with a soft click. Sirius doesn’t look up as you perch on the edge of the bathtub in front of him. You take his trembling hands in yours. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s none of your business, little Potter,” he mumbles, but the way his large hands are clutched around yours like a lifeline betray his stubbornness.

You can’t help but scoff. “None of my business? You’re just as much my friend as you are James’s.”

“Fine, then it’s none of your concern.”

“Of course it’s my concern,” you hiss through gritted teeth, and your harsh tone finally gets Sirius to look up at you in surprise. You feel your neck flush slightly red at having his full attention on you when he’s so close. “I’ve been worried about you, Sirius,” you admit quietly.

“Worried about me?” Sirius sits back and wipes his nose before shooting you a cocky smile in an attempt to distract you from the situation. “It’s my job to worry about you.”

"I’m not a child, Sirius.”

“Of course you’re not,” Sirius agrees, dropping his smirk for a genuine look that lets you know he’s not being sarcastic. “I’ve never seen you as a child, not even when you were a wee first year.”

You snort at his antics and immediately cover your mouth, eyes wide as you listen for any sort of disturbance. James’ room is right next door. When all seems to be quiet, you look back at Sirius, who is grinning in delight at your expression. You giggle softly from behind your hand, and he’s quick to join you, which leads to the both of you taking turns shushing the other, only leading to more badly-hidden laughter.

Once both of you calm down and determine that no one has heard you, you sit back and let your hands fall to your lap, fixing him with an earnest gaze. “Honestly though, Sirius. Please tell me what’s wrong so I can get some sleep.”

“You haven’t been sleeping?”

“No, and it’s all your fault,” you accuse, playfully poking a finger into his chest. The corner of his mouth quirks up but promptly falls back down as he turns his gaze to the tile. He takes his time to respond, and you can practically see him turning his thoughts over in his head.

Finally, he says: “My folks kicked me out.” Your heart stops. 

“What?” Sirius nods solemnly. 

“That’s why I came to stay with you lot so suddenly over Summer. I’m . . . indebted to your parents. And James, but don’t tell him I said that.” He sighs and runs a hand through his scraggly hair. “My mum and dad say I’m a blood traitor.”

“What the bloody hell does that mean?” you ask.

He shrugs. “It means I’m not a Black anymore.”

At that moment, the stone statue that was your body shatters into a million pieces, and you stand up, waving your arms in anger. “What kind of mother would disown her own child? Why if I saw her, I would hex the–”

“Whoah whoah whoah, calm down, Lancelot.” Sirius takes your upper arms and gently spins you around to face him. “It’s alright. Truly. I’m better off without them anyway, because I got out of that hellhole and I get to be with you guys.”

You frown in confusion. “Then why were you crying?”

He purses his lips and shrugs, letting his hands drop back to his sides. You immediately miss their warm weight. “It’s nearly the new year, and Christmas is almost over. It’s strange to spend this time of year knowing that your own family doesn’t accept you anymore. I guess the reality of it just finally clicked.”

You nod along with his words. “I understand.” You step forward and raise your hand up to run your fingers through his tangled black hair, brushing it back and away from his face. “No more tears, though. They don’t deserve it, and neither do you.”

You pull your hand back but Sirius catches it before it can fall back to your side. His fingers cradle yours with impossible softness and his lips feel like fire when he kisses the back of your hand. “Thank you, (y/n).” You shudder at his husky voice, and he drops your hand.

You bring it to clutch at your chest and look away from him shyly. “Well, we should probably get some sleep so we can deal with James without killing him tomorrow.”

Sirius chuckles. “You do need quite a bit of energy to do so.”

You look up at him through your lashes and smile bashfully before stepping around him so you’re at the door. Just before opening it, you pause and look back over your shoulder at him. “Good night, Sirius,” you whisper.

His eyes shine with what you can only describe as pure warmth, and his lips curve up into a smile. “Good night, (y/n).”

[findmeinasunshower]

𝑮𝒐𝒅𝒔𝒐𝒏: 𝑯𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝑷𝒐𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓

word count: 1.6k

summary: teddy’s staying with you and harry for the weekend. angst/fluff

warnings: mentions of character death

You don’t know how long you’ve been in bed when you finally feel the other side of the mattress dip and Harry’s arm slip around your waist. It has to be at least an hour past midnight and you didn’t hear him arrive home, so he must have come in by Floo powder.

The exhausted man buries his nose in the back of your neck, making you sigh in content. “Hi,” you greet him, voice heavy with sleep.

“Hi,” Harry responds. He sounds even more tired than you do. “Did I wake you?”

“No, I couldn’t sleep anyway. Why’re you home so late?”

Harry huffs in frustration and pulls you closer, dragging his fingers up your waist as he does so. “Bad day. We got four more Death Eaters just today.” He pauses. “One of them killed his family before we could get to them.”

“Merlin,” you breathe out. He hums in agreement.

“Yeah. But, we got them in the end.” He pauses before muttering: “Let’s talk about something else. What did you do today?”

You roll over to face your boyfriend. His green eyes are unfocused without his glasses, but a smile still spreads across his face when he sees you. “Today was my day off, so Ted and I spent the day outside.”

Harry raises his eyebrows and chuckles softly. “Did you now?”

“Mmhmm. And Luna stopped by around lunch. Teddy got so excited when he saw her that his hair started changing color.”

“Blue and pink?”

“Yup.” Harry laughs, and your lips curve into a smile at the sound. “How’d you know?”

“Because that’s what happens every time I go pick him up from Andromeda’s. Drives her crazy.”

The two of you share another quiet laugh before settling into a comfortable silence. Your eyes flutter shut at the feel of Harry’s hand tracing the curve of your waist soothingly. “Are you home tomorrow?” you ask before you can fall back into the welcoming clutches of sleep.

“I should be,” Harry responds. “Both Ron and ‘Mione got on me today for how tired I look, so they should be picking up my slack tomorrow.”

“You talk like there’s any slack to pick up.” You chuckle sleepily and tilt your head up to brush a lazy kiss over his chin. “You work too much. Spend the day with Ted and me.”

The feel of Harry’s lips on your forehead and his mumbled “I will” sends you back to sleep.

Sometime later, you wake again to the feel of Harry’s arm sliding out from around your waist. The small movement stirs you into semi-consciousness and you grasp feebly at the air where Harry was just a moment ago. The bed creaks as he sits on the edge and stands up. You blink your eyes open, squinting to see him in the dark. “What’s wrong?” you mumble.

“Teddy’s up,” he replies, and he’s right—You did hear the pitter patter of tiny feet pass outside your door just a few minutes ago, but your exhausted brain had incorporated it into your dream until now. “I’ll be right back, love.”

He slips out of your bedroom soundlessly, leaving you to lay alone in the dark. You consider trying to go back to sleep, but ever since the war, you’re never able to rest without someone else in the room. You blame all of those months on the run.

So instead, you carefully slide out from under the comforter and stand up, ignoring the cold wooden floor beneath your feet. You manage to stay silent as you walk to the edge of the corridor toward the kitchen and peek around the corner just in time to see Harry scoop Teddy up so he can reach the plastic cups in the cupboard.

“Thirsty?” Harry asks with a smile. He shifts Teddy so he’s holding him under the arms and props him against the counter in front of the sink. Then he makes sure his godson’s glass is beneath the faucet before turning the water on. They fill it almost to the top before Harry shuts the water back off and sets Teddy back on his feet.

“A little,” Teddy replies, blinking up at his godfather drowsily. The young boy sips his water and rocks back and forth on his feet a couple of times. “Where’s Miss (y/n)?”

“Sleeping,” Harry replies. You press yourself further into the shadows, glad neither of the boys has noticed you yet. “You’ll see her in the morning. Now let’s get you back to bed, Ted.”

Teddy giggles. “That rhymed.” Harry joins him in snickering softly and crouches down in front of the little boy. Teddy takes another sip of water before asking: “Why aren’t you sleeping, Harry?”

“Because I knew you needed help.”

“Did I wake you up?”

The corners of your boyfriend’s lips twitch into a soft smile. “Nah, I can’t sleep with (y/n)’s snoring.”

Teddy giggles again and your heart swells at the sound. You roll your eyes good-naturedly—You’re glad Harry had the sense not to make his godson feel guilty for waking him, but that last jab? Rude.

Harry stands back up to his full height and places a guiding hand on Teddy’s back, and you take that as your cue to duck back down the hall. You climb back into bed just in time to watch your two boys step into Teddy’s room across the hall, still talking quietly.

“Alright, Ted, time to go back to sleep,” Harry whispers softly, and you can imagine him pulling the blankets up to Teddy’s chin.

“Good night, Harry,” Teddy’s calls softly, and you hear Harry’s feet stop and your boyfriend calls out a soft “Good night.”

Harry stops for a moment in the doorway, his silhouette illuminated by the warm glow of Teddy’s nightlight. The young man watches his godson roll over onto his stomach and pull the quilt up so only the tufts of his blue hair can be seen. Harry’s heart clenches with love as he hears Teddy’s breathing even out. He’s such a small, fragile thing, and Harry still isn’t exactly sure how to take care of him. He doesn’t know if he ever will.

After a pause, you hear Harry whisper something under his breath before stumbling back into your bedroom. You wait quietly as he lays back down in his side of the bed and pulls you close without a word.

You turn in his arms so you’re facing him and cup his cheek gently. You can always tell when Harry is feeling fragile, when he needs to talk. He’s only twenty-one, but he already has tracings of worry across his forehead, though they’re outnumbered by the smile lines at the corners of his eyes. His green eyes are still bright and warm despite the horrors they’ve seen.

You nuzzle your head into his chest and wait for him to talk.

Just as you thought, Harry’s arm tightens around you barely a minute later and he says: “I'll never forget the day Teddy was born. Remus came to Shell Cottage in the middle of the storm to give us the news, and when he named me godfather…I could barely say a word. At the time, I thought Teddy would be like my little brother, but after…” He pauses to take a deep breath and you pull him closer encouragingly, “...after Remus and Tonks died, he’s become my son just as much as theirs.”

When he stops talking, you know the both of you are thinking the same thing: The memory of standing in the wreckage of the Great Hall, staring in disbelief at the bodies lined from wall to wall is one that will never leave you. The grief that hit you when you saw Remus and Tonks lying next to each other, hands nearly touching even in the afterlife, sent you falling to your knees. You couldn’t understand how on earth they could be dead.

It takes you a few minutes to choose the right words to say, but eventually you carefully push yourself up on your elbows so you’re hovering over Harry. His green eyes gaze up at you unclearly as you brush the fringe off of his forehead. “I know,” you whisper softly. “I know you blame yourself. But you can’t blame yourself for something that was out of your control, even though I know you do. It’s not fair to feel guilty for seeing Teddy as a son.”

You cradle Harry’s jaw and make sure he’s looking at you when you say: “What happened to Remus and Tonks is not your fault. They made a choice to come to the castle that night, and they knew that they may not make it back. That’s why they trusted you to take care of their son if anything happened, and I can only imagine how proud and grateful they are for you. You gently brush a tear off of Harry’s cheek with your thumb. “Teddy is not an orphan of war like you were. He has a wonderful, loving godfather who will make sure his childhood will be nothing like his.”

A beat of silence passes between the two of you when you finish speaking. Harry’s eyes search yours for a moment before he pushes himself up to capture your lips in his own. You kiss him back briefly before pulling away, knowing you are both tired to the bone from working and caring for a four-year-old child.

“I love you,” Harry breathes against your lips when you pull away.

You kiss his cheek, then his jaw, and settle your head back on his chest and close your eyes. “I love you too.”

[findmeinasunshower]

𝑷𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒐𝒑𝒉𝒐𝒃𝒊𝒂: 𝑳𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒓𝒅𝒐 (𝑻𝑴𝑵𝑻)

word-count: <1k

lil baby blurb, fluff, gender-neutral reader; pictured rise!Leo but can be read as any version of the Turtles!

warnings: none :)

“Master Splinter?”

The rat raises his head and slowly opens his eyes, shaking away the fog of meditation as he does. His second youngest son is hovering in the doorway, Splinter blinks in concern when he notices the boy is shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other. It’s rare that Leonardo presents as anything other than confident, so the sheer discomfort radiating from him sets off his paternal instincts. “What is it, my son? Did (y/n) leave already?”

Leonardo seems to flinch slightly at the sound of your name. “Uh, yeah. (y/n) just left. Are you...” he glances pointedly at the candles set in front of his father. “...Are you busy?”

It’s also rare that his second youngest son asks for advice without prompting.

So Splinter shakes his head and gestures to the mat in front of him. “Come sit.” Leo nods and slinks forward to kneel next to his father. Splinter turns his eyes back to the candles and asks: “What happened?”

He sees Leonardo shrug out of the corner of his eye. “Nothing major, I guess. Something’s just...off. I don’t think it’s anything I did, but it’s nothing (y/n) did either.”

“I really like them.”

The blue-banded turtle smiles, his eyes becoming dreamy in the flickering candlelight. It’s nice to hear his father outwardly express that he likes you. “Yeah, I like them too.” 

Thinking of you only brings back the memory of what happened earlier in the night, why Leo has come to his father in the first place. His face falls at the recollection and Leonardo bunches his fists on his knees. “Tonight, (y/n) asked me if I loved them and...I’m not exactly sure what happened, but I know I messed up.”

“What did you say?”

“I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t say anything.”

Splinter hums in understanding and looks back at Leonardo. “Well then you must ask yourself, my son: Do you love (y/n)?”

Leonardo nods in earnest. “Yes, I do. Very much.”

“Then why are you afraid?”

“How can anyone not be afraid of love?” Leonardo blurts. Even the turtle himself seems surprised by the question he couldn’t keep from escaping. Splinter’s heart warms at the sight. To see his son go through the thrills and woes of love...it’s something every parent wishes for and dreads at the same time. 

“That is a very wise and often confusing question, Leonardo. Let me ask you: Are you afraid of the Kraang?”

His son’s face darkens at the question. “Of course.”

“But does that fear stop you from facing them?”

Leonardo blinks as the pieces begin to fall into place before shaking his head. “No, it doesn’t.”

“So, why is love any different?”

One more second of silence passes before Leo is springing to his feet. “You’re right! Just because I’m scared doesn’t mean I can’t do it, I’ve practically done this before!”

Splinter smiles softly. Oh, if only he knew. “I suggest bringing them flowers.”

[findmeinasunshower]

𝑩𝒖𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒆𝒔: 𝑺𝒂𝒌𝒖𝒔𝒂 𝑲𝒊𝒚𝒐𝒐𝒎𝒊

word-count: <1k. lil baby blurb

summary: protective!Sakusa. hurt/comfort, fluff. 

warnings: bullying, some derisive language

“Hmph.”

You smirk into your drink at the familiar feeling of Sakusa’s forehead meeting your shoulder. His hand comes to rest on your hip as you rock gently back into him, eliciting another exhausted, “Hmph.”

“Battery that low already?” you tease.

Your boyfriend trails his nose up the back of your neck until you can feel his breath on your hair. “Well, my battery decided to abandon me in favor of the dessert table.”

“Mmmm can you blame me?” You spin on your heel and meet his gaze with a smirk, popping a chocolate truffle in your mouth as you do.

A rare smile blooms across Kiyoomi’s face, and you see his cheeks redden slightly under the warm lighting of the event hall. “No, I can’t. Though, Hinata was pretty upset.”

“Oh, was he now?” You giggle and set your empty drink on the table behind you before throwing your arm around Kiyoomi’s neck. “He can deal. I’ll see him at the game tomorrow.”

“I don’t know, H—“

“Is that (y/n)? (y/n) (l/n)?”

Kiyoomi looks away from you with a slow blink at the sound of an unfamiliar voice saying your name. Never once has he taken you to a work event where you’ve been recognized by someone other than his teammates.

“That would be me,” your voice comes out shakily, and he frowns at the shake of your voice. You step purposely back into him and he blinks in confusion before his frown deepens at the movement.

You shrunk back into him. He’s never seen you shrink in front of anyone.

The second woman laughs. Well, one could call it a laugh: Personally, Kiyoomi likens it to the sound of a hyena. A glass of white wine dangles carelessly from her fingertips and she has the nerve to cock an over-plucked eyebrow at your dress. “Oh, darling, you look even worse than high school!” she giggles drunkenly.

Sakusa’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. There’s not a chance in the world this woman just said that. 

The first woman agrees with her friend’s statement by nodding. “No wonder you never had a boyfriend, you couldn’t even age well. What are you even doing these days?”

You fidget with your bag on your shoulder. “I’m, uh, still in school.”

The two women laugh once again. “Oh, that is hysterical!” And the way your chin drops slightly as these two nobodies laugh in your face is the last straw for your boyfriend.

Sakusa slips his arm around your waist and tugs you smoothly into his side. “Ladies, I suggest you stop talking to my partner like that before you’re banned from these events for the rest of your life.” 

He swears, the hyenas didn’t even notice him before. They blink in surprise almost simultaneously at the very attractive man in front of them. One of them hiccups before asking: “She’s your partner?”

“That’s correct. And I guarantee you that the rich men who made you trophy wives don’t have nearly as much power as me in this room, so I suggest you walk away and never look in my or my partner’s direction again.

With that last jab, Kiyoomi takes your hand and pulls you away from your old “friends.” You’re dazed as you stumble out of the main ballroom after him. “Who the hell were they?” your boyfriend growls as he tugs you into a little nook in the hallway.

“Just some old friends from high school,” you joke dryly.

Kiyoomi cocks an eyebrow. “Friends.” 

And for the second time in his life, Sakusa sees you shrink. You curl back into the wall and hug yourself, trying to make yourself as small as possible. “Obviously not friends, Kiyoomi,” you whisper. 

The man blinks and retracts his hand from reaching out to you at the bitterness in your tone. He purses his lips and grasps your shoulders before carefully wrapping you in his familiar warm embrace. You sink into his arms, burying your nose into his pressed white button up and feeling satisfied when you can smell him beyond the freshly-laundered scent.

His lips ghost over the top of your head. “I can pay Miya to spill a drink on them.”

You snort into his chest before propping your chin up to look at him. “We both know you wouldn’t have to pay him.” You drop your gaze to the mole on his chin. “Besides, it wouldn’t be worth it. They’re just bullies. And as much as I love you, you didn’t have to do that for me.” 

Kiyoomi snorts and you feel his breath ghost over the top of your head. “You are impossible.” 

You smile. “I know. Let’s go find Atsumu.”

[findmeinasunshower]

𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝑩𝒐𝒅𝒊𝒆𝒔: 𝑩𝒂𝒌𝒖𝒈𝒐 𝑲𝒂𝒕𝒔𝒖𝒌𝒊

𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥-𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵 : 2.7k

𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺 : prohero!bakugo x gender-neutral prohero!reader. get together fic, Halloween edition!  𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘵 : “Fuck candy corn.”

𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 : language (it’s bakugo), alcohol, gets a lil spicy at the end, but it’s sfw! :)

You walked into Bakugo’s life five years ago when he and Deku created Might Agency, and the nerd convinced him they needed to hire a sidekick. But not just any sidekick — no, as usual, the little asshole had a plan up his sleeve and gave him your resumé that same day. Upon one look, Bakugo immediately knew why Deku wanted to hire you.

“The Wonder Duo” had been involved in primarily high-profile crime since graduating from U.A. In order to expand, they needed someone who could work both in and out of the spotlight that comes along with the Pro Hero world.

You were fresh out of U.A., only a couple of years their junior, and had not only the perfect quirk for what they needed but the perfect skill set. You're basically a living battery — able to draw on the electricity around you and turn it into energy, where you then manipulate it and create glowing hot light. Not only that, but you took every business course U.A. had to offer on the side in case you ever had the chance to run an agency.

And so, fresh out of high school, you were stunned to be hired on to build the Undercover Unit at Might Agency.

Five years later, Bakugo knew you’d be the talk of the Halloween Gala before your glittering shoes even touched the red carpet.

The Halloween tradition started eight years ago as an excuse for Bakugo’s graduating class to dress up together and be assholes outside of the public eye. Ponytail hired a bunch of people to decorate her gigantic house, and their whole class got together to celebrate the holiday. But as they all rose to fame, so too did the event itself, until now it’s nearly at a Met Gala level of publicity in Japan.

Today’s dominating news story (masterfully planted by their agency’s manager) said it all: “After five years of groundbreaking undercover work, Pro Hero Celestial emerges to join the ranks above ground and train a new generation of underground heroes at Might Agency.”

You’re the elusive sidekick-turned-partner of Pro Heroes’ Deku and Dynamight. So he isn’t surprised when he’s halfway down the red carpet leading up to Ponytail’s house, avoiding as much of the press lined up behind the barrier as he can, and he sees every camera within his field of vision turn to the entrance of the carpet. And somehow he knows you’re there.

And later in the night, when he slips into one of Momo's million supply closets to see you standing in the corner, part of him isn't all that surprised that you had the same idea as him. Even if he does shout a loud "Fuck!" upon seeing you.

You simply take a deep breath to calm your heart rate after his explosive entrance, then casually hold out a small cup of candy corn you must have snagged from one of the snack tables. “Candy corn?” you offer.

“Fuck Candy corn,” Bakugo bites back. He shoves himself into the opposite wall and watches as you pop a piece of the nothing-flavored snack into your mouth. “The fuck are you doing in here?” he asks.

“Three ‘fucks’ in under a minute? That has to be a new record,” you joke dryly around a mouthful of your prize.

“Twinkles.” The only indication that the use of your nickname has an effect on you is a single blink before you go back to eating. Bakugo sighs and yanks off the stupid pirate hat and eyepatch his stylist had given him this year so he can focus on you better. “Why are you in here?” he tries again.

Candy corn now gone, you toss the cup dejectedly to the floor and cross your arms. “Hiding,” you respond vaguely.

“Hiding? From what?” he asks.

You roll your eyes and fix him with a glare, and Bakugo finds himself momentarily stunned by having your full attention on him for the first time especially when you look like that. “What do you think, Bakugo?”

He raises his eyebrows at the use of his last name. You haven’t used it since your first year as a sidekick, nearly six years ago. At that time, you called him solely “Dynamight out of respect, before eventually graduating to “Bakugo-san” a few months later when you got sick of his grumbling. But ever since you officially came on as a partner of the agency three years ago and the two of you got into your first screaming match, you’ve insisted on calling him solely “Katsuki” just to piss him off.

So, you calling him Bakugo sets off every friendship red flag Shitty Hair has drilled into him over the years.

He’s careful as he matches your position, propping his leg up on the wall behind him and crossing his arms. You look at him suspiciously as he settles in to wait, and Bakugo rolls his eyes, waving his hand impatiently. “Well?” he prompts.

You fix him with a glare, and he fights the shudder that threatens to quake through him. Apparently realizing that he’s not going to back down, you hug yourself and mumble: “I don’t want to be a publicity prize.”

Bakugo raises an eyebrow. “A ‘publicity prize?’” he prompts.

You gesture down at your costume, the diamonds along your sleeves glittering in the darkness from the slight movement. “Some tabloids are already calling me “Shining Seven,’” you complain. “I only hit seven in the rankings last week.”

“Only reason you didn’t earlier—”

“—Is because I was undercover, I know,” you finish with a sigh. “I’m just…I’m not like you and Midoriya. I’m not used to being in the spotlight, you know? And I was thrust in so quickly, and debuting dressed like this, everybody suddenly thinks…I don’t even know, but I swear if one more sidekick asks for a picture with me I’m—”

“Whoa whoa whoa, slow down.” Your friend finally steps forward and grasps your shoulders firmly. “How do you manage to talk about everything and nothing all at once?”

“Probably hanging out with Midoriya too much.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Bakugo growls, and he’s relieved when you chuckle under your breath. A pair of laughing voices passes outside your hiding spot and you both go quiet as you wait for them to pass.

Looking at you as you peer through the crack in the door to the party beyond, Bakugo realizes this is the first time he’s properly looked at you today. You’re draped from head to toe in robes of midnight blue velvet, the color imitating the night sky perfectly. Hundreds of glittering diamonds are embedded throughout the fabric, making it look like you’re glowing from within, the effect emphasized by the luminescent lotion your stylist gave you to put on.

To finish the look, your features were dusted with just the barest hint of makeup, simultaneously enhancing your natural features and accentuating your heavenly appearance. Finally, a halo diadem of jewels and stars is laid to rest atop your head.

You look astral. Eternal. Your stylist had dressed you as a Deity of Light.

Katsuki clears his throat, and you turn your bright eyes on him at the sound, eyes immediately furrowing in confusion when he won’t meet your eye. You blink in surprise as he mutters, “I’ll be right back,” and sweeps the curtain aside. 

His fiery blush has faded into a frustrated scowl by the time he reaches the open bar set up in one of Ponytail’s dining rooms and orders “two of whatever the most popular drink is.” The bartender nervously shoves the drinks toward him less than a minute later, and the hero grunts in appreciation before heading back to you. 

You’re still there when he yanks open the door and shoves a large, neon green cup in your hands. It sloshes over with the force of his handover, splashing your overlapped fingers with whatever the mixed drink is made up of. “For you,” he insists.

You startle a little bit and wrap both hands around the cup, looking down at the mysteriously foaming purple drink, then back up at him with those cosmic eyes. “Did you put anything in it?” you ask with faux gravity.

Bakugo scoffs, “fuck off,” and crosses his arms, and you giggle into your drink. The two of you settle into a comfortable silence, broken only by the occasional comment on the music or harmless tease at each other’s costumes. You finish your drinks together, simply enjoying each other’s company and listening to the party booming throughout the rest of the house.

Eventually, the two of you find yourselves seated shoulder to shoulder on the floor, and you ask: “Bakugo…why are you in here?”

He scowls and cocks an eyebrow as he looks at you. Your face is starting to get a lovely flush from the drink he brought you. “What, I can’t be in here?”

“I didn’t say that. I asked why you were here.” You lift your head off of his shoulder so you can look at him clearly, and tilt your head to the side with a small smile at whatever you see. “Though I’m not complaining,” you tack on.

Katsuki’s eyes widen at the meaning behind your words, face going hot as your gazes hold. A smile spreads slowly across your features at his stunned silence, and the last of Katsuki’s brain cells go out the window at the sight. Your smile quickly turns into laughter, and Bakugo assumes that he’s probably never looked more like Dunce Face than he does right now.

“Shut up,” he insists, still flushed red and lacking his usual vitriol. “I can’t believe you’re not embarrassed to say that out loud.”

“If anyone else were sitting next to me, I would be,” you admit, settling back into the wall with a smile. Your voice is quieter, more hesitant when you say: “I guess I’m just comfortable with you.”

He blinks in shock, pulling away from you at that last, quiet confession. With the way your voice got small, plus the mild flirtation not only earlier but in the past, plus the alcohol running through his veins, the realization hits him like a truck.

A part of him has known he’s had feelings of you for a good while now, but it’s a part of himself Katsuki never acknowledged. He was always too busy, whether it be with the responsibility that is building an agency from the ground up or just hero work in general. The two of you have orbited around each other ever since you met, working in the same place and tasked with the same end goal, but taking different routes to get there. Katsuki was your main supporter when you decided to put anonymity behind and work on training the new generation of underground heroes. He was the one to talk to Deku and convince him to implement the Underground Unit so that you could come on full-time.

You’ve been an integral part of Katsuki’s life for years — a star in his galaxy.

Only now is he finally realizing why.

The only thing he can find himself saying as he looks at you in that dusty closet is: “You’re comfortable with me,” with disbelief stark in his flat voice. Your eyes are still so bright when they lock with his in the dark, and they widen as he leans across you, bringing his face closer to yours. “Same,” he whispers.

“What?” you ask, eyes flitting all over his face.

“I mean same,” he repeats, and you gasp as Katsuki takes your hand in his. He’s practically laying across your lap now, and his face is oh-so-close to yours. “I mean,” Katsuki sighs and fights the instinct to scowl as he searches for the right words. “I’m also comfortable. Around you.”

Your gaze on him doesn’t falter as he looks away and reaches for his empty cup, wishing there were still something in it at least to have something to do other than look at your all-knowing face. But eventually the feel of your attention on him pulls him back to you, and Katsuki blinks when he sees you smiling shyly.

“Dynamight,” you say in a teasing tone. “Are you hitting on me right now?”

Katsuki scoffs again and leans back into the wall. “I’m not not hitting on you,” he grumbles.

“You’re not kidding?” you ask, leaning into his space so he’s forced to look at you. 

Your proximity sends his heart into overdrive, and he suddenly finds himself dropping his cup so he can pull you into him, nose to nose, breath to nervous breath.

“I don’t kid when it comes to you,” he breathes against your mouth. 

And then it’s you who throws your arms around Katsuki and pulls him into a messy, clumsy kiss. A faint whimper escapes you at the first touch of Katsuki’s tongue on yours, and the sound shakes him right to his toes. “Fuck,” he growls against your mouth, barely able to breathe from the force of your embrace. “Come here.”

Your whimper is needier this time as Bakugo wraps his arms around you and fully hauls you against his chest, kissing you like he’s drowning and you’re oxygen. The only thing you can do is hold on, arms draped around his neck like a western damsel in distress. He holds you just as tightly, and you feel him shudder against you as he breaks the kiss in favor of closing his mouth over your pulse point.

“Yesss,” you hiss between your teeth and arch into Katsuki, closing your eyes and reveling in the feel of his solid, solid shoulders underneath your grasping hands. “Katsuki—”

“Baku-bro? You in there?”

You shriek and jump away from Katsuki at the sound of Kirishima’s voice, covering your mouth with your hands. Bakugo is already on his feet and reaching for the door handle, grasping it just in time to pull it closed as his friend tries to open it. “Go away, Shitty Hair! I’m busy!”

“...In a closet?”

“A stupid sidekick spilled their fucking drink on me,” he lies smoothly, glancing at you as you get to your feet in the corner. “Needed a quiet place to clean up.”

“For an hour?” A snicker sounds from the other side of the door, and Katsuki glowers deeply at the realization it’s Kaminari.

“Fuck off, Dunce Face! I’m not going out there fucking shirtless!”

“Alright, alright,” Kirishima says, ever the peacekeeper. “We’ll be in the main hall when you’re ready.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Bakugo takes a deep, centering breath as he listens to his friends walk away before he turns back to you. Your arms are crossed, leaning against the back wall with a hesitant smile on your face. That won’t do.

“Well,” Bakugo says, harnessing his worked-up liquid/adrenal courage one last time. He steps forward and wraps his arms around you, bringing your hips together in a small bump. This time, he doesn’t stop the shudder that runs through him when your eyes meet his, and he revels in the sound of your small, stuttering gasp when he runs his hands down your arms. “Should we rejoin the party, Twinkles?”

You shake your head in disbelief and reach up to fiddle with the frayed ties of the open white shirt of his costume. “Shouldn’t we talk about this?” you whisper.

Bakugo shrugs. “I mean, we could talk about it now.” You relax into his arms when he leans down to kiss you again, and you find yourself swaying slightly and blinking bubbles out of your eyes when he pulls away. “Or we could talk about it later.”

You hesitate for only a moment before you’re rolling up onto your toes and hauling Bakugo down to your height so you can kiss him properly. “Definitely later,” you insist against his mouth.

[findmeinasunshower]

𝑮𝒓𝒂𝒗𝒊𝒕𝒚: 𝑨𝒉𝒔𝒐𝒌𝒂 𝑻𝒂𝒏𝒐

word count: 1k

summary: post-tcw!Ahsoka x reader. oneshot. 

warnings: canon-typical violence, blood 

Ahsoka came into your life completely by surprise: A strange, hooded figure appearing at your door and asking for work as a mechanic.

You didn’t really need one—your moisture farm on Raada was small, only really big enough for you to work on alone—but something about her made you say yes. She looked about your age...and tired in a way that went beyond physical. 

So, against your better judgement, you invited her to stay and work on your small plot of land. She fixed up the busted droids that hadn’t seen the light of day in years, and you remember your surprise seeing them rolling out of your family shed. Before she came along, you did almost all of your work by hand.

Throughout all of this time, she said nothing about her past, and you were content to leave her to her mystery. Until some weeks later, the Empire found their way to Raada and destroyed your year’s worth of work to build an outpost. 

It was over a quiet, tearful dinner that night that Ahsoka suggested forming a rebellion.

And now, almost two years later, you’re still by her side in a rebellion of a much larger scale. When the worn Togruta showed up your doorstep, you didn’t think you’d end up on a starcruiser lightyears away from your home. But some part of you knew, even that early, that Ahsoka had no choice but to be stuck with you. 

You decided you liked her when she punched your xenophobic neighbor without hesitation for sneering at her lekku.

You knew you trusted her when she told you about her past as a Jedi padawan.

And you realized you loved her when you watched her get sucked into outer space.

It doesn’t matter how the Imperial spy got aboard the cruiser. All that matters right now is your grip on the grooved vent cover and the fact that the last thing Ahsoka did before she got vacuumed into the great beyond was Force push you so hard that you slammed into the wall.

“C-8!” You scream, and hope you’re not imagining the quiet beep from up near at the control panel. “You have to get the gravitational field up! Now!”

You hear C-8 beep in confirmation over the howling wind, and you thank the stars that you weren’t imagining the droid before. You chance a glance up towards the droid just in time to see a supply crate zipping toward you, and your ripped fingers protest as you swing yourself closer to the wall to avoid getting hit. Gritting your teeth against the pain, you find the strength to look up again and see C-8 has made it to the control panel. 

And just like that, it’s over. You gasp as the gravity shifts back to normal and you think you feel a rib crack as you slam back down onto the hangar floor.

“Shit,” you hiss and grip your side with bloodied fingers, as if that will help the internal injury. You don’t even have time to take stock of the situation before you feel the now-familiar heat of a blaster bolt whizzing just over your head. “Shit!”

You push yourself up and scramble behind the nearest X-wing, drawing your blaster as you go. You surprise yourself by nearly dropping the damned thing with your slippery red hands. Damn, that vent really did a number on you. 

Holding the blaster under your chin, you peer around the X-wing just in time to see Lyra (your personal favorite pilot) poke her head out of her own ship. She motions to you to stay down and you drop into a crouch just in time to see her lean over her hull and take out the spy, who had been sneaking up behind you.

You sigh in relief and lower your blaster. “C, is that all of them?” One chirp for yes rings across the hangar. “How long were we down?” The droid chirps again and your heart sinks.

The gravitational field was only down for a thirty seconds. Thirty seconds. And the only reason you’re still standing here is because of Ahsoka.

“Oh, stars.” Ahsoka. You quickly tuck your blaster into its holster and take off running towards the blue force field at the end of the hangar. A group of pilots and mechanics are gathered towards the middle of the field, staring out at the bodies and various debris floating in the space beyond. Your heart speeds up as you scan the debris desperately and it’s not long before a flash of orange catches your eye. 

As usual, she’s at the eye of the storm, and one hand is extended out in front of her as she pulls herself back toward the ship with the last bit of strength she has left. You rush over to where she’ll drop in, and the force field warbles as she enters the gravitational field and drops like a stone, unmoving.

"Ahsoka!” you shriek and sprint toward her, shoving the pilot who reached her first out of the way so you can kneel beside her.

Every inch of her is covered in ice from the tips of her lekku to her boots. Her eyelashes are white with frost, and when you take her hand in yours, you notice that the tips of her fingers are blue.

Your hands are shaking as you bring them up to cradle her face gently, feeling the thin layer of frost crumble beneath your fingertips. Tears well up in your eyes when she doesn’t move an inch under your touch. “Ahsoka?” you whimper her name, to no avail. “Ahsoka, please, don’t do this.”

Still, no response. After a few moments of suffocating silence you rock forward on your knees and press your forehead against hers. “Ahsoka Tano, you have to come back to me,” you command. “If you do this to me I will never forgive you.”

And, as if on cue, just as you open your eyes, her beautiful blue ones flutter open.

“Oh stars, Ahsoka,” you sob with relief and press a frantic kiss to her forehead before wrapping your arms around her shoulders and burying your face in her neck. Her body is ice cold.

“(y/n),” she mumbles, voice gravelly in your ear. “You’re bleeding.”

You huff out a hysterical laugh and pull back just enough so you can see her face. “Oh, that’s so typical. You just pulled yourself out of outer space and you’re worried because my hands are bleeding.”

The Togruta cracks a small smile. “That’s right.”

“I can’t stand you,” you say, even as you feel your face crumple with relief. You dip your head and press a kiss to her cheek. “Force, Ahsoka, I thought you’d died. You can never do that to me again, okay?”

Your tears only intensify when you feel her arms wrap weakly around you in return. “(y/n), if you’re going to kiss me...just do it.”

You laugh hysterically and press a long kiss to her lips, savoring the fact that she’s alive. She’s not lost in outer space, never to be seen again. And if that’s what it took for you to finally kiss Ahsoka Tano, then you can’t be too mad about it.

[findmeinasunshower]

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑺𝒆𝒏𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒓 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕 1: 𝑫𝒊𝒏 𝑫𝒋𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒏

word-count: <1k (little baby blurb)

genre: Din Djarin x senator!Reader, hurt/comfort, fluff

warnings: mentions of blood, canon-typical violence

Part 2   ~   Part 3

The Mandalorian isn’t sure what to think of the unassuming senator Skywalker’s sister presents him with. 

He agreed to help the Jedi fulfill a protection order for you—his twin sister’s friend and colleague. You had recently found your life in danger due to opposition in the Senate, and while Senator Organa can protect herself, you grew up on a small farming planet and never learned anything of the sort, despite your best efforts.

Din expects you to be similar to Senator Organa: A spitfire who notices every little thing, but chooses to keep certain details filed away for the right moment. And while he was right about the latter, you have a different way of firing back than Senator Organa. 

Unlike Senator Organa’s elaborate dresses and braids, you dress simply in the clothing of your people, and Din later learns you keep only one assistant to help you be presentable to the senate. The first time he meets you, he finds himself drawn to what he can only describe as a humble power exuding from your every pore. You have his undivided attention by doing nothing more than just standing in his field of view.  

The reason Imperial sympathizers decided you are deadly is because of your capacity for patience. You listen and you observe and you strategize throughout the debates until you have enough information to speak, and proceed to rip your opposition apart.

Din decided he liked you the first time he saw you give a speech on the Senate floor.

He grew to respect you when you quieted Senator Organa with a simple raise of your hand, and she proceeded to sit back and let you take the floor. You then won the debate. 

But Din realizes he trusts you the first time the Senate goes on lockdown.

He isn’t sure how he ended up on the floor of a droid closet with you pressing your hands to his stomach. One second, he heard the familiar sound of blaster fire in the conference room, and the next he was collapsing after dragging you here and barricading the door.

Later, you tell him that he had whipped you behind him and pulled out his blaster all before the Imperial spy even fired their first shot. Mando took a nasty hit to the chest from covering you as you fled the conference room and he pushed you into the first safe space he could find.

Honestly, Din was stupid to think protecting a senator of a government ripped apart by war would be an easy task. The Jedi wasn’t lying when he offered Din this job on the promise of it being “interesting.” But when he said yes, all he could think about was a steady, well-paying job that he could do while still having time to visit Grogu.

He didn’t realize how entertained he’d be in between visits to his son, watching you and Skywalker’s sister rip the rest of the Senate to shreds with words.

That’s another reason why Din trusts you — you were the first to make him realize that not every weapon is physical.

Din’s knocked out of his thoughts when you whisper: “You’re bleeding.”

“I am?” he asks. He feels your fingers curl around his in the dark, and you guide his gloved hand to press against his noticeably wet stomach. “Dank Farrik.”

“’Dank Farrik is right,” you respond, but fall quiet again when footsteps sound from the hall outside. A crick in your neck is starting to develop where half of you is laying across the Mandalorian while the rest of you is pressed up against an R2 Unit.

It feels like hours, but is probably only minutes before Din risks whispering: “Are you injured?”

You shake your head. “Not a scratch. But I feel a lot of blood, Mando.”

“Din.”

He isn’t sure what makes him say it—What makes him suddenly decide to trust you after decades of living in anonymity.

But, he decides his slip-up is worth it when you look up at him with wide eyes. “What?” you ask.

The Mandalorian clears his throat, suddenly uncomfortable being the object of your complete focus. “My name. It’s Din. I’d like you to use it.”

And for the first time, Din sees you caught off of your guard. An unfamiliar feeling takes over his chest at the soft ‘O’ shape of your mouth, the wonder that’s taken over your eyes.

He’s knocked back into reality when your hand slips against his wound. He lurches back from the accidental touch with a hiss, helmet thumping back against the wall in an effort not to scream. You’re quick to school your face back into composure at the sound of his pain. “Sorry, sorry,” you whisper and he grunts his forgiveness. You add a quiet, “Din” as an afterthought.

That foreign feeling is back as you duck your head shyly, the first time Din’s seen you bashful and lost for words. He’s noticed a lot of firsts tonight, and finds his breathing calming as he watches you school your face into careful calm. The corner of your mouth turns up when he tilts his visor to you, and Din can almost imagine you’re looking him in the eye.

“Alright, Din Djarin,” you say. “Let’s get you fixed up.”

For the second time in his life, Din moves without thinking by reaching forward and gently grasping your hand. You freeze at the sudden contact before dragging your gaze to his.

“Thank you,” he says. “For saving my life.”

You bite your lip to keep from smiling too wide and squeeze his hand back. If Din weren’t already sitting on the floor, the gesture would have brought him to his knees. “It’s about time I pay you back.”