#he literally couldn’t stand being poor for another second

[thatparticularlytastyghostcookie]

Laurits the second he knew he was Vidar’s son

#like seriously dude #laurits seier #laurits ragnarok #ragnarok netflix #Ragnarok season 2 #very Loki behavior tbh #loki #he literally couldn’t stand being poor for another second

[priniya]

📸 END UP HERE

synopsis. when a guy keeps harassing his best mate’s cousin, there’s not a single thought on his mind that would make theo feel bad about wanting to beat the shit out of him.

theo nott x lestrange!reader. PLEASE. request more things for theo or mattheo. i’m literally in need.

theo couldn’t remember the exact moment, when his mind filled the urge to hit cormac mclaggen as hard as possible. on second thought, he definitely could.

theo’s been watching you ever since the party started. you were standing in the corner of the room, trying to get as little attention as possible — you wouldn’t even been there if amelia didn’t beg you to be her emotional support, so considering you were the best roommate (and friend) she could imagine, you said yes. maybe it was just the start of mistakes you were supposed to make that night, or so you thought.

you had a tight, dark red dress on you that hugged all your curves in the places it should. your make up just made you stand out from all the girls there, that’s what theo thought when he saw you. of course, you didn’t want to be there, but you couldn’t just pass on an occasion to dress up a bit, since you were going anyway. maybe your clothing choice was another of those mistakes.

nott’s attention was fully on you — a girl tried to hit him up? too bad, because she wasn’t even half as pretty as you were, and he knew you didn’t even try. it became obvious to all his friends that you were… quite a distraction. he would engage in a conversation, trying hard to have his focus on his friends, but then you would do something, and he felt obligated to look at you, but you were clearly oblivious to his gaze averting and coming back every once in a while.

“can you stop eye-fucking my cousin?” draco groaned, leaning on the wall behind them, bringing a cup to his lips, taking a small sip of alcohol. “it’s disgusting.” he added.

draco malfoy was the only reason that kept theodore from getting his hands on you, at least that’s what he would always tell people he bluntly ignored, when you walked into the room he was in. just because draco treated you like a sister, people thought nott would get a hold of his hormones.

but how could he, when you always looked so gorgeous?

“i’m not eye-fucking her, i’m a cultured man.” he said, getting lots of mocking laughs from mattheo and lorenzo (“you? a cultured man? never heard that much bullshit in my life.”). “i’m admir— ouch, c’mon, malfoy.” his fingers massaged the place that the blonde boy punched.

it all happened later that night, when nott was already a little lightheaded from a blunt he was smoking with mattheo. even if he didn’t want to concentrate on you, it was pointless, so he just watched you, shamelessly, being teased for it by his friend at the same time.

he noticed that cormac fucking mclaggen cornered you, and you had no possible chance to run away from him, your eyes scanning the room, looking for help until your gaze landed on theodore’s face, and he knew immediately. you watched him get up from the couchy, mumbling something to riddle before he made his way towards the corner you stood in.

he didn’t even say a thing, the discomfort in your eyes was enough to assume everything. he tapped the gryffindor’s shoulder, quickly throwing his fist forward, and you could’ve swore to god that you had heard bones crushing. theo just grinned mischievously as cormac looked at him a confussed expression, brushing his lip with his thumb.

but nott didn’t stop himself there, starting a fight. while mclaggen’s friends tried to pull the poor gryffindor away from theo, mattheo and enzo just stood behind him, with wide, prideful grins on their faces, shouting once in a while to encourage theo to “crush his skull”. if it wasn’t for blaise, who finally appeared (with amelia right beside him), the fight would go for probably even longer until one of the teachers didn’t interfere.

“stay the fuck away from her, mclaggen.” dark-haired spat at his opponent, the adrenaline running through his veins, so the bruises didn’t hurt at all. not until he was sat by the edge of the bathtub by you, when he realized that his face was throbbing with pain.

“theo.” you whispered, stading right between his legs, trying so hard to focus on patching him up more than the burning sensation of his hand on her hip. hearing the way you said his name almost made him groan — you were so perfect in his eyes that if he manned up, his hands would be everywhere, not just your hip. “could you please lift your head for me?”

there was something so incredibly intimate about that moment. he just fought for you, and instead of getting mad, you were right next to him, cleaning his face and hands off the blood, speaking so softly and touching him with such a gentle manner that theodore thought he died and woke up in heaven.

“i thought you said you wouldn’t be fighting random guys anymore.” you began, brushing his hair back, so you could press the wet towel to his forehead. “was he making you uncomfortable?” he asked, his tone a little raspy.

“well, yeah but–”

“then it wasn’t random.” theo shrugged, and if you two were in different circumstances now, you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from crashing your lips into his. “he should’ve known that you’re my girl.” he mumbled as his hand slipped down on your thigh, his fingers digging into your soft flesh.

“you looked so good tonight.” he muttered after a minute of silence as you kept trying to concentrate on helping him first. a sigh left his lips as he pulled you a little closer. “i want to rip that dress off you, jesus. what are you doing to me?”

it took him one more swift pull to get you to straddle him. his fingers traced soft circles on your outer thighs as you were silently finishing up your job. your entire body was burning. unfortunately, your face was revealing the effect he had on you, and you hated it, because theo always made it his mission to make you blush as hard as possible.

the thing between you two was… indescribable. you weren’t a couple, but you acted like one, you weren’t friends with benefits, but you weren’t just friends. there were feelings involved and neither of you denied. there were mutual attraction, desire, urgency and neither of you could see themselves with someone else. if soulmates existed, then theodore faustus nott was yours and no one else’s.

“alright.” now, it’s your turn to sigh. you put the towel aside, cupping his cheeks, scanning his face for more bruises to patch up. when you were sure that you treated every single one, you let yourself relax, getting a soft chuckle from theodore. “you worried me, theo.”

he mumbled something under his breath, but you couldn’t pinpoint what it was, since he found his face nuzzling in your neck, leaving small kisses in the spots that he knew would make you shiver. he inhaled the sweet scent of your shampoo and perfume. oh, and did it drive him crazy.

he picked you up, your legs wrapped around his hips as he walked the two of you to his bed, merlin help how weak he felt, but carrying you around was something he did every single time you were at his dorm. theo put you down, letting you get comfortable in his sheets (he bought them, just because you said it looked pretty — so now he had floral themed sheets). on the other hand, he was searching for some clothes you always wear, so you wouldn’t suffer in a tight dress.

maybe he never directly said he loved you, but his actions and behaviour towards you was enough to tell you he did.

you’ve changed into clothes he gave you, allowing your… situationship to help you unzip your bra, and you fell down on his bed. it took you a brief moment to realise that you were still in your goddamn makeup. a long sigh escaped from between your lips. theo’s face lit up with confusion, although he understood why you were lazily getting up from his bed.

“you don’t have to go back.” he smirked, looking you up and down, admiring how gorgeous you looked in his shirt, pictures of him ripping it off you started playing in his head. god, the things he’d like to do to you right now. “i hated how you complained about your makeup stuff. bottom drawer is all yours. everything you need.”

and to be honest, you almost cried upon seeing what he prepared for you. any possible kinds of makeup remover (creams, lotions, gels), tissues, pads and tampons, cotton balls, all those products that he noticed you used for your hair and skin-care essentials, he even stocked your favourite shampoo that you told him wasn’t produced anymore. there were even the same exact products you used to put on your makeup, perfect matched foundation shade, all kinds of eyeshadow palettes you liked, lipsticks, chapsticks, lipglosses, even the glitter and gems you used for yule ball once.

“theodore faustus nott, you are so incredibly pussy whipped, i’m shocked it’s possible.” your laughs filled his chamber, when you got back from the bathroom. “at the same time, it’s so attractive that you bought all of that for me.”

“shut up, lestrange.” he rolled his eyes, his hand wrapping around your leg, pulling you onto him. “i would kill for you if you asked.” he mumbled against your skin, leaving a trail of kisses from your jawline down to collarbone.

#harry potter #theodore nott #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott fic #theodore nott rec #harry potter x reader #slytherin #slytherin boys #mattheo riddle x reader #lestrange!reader #draco malfoy x reader #niki’s works 🫂

[chaotic-iguana]

hiiii!! i love your stories sm thank you for taking your time to write them<3 can you do one of a miguelxreader where he has been playing video games allllll dayy and the reader just wants a little attention so they "tempt him" if you know what i mean🤭 and he ends up getting just a littlee hissy about it. it can continue on however you like ;)

anywaysssss love you and i wish you all the best<3

-🪷

distracted. 

gamer! miguel x f! reader

a/n: anon. first of all, thank you and second of all im sending u a sloppy forehead kiss bc this is such a delicious fucking idea i was literally feral to write this. 

warnings: mdni. subspace, oral (m receiving), dacryphilia, cockwarming, degradation, (but they’re in love and it’s discussed, i promise), aftercare. 

“mig-gy,“ you whine tearfully, a culmination of the frustration you’ve been feeling all day. it started when you woke up with a warm, sticky feeling in between your legs; a dull ache settling in your gut and tugging at the edges of your thoughts ever since. miguel’d already been out of bed, and you’d found him in the living room in front of the tv, sitting in his pyjamas with a controller in his hand, barking orders into a headset. 

and while you didn’t want to disturb him on one of the very few days he had to himself, you couldn’t help but feel…antsy. you’d been trying (and failing) to get his attention all day, barely met with hms and grunts as it were. which was how you found yourself changing into a pink lace slip, unable to meet your own eye at the reflection before you. your poor, overworked brain made you think it would be a good idea to try and - ahem- tempt him, but when it came to actually doing it, the thought made your face warm. another slew of miguel’s curses at the game made you jolt, and before you knew it, you were walking outside to make sure he was okay. 

and he was, because of course. you, on the other hand, were standing half-naked in the living room at three pm while your boyfriend neglected to even look your way. you stood to the side, wringing your hands and waiting for him to look at you, but after a whole minute with you getting no attention whatsoever, you gave up and cleared your throat. miguel’s eyes flicked your way - victory! - for a bare second until he rolled them and turned back to the screen. which was also how you ended up here, whining from over his shoulder for him to acknowledge you. 

he doesn’t, of course, not until you’re stood next to him pouting while looking down at him with dazed doe eyes, giving you away. miguel knew exactly what you needed and within seconds a harsh order to pause was being whispered into his headset, fingers flying over the comedically-small-for-him controller as his chair finally turned your way. swallowing pitifully, you squirm under the weight of his gaze before risking a glance up at him to find his eyes twinkling with amusement, brow raised in question. 

“need you, migs.” your whispered confession only raises his brow impossibly higher, ghost of a smirk curving his lips before he’s turning away from you again. you’re frowning, half-stomping to stand between him and his screen before he wears his stupid headset again. desire winning against the shame brewing in you, you reach a hand out to his chest- 

and his wrist circles yours, stopping you in your tracks. you’re staring shamelessly at the slant of his jaw, the slope of his nose and the light caught in his hair, gauging his reaction until his voice rings out: 

“prove it.” 

and you’re confused, too lost in the reliving the feeling of the way his nose bumped against your swollen clit as he ate you out for hours last week, responding with a meek “hm?” that has him huffing. he doesn’t even clarify, just clamps a hand on your shoulder and pushes so you’re on your knees, settling you with your head at crotch-level. 

“prove that you need me.” 

and then he’s gone, eyes glued to the screen again. you blink up at him from the floor, content to watch the muscles of his forearms flex as his fingers move on the controller, the vein jumping in his neck as his jaw clenches, the tension in his wide shoulders. startling, you realise that his his eyes are back on yours and twinkling with a challenge. right. proving it. 

shuffling between his legs, you lay your head on his thigh and peer up at him. he’s looking away now, of course. you’d be happy to drool at the sight of him semi-hard through his fitted light gray sweatpants (am i projecting? i am projecting) for hours, especially when the fabric stretches just right to give you a barely-visible outline you can’t help but trace with your fingertips. which is exactly what you do without realising until his breath hitches ever so slightly, a muscle jumping in his thigh. fueled by the vindication, you start tracing patterns on him through his trousers, palming him ever so slightly until he’s bucking his hips into your hand oh-so-slightly. you’re too enchanted by the way he twitches against your fingers to realise how teasing your touch has been until you hear a half-whimper escape his lips, sending a jolt directly between your legs. pressing your thighs together in a futile effort to relieve yourself, you trail your fingers to his waistband and tug it down, reveling in the sharp intake of breath sounding from above you. 

the sight of his tip flushed red makes your mouth water and your tongue darts to catch the precum beading at his slit before you can stop yourself; the sudden warmth making him jump under you. rocking back on your heels, you fumble to pump him with both hands - he’s just so fucking big you can barely touch the tip of your thumb and forefinger with your palm around him - before ducking down to lap lightly at his balls, slick with sweat. kitten licking the underside of his cock while pumping him slowly, you hear him loose a breath slowly before you feel the weight of his hand on your head. faster than you can blink, his fingers curl into your scalp and tug your head back, gaze thunderous when his eyes find yours. his fingers tap your cheek in silent command and your lips part on instinct, and then he’s pushing your head down between your legs, jaw aching at the sudden intrusion. ignoring your choked garbling, miguel rocks his hips into your mouth until your nose is buried in his happy trail and holds you there, tears spilling over your cheeks while you struggle to adjust. the second you struggle against his grip instinctually, his tsk tsk fills the room, mic clicking off before he strokes your hair, so at odds with the fact that he was holding you down with his cock in your mouth. 

“thought you needed me, honey? where’d my good girl go?” and oh fuck, it’s the tone he’s using as if he’s amused by the sight of you all ruined for him that has something cramping between your legs, breath wet and clicking in your throat as you whine around him, your fists trembling where they rested on his thighs. ‘m right here, i’m your good girl and i need you so, so badly so please please please- 

but it’s like he heard your internal monologue, because his gaze softens in moments, thumb sweeping across your damp cheek. 

“lo sé, lo sé. mi buena niña. tómalo por mí, amor.” [i know, i know. my good girl. take it for me, my love.] and all your queasiness dissolves the second his fingers scrape over your jaw, your discomfort dissipating at the sound of his gentle murmur. 

then he’s going back to his game, leaving you kneeling at his feet and gagging around him. every choke, cough or splutter is met with a quick glance at you; at your fingers curled on either side of your head to make sure you’re okay, not tapping out. you know if your eyes had even a hint of hesitancy in them he’d stop; his supposed mean demeanor melting to give way to the cuddly teddy bear he really is. but you’ve reverted entirely to a floaty, dazed headspace, where your thoughts feel blissfully hazy and just out of reach, and you can’t comprehend the thought of not being here, keeping him warm. 

you don’t realise how much time has passed until miguel shifts forward, and the pins-and-needles in your legs make you whimper, gripping his thighs for support. miguel immediately cups your jaw, reaching his other hand to rip off his headphones and turn the game off entirely before pulling you off of him, wiping the drool off your lips and supporting your head as you splutter, his patience infinite when it came to taking care of you. 

“háblame, princesa. ¿cómo te sientes, hm?” [talk to me, princess. how are you feeling, hm?] 

still on your knees, you shift forward with tearful eyes; breath hitching at the bruises you can feel have formed already. you're barely stammering through "h-hurts, miggy" in a hoarse whisper before he's leaning down, wrapping an arm under your thigh and around your head, lifting you into his lap  instantly. you tuck your face into his neck, reveling in the safety of his embrace as you catch your breath. he presses his lips to your forehead, stroking your head over and over while cooing praises to you. it takes a while, but before long you're pulling back, kissing his chin with a soft grin. 

"there she is. there's my good girl. so perfect for me, aren’t you?" your shy nod makes him smile, fangs poking through in that endearing way that makes your heart hurt and the warmth blooming in your belly burn. 

“can i have u now, migs?” 

and oh, you sound so wrecked for him, how could he ever say no? 

and if his team lost the game, well. that’s on them, isn’t it? 

masterlist.

hello my loves, as always, thanks for reading, comment your thoughts or find me on ao3. stay hydrated and have a great day! taglist: @imherefordeanandbones, @theywhowriteandknowthings, @josephquinnswhore, @millerscoffee, @nostalxgic, @sscorpiiio, @its-nebuleuse, @sofiparallel, @mandoisapunk, @bastardmandennis (hey pal), @party-hearses (hey gruv), @chiogarza, @jenispunk. message me to join my taglist. divider by the amazing @cafekitsune.

#miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel x reader #miguel ohara #miguel #atsv miguel #dom miguel o'hara #miguel atsv smut #miguel o' hara fluff #miguel o' hara smut #miguel o' hara x reader #miguel o' hara x reader fluff #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara x reader fluff #miguel ohara smut #miguel ohara x you #miguel o’hara fluff #miguel o’hara smut #miguel spiderverse #miguel x you #miguel o'hara #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 x reader #miguel 2099 #sm 2099 #atsv #across the spider verse #atsv x reader #atsv x you

[wizardofrozz]

Shadow Play

Commander Fox x senator!reader (fem), Senator Farr, Commander Thorn, and mention of Commander Stone

Word Count: ~3.7k

Warnings: NSFW, this is literally just filth, unprotected sex, exhibition, creampie, fluff, Fox being a tease

Summary: Seeing their favorite senator getting wrecked by their commander was certainly not in the Coruscant Guard’s mission briefing for today. 

A/N: I finally had the motivation to write some Fox smut thanks to this art. Huge thanks to @homie-one-kenobi​ for all the encouragement and help editing ❤️ Writing this has reduced me to a puddle so please enjoy 😂

         Lights flashed across the rows of seats, making you squint as another Mon Calamari dancer twirled elegantly. You tried to focus on the choreography, praying it would hold your attention but no matter what, you still couldn’t force yourself to enjoy the ballet. Watching it for a third time wasn’t changing your opinion, yet it wasn’t like you could’ve declined the offer. Your eyes flickered to the balcony opposite you, noting Fox’s absence for the fifth time in less than an hour, borderline glaring at the unfortunate Corrie taking his place. 

         A small part of you hated the poor sentry, his red armor acting as a constant reminder that for the last 21 rotations and 17 hours since Fox left for an off-world assignment, your bed had been cold and empty. Your eyes finally drifted away from the trooper and just barely stopped yourself from rolling your eyes at the small group of senators whispering praises. While you agreed that the performers were exceptional, you couldn’t follow the plot, leaving you to count down the seconds until the next intermission. A small part of you wished that Riyo or Padme were there to make the whole experience a little more bearable. 

         Years of etiquette training was the only thing that stopped you from jumping out of your seat when a booming voice announced the second intermission. Your aid that was standing near the back of the senatorial box shot you a sympathetic look and you appreciated the gesture even if there was nothing they could do to help. Just as the door was within reach, the faint call of your name had you stopping in your tracks, forcing your expression to remain pleasant. 

         “Senator Farr,” you greeted, managing a small smile. You had nothing against the Rodian senator, you quite liked him, but you really weren’t in the mood for small talk. You expected him to ask for your interpretation of the ballet only to surprise you when he ushered you into the bustling hall. 

         “How many more acts are there?” he whispered, leaning in to keep the conversation somewhat private. Your mouth twisted to the side in a poor attempt at hiding your amusement.

         “Three,” you replied, chewing on your top lip when Senator Farr’s already large eyes seemed to grow bigger. “I plan to feign a stomach bug for the next two.” 

         “Will it be any less believable if we both do?” he mused, glancing over your shoulder at the cluster of senators still talking about Act 2. 

         “Probably more believable,” you snickered, scratching the corner of your mouth to cover your persistent grin. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m not feeling well.”

         “Hm, now that you mention it,” Farr sighed, his forehead wrinkling in a show of distress that you found quite impressive. He chanced one last look over your shoulder before gently nudging your arm and hurrying toward the bathroom. You allowed yourself a fond laugh before heading in the direction of the lady’s room, making a detour through the nearby door at the last second. The click of your disgustingly uncomfortable shoes was deafening in the silent stairwell, making you pause at the top of the first flight to check no one had followed. 

         Once you were confident you were in the clear, you took the last flight at a slower pace, contemplating burning the fucking torture devices you called shoes the entire way. You paused one last time at the top of the steps, just to be safe, before slipping through the door at the top. A warm, orangish glow washed over you, melting some of the tension in your neck and shoulders as you stepped into the cupola. 

         It had been far too long since you’d ventured into the little hideaway, only able to admire the beautiful stained glass windows from afar. Most Coruscant residents had no idea there was even a room atop the opera house, meaning they missed out on one of the most beautiful views. You lazily wandered toward the window, lightly brushing your fingers over the marbled glass, watching the slightly distorted ecumenopolis below. Your original intention had been to find a refuge from the torture of sitting through three more acts but standing there, looking out across the capital world, all you felt was lonely. 

         The soft whir of the door was lost to your aching heart but there was no mistaking the muted footsteps approaching. Anyone else would’ve felt fear in that moment, yet you only sighed, knowing the taste of solace you found had come to an end. You let your hand linger on the cool glass for another second before dropping it, turning to face the presence lingering off to your left. 

         For a moment, you were convinced you were hallucinating, that maybe you were sick, when you turned to find a Coruscant Guard member watching you. There was no mistaking the pattern you had sought out in waves of red armor time and time again. He canted his head and it was so painfully familiar, it nearly brought tears to your eyes.

         “What are you doing here?” you blurted, your manners suddenly tumbling to Coruscant’s surface. Not that he minded. 

         “I could ask you the same thing,” Fox countered. Just hearing his voice, the unique inflection in his words that set him apart had your shoulders slumping like the marionette strings folding your facade up had been cut. Something between a sob and laugh tumbled past your lips, the sound seemed to break through the barrier Fox built around himself. The second his stance lost some of its rigidity you were moving, throwing your arms around his shoulders. The collision punched a grunt out of Fox but he barely even swayed, catching your weight with ease.

         “What are you doing here?” you repeated, the words muffled against his shoulder. It had been three long weeks since you saw him before he went dark for a security detail off-world. Fox smelled of blaster fire, caf, and sweat, a mixture that should’ve had your nose wrinkling, but right then, it was so perfectly him you pressed closer. 

         “Thought I’d pick up a security shift for a few senators spending the night at the opera,” Fox sighed, pressing the hard edge of his helmet against the side of your head. That had you pulling away, staring into his dark visor. How long had he been back? The question must’ve been written all over your face because Fox laughed, a soft, beautiful sound. “Relax, we landed maybe an hour before it started.”

         “Shouldn’t you be resting?” you mumbled, threading your fingers together at the back of his neck.

         “I’ll rest when I’m dead,” Fox snorted, pulling you as close as he dared. The bite of plastoid against your body was uncomfortable but you’d take it over his absence any day.

         “Drama queen,” you huffed with a fond eye roll. His helmet tipped down and you assumed he was pinning you with a dark glare, something you had never wanted to see more than you did in that moment. You carefully broke the seal, slowly lifting the bright red helmet off, not realizing you were holding your breath. Fox blinked a few times, gently shaking his head, tousling his longer-than-normal curls. But instead of a scowl, you were greeted with a soft smile that melted your heart. 

         “Hey,” he breathed, gently tracing the curve of your back. 

         “Stars, I missed you,” you rasped just before surging forward to capture his lips. Fox let out a soft, breathy laugh against your lips before gently cradling the back of your head, and leaning into the kiss. The bitterness of caf lingered on his lips, a taste you shouldn’t have missed seeing that you drank it just as often as Fox, however, it always seemed to taste better this way.   

         The kiss had started out sweet, a slow and tender brush of lips that made your heart flutter wildly. You intended to pull away until Fox started to knead the back of your neck, molding you against the curve of his chest. Every ounce of fatigue and anxiety you had been holding onto melted away as you coaxed his mouth open. Fox groaned softly, using his hold on your neck to angle your head back with an urgency you weren’t expecting. The shift had your head spinning to the point that you hadn’t realized you were moving until your back met the cool window.

         “Missed you too,” Fox mumbled, dragging his lips away from yours to pant against your cheek. “So fucking much.”

         “Mm, playing bodyguard for one of my colleagues wasn’t engaging enough,” you teased, carding through his messy hair. Fox nipped at your ear in retaliation, forcing a half-gasp, half-giggle past your lips. He tugged you tighter against his chest, the unforgiving plastoid of his codpiece pressing into your thigh, tempting you with what waited behind it. 

         “Like any of them could compare to you,” he breathed, nuzzling into your neck with a shallow roll of his hips. Maybe it was because you weren’t used to him being gone for long stretches of time but you were suddenly aching to feel something beyond GAR blacks and rigid plastoid. Fox yelped at the impatient tug on his codpiece, pulling back to dart his eyes between your hand and your face. 

         “What - what are you doing?” he hissed, glancing over his shoulder. Yet he didn’t try to move your hand, letting you trace the shape at a torturous pace. 

         “I’m trying to indulge in what I’ve been daydreaming about for weeks,” you huffed, playfully tugging on the clip holding the armor in place. You watched the way his Adam’s apple bobbed before his expression shifted, brown eyes somehow growing darker in the low light. 

         “Right here?” Fox mused, crowding you against the window and pinning your hand in place. Daring you to bow out. “Now what if one of the boys looked up and saw us? How would they feel seeing their favorite senator being ruined by their commander?” 

         “Fox,” you gasped, closing your fist in his hair, and grinding into the curve of his thigh plate. The idea should’ve scared you, should’ve filled you with a numbing dread at the thought of anyone catching an esteemed senator with a Guard commander. Instead, you clenched around nothing, mouth falling open with your strained pants. 

         “Oh, you like that, honey,” Fox purred, his gloved hand slipping under the hem of your short skirt. Even through a layer of fabric, his touch left a trail of heat across your skin. The quiet whine that followed the first brush of his fingers over your cunt made him shiver in your grip. “Maker, you sound even sweeter than in my dreams.”

         “You - you dream about the s-sounds I make?” you panted, rocking forward in time with the drag of his fingers.

         “Oh, I dream about more than that,” he chucked, bumping his nose against yours.

         “Care to share?”

         “How long do you have?” 

         “For you?” you whispered, barely brushing your lips against his. “All the time in the galaxy.”

         “Is that so?” he mumbled, moving to pepper kisses down the side of your neck. You caught a glimpse of redness high on his cheeks just before a digit sank into you with little resistance. Your cunt clenched around his gloved finger, a strangled moan bursting from your lips as he pumped his finger once. The rough fabric of his gloves never bothered you before but the desperate, clawing need to feel the warmth of his skin had you squirming.

         “Take your gloves off,” you all but begged, “please.” You almost wished you hadn’t asked when he slowly, torturously, pulled away. He caught your eye, pinning you in place with a heavy look, never breaking eye contact as he brought his hand toward his face. You had witnessed Fox bring down a mercenary single-handedly after losing his blaster, seen him dissolve a full-fledged riot, and hit what should’ve been an impossible mark without batting an eye. Yet somehow the sight of his tongue curling around the soaked finger of his glove was more electrifying, setting your teeth on edge. 

         He pinned you in place, closing his lips around his finger; his lashes fluttered, a muffled groan filling the air as he savored your taste. Your lungs suddenly felt too small as you watched the slow drag of his digit over his full bottom lip. Fox was putting on a show, the twinkle in his lust-blown eyes giving him away and you were undoubtedly enjoying every second. A flash of white teeth sinking into the tip of the glove made your breath hitch, your eyes staying glued to the hem of the fabric as Fox tilted his head back, revealing strong, calloused hands. 

         Fox’s now bare hand came to rest lightly against your chest, following the curve of your body but your focus was zeroed in on the glove dangling from his teeth. He looked far too pleased with himself, a slight smirk lifting the corner of his mouth as he paused, letting you admire the view. The feather-light brush of his fingers over your heated skin jerked you back to reality but your eyes still followed the fabric when he turned his head, letting the glove fall to the floor before turning his attention back to you. 

         “Better?” he rumbled, brushing through your folds before sinking two fingers into you, his smug grin never fading. Your head bobbed in an almost frantic nod as you tried to bite back a moan. Fox’s smug smile wasn’t helping either. 

         “Fuck, yes,” you gasped, tightening your grip in his hair. Fox hummed in the back of his throat, lazily pumping his fingers like he had all the time in the world. You were suddenly reminded of your hand placement when he shifted his weight. If your brain didn’t feel like it might leak out of your ears, you would’ve been more impressed with the skillful way you unclipped his codpiece in one swift movement. 

         “You’re getting too good at that,” Fox groaned, rocking into your hand.

         “You only have yourself to blame,” you laughed breathlessly, tracing the shape of his hard length. He surged forward, his finger brushing a devastating spot inside you as his lips slammed into yours, muffling your incoherent cry. 

         “Will–will you let me,” he stammered between kisses, the sloppy roll of his hips growing rougher, “let me fuck you for all of Coruscant to see?” 

         “If–fuck–if you don’t–” you warned, trying to sound commanding, but your ability to form words was quickly narrowing to nothing more than curses and Fox’s name. That seemed to be all the permission he needed though as he licked into your mouth again, the hand that had been buried in your cunt coming up to grip your jaw. In a flurry of movement, you were suddenly facing the expanses of Coruscant, Fox’s warmth pressing against your back as he hiked your skirt up, bunching it around your hips.

         “Put your hands on the window, honey,” he rumbled, brushing his nose against the shell of your ear. You obeyed without a second thought, bracing both your hands against one of the orange panels; your heart fluttered when one of his large hands filled the space beside yours. “I wonder if I’ll be able to see our handprints every time I pass by.”

         The thought that you’d leave behind a reminder, something only you and Fox would know about, had you pushing back into him. He seemed to catch on, unceremoniously tugging his pants down just enough to free his weeping cock, slipping it between your thighs. There was a brief moment where he paused, his tip barely pressing into your folds like he was savoring the buildup before he pushed in. The stretch felt endless, your head falling forward as you panted around soft whimpers until he was fully sheathed. 

         “Stars,” you chuckled, feeling dizzy with how full you were, “almost forgot how big you are.” Fox’s hips jerked forward involuntarily, punching the air from your lungs. His free hands slowly followed the curve of your waist, catching on the flashy fabric of your outfit, pausing briefly to brush a thumb over your covered nipple. A shiver tore through you when his hand gently curled around your throat, never squeezing, only using his grip as a way to hold you in place. 

         “Guess I’ll have to remind you,” he growled, pausing long enough for the words to sink in before he moved. The first thrust tested your ability to hold yourself up but Fox barely gave you a moment to steady yourself before he picked up a brutal pace. If you weren’t so high above the bustling crowds, you might’ve been worried about how you cried out, throwing your head back against Fox’s shoulder. 

         “F-Fox,” you moaned, needing him to hear the desperation pumping through your veins. You mindlessly curled your fingers over the smooth window pane, forcing your eyes open when you met warm skin. Fox’s hand was still braced against the window, your hand half covering his after your frantic scrambling. You were so mesmerized by the sheer size difference that you didn't notice right away when Fox shifted his weight, hitting a spot that made your eyes cross. You blindly grabbed onto the back of his hand, fingers interlacing between his. Fox instinctively closed his hand, pressing your fingertips into the rough skin of his palm. He nuzzled against your cheek, his ragged breathing raising goosebumps along the length of your throat.

         “Fuck, you - you feel so good, cyar’ika” he whimpered, pressing a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss to your cheek. You were both spiraling out of control, climbing higher and higher with each galaxy-shattering thrust. Fox’s usually composed attitude was long gone, leaving him just as desperate and pleasure-drunk as you were. The heat building under your skin had reached a scalding level but you just couldn’t seem to fall over the edge.

         “I– I’m so close,” you whispered, turning your head to try and find his lips. Fox mumbled something you couldn’t quite catch before his hand slid over your chest, coming to rest on your stomach. The pressure of his hand made each punch of his cock somehow more explosive, reminding you both just how deep he was; Fox’s strangled moan overlayed with yours, his hips losing their rhythm.

         “Never - fuck -  never leaving you behind again,” he panted, leaning heavily against your back to drop his hand lower. Every muscle in your lower half clenched when his fingers brushed your clit, ripping an unusually loud moan from deep in Fox’s chest. The movements of his fingers were sloppy but you were so lost in the blinding pleasure that it didn’t matter. It finally, finally, crested, throwing you over the edge with a cry of Fox’s name as you gushed around him.

         It only took three more thrusts before Fox went rigid, burying himself to the hilt with a soft, shaky moan. 

         Your thoughts cleared slowly, the fog of arousal melting away as you drifted back down to Coruscant. The empty cupola felt oddly quiet without the slap of skin on skin, leaving you to focus on Fox’s slightly labored breathing. Your eyes drifted back to where your hands were still braced against the stained glass, a small smile lifting the corner of your mouth when you noticed that your hand was still wrapped around Fox’s larger one. Flashing speeder lights caught your attention, drawing your gaze to the traffic zipping past the opera house. 

         “Think anyone saw us?” you wondered absently. Fox laughed, loud and unguarded, dropping his forehead onto your shoulder and the sound alone was enough to make your stomach do a funny little flip.

         “We may never know,” Fox snickered, kissing the base of your neck. The deafening chirp of Fox’s comm brought you crashing back to reality, but you did your best to not let your disappointment show when he reached up to tap a button on his vambrace. “Fox.”

         “Gotta question for you, Commander,” Thorn said in place of a greeting. Fox propped his chin on your shoulder, humming softly when you let your head drop to the side, resting your temple against his. 

         “Yes, Thorn.” There was a pregnant pause, your brows pulling together when you swore you heard a muffle laugh through the channel. 

         “You, uh, wouldn’t happen to be in the opera house’s cupola, would you?” Thorn snickered. Your stomach plummeted to your feet while Fox stiffened behind you. There was no denying it since Fox’s cock was still buried inside you. You tilted your head down, searching for a few dots of red in the sea of creatures, easily finding them near the opera house’s entrance. 

         “No,” Fox replied stiffly, only making the situation worse.

         “Oh really?” a slightly different voice huffed. You glanced to the side, arching a brow in question. Fox rolled his eyes but mouthed, Stone, before returning his attention back to the comm. 

         “Heya, senator!” Thorn shouted. You only knew it was him because just as the greeting came through, you saw one of the dots with more red paint raise an arm, waving it wildly.

         “How’d you know?” Fox grumbled, sounding close to pouting in your opinion.

         “We can see your shadows, shit for brains,” Thorn wheezed, barely getting his sentence out between fits of laughter. 

         “Go do your fucking jobs,” Fox snapped, punching the button to end the call a little too hard. You had managed to keep a straight face throughout the call but you were steadily losing the battle against laughter. “I’m glad you find it funny.”

         “I’m surprised you don’t,” you giggled, lightly resting your head against his temple. Fox huffed and hid his face against your shoulder, faintly shaking his head. 

         “I’m never going to hear the end of this,” he groaned, mindlessly squeezing your fingers that were still intertwined with his.

         “About getting caught,” you wondered, letting a smirk pull at the corner of your mouth, “or how hot it looked from their perspective?” Fox sounded defeated as he brought your intertwined hands to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles. 

         “Both.” 

Taglist: @techs-feral-wife​ (thank you for your help too Max ❤️)

#commander fox x reader #commander fox x you #commander fox #coruscant guard #commander fox smut #cc-1010 #star wars #the clone wars #marshal commander fox

[f10werfae]

Shorty McLovin

pairing: Chris Evans x Short!Hairstylist! Reader

Summary: Chris and Y/n can’t keep their hands off each other, but that’s pretty obvious

Disclaimer: This story is fiction and should not be taken literally, the behaviour is simply imaginative and the content may be inappropriate

Warnings: Spit, dirty talk, mirror sex, daddy kink, size kink, squirt, tit play, penetration sex, dirty talk, humiliation, degradation, oral (female receiving)

- Requests are open!

Likes, Comments and Re-blogs are appreciated♥️

Chris Evans Masterlist

Full Masterlist

Taglist Form

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(Y/n's P.O.V)

“Will you stop movin for two seconds” I groaned feeling Chris spin around in the seat, trying to avoid my hands which were trying to style his hair. Despite him sitting down, his 6ft frame still towered over me, the consequences of being short.

“You gotta catch me first sweetheart” He laughed dodging my hands, his face smiling brightly even though he had to be up from 5 that morning. I huffed setting down my comb and scissors, my hands settling onto my waist as I looked at him blankly.

“Come on mamas, m' jus playin' with ya” He whined noticing my stare, finally deciding to face me, picking up my comb and handing it back up to me.

I couldn’t help but notice those dark blue eyes of his peering up at me almost mocking me trying to be innocent, his body bulging in its white vest and boxer shorts. His hands then found my ass, holding onto my cheeks he pulled me closer, his hands just resting back there casually.

“Thank you daddy-” Kissing his lips I stood back up, not realising what I had said.

“D-did you just call me daddy?” Chris asked smugly, his hands stopping mine from reaching his hair.

“What? No I didn’t?”

“Uh yes you did bubby, heard it loud n' clear” Chris laughed standing up to his full height, my head just about reaching his chest, his fingers on my chin tilting my head up to look at him.

(Chris' P.O.V)

“C'mon baby you know I don’t like liars” I whispered, her big doe eyes looking up at me innocently, her face glowing in front of the light up vanity mirror. Her hands gripped onto my shirt, her mouth parted as she wondered what to reply with,

“U-uh well it was clearly an accident Chris, happens alla time”

“What so you call other guys daddy then huh?” I questioned, a feeling of possessiveness and jealousy bubbling in my chest at the idea of my woman even thinking about entertaining another man. My fingers reached up and tucked a bit of hair behind her ears, her beautiful face now in view.

“No! Why would you even say that? You know i’m yours and yours alone, plus no one compares to you” She pouted leaning up and pecking my lips cutely, intertwining her hands with mine by our sides; her energy just making me fall in love even more and just seeing how much she loves and cares for me.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Chris let go of his girl's hands, his fingers reaching up to pull down the lock on the door beside them swiftly. Y/n stood quietly anticipating Chris' next move as he pulled down one of the thin straps of her blue tank top, the flimsy thing barely covering her hardened nipples.

“Chris we can’t, we’re at work” She whimpered, falling right into his handy work, her chest puffed out more to give him more access.

“Yeah? And whose the boss?” He asked with a smirk, pulling the top low enough to reveal her right breast, and boy did he waste no time in getting his paws all over it. He groped it so hard a mewl left the poor girl’s throat, his mouth suckling on her nipple, biting it here and there.

Her nipple now shone with Chris' spit on it, both of their eyes now hazed with desire and lust; complete and utter filthy thoughts.

“i wan’ you to look at yaself in the mirror while I fuck you alright?” Chris growled turning her to face the vanity, both of her hands planted onto the makeup station.

Chris couldn’t help but smile at his woman, all there laid out for him, and only for him. Not only that, but she just seemed to be made for him, both of their bodies connecting like a jigsaw.

With one swift movement he swiped down her underwear to cage her thighs together, her wetness starting to cause her crevices to glimmer. Chris bent down and took one good look at what was his,

“You just smell so fucking delicious baby, ya want me to eat ya out from behind? Treat you like my own fuckslut?”

“Mhm” Y/n whimpered, her knuckles had gone white at this point from how hard she was gripping the table. She couldn’t help but look at herself in the mirror, her face was flushed as one of her tits were just hanging out in the open for him to see.

Chris opened up her ass cheek and licked a stripe from her wet pussy up, a moan instantly left Y/n's mouth, her pussy only tingling for more of his wet tongue.

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(Chris' P.O.V)

Flattening my tongue I flicked through her folds, feeling her legs shudder slightly from instability, her arousal practically dripping at this point.

“Hurry up baby, your call time is soon” I heard her say, her body shoving her pussy onto my face as I felt her grind onto it.

“Yes baby, grind on my face like that” I growled holding onto her thighs as she humped my face without abandon, her hand grabbing onto my hair to ground herself even deeper, at this point she was just fucking herself using my nose and mouth.

“Come on baby, cum in daddy’s mouth like a sweet girl”

(Y/n's P.O.V)

“Mhm i’m gonna cum daddy, gon' cum right on your face” I moaned out, my hips moving out of my control, his nose and mouth were double teaming my swollen hot red pussy, my clit being stimulated by the stubble on his face.

“OaOh Fuck FUCK FUCK FUCK DADDY” I screamed shaking and humping his face furiously like a mad woman, feeling a gush of cum just spray onto his face aggressively. The pornographic sounds of him slurping it all up filled the room, my face was contorted to one of pleasure, my eyes had rolled to the back of my head and I was drooling from the mouth.

“Gah baby you got daddy all wet” He chuckled standing up behind me, his thick fingers running along my sensitive folds, my body leaning back into his for warmth and love. His hair was wet with me squirting, the bottom of his face shiny with my cum.

Turning my head around me spat right into my open mouth, the taste of my cum filling my mouth was instantly overtaken by his tongue licking all over my mouth. Whatever wetness was on his face had now transferred over to mine, adding to the amass of filth on us.

Pushing me to lean down a little, his tongue left mine, his larger body caged me in.

“Don’t know if you’re ready for my cock sweetheart, you’re so small I might break daddy’s little pussy” He cooed in a humiliating tone, his index finger edging the entrance of my wet hole, my hips rolling against him every time he did.

“Please daddy, I need it, use your sweetheart’s wet little hole” I whimpered rubbing my ass onto his now naked body, his hardened cock grinding against the curve of my ass erotically.

“Hmm I don’t know hunny, you’re too little” He grinned devilishly, his hand caressing my jaw tenderly before he harshly pushed it against the mirror.

His cock tearing into my pussy roughly, absolutely pounding the fuck out of it, my moans coming out muffled due to the hand on my cheek pushing me against the cool mirror.

“Aw good girl, would ya look at that? Your pussy fits my cock fucking perfectly” He laughed out, one hand holding onto my love handles, his other hand holding onto my shoulder to help keep me up.

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(Chris' P.O.V)

“D-daddy i’m gonna cum again, hug me while I cum? please?” she moaned out suddenly and then I knew she was feeling extremely vulnerable. Pulling out and turning her around, I lifted her up and started fucking her straight away. My arms wrapped around her ass as she continued humping my cock, her arms wrapped tightly around my neck with her head hidden into my chest.

I felt her lips pepper little kisses along my chest, her tongue ever toying with my nipple causing me to bite my lip even harder. The things this woman did to me.

“Fuck Y/n i’m about to-“

“Do it inside of me baby, wanna feel you cum inside my wet swollen pussy” She moaned out, her voice now sounding hoarser and sultry.

“Y/n baby oh my god, shit fuck-“ Shouting out an array of curses I felt myself spill inside of her, her body still clinging onto mine mercilessly, my hands now coming up to wrap around her back as I sat us both down onto the big makeup chair.

Even being in my arms accentuated the fact she was so short, and not going to lie that brought something out of me, something no one else did. I felt her breathing slowly calm down, with her still straddling me I felt her kisses move up to my neck to my face.

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Both of them looked gently and lovingly at each other, Chris brushed back some of his woman’s hair, her head nuzzling into the touch of his hand softly. After some hot steamy sex both of them tended to be even more physically affectionate, if that was even possible.

“You okay sweetheart? Need some water?” Chris bent down grabbing his pink water bottle (it was actually Y/n's but she left it at his house so much it became is) He lifted up the bottle to her lips and rubbed her back soothingly as she took large gulps. A lazy glowing smile was on her face, as she lay back onto Chris' chest

“You okay Chris?”

It was now her turn to ask, picking up her captain America water bottle she gave him some, both of them acting like highschoolers stupidly in love.

“When we get home, we are having a major cuddling session with Dodge” Chris said kissing her shoulder and pulling her top back up, she nodded enthusiastically caressing the apples of his cheeks with her fingers

“Omg wait Chris your hair, my cum-“

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“Hey Y/n what did you do with chris’ hair today” The director asked walking up to the shorter woman, watching as she packed away her hair supplies from the “dirty” vanity.

“u-uh-“

“Don’t worry I think it looks amazing, I even told Chris i’d prefer if it was like that for the whole shoot this week, if that’s ok?”

A red blush captured her cheeks as she nodded sheepishly, the director left the room leaving her to smile embarrassingly

“Everyday this week? Really?”

———

Taglist Tags: @pandaxnienke @patzammit @seren-a-ity @thereisa8ella @mrspeacem1nusone @evanstanwhore @itsaylayay1213 @kimhtoo17 @chrisevansdaughter @vrittivsanghavi @dumb-fawkin-bitch @tojisbabymommy @bxdbxtxh15 @madebylilly @sairsei @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @chrisevansangel @royalwriteroftheuniverse @mysticfalls01 @taramaria @mirikusashes @marvelgurl @xoxokiaraaxoxo @caps-shield1918

#romance #chris evans imagine #chris evans x reader #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans #chris evans oneshot

[kitthepurplepotato]

Shenanigans part 13

Chapter 13 / Bakugou Katsuki and the case of a furious mother.

Summary: Bakugou Katsuki gets slapped. Twice. He kinda likes the second one. That’s the summary.

(Author has a migraine, don’t judge her.)

Warnings: Katsuki speaking rudely to his mother, swear words.

First chapter Master List

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“Can I have the agency stamp, please?“

Today is a shitty fucking day.

Katsuki is back to work, sharing an awkward silence with the Menace. His mother can’t stop messaging him about random shit, even though he’s not responding; Who the fuck cares about his Uncle’s birthday? He’s an asshole anyway and he haven’t seen him since he was 18. Why does he need to send him a message?!

“Dynamight, hello-ooo.”

Also, why is she so hooked up on him these days? Did Kirishima message her about his outbursts? About the Menace? He’s definitely gonna kill that shitty haired idiot if he did. His mother is the last person he wants to know about his shenanigans with Y/N. Knowing his mother, she’s gonna start crocheting baby clothes right away. Fuck no.

“Katsuki fucking Bakugou!!!” Someone yells while hitting his head aggressively. He knows that slap. It’s the slap of doom. Katsuki is fucked.

“What the fuck are you doing here, you old hag!” Katsuki screams. She’s really not supposed to be here. Bakugou literally banned her ass from the agency, so his traitor best friend probably sneaked her in through the back door. What a fucking ass.

“Oh, I’m sorry that I wanted to see my ungrateful son for once!” Katsuki’s mother yells, her face so red she might explode in a few minutes. “Respond to your fucking messages and then MAYBE I won’t barge into your workplace!”

“Get a fucking life and then MAYBE you won’t be so bored! Make another son, maybe that one won’t be a fucking disappointment! Oh wait, you can’t anymore. Sucks to be you, mother!”

Okay, that was really harsh but Katsuki is really not in the mood today.

Apparently, his mother isn’t the only one who got offended; a much stronger slap follows his mother’s one, right on his face. It burns like a bitch.

“You can’t fucking say that to your mother, you prick! You should be happy she cares about you enough to come and see you even though you are the biggest asshole the world has ever seen!” The menace looks like she’s about to cry which makes Katsuki do a double take on his next words. Actually, scratch that, he has no idea what to say to that. “And give me the fucking stamp because I was asking for it for ten minutes before your mother barged in.” Y/N takes the stamp out of Katsuki’s drawer and closes it with such a fervor the drawer breaks down.

Silence fills the room as Y/N sits back to her desk, not looking up at all as she starts to stamp her paperwork.

“I’m… sorry.” The blonde mumbles, still incapable of proper words. What the fuck was that?

“Don’t say sorry to me, you dimwit.” Y/N sniffles but keeps a straight face. Katsuki is really not the type for physical affection, but he really wants to give the Menace a hug right now.

“Did you just make my son say sorry?” His mother deadpans, staring at Y/N incredulously.

This will be a long day.

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Okay, you went a bit too far but Bakugou’s words really hit you in face.

You miss your family so much and you would do anything to see them yet here he is, being an absolute asshole to his own mother who came over to see him. You know it was really inappropriate to interrupt a family conversation, but you just couldn’t listen to him speaking like that to this poor woman.

“I’m going to the toilet.” You stand up, not being able to take this awkward silence anymore. “Sorry for barging into your conversation, I’ll leave you two alone.”

“Stay.” Bakugou sighs and keeps you from leaving by grabbing your hand. “Hag, this is Y/N, my new secretary. She’s okay, I guess. Ahh, whatever, you can go now if you want.” Bakugou lets you out of his grasp, looking like a ripe tomato.

“Hi, I’m Bakugou Mitsuki. I would like to say I’m not usually like this, but that would be a lie. Like mother like son and all that jazz.” Bakugou’s mother snickers while looking at her grumpy son proudly. “I’m glad my son is in good hands, please take care of him. I know it’s hard, I brought him up, you know. I had grey hairs since he was born.” Mitsuki reminiscences, lost in her thoughts with a fond smile on her face. What a lovely woman. Fierce… but lovely.

“Oi, stop oversharing she doesn’t care!” Katsuki retorts, frustrated.

“Oh, I really do.” You mumble, looking at the guy’s mother with begging eyes.

“What, I didn’t even pull my photo book out! Yet.” The woman winks at his son, clearly enjoying the fact that the blonde is too embarrassed and scared to say anything too rude after your lecture. Katsuki is just about to explode when Kirishima joins the conversation with a massive smirk on his face.

“Hi mom!” The redhead snakes his arms around the small woman affectionately, giving her a little spin in the air.

Mom?!

“Stop acting like you didn’t sneak her in, you fucker.” Katsuki reprimands. “Also, stop spinning my mother like that, she’ll have a backache again!” Katsuki mumbles, his face contorted into a frown.

“I’m sorry, Ma’!”

“It’s fine, Pumpkin!” Mitsuki gives Kirishima an affectionate head pat, standing on her toes to reach his head.

You’ve been around these two for so long yet you didn’t realize how close they are until now; they literally act like two brothers in front of Bakugou’s mom, and Bakugou’s mom is clearly thinking about Kirishima as her own and she’s also calling him Pumpkin which is the cutest thing you’ve ever heard.

It always surprises you how different the blonde is when he’s interacting with his closest friends and family. You can’t help but wonder if he’ll ever be comfortable to share his real self with you one day.

You are so deep in your thoughts you don’t even realize when Katsuki comes close to you, touching your hips with one finger before changing his mind and pulling back.

“You okay? We can be a bit much for new people, but this is how we’ve always been.” Bakugou says with his head down, ashamed for being outed in front of you.

“I’m fine. Sorry for slapping you, that was a bit much, wasn’t it?” You giggle self deprecatingly, still a little bit flushed after his sudden touch.

“It was a nice slap though. Like damn, you made me fucking speechless, woman.” The blonde grins at you, clearly affected by all his loved ones being so close. You look at him like he’s an alien for a second before looking the other way to calm yourself down. Mitsuki also looks at his son like she’d just seen a ghost, staring between you two for a few seconds before looking back at Kirishima who smiles knowingly at the woman. You have no idea what’s going on between those two.

“Okay, I’m going to leave you guys for today but Y/N, please come over to our house with Katsuki for dinner sometime, will you? It would be really nice to get to know you better!” The woman perks up. “Ahh, I’m so glad I came over today!” Mitsuki envelops his son in a tight hug, squeezing the shit out of the poor guy who tries his best not to yelp loudly from the lack of oxygen.

“Yeah, yeah, I love you too, now get out!” Katsuki mumbles but the woman doesn’t go yet, she comes over to you with her arms open, ready to give you a hug as well. Thankfully, she doesn’t try to kill you like she did with Katsuki but she does whisper something into your ears before letting you go. “You have my blessing.”

You can’t even try to hide the blush on your face when the woman gives you the Bakugou family’s signature smirk before Kirishima escorts her out of the office.

“Why can’t I have one day without drama?” Katsuki sighs when his mother is finally out of the door, throwing himself on the sofa to rest.

“I really like your mom.” You mumble, not even reacting to the blonde’s moaning.

“She likes you too.” The blonde says with a tiny, hidden smile on his face.

You can’t help but smile back as you sit down to finish your paperwork.

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Kirishima is a good friend. He helps his bros, he listens to his bros, he comforts his bros and he even meddles for his bros when it’s needed.

This time, he might have gone a little bit too far but as he said, he would do anything to make his bros happy.

Well, this bro won’t be happy when he hears about his plan, but it will make him happy on the long run. Maybe. Hopefully. Yeah.

Kirishima got an important intel from one of the underground hero groups about a situation that needs to be investigated as soon as possible, hopefully without causing any drama; the suspect is a high risk person, probably planning on another world war behind the scenes. So Kirishima came up with a plan to send over Katsuki and Y/N to have some time off while gathering information about the suspect.

What they don’t know yet is the fact that they will need to act like a couple on their honeymoon to not stand out. Hah. Kirishima is a genius.

“Okay, let me summarize this.” Katsuki grumbles, his shoed feet up on Kirishima’s desk. Rude, but okay. “There is a five star hotel on the other side of Japan where people get brain washed to get free food and drinks and somehow, this shit is connected to a yet unknown terrorist, whose quirk is similar to the one used in this hotel.” Katsuki looks at the redhead with questioning eyes.

“Correct me if I’m wrong Eijirou, but this isn’t enough evidence to start such an investigation.” Y/N speaks up. Sometimes, Kirishima forgets that Y/N is also a hero and she clearly knows her shit.

“You are right.” Kirishima admits with a sigh. “There is another case going in that area, one that involves quirk-enhancing drugs and apparently there is a big chance the same guy is behind it. We don’t know too much about it yet but by the look of it, this terrorist got his hands on a massive amount of drugs and he’s probably planning on brainwashing several people all at once with it or even a whole city as an act of terrorism. This could be fatal. We need to stop this guy before he makes an army and we will have another world war. We’ve all fought in the last one so I’m quite sure you understand we don’t want it to happen again.” Well done, Kirishima. You sounded professional.

“Do we know what kind of brain washing this person can do?” Y/N asks with fear in her eyes. Oh fuck, Kirishima didn’t even think about Y/N’s feelings when he came up with his plan. She’s clearly traumatized by something similar. Is it too late to play dumb and ask them to leave? It probably is. Fudge.

“The victims said they couldn’t stop their negative feelings towards themselves to come to the surface, they became vulnerable and ended up doing everything the person asked for after a few days just to hear a praise. This was before he got his hands on those drugs. The victims he got after… they are all missing.”

“They are all dead.” Y/N sighs. “We had a guy with a similar quirk on the enemy team back when I lost everything. He wasn’t the one I was fighting but he was the reason my whole team retreated, leaving me alone with the enemy. He fucked their head up so much they couldn’t fight anymore. I’m more than happy to help, Eijirou. I want to help.”

Kirishima feels terrible, but he can’t back down now. It might have started as an innocent prank on his best friend, but the situation is real and it does need to be sorted, so…

“Thank you, Y/N. All you need to do is to mingle in the hotel and be aware of your surroundings. The hotel is a honeymoon hot-spot so the best would be to act like a freshly married couple while outside your hotel room. I hope that’s fine.”

Katsuki will loose his shit in 3…2…1…

“What the fuck, Kirishima?!”

“Stop being a cunt, Dynamight, this is an excellent idea!” Y/N stares at the blonde with a judging look on her face. For Kirishima’s surprise, the other hero shuts up. “I have several quirks I can use to help the investigation! I can alter our appearances, scan the people around us to see their quirks and get personal information and I can put a tracker on the guy once we find him to be able to get info on the drug cartel. We don’t even need to talk to him, but if shit goes wrong you’ll be there to keep my weak ass safe.” Y/N reprimands, making Katsuki all fluttered and red and… Oh My God, he’s in love, isn’t he?!

“Not like you need my help, but yeah, let’s fucking do this then.”

Yes. Bakugou Katsuki is in fucking love. Kirishima can’t help but grin at the two bickering heroes in front of him; playing a married couple definitely won’t be a problem for these two.

“Let’s arrest this fucker and save the world again!” Y/N throws her fist in the air, all excited to be back in the business, while his best friend tries to hide the fond smile on his face as he stares at Y/N lovingly.

Kirishima might not be the one lucky enough to receive a smile like that from someone but he certainly is the happiest best friend the world has ever seen.

… Next Chapter!

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Potato ramble:

- Guys, we only have a few chapters left from Season 1! But don’t worry, Y/N and Katsuki will come back in season two with even more shenanigans!

I was so excited for it I already made the header and I also have a small bit of the first chapter written down! IT WILL BE SO MUCH FUN, GUYS!!!! 🩷

- But… before all the fun and shits and giggles, there will be 2 chapters of heavy angst. And by heavy, I am “ohshitwhatthefuck” type of heavy and it’s connected to the mission we are just about to go on. If you feel affected by it and you want me to tell you what the end is to keep your soul happy, just message me privately 💚

- I still have a banging migraine, gimme hugs and kisses, thank you 😭

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Taglist: @ibkg @chuugarettes @lilmaimai @nonomesupposedto @sozainturpal @luleck @notplutos @gold24fish

Btw there will be a brand new taglist for season two so if you want to be on it/keep being on it, let me know!

#mha x reader #bnha x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugou x self insert #bakugo x you #shenanigansbypurplepotato #bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki #pro hero dynamight

[smilesstardust]

“It’s crooked.” Emmett frowned from the couch.

“Okay, that’s like the fourth time you’ve said that.” Travis turned around. “If you think I’ve done such a bad job of it, you hang the damn mirror.”

Vic let out a loud, barking laugh from where she was assembling the dining chairs. “Dude, he literally can’t.” She called over.

“He makes tea!” Travis shouted back, completely ignoring the ghost on the couch.

Emmett cleared his throat. “He is right here and he finds it easier to move some things than others.”

“And yet you can draw.” Travis muttered, rolling his eyes and turning back to face the mirror. He paused for a moment and adjusted it, tilting it to the left.

“Okay, you just made that way worse.” Emmett disappeared from the couch, only to reappear right beside him a split second later. “You need to move this side down at least two inches.”

Travis obliged, following directions as Emmett called them out.

“Oh hey, looks good.” Vic walked through the living room as they finished, carrying an armful of trash to the designated pile by the front door. “You guys think I’ve got time for a shower before heading down to the woods?”

“Yes, but why?” Travis asked as she sorted the trash into what could and couldn’t be recycled. “You’re just going to change and then spend all night rolling in the dirt.”

She paused for a moment. “Fair point. In that case I’m going to the store and buying a ton of raw meat. Do we still have the cat cage for me to stuff it in?” She said standing up.

“Nope, you destroyed it last full moon.” Travis told her, turning his head to follow her as she walked back to the dining room. “Do you want me to go and get a new one?”

“Please, the woman at the pet store keeps giving me weird looks.” She stuck her head back out of the kitchen a moment later. “Are you good for feeds?”

“Considering you had a slow day yesterday, he’s going to need another couple of blood bags. Or he’ll be unbearable.” Emmett answered for him. “I should be able to steal some from the hospital now you’ve shown me where they are. It’s not like I’m going to be seen on security cameras.”

“Great.” Vic said, carrying another armful of stuff to the pile. “Sounds like we’ve got a plan.”

“Do you want me to check on Hot Doctor while I’m there? See if he flirts with the other paramedics when you’re not around?” He teased, putting on a bad impersonation. “Oh, I’m sorry, I’m tall and blonde and perfect and I only like girls who act uninterested then tell me they can’t have a relationship because they’re sick after I fix their dislocated shoulder.” Travis tried and failed to contain his laughter as she shot them both a glare.

It was a poor imitation of the man Vic had been on a handful of dates with, but she let it slide because the boys didn’t mean anything by it. Neither of her roommates really knew him, as he’d only been to the house twice and both times she had made it very clear that there were to be no supernatural gate crashers, especially not the sort he couldn’t see. He’d met Travis a little at the hospital and Emmett had definitely spied on him a few times, but they didn’t really know much about him.

“I still can’t believe he bought that lie.” Travis chuckled as he put the hammer and unused spirit level away and closed the toolbox with a loud click. “He’s a doctor, and he just believed you when you said you had a non specific medical condition that caused you to black out every full moon?”

“I didn’t phrase it like that.” She groaned loudly. “I might’ve been less specific about the frequency and implied it was due to the trauma of being attacked a few years back? I think he thinks it’s some weird kind of PTSD.”

“He’s going to realise your ‘episodes’ line up with the full moon eventually.”

“Uh, no, he isn’t, because moon cycles are not something most non supernaturally inclined people pay attention to. And I highly doubt he could tell the difference between the full moon and the night before or after.” She stopped in between where the two of them were stood looking at the mirror it had taken all afternoon to put up, resting her elbow on Travis’ shoulder and looking at the reflection.

“Damn.” She said after a moment. “We look good.”

Both of the boys tried to brush off the compliment, clearly flattered, before they realised that neither of them could actually be seen in the mirror.

They both started talking over each other, getting progressively louder as she got further away, the noise of their complaining about what a bad joke and how unfair it had been as a comment echoing after her as she ran up the stairs to get changed.

- Being human!AU

#I’m honestly kind of obsessed with this au #being human!au #Travis as the vampire Vic as the werewolf Emmett as the ghost #(ripley as the love interest because I couldn’t not include a nina/nora character) #station 19 #being human us #being human uk #being human #I took elements from both shows because they are different (past season 1) and I do like both #travis montgomery #vic hughes #emmett dixon

[velidewrites]

Summary: When 19-year old Feyre Archeron voluntarily takes her sister's place in the Hunger Games, she expects nothing but her imminent demise. But Feyre is a survivor, and as she is thrown into a battle between life and death, she discovers there are things worth fighting for.

Pairing: Feysand

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, graphic depictions of blood and gore, Feyre being sexy and unhinged, wait a second is that Rhysand? Is he also sexy and unhinged? AKA Feysand (literally) slaying the game

Read: Chapter II || Chapter III || Fic Masterlist || AO3

Chapter I: May The Odds Be Ever In Your Favour

From the Treaty of the Treason:

In penance for their uprising, each district shall offer up a male and female between the ages of 12 and 21 at a public “Reaping.”

These Tributes shall be delivered to the custody of The Capitol, and then transferred to a public arena where they will fight to the death until a lone victor remains.

Henceforth and forevermore this pageant shall be known as The Hunger Games.

***

The sun rose over the forest, waking up her prey.

Most of them had not yet shaken off winter’s cold embrace, buried safely underground in a deep slumber. But it was spring now—still in its early days, perhaps, though like many others in District 12, Feyre Archeron had exhausted her patience.

She was ready to hunt.

The morning frost covered the ground beneath her feet as she looked for animal prints. She’d take anything, at this point—the past few months had been colder than expected, and their icy breeze seemed to have permanently settled in the pit of her stomach, growling occasionally to remind her of its presence. As if she hadn’t already known. Hunger, these days, felt like the most stable companion she’d had in years.

A bush rattled somewhere, cutting through the silence, and Feyre’s grip on her bow tightened.

With her mind cursing the loud, heavy boots she’d chosen for the hunt—the only pair she owned apart from her slippers, really—she made way towards the sound, each step careful not to alert her prey. She’d done that too many times, stepping on a dried out branch like a fool, moments before firing the fatal shot. She couldn’t afford to do that again.

The bush rattled again, and Feyre reached for an arrow.

Please, please be a deer.

Another rattle. Feyre took another step, her heart pounding in her chest.

A deer would be good. More than good, actually—a catch like this would feed her and her family for a week, if not more. She could almost picture the look on Elain’s face as she placed its carcass on the kitchen table. Her sister could use some good news after the winter they’d had, and especially on a day like this.

Feyre shook her head, forcing her mind back into focus.

Two winters ago, she’d caught a wolf. It had been the best day of her life. Her family didn’t know hunger for three weeks, and Elain had sewn her a flimsy fur coat. Even Nesta had smiled a little bit.

I take back my wish, Feyre thought. Can you be a wolf instead?

The bush rattled for the final time, and, with a loud gurgle, her victim made its final step into the light.

“Oh, please,” Feyre groaned out loud, and fired the arrow straight through the turkey’s heart.

Served her right for setting her hopes so high. A wolf. How ridiculous, she thought, kneeling by the dead bird to pull the arrow out. Poor guy didn’t stand a chance.

“Let’s see what we’ve got here,” Feyre murmured. “At least you’re fat. Thanks for that, I guess.”

“You are disturbingly good at that,” a familiar voice said behind her.

Feyre shot up to her feet, whipping her head to its source. “Shit,” she swore, placing a hand on her racing heart. “You scared me!”

Arms crossed as he leaned against a tree, Isaac offered her a coy smile. “Sorry,” he said, his shaggy brown curls shimmering in the sun as he angled his head in wonder. “Who’s this little guy?”

Feyre raised the bird in front of her, making the show of displaying it in its full might. “That,” she said, a sly smile playing on her lips, “is my dinner.”

“Ah,” Isaac said. “Not a great way to start off the day. For him, I mean.”

Feyre shrugged, pulling the arrow out of the squelching flesh. “We all have to survive somehow.”

Something flashed in Isaac’s eyes as he took in her words. “Yes,” he said, his expression dimming. “I know.”

Feyre bit on her lip, her head dipping to the bloodied arrow in her hand. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…”

“Relax, Feyre,” he said, taking a step in her direction. “I just came to watch you hunt.”

Shoving the turkey into her hunting bag, Feyre grimaced. “I’m afraid you’re in for a huge disappointment.”

“Still nothing, huh?”

“Just this pathetic little guy,” she said, patting the brown leather, then frowned. “I probably shouldn’t say that minutes after killing him.”

Isaac stared at her for a moment, then at the bag, its worn-out fabric already staining red. “He’s no less pathetic than the rest of us,” he finally said.

“What do you mean?” Feyre asked.

But Isaac had already turned away, his gaze focused on a point high up in the trees, where another bird chirped a sad melody.

“Mockingjay,” Isaac hummed, those absent eyes closing in content.

Pain stung at her chest as she watched him, so close within her reach, and yet so far away. She had barely known him before he returned from the Capitol two years ago, but she did remember him as the kind baker’s son who had always used to smile.

Now, Isaac only smiled when his mind escaped to a better place.

Sometimes, Feyre wished he would take her there with him—somewhere where she wouldn’t have to worry about the cold, the hunger, the looming realisation that this wretched reality would never change. Perhaps that was why she felt so drawn to him—in a world of pain and uncertainty, Isaac was a brief escape to peace.

“Do you know what day it is, Feyre?” his voice pulled her out of her thoughts. She assumed he’d dismissed her presence by now.

She answered him anyway.

“The Reaping.”

Isaac nodded. “The Capitol’s hunt.”

Feyre’s brows knotted in confusion. “I’m not sure I know what you’re getting at.”

At last, Isaac turned to her with a sigh. “How different, do you think, are we from your turkey?” He gestured to the bag at her side. “We, too, live out our lives in fear, our only hope to escape those who prey upon us.” Isaac shrugged. “The answer, Feyre, is: you and that turkey? You’re one and the same. The Capitol’s forest is only a little larger.”

A shiver went down her spine at the words, spoken behind the border yet dangerous nonetheless. They wouldn’t—couldn’t—hurt Isaac, not anymore, but her? She was fair game, and Isaac’s reflections were treason.

He must have realised this, and he flinched visibly, as if shaking off some haze. “I think I should go,” Isaac said, turning to her again with a smile that did not reach his eyes.

Ignoring the cold filling her veins, Feyre nodded. “I’ll walk you home.”

They walked through the forest, neither of them saying a word, even the mockingjays having seemingly decided to stay behind. Feyre couldn’t blame them. In Panem, not even birds were safe.

Especially not in District Twelve. Frankly, Feyre was surprised birds as beautiful as the mockingjay had still bothered to visit the place. Only ravens and magpies seemed to remain now, pests, as Nesta liked to call them, though Feyre had never agreed. They were drawn to jewels—to anything that glinted, really—scouting for any sparkle in the ground they could find. As if the stars they’d flown with in the night had not been enough. Feyre envied them, if anything. She used to dream of touching the stars, too.

Even the jewels were out of her reach, so far out, in fact, that she counted herself lucky if she managed to get her hands on coal. Coal, minerals—for the longest time, they had been her district’s export. The mines hid wonders of immeasurable beauty and infinite riches, her father used to tell her. Immeasurable beauty and infinite riches—it was no wonder the Capitol would put its hands all over them as soon as they’d see the light of day.

Isaac used to work at the mines, just like her father had. He never had to—his own father’s bakery had been doing a good enough job to sustain the family over the winter—but he volunteered. Feyre didn’t know the whole story, but according to Elain, Isaac had taken an old man’s place, too sick to answer the Capitol’s call to labour. And so, at seventeen, her friend had gone into the mines to become “his District’s pride.”

He had only stayed there two years, of course. Feyre remembered that day as clear as yesterday.

It had been the first time she’d been allowed to watch the Hunger Games. In what Nesta had called a foolish, ridiculous effort to spare them from the world’s cruelty, their father would send them to bed early, every night from the day the Games began to the day they ended. Nesta and Elain would always sneak out, watching the screen in horror from where Father could not see. Feyre had stayed, and would continue to do so until he died.

She was seventeen, and Nesta has hardly shared Father’s sentiment. It’s my last year, she’d said. If they choose me, at least I’ll have some comfort in knowing my sister are watching until the very end.

But they had not chosen Nesta, a girl called Clare Beddor taking the female Tribute’s title. She’d died almost immediately.

The last time Feyre had seen Clare—in real life, not getting butchered on the small screen at her kitchen counter—was when she stood in front of the District’s Hall of Justice, tears streaming down her face as she shook the hand of the male Tribute beside her.

Isaac Hale had not cried that day.

He never cried after his return, either, though he was never quite the same. The Capitol hadn’t let him mentor last year, and from the rumours, he wouldn’t mentor in this edition, either. He’s getting a well-deserved rest, the news would say. He’s gone mad, the locals would whisper. But Feyre knew they were all wrong.

Isaac was simply…broken.

“Mind your head,” he told her gently as they leaned under the electric fence.

She’d have to turn right to head home, but Feyre had promised to walk him back to the Victors’ Village, and she fully intended on keeping that promise.

She’d never been into his house. He told here there were cameras.

The noise grew louder, and soon enough, they reached the black market, its merchants shouting over each other, each of them claiming to have the freshest, most affordable produce from Eleven. Feyre avoided them all like the plague, unless she herself had something to trade. It had been far more enjoyable to look at their stock knowing she could do more than simply look.

“Does my eye deceive me?” A raspy laugh reached them. “Feyre Archeron, back from the hunt!”

She turned to the old man with a polite smile. “I’ve got nothing for you today, Andras.”

His one, yellow eye narrowed. “And Isaac Hale, back from the dead.”

Beside her, Isaac paled.

Feyre gripped the sleeve of his tunic, nudging him forward. “I’ll come on a better day,” she offered. The man only shrugged.

Isaac stopped her at the end of the street. “I can make my way from here.”

Her brows furrowed. “It’s okay, I can…”

He placed a hand on her arm. “Feyre. Go home, eat your turkey. I’ll be okay.”

Her hand covered his own, and she did her best to keep herself intact. “We could run away, you know.” She swallowed hard. “We could get away with it, you and I.”

For the first time, Isaac truly and openly smiled. “I’ll see you at the Reaping, Feyre.”

***

The smell of blood and carcass filled the house as soon as Feyre stepped foot inside.

Living on the outskirts of the District borders was a blessing, really. Feyre couldn’t imagine having to sneak past the centre’s Peacekeepers with a bow in hand and arrows on her back—not if she wanted to make it out alive, or with fifteen lashes taking her quiver’s place at the very least.

She had already learned her lesson once, though, with five long scars creasing her back if she ever dared forget it. She wouldn’t—that one time was enough to make her cautious. On busier days, she’d leave her hunting gear in the small hollow of the oak tree five minutes north of the electric fence. If any of the Peacekeepers confiscated her bow, it would be over. She could sell everything she owned, and she still most likely wouldn’t have been able to afford one. Bows, after all, were illegal to civilians, and the black market prices had been absurd these days.

And so, the only thing carried by Feyre today was the dead, bloodied turkey, her bag heavy with its stench. It was worse than she thought, it seemed, judging by the sickly green hue of Elain’s skin as she handed her the bird.

“Feyre,” her name came with a sigh of relief. “You’re home early.”

“Still nothing?” Nesta cut in, rising from the chair at the kitchen table.

Feyre’s lips formed a thin line. “This was the best I could do.”

Silence fell over the room, filled only by the distant sounds of scratchy caws—ravens, Feyre realised, picking whatever lunch they could find off the streets.

Elain, thankfully, was the one to break it. “I laid out some clean clothes for you on the bed.” The one bed they all shared all winter, keeping each other warm. “So that you can look nice at the…later today.”

Elain wiped her hands on the apron nervously, trying to mask the way they shook as she almost said the word that made her skin crawl and the blood drain from her face. The Reaping.

Her throat tight, Feyre forced her eyes back to her sister’s face. “Thank you.”

Elain nodded, still trembling slightly as she placed the turkey on the red-stained cutting board. Feyre’s heart clenched at the sight, her own dread forgotten in light of Elain’s, who’d been enduring this for far too long. Who, year after year, had watched her neighbours, her friends, leave and never return. Slaughtered on a tiny screen the Capitol had forced into their house, their anguished screams the only goodbye they could offer. Elain, for whom this Reaping could only mean one thing—death or freedom, a permanent release from Panem’s blood debt.

At twenty-one, this year marked the last time Elain could be drafted as District Twelve’s female tribute. It also marked her name being added to the pool for the tenth time. Tenth.

They all knew what it meant.

“You’re not going to be chosen,” Feyre said, her voice cutting through the dismal silence. “There are so many people your age in our District. They’re going to draw someone else’s name, and you’re going to go about your day like you do each year,” she dragged the words out, her eyes never leaving her sister’s. She could only hope they carried as much confidence as her tone did. “And then, you’ll finally be free. Like Nesta,” Feyre looked to her eldest sister, who nodded in affirmation. “And like so many others in Twelve. Okay?”

Elain loosed a shaky breath. “Okay,” she said, and took Feyre’s hands in hers. “We both will. You only have two years left, and then everything is going to be fine. Better.”

It was true—she did have two years left, but it seemed as though each year, there were less and less of District Twelve’s kids left. At the seventy-fourth Hunger Games, her name would be in the pool eight times.

Nesta’s name had never been drawn, and neither would Elain’s. Perhaps fate would be merciful to the Archeron sisters—perhaps it would see the life they led each day and decide it was punishment enough.

Feyre squeezed her sister’s hands back, forcing a smile onto her lips. “Of course.”

At last, her sister smiled, then let go, her hands moving to smooth out her apron yet again. “I’ll draw you a bath. You stink, you know.”

Feyre laughed at that. “I know.”

With a small shake of her head, Elain disappeared into the adjacent room, the door clicking lightly behind her.

“They probably wouldn’t mind seeing you with blood on your hands,” Nesta’s voice sounded behind her. “It’s how they like us best.”

Feyre turned to meet the icy blue of her stare. “A little help would have been appreciated.”

Nesta waved a hand. “You and I both know she won’t stop fidgeting until it’s all over.”

With a sigh, Feyre dropped to the wooden seat, her forehead resting against the roughened table’s surface. A wave of tiredness crashed into her all of a sudden, washing over every aching limb until she wanted nothing but to fall asleep right where she was sat. “I suppose you’re right.”

A loud creak of the chair moving beside her signalled Nesta taking her seat.

“Was there truly nothing in the woods?” her sister finally asked.

That woke Feyre right back up. “You think I lied before?”

“Of course not,” Nesta said calmly, crossing her arms on the table. “I just think you should take a break for a day or two. You might even find more of those birds if you’re well-rested.”

Teeth digging into the inside of her cheek, Feyre accused, “You’re making fun of me.”

“I really am not,” Nesta sighed, two slender fingers moving to rub her temple. “But Feyre, this turkey you caught will last us three days at best. What then?”

Anger began to boil in the pit of her stomach, rising steadily with each word. “Nesta, I already told you I’m doing the best I can.”

Another sigh. “I know, Feyre, I only mean that…”

“If you’re so dissatisfied with my hunting, maybe you should try it out yourself.”

Nesta straightened in her seat. “That is not what I meant.”

Her hands curled into fists. “No, I think that’s precisely what you meant.” She met Nesta’s gaze and her eyes narrowed. “Winter or not, I hunt every single day. What do you do to help us survive?”

Flames rose in Nesta's cold, hardened stare, her jaw clenching tight as she measured Feyre’s form beside her. “You have no idea,” she said, her tone practically seething, “You have no idea what I’ve done to help this family. What I’ve been doing ever since Father gave up on us, then died like the coward he was. What I’ll continue to do,” she added, her voice breaking slightly, “until both you and Elain no longer need me.”

Feyre opened her mouth, but it was Elain’s words that sounded beside her. “We’ll always need you, Nesta.”

Feyre turned to face her, and Elain reached for both her sisters’ hands, her doe-like eyes shining with concern. “We’ll always need each other.”

Neither of them said anything, and Elain released them with a sigh. “Your bath is ready, Feyre.”

Feyre rose from the table, stepping towards the bathroom before turning to face Nesta one last time. “Will you skin the turkey while I’m gone?”

With a small nod, Nesta stood as well. “Of course."

***

Elain had chosen a pretty dress, long and made of blue linen, though Feyre still thought she looked ridiculous. It didn’t help that her sister decided a braid would be most suitable for such an outfit, golden-brown and thrown over the side of Feyre’s shoulder. She wouldn’t be surprised if she got thrown in with the fourteen year olds.

When the alarm sounded, all thoughts of the dress and her hair evaporated from Feyre’s head.

“It’s time,” Nesta told them, already at the door.

Feyre took Elain’s hand and squeezed it once. Her sister did not answer.

They walked with the crowd, large and beige and never-ending. At least the spring breeze accompanied them, and, not for the first time in her life, Feyre was grateful Twelve rarely suffered a scorching sun.

Families moved slowly around them, an aura of whispers and murmurs hanging in the air as parents assured their kids that it would all turn out okay. Feyre had never wanted nothing more than to believe them.

“Feyre,” Elain said quietly, her jaw tight enough for Feyre to notice how hard she fought to keep it from trembling.

She squeezed her hand once more. “I’ll tell you what, Elain,” she said. “When we get back, we’ll each have another, small serving of the turkey. Okay?” she asked, and Elain nodded. “Good. It will give you something to look forward to. For the entirety of this Reaping, I want you to think of nothing but how good the food is going to be.”

“It was really nice,” Elain admitted.

Feyre smiled. “Exactly.”

“Peacekeepers,” Nesta warned beside them. They were getting close, the massive sign in the distance signalling they have reached the Hall of Justice.

“Wait, Nesta—” Elain began.

Nesta looked firmly into her eyes. “I’ll see you soon. Do not make a scene.”

With a hard swallow, Elain nodded.

And with that, Nesta moved aside to join the audience of grieving parents, siblings and friends.

“Elain,” Feyre told her one last time. “It’s going to be okay. Just breathe.”

Elain exclaimed in shock as a white-dressed, masked man grabbed her arm, pulling them apart. She thrashed for only a second before realising she was being held by a Peacekeeper.

“Registration,” the man barked.

Elain nodded frantically, and Feyre dared one last look at her sister before joining her queue.

Moments later, she was greeted by a stern-looking woman whose expression reminded her of Nesta.

“Name.”

“Feyre Archeron,” she breathed.

It would be okay. She’d done this millions of times.

Without another word, the woman reached for her hand, pulling it toward her violently before pricking her finger to draw blood. Feyre hissed as she pressed the fresh cut to a piece of paper, right beneath an awfully bad photo of her, dark circles under her eyes and her cheeks more hollow than the deepest of Twelve’s mines.

Some things never change, Feyre thought bitterly.

With that, she joined her sector, taking her place somewhere in the middle—close enough to see the large, white screen set beside the stage, but far enough to not be able to make out the faces of the Hall’s officials, standing straight and dressed in grey.

The queues behind her shortened within minutes, and when the last child took their place in the audience, the screen lit up without warning.

“War,” a voice rumbled over the crowds, old and wise and with a hint of grandfatherly authority that she’d gotten to know so well over the years. “Terrible war.

“Such a vile, cruel act,” President Hybern’s words continued to sound over the speakers, with images of smoke and fire flaring up the screen one by one. “An act that pushed our country into its greatest trial.”

Another bomb set off with an amplified thud.

“Seventy-four years ago, the thirteen Districts rebelled against the country that fed them, loved them, protected them. Their malevolence spreading nothing but hate and destruction over Panem.” Now, the screen showed the Districts—Seven and Ten, from what little Feyre could make out—with their Halls of Justice on fire, their buildings nothing more than gravel on the streets. Another image showed a woman holding a small child, crying out in agony over its lifeless body. “Widows, orphans, a motherless child. This,” the President emphasised over a clip of children weeping, “was the uprising that rocked our land until nothing remained.”

A girl standing beside Feyre sucked in a breath.

“And then came the peace,” the President’s voice was now calm, serene, as the screen displayed Eleven’s wheat fields, floating atop the wind’s gentle breeze. “A Capitol rose up from the ashes and created a new era of prosperity. Of love. Of family.” A child ran up to their mother, launching into her arms, both of them laughing in happiness.

“But peace comes at a cost,” Hybern warned. “Together as a nation, we swore we would never know such destruction again. Would never know such treason again.”

Feyre almost rolled her eyes, bracing herself for what was coming.

“And so it was decreed,” President Hybern announced proudly, “that each year, the Districts of Panem would offer up in tribute one young man and woman, to fight to the death in a pageant of honour, courage and sacrifice.” A young man on the screen stood on a podium topless, his muscles glistening in the sun, as he threw up his hands in victory. “The lone victor,” the President continued, “bathed in riches, would serve as a reminder of the Capitol’s generosity and forgiveness. This is how we remember our past. This is how we safeguard our future. This is how we stand together. As a family, as a nation. As Panem.”

With that, the video cut off.

Feyre had never heard the District’s centre be so silent.

And then, the door flung open, and a woman stepped in, her hands joined in a loud applause.

“Wasn’t this just beautiful?” she asked into the microphone at the stage’s centre, her voice dripping with syrup.

Feyre hadn’t seen her before—the Capitol must’ve sent someone new.

She was beautiful, to be sure—everyone in the Capitol was, or so the Districts were told, at least. Her face was covered with a thick layer of foundation so white she would have merged into the Hall’s wall behind her had it not been for her hair—crimson red, and long, falling in waves to her back and crowned with large black flowers Feyre had never seen in her life.

Feyre could just barely make out her face—nothing special, she decided. Dark eyes, straight nose. Pretty, she supposed, though she might have not been the best person to consult on such matters. Coal, on the other hand…

She didn’t even realise she’d snorted at her inner dialogue until the girl beside her elbowed her straight in the guts. She muttered a low “Ow!” before the girl’s glare told her all she needed to know.

Diverting her attention back to the crimson woman, Feyre listened again. “Now,” she crooned. “The time has come for us to select our courageous Tributes!” she clapped her hands again, and Feyre thought she had never seen a more idiotic spectacle in her life.

The woman winked, red-painted lips twisting in a smile. “If you were paying attention to the lovely video, you know we’re going to choose one lovely man and woman for the absolute honour of representing District Twelve!”

For a woman like her, Feyre supposed, everything must have been lovely. Even the imminent deaths of the two children she was about to hand-pick from her ridiculous crystal bowl.

“As always,” she winked again. “Ladies first.”

With a loud click of her heels on the wooden stage, she made way towards the bowl on Feyre’s right, a perfectly manicured hand dipping inside.

Feyre’s heard stopped. This was the time.

A few more seconds, and it will all be over.

Breathe.

Elain, I’ll let you have my extra serving, she swore in her head. Just let it all be over.

In the few seconds that seemed like an eternity, Feyre wondered if the bowl was made from real crystal, and if yes, if it had been her father’s dead hands that mined it.

And then, the crimson woman pulled out two cards.

She weighed them down in each hand, making a show of choosing before settling on the card on her left, the right card dropping back into the bowl.

Torturously slowly, she stepped back to the microphone and opened the card, her delighted smile now clear on the screen at the stage.

“The female tribute from District Twelve is…” She looked to the crowd, her eyebrows rising in feigned suspense. “Elain Archeron.”

No.

No no no no no no

“Elain Archeron?”

Please.

The ringing in her head was deafening.

“Where is the lovely Elain?”

Please.

Someone pushed Elain out of the crowd, her usually beautiful face now white as death.

Feyre’s whole body burned as she watched Elain move toward the stage on shaky legs.

“There you are! Oh, you’re gorgeous!” the crimson woman praised. “Come closer, dear, let us all have a look at you!”

A Peacekeeper pushed her closer, and Elain stumbled over a step.

Not Elain.

It couldn’t have been Elain.

It shouldn’t have been Elain.

No.

“No,” Feyre said out loud, her legs moving on their own accord. “No!” She shouted, pushing her way out of the crowd. “ELAIN!”

Elain’s head whipped back, and those doe eyes have never held such fear.

Two Peacekeepers reached her in seconds, holding Feyre back and into the crowd again. “No! LET ME GO!” Feyre trashed, kicking one of them in the shin.

She forced herself free.

“I VOLUNTEER!” Feyre shrieked with a strength her lungs had never known before.

Her entire body stilled, as if she’d surprised it just as much as the crowd around her.

“I volunteer as Tribute.”

For a moment, there was nothing but silence.

“My, my!” the presenter wondered. “I believe we have a volunteer!”

The crowd began to murmur.

“Come on up, my dear.”

It had only been by Feyre’s sheer will that her feet carried her forward. She didn’t stop until she reached Elain, still frozen in place.

“Feyre,” Elain breathed, tears falling freely down her face.

“It’s okay,” Feyre whispered. “You’re okay.”

She didn’t know how she managed her way through the stairs and onto the stage, but within the next few moments, Feyre stood beside the crimson woman, her appearance even more ghastly up close.

“What is your name, my dear?” she asked.

Feyre looked over the crowd, her head still spinning.

Someone subtly cleared their throat beside her.

“What?” she turned toward the sound.

“I asked about your name, dear.”

“Feyre,” her voice was hoarse, and she swallowed hard. “Feyre Archeron.”

“Ah,” the woman acknowledged with a motherly nod. “And am I right in assuming that was your sister whose place you have just taken?”

Feyre nodded, her eyes still searching the crowd. “Yes.” Was Elain safe? Was Nesta? “Yes.”

“Well, Feyre Archeron, you are District Twelve’s first volunteer!” she turned to the microphone, addressing the crowd. “Such bravery. Such heart. Congratulations, lovely Feyre.”

Congratulations?

The woman clasped her hands together. “And now for the gentlemen!” she said happily, making her way to the other bowl.

Feyre’s heart sank as she realised her sisters were no longer in the crowd, and neither was Isaac. What happened to them? Where did they take them?

Oh, Isaac, Feyre thought. We should have ran away.

“The male Tribute from District Twelve,” the woman’s voice sounded loudly beside her again, shaking Feyre out of her daze, “is Tamlin Rosethorn.”

The florist’s son.

He stepped out of the crowd, pale yet standing tall and strong. His muscles reflected through his white shirt as he stepped onto the stage.

“Go on,” the woman encouraged with a smile. “Shake hands.”

Tamlin locked her hand in a tight grip, and as Feyre met his emerald gaze, she wondered if he would kill her first.

“Ladies and gentlemen, your Tributes from District Twelve!” she exclaimed for the final time to no applause but the sound of Panem’s anthem playing over the speakers. “Thank you, and may the odds be ever in your favour!”

“Come now,” she now addressed the two of them directly. “Inside.”

Feyre did not know how she got pushed into one of the Hall’s rooms and sat on a chair, the door locking her inside. “Wait here,” a muffled voice told her.

So Feyre waited.

An eternity, or maybe a second, had passed when the door opened again, two figures launching themselves in.

Feyre shot up from her seat.

“One minute,” the muffled voice told them.

Elain was sobbing as she threw her arms around Feyre’s neck. “Feyre. My beautiful Feyre.”

“Everything will be okay,” Feyre told her, forcing strength into her voice.

For Elain.

“You shouldn’t have done that, Feyre. I would’ve—”

“It’s done now,” Feyre said, pulling away to meet her sister’s gaze. “Listen, I don’t have much time.”

“Promise you will make it out,” Elain begged.

“I promise,” Feyre lied.

Her head now turned to Nesta, who began, “Feyre—”

“I need you to listen to me carefully,” Feyre cut her off. “My bow and arrows are hidden in the tallest oak tree in the forest, five minutes north of the fence by the house. Talk to Isaac. He will teach you how to shoot.” Nesta nodded, and for the first time, Feyre saw silver lining her sister’s eyes. “Take care of her.”

Nesta nodded again. “I always have.”

Feyre loosed a breath of relief. “I know,” she said, then pulled Nesta into their embrace.

“Time’s up,” someone said behind them, and Feyre took a step back.

“Try to win. Please,” Nesta told her.

There was nothing else to say, so Feyre said nothing. Soon, her sisters were escorted out.

“You only have thirty seconds,” a Peacekeeper told her, and another visitor appeared in the doorway.

“Isaac,” Feyre breathed, but he stopped her before she could waste their time with nothing but empty goodbyes.

“You can hunt,” he said, his eyes cleared and more determined than ever. “Use it.”

Feyre shook her head. “We both know I’m already dead, Isaac.”

He opened his mouth, but Feyre stopped him. “Take care of them. Please, promise that whatever you do, you won’t let them starve.”

At that, Isaac wrapped his arms around her. “I will,” he whispered into her ear. “I promise.”

They looked at each other one last time, and Feyre said, “We should’ve run away, like I told you.”

He offered her a sad smile. “You’d never leave your sisters, Feyre. Only death could ever stand between you.”

“Yes,” Feyre said, her eyes dropping to the floor. “I know.”

With that, Isaac left, and as the door closed quietly behind him, Feyre stepped into her new reality.

She was truly alone.

Taglist (let me know if you'd like to be added!): @fieldofdaisiies @vulpes-fennec @houseofhurricane @reverie-tales @kingofsummer93 @melting-houses-of-gold @labellefleur-sauvage @shadowriel @captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship @headcanonheadcase

#IT'S FINALLY HERE #chapter 1/30 #acotar hunger games au #feysand au #feysand fic #feysand fanfic #feysand fanfiction #feysand #pro feysand #feyre x rhysand #feyre archeron #feyre acotar #rhysand #rhysand acotar #acotar fic #acotar fanfic #acotar fanfiction #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #my writing

[queerchaser]

CHAPTER TWO: THE BEGINNING TO AN END

You will also find that help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it.

Hogwarts was a magical place; figuratively and literally. The old majestic castle was full of various, mainly happy, memories carried by multiple generations, full of surprises, like many hidden passages almost no one ever fully explored and it was surrounded by one of the most beautiful landscapes, from the dark and dangerous, yet somehow terrifyingly beautiful Forbidden Forest to the Great Lake, which was home to a giant squid and a village of somewhat shy but territorial Merpeople. People liked returning to Hogwarts, it was like their second home; delicious food and feasts in the Great Hall were certainly a bonus point to their stay, but parties in their common rooms and dorm rooms they shared with their housemates, who in most cases became their best friends, even families, were undeniably the best part.

As great as Hogwarts seemed, maybe even was to some, it had its issues; the main one being the rivalry among the houses, which usually turned people, mainly ones from Gryffindor and Slytherin, against each other, friend against friend, sibling against sibling.

Asterin scanned Sirius’s face when they exited the train, facing something like his less talkative younger self, Regulus Black; Sirius gave him a frown while Regulus looked right through him, as if he, or Asterin in that matter, wasn’t even there. It stung, her heart ached for Sirius; they loved each other once, they were best friends as children and with her, they made a trio, the Black brothers and the Knightley heir. They spoke very rarely and even those conversations were limited to judgement and insults, and occasionally, Regulus threw in a snarky comment, reminding Sirius who he was; not a Black, not anymore. And it hurt Sirius each and every time, not because he wanted to be a Black, but because it was his little brother who was saying it; he had never shown a sign of it, however, but Asterin had always known right as it left Regulus’s mouth, because it hurt her too, for Sirius and herself. Despite the bad relationship the brothers had, Asterin never gave up on either of them; it took Regulus some time to stop fussing about Sirius’s temper (and his reaction to Regulus’s Sorting Ceremony), but it eventually got better as he grew older and more mature, accepting Sirius for who he was – an immature prick, in his eyes. Nevertheless, he still couldn’t swallow his pride with Sirius and Sirius gave him the same treatment back, which was why, although being friends, Regulus didn’t give Asterin a single look.

Who gave Asterin a look, though, was Severus Snape. He gave one to all of them; a nasty one. And he got one back, from all of them. He scanned them all with his dark eyes, a disgusted grimace appearing on his face, as if he just smelled something horribly off, and turned around, walking off with his friends. Asterin couldn’t help herself but roll her eyes, immediately annoyed; if there was someone in Hogwarts whom she would ban from breathing the same air she and her friends were, it would be Severus Snape, not only incredibly annoying, but also nasty and prejudiced bully Slytherin. She couldn’t stand him, neither of them could; the only one who could stand him from their whole friend group was the kind-hearted Lily Evans, who had known him even before setting foot into Hogwarts for the first time, what a poor thing.

Asterin looked around, looking for the redhead who had just crossed her mind; although it was usually quite easy to spot her and the rest of Asterin’s dorm mates in a crowd, she couldn’t see them anywhere.

“Maybe they already got a carriage,” Sirius noted, almost as if he read her mind. She nodded.

Without another word, the five friends all started walking to the carriages, as a soft, a bit colder breeze ruffled their hair; Asterin remembered she had a sweater in her bag. She buried her hand in the bag that was hanging from her left shoulder, pushing away what seemed like an anti-muggle propaganda book from the top of a warm brown sweater when she almost stopped dead in her tracks. She frowned a little from surprise, but quickly gathered herself to prevent her friends from asking questions; she scanned the creatures hooked to the carriages, dark and skinny, winged, and for some reason ones she had never seen before. She looked at her friends who seemed indifferent. Did she just never notice them before? Impossible.

Her confusion didn’t leave her even once they got on one of the carriages. The creature puffed, which reminded her of a horse – it certainly wasn’t a horse.

“Rin?” Sirius asked quietly to not catch the attention of their friends and she turned to him. Noticing his look, she realized he must not see them; she must have looked crazy, staring at nothing. “Are you feeling well?”

She chuckled a little; she actually felt a little crazy.

“Fine,” she said, sitting straight. Sirius blinked a few times, checking the place she was so intensely staring at just a second ago; there was nothing there.

Asterin fished inside her bag again, finally pulling the brown sweater out and quickly putting it on. She noticed an approving nod from Remus.

“What?”

“Nice sweater,” he smiled and she smirked, maliciously.

“I know, it’s yours,” she said and he frowned, scanning the sweater again; it was, indeed, his. The other boys scanned it too, remembering all the times they had seen it on Remus and then, suddenly, not, sometime around halfway through last year’s winter; it made them all chuckle in unison. Remus opened his mouth, half-offended and half-amused; how come he didn’t notice?

“Give it back.”

“Never.”

“Asterin Knightley, take off my bloody sweater,” he ordered, the corners of his mouth twitching.

“Take it off me yourself then, coward,” she mused, batting her eyelashes innocently, earning a whistle from Sirius, while James and Peter laughed and clapped. Remus squinted his eyes.

“Might just.”

“Go on,” she raised her eyebrows with a smirk on her lips. He copied the look on her face and leaned closer to her, while she raised her hands in the air to help him obtain his stolen possession, the smirk never leaving her face. He gently tugged on the hem of his sweater, but then stopped halfway, looking into her eyes; his smirk got wider.

“You know what, keep it,” he said as he let go of the sweater and leaned back on his seat; the boys started cheering again, on him, this time. Asterin’s mouth fell open from surprise, yet the corners of her mouth started twitching upwards almost immediately.

“How absolutely dare you?” she pressed her hand on her chest with every ounce of dramaticness she had in her; she deserved a pleased smile from Remus. She looked at Sirius sitting next to her in play disbelief and he sighed, putting his hand on his forehead, matching, maybe even outshining, her performance. The whole carriage was swallowed by the burst of laughter from the five friends; it didn’t stop until they reached the castle and as annoying and obnoxious as the other carriages found them, they didn’t care, after all, they were finally together after such an unbearably long time.

Laughter is good for the soul. – Asterin proved the statement right without even realizing; who did realize, however, was the dark creature pulling their carriage, a beautiful, yet for some terrifying Thestral, that finally felt in its normal habitat, feeling no eyes on itself. Nevertheless, the smart soul did find a way to remember Asterin’s face, knowing she would be one of those, whom its kind, from then on, won’t be able to hide from, ever again.

°

As soon as Asterin stepped inside the Great Hall, nostalgia hit her right in the face; she couldn’t believe it had only been two months since she last stepped foot inside the massive dining hall, it felt like an eternity. So much had happened during the summer, so many things she would rather have forgotten, that it almost felt as if she aged about ten years; she felt a certain linger in her chest, she was glad, glad not everything changed, glad some things stayed as they were, as she remembered them.

For a split second, she looked back, noticing Professor McGonagall lead the new first years inside the castle; their faces were so impressed and full of sheer excitement, that it warmed her heart. Her head was pleasantly spinning from the sentimentality, remembering herself and Sirius in their first year, right before the Sorting Ceremony; small and frightened, knowing what was expected of them yet not feeling the part, holding each other’s hand and eyeing their new classmates. She remembered how her stomach dropped when the Sorting Hat sorted Sirius; he was shocked, sending her a terrified look and she sent him one back, thinking the encouraging whisper she gave him after his name was called was the last thing she would ever tell him. She remembered how her eyes fell on the Slytherin table, noticing the look on Sirius’s cousins’ faces, they were both shocked; Narcissa looked outraged, offended by the audacity of her little cousin who just betrayed their whole entire family, yet Andromeda looked somehow pleased, as if a part of her expected it to happen. It was then and there that Asterin wished she would end up in Gryffindor, more than ever before, and for the first time in her life, she didn’t care what defying her mother on such a level would do to her family or her; she was sure she would rather face Cornelia Knightley for giving in to the temptation of being nothing like her family than leaving Sirius all alone. And so when the Sorting Hat sorted her into Gryffindor, she didn’t care about the scolding or the curses she would get from her mother, because she was happy to stay with Sirius – some would say it was just an act of a little child who didn’t want to leave her best friend behind, or a frightened child who didn’t want to be left alone, and they would be right. However, it wasn’t the only right statement, as the act was one of bravery and loyalty, the qualities needed to become a part of the red and gold-coloured house. And Asterin was all of those things; a frightened child with a lot of love for her best friend and a Gryffindor through and through, no matter what she was once forced to believe she was.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a giggle right next to her.

“What’s so important over there?” she snapped her head to her right, seeing the ginger-haired Lily Evans grinning at her. Her smile got wider as the girl pulled her into a tight embrace. She could smell something similar to strawberries in her hair, it brought her a strange feeling of familiarity, safety, something home-like, yet nothing like her own house; it reminded her of the smell of their dorm room and their bathroom after Lily left with freshly washed hair. Only then did she realize how much she missed all of the little things too; it almost made her feel pathetic, missing the smell of shampoo, but it was the truth and it was just about to bring tears to her eyes once again, when she felt someone else hug them both from the left.

“No hugs without me, birdies,” the blonde spoke with her deeper, yet still feminine-sounding voice, tightening their hug with her strong, Quidditch-exercised arms, which only added a bit more to the attractiveness of Marlene McKinnon.

“Or me,” Asterin heard the voice of another one of her dorm mates. She felt her hands wrap around them and gently stroke her hair, which made her smile; after all, it was Dorcas Meadowes and her dreadlocks who inspired her new look and Dorcas knew it too, as she was the one who was once trying to talk her into it.

“Don’t you dare forget me,”  Asterin could smell Mary Macdonald’s signature perfume before she could feel her tight embrace and she laughed, feeling about to be squeezed to death, but not minding it at all.

They all slowly moved to the Gryffindor table and sat down a little further back from their places last year, just as everyone else, so it created seats for the first years in the front. It didn’t last long until the door to the Great Hall opened again, revealing Professor McGonagall and the first years. She scanned the Gryffindor table, her table, eyeing the new Prefects, Remus Lupin and Lily Evans, and giving them a small smile as Sirius whistled at her; the woman didn’t even react as it became his little tradition to confuse the newcomers about two years ago, and just as they all expected, the first years that heard it truly looked confused, giving him weirded out looks or giggling, much to Sirius’s amusement.

It didn’t mark long after that year’s Sorting Ceremony started when Asterin started feeling restless. As much as she enjoyed watching the ceremony all the years before, guessing where the children get sorted based plainly on their appearance and their name (mainly enjoying clapping louder than everyone else together with Sirius when those from strict Slytherin families got sorted anywhere but Slytherin, much to all the older students’ hilarity), she wasn’t particularly interested in being in one room with the whole school; something about it felt a bit too exposing, a bit too unsafe. Everything around her frustrated her; the chatter among her peers, how the Ravenclaw boy a table over bounced his leg nervously, probably awaiting his sibling’s sorting, even Mary’s breathing beside her. Everything around her, every rustle and every sudden move, was beyond bearable and she couldn’t wrap her mind around why; she didn’t feel like herself, her palms were sweaty and she felt like every breath she took wasn’t satisfactory enough. She didn’t know what to do; lay down, walk around, hug someone or perhaps stay completely alone – neither felt right and so she just exhaled the air in her lungs through her closed lips as she twisted a silver ring on her index finger for about the hundredth time that night.

As concentrated as Sirius was on the sorting of a boy named Travers, he looked at Asterin; after all, he had already known the little slug would end up in Slytherin. She didn’t look good, not to him at least; she seemed anxious, which was rather unusual for her and something in him reminded him about their little unspoken deal from the train – they needed to talk. She looked as if she was in a trance, her eyes fixed on one spot on the table in front of her, twisting a silver ring on her finger around. Sirius furrowed his eyebrows, scanning the ring; he had never seen it on her before, also, Asterin had never worn only one ring. It was strange, everything about her was strange. He fixed his eyes on her for long enough for her to notice; she looked up at him and he raised his eyebrows. Asterin felt her heart being squeezed in her chest; his grey eyes were so genuinely concerned it made her want to crawl up somewhere and perish – she didn’t want to worry him, that was the last thing she wanted to do. She bit the inside of her cheek, her eyebrows turning slightly upwards; he hugged her around the shoulders and pulled her closer to him, trying to offer her all the comfort he could in such a public setting.

“You wanna leave?” he asked, to which she quickly shook her head, curling up into his chest, and hugging him around his waist.

“People will talk,” she said, his face forming into a grimace; did she just subconsciously quote her own mother?

“Fuck them then,” he said and he felt her chuckle, or perhaps scoff, he couldn’t really tell, as her face was buried in his shirt, hidden away from the world. He gently stroked her hair, trying to calm her down as best as he could right at that time. Everything felt strange. Asterin, who was usually very confident and didn’t care about what anyone thought about her or her friends, was now curled up in Sirius’s chest, gripping onto him as if he was her only hope for the future, her only safe space. And it broke Sirius’s heart, because he had known her his whole life; he knew her before she found herself, when she was just a little girl who was scared of disappointing her family, he knew what it took for her, for the both of them, really, to start forming her own opinions and dissociating from everything she was taught her whole life, and he knew just how much it would take to destroy it all, to make her feel like this. And it scared him, the fact the whole two months of her silence were a secret for him scared him, but beyond everything, he was afraid no amount of comfort, hugs, pretty words or stupid jokes could help the situation his best friend found herself in.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

hiya loves, second chapter's out for you.

i don't see much activity on the first chapter, but i hope you liked it anyways (but y'all did like the ''front page'' of the whole thing, so thank you for that. links to all the chapters are always on the pinned post, aka the ''front page'').

first chapter: here

thank you and let me know how you like this one.

<3

#latibule fic #dead gay wizards #the marauders #marauders era #sirius black #remus lupin #james potter #peter pettigrew #lily evans #mary macdonald #marlene mckinnon #dorcas meadowes #asterin knightley #sirius x oc #nia writes #queerchaser

[likesunsetorange]

i think eren would kind of enjoy it though even if he pretends to hate it lol he likes her attention!!!

Him trying not to react as she smooths his lapels, gives him another one over, all before telling no and to go back in the fitting room so she can go talk to an associate at whatever fancy store they’re at!

bodyguard au drabble # 1

omg anon this is so cute you gave me an idea for this scene i got inspired and i never write chronologically anyways so here's a mini drabble! (will this be the exact version idk, but hope you enjoy anyways!!!)

By no means had Eren ever been poor, his dad was literally a doctor. He had grown up living a comfortable life—one that consisted of the typical upper-middle class luxuries. His college had been paid for in full, he was treated to little luxuries like the newest gaming systems and trendy clothes, and there were certainly never any worries about finances.

But this was certainly a level of wealth he didn't think he would ever get used to. There were crystal chandeliers on the ceilings, glasses of thousand dollar champagne that were being offered to every patron, and suits and dresses lining the racks that cost more than a down payment on a house. When Mikasa told him she was taking him suit shopping, he assumed they’d go to Neiman Marcus at the most, not whatever this was.

He felt like a fish out of water as he stood around in the dressing room, waiting aimlessly for Mikasa and Petra, the sales associate Mikasa seemed to be well acquainted with, to return with their third round of suits. Eren wasn’t sure why a simple black suit wouldn’t suffice, but according to Mikasa, he couldn’t show up to a political event in a just any old regular suit, let alone a rental.

So here he was hours later being forced to try on suit after suit, nothing seeming to please her. His patience was starting to run thin and he was tired, but surprisingly, Mikasa was being oddly… nice? Given the word nice may have been him overreaching, but she was certainly withholding from the insults, and rather than speaking to him like he was a second class citizen, she was being friendlier than usual.

Eren assumed it was because, oddly enough, she seemed to be enjoying making him her own life-sized Ken doll. It was out of the ordinary for her to be directing so much of her attention towards him, let alone having her fuss over him and paying attention to something as small as whether or not the cuff links Petra brought out would match with the watch he always wore (he didn’t even think Mikasa had bothered to notice that he even wore a watch everyday).

He found himself fidgeting with his dress shirt sleeves, until he finally heard Mikasa’s voice growing closer. Eren could hear her laughing over what he assumed was something Petra had said—something he didn’t hear her do very often around the house. Before he knew it, there were three more suits being held through the curtain, the tiny peaking of her manicured hand holding up the hangers.

“Try on the blue one first, and show me once you’re done,” her voice direct, but less bossy than usual. “Please,” she added after, this time her voice almost inaudible.

As usual, he relented, but at least she had the decency to say please for once. Part of him was still annoyed he couldn’t just wear a black suit, but according to Mikasa, “all men wear black suits”, and he “needed to be different.” Why? He didn’t understand. He was just her bodyguard. But he had learned which battles to pick with Mikasa, and this unfortunately just wasn’t going to be one he’d win.

Eren was faster about getting dressed this time, after ten suits, it seemed to have become second nature, and also hoping this would be the last one he had to try on. He didn’t even bother to take a look in the mirror, throwing the curtain open and walking to where Mikasa was in the show room.

Her eyes flickered up from her phone, setting down the champagne glass she had in her other hand onto the table next her, standing up to inspect him.

Eren felt oddly vulnerable as she walked around, poking and prodding at the suit, making sure it was up to her (very high) standards. She stopped in front of him, fixing the lapels of his suit, smoothing them out. He could smell the floral of her perfume from how close she was, not used to her being in such close proximity before. Eren felt his ears growing out, but he was glad that she she took a step back before she could notice, a pleased look on her face.

“Hey, Petra! Can you bring me those two ties we picked out for this one, please?” Mikasa called out, Petra appearing with what seemed to Eren, two versions of the exact same patterned tie, placing them neatly in her hands before she scurried off to another customer. She looked between the two before settling on whichever she seemed to like more, before placing it in his hands. “Okay, put this one on.”

“Oh… Umm… I can’t tie a tie—I normally wear clip-ons,” he confessed, his ears turning red again.

“Tch, of course you can’t,” she replied, rolling her eyes. “Okay, lift your collar up, I guess I can help you. And bend down a bit—you’re too tall.”

He followed as instructed, Mikasa’s surprisingly gentle fingers working around his neck to make do with the tie. If they weren’t in public, he’d be a little scared she’d try and choke him or something, but she seemed to be in a good mood today. She hummed to herself softly as she quickly fastened the windsor knot, faster than Eren would’ve done even with help. When she finished, she lightly placed his collar back down, her fingers like ice as they brushed the skin of his neck in the process. She gave him one final pat down, fixing every little detail, before bringing him to the mirror.

“Do you like it?” The tiniest bit of excitement in her voice, almost as if she wanted to be validated in her choice.

Eren eyed himself, and he could admit that he felt like he looked nice. But it didn’t feel like it was that much different than the ten other suits he tried on. He was never one to care about things like this, but he could tell it mattered to her, so at the very least, he could give her the satisfaction she was seeking.

“Yea, think this one’s probably the best out of all of ‘em.”

A small smile flashed across her face, before she ushered him to the fitting room. “Okay, hurry up and get changed then so we can go check out then.”

Eren finally bothered to look at the price tag, his eyes growing wide once he did. “Mikasa, this is like a $7k suit, are you sure?” He asked as he walked into the fitting room.

“We’re using daddy’s credit card, remember?” She replied rolling her eyes. “Plus, this is technically a business expense—you’re an employee—and rich people just love a good tax write off.”

“Okay, fine, if you insist.”

“Of course I do. Now hurry up, we still have to go get you shoes!”

All Eren could do was sigh, hoping Mikasa wouldn’t be nearly as picky with shoes as she was with clothes.

#eremika #eremika fic #aot #bodyguard au #asks #vic’s drabbles

[wench-and-jezebel]

Dark Angel Reaction: Female Trouble

Jezebel (@typicalopposite) reacts [with occasional asides by Wench (@scripted-downfall)]

(tw for discussions of canon suicidal thoughts)

[Oh god the title tho]  🤣🤣🤣🤣 [I think this is Big Drama ep btw.  And, if so, I *think* that I really HATED Max in this one.  She's so selfish/oblivious if so]  Well here we go

Already don’t like her (half-kidding)  [She has called him 'His Holiness" and "the messiah" in the space of two seconds]  

She stands like a doll.   Like, really stiff

See this guy doesn’t seem like it a therapist  [I think they forgot what his initial role was alkdsfj]  🤣🤣🤣 One of the writers is a me… “Why is he here again??”  “I dunno just write him lines”

Place is dirtyyyy.  I would not be getting naked in there!  Buddy, you’re gonna get sepsis.  [You sound like Dean]  🤣🤣🤣 Dean be making sense

[She's annoyingly biased.  Isn't she supposed to have a good bedside manner?]

😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨 that’s a buncha money

Poor Logan… Poor buddy is as unlucky as Ackles in just having bad luck just with health for him  [Should I be concerned for Tony?]

… ooooohahhhhhh (opening song)

[Poor OC dealing with Max's BS]  Right!?!

*she says with heavy attitude*

Buddy 💔💔💔

She plays bitchy too easy… must just come natural (cough cough I’ve heard bad things about Alba)  [This is true!  Though I must say... she gets better in other roles.  "Sin City" and "The Eye"?  I can't remember her being as bad]  Ack, The Eye!  She wasn’t bad in Fantastic Four either

[I love how she acts like his whole life is her, though.  Like.  Hmm, he's not answering the phone.  HOW DARE HE GHOST ME.]

I mean… In Sketchy’s defense… ☠️☠️☠️ she opened the door with no bra!

I have never walked with a cane…. And apparently neither has Weatherly! ☠️☠️☠️ Buddy’s not a bad actor, but his body acting is a bit off! ☠️ been meaning to mention it since he started walking again  [That does seem to be true]  His arm is the one struggling more than his legs ☠️☠️☠️

I wouldn’t like needles that size either… Ack

Ooopp and she done stuck the mammoth needle in the struggle arm

[The sign that says "Hell" behind her tho]  ☠️☠️☠️☠️  If I couldn’t find coffee or packaged chicken, I’d think it would hell too

Wtf did they cut with that big ass knife

[Oh, lovely: Max stalking her boyfriend.  This is great.  Very healthy]  I could have overlooked her coming to see what he was doing… but the attitude is killing me.  

What condition…?  I mean, I get he’s walking, but buddy was paralyzed like… two days ago.  That condition is still there

[Doctor's an idiot if she hasn't figured out that Max is Manticore yet]

Bum bum bummmmmm!  He knows

[Flowers for Algernon-coded.]

She says things that should sound caring… so uncaringly

[Awkward-ass acting, just saying.  Looks like she’s getting her wish about "I want his ass to stay crippled so he needs me"]  Very true.  Also that.  Was… *sigh*.  Her throwing the jacket at him.  I’d lose it.

[Neuropsych = PsyOps btw]  That’s what I thought!

This scene is still too deep to comment on ☠️  It’s like. Oddly deep  [We’ll talk at midpoin- Oh, wait, that’s now… pause]  Okay

– – –

Jezebel: But, no, usually deep or sad or serious scenes can be mocked to an extent, and that one I had nothing. 🤣 And I didn’t want to just repeatedly type ooooof

Wench: Yeah, I follow...  There wasn't much content there, though, so it makes sense

Jezebel: This episode feels short!?  Like it does not feel like midpoint already… But, I mean, literally two things have happened, minus the intro of another sibling who just scurried off again ☠️☠️ hopefully she comes back just so it doesn’t feel as pointless as the last sibling

Wench: The last sibling definitely comes back, btw.  Well, at least, if I remember her right  Her name was Tinga, right? (Last sibling)

Jezebel: Yeah

Wench: Then, yeah, she becomes important at the end of this season

Jezebel: Ok good!  What about the one in this ep?

Wench: Uh... not fully certain... I don't really remember her to the same degree.  For what it’s worth, though, I think this episode is gonna pick up in terms of stuff going on... at least if I'm right about where this episode is heading.  But, regardless, this is definitely the one I mentioned as being the *real* start of my Max dislike.  Like, she'd aggravated me before, but this is the first time I *really* hated her

Jezebel: Yeah her attitude is so amplified

Wench: Also, there's some serious Logan development starting in this episode, so it's pretty significant that this is her reaction to an episode about him going through seriously hard times.  And he's definitely got issues but a) they haven't developed those yet, and mostly won't until s2, largely because I'm pretty sure they were developed in response to Weatherly's actions during the filming of s2 and less about his actions during the filming of s1; and b) it's funny to me because his flaws in s2 are basicallyyyy what she's doing in this ep

Jezebel: ☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️ Oof!  

Wench: Yup…

Jezebel: Other than that! I think that’s all I have for a midpoint there just isn’t too much else to comment on

– – – 

[Sister be back as requested]  Sister be murderous  [Well, yes, but that's not surprising… She’s related to Max]  Oh, look, sis, I can flip too

Oh SNAP

The doctor has the patience OF A SAINT

["X5 males are routinely dosed with birth-control meds"  Well, that's changed by s2, that's for damn sure]  

Ooooof Jace… You done done the devil’s tango

[Oh, Max, you'd be right if you weren't so wrong (*stares at s2e1*)] 

MaaM. She’s like 2 seconds pregnant ☠️ she’s not too attached I don’t think using the baby as persuasion works just yet

[Thus are you seeing the power of PsyOps btw] 

Shit that doesn’t belong in your body tends to do that

Max just in the background scowling

[Max has no clue about biology, I see laksjdf  "Baby moving?" Bitch, baby's a kidney bean rn]  ☠️☠️☠️

Oooof he’s getting fired

[Oh, that's interesting... "You’re happy out here? In a world that’s dirty…diseased…corrupt?"  Alec-coded.  Who is, in turn, Dean-coded]  ☠️☠️☠️☠️

– – – 

*pause for a conversation*

Jezebel: I think I know why I can’t comment easy… Because the episode has a less humorous plot line. (It’s kinda deep) And I can’t crack jokes at it… I’m getting invested and just watching ☠️☠️☠️

Wench: That’s fair!

Jezebel: What did you want to say?

Wench: I just… this is such an important conversation to bear in mind for s2.  Like, this is verging on spoiler-y, but we've already talked about this some, so…  Max: “Because what they don’t tell you is that you’re more than just a soldier. You’re a human being, with free will.”  Jace: “Easy for you to say. You’re not in restraints.”  Max is paying attention because she views Jace as a sister, but this is exactly what happens with Alec.

Jezebel: Alec isn’t an X5 right?

Wench: Nah, he is.  He's X5-494

Jezebel: So she didn’t know Ben was a twin

Wench: Right

Jezebel: Ahhh!  

Wench: And she's sitting there with her moralistic view --- "you're a person not a soldier; how can you possibly go to Manticore when they're manipulating and controlling you; you're such a pawn and need to learn to think for yourself; Manticore is wrong" etc --- and he's coming back with "it's easy for you to say that, but you left, you don't know what it was like, and you don't know what it's like to not have the luxury of morals when we're just trying to get by."  She's paying more attention here, but that's only because Jace is an X5 from her unit; she doesn't afford the same consideration in s2.

Jezebel: Ohhh ☹️☹️☹️ oooof

Wench: And it's also interesting because both Jace and Alec are talking about the dirtiness of the world, the crudity of it as opposed to Manticore's sterility... and it's kinda interesting to see that it's clearly part of their programming to think that way because this is across seasons, across units, and yet it's the same thought, and almost the same wording.  He says "You spent half your life out there in filth and degradation. I could catch something." instead, but it's the same thought as the quote I pulled out earlier

Jezebel: Yeah I see it 👀👀👀

Wench: Anyway, that's just something interesting I noticed that wouldn't be especially spoiler-esque because... well.  I already spoiled it alksdjf  

Jezebel: 🤣🤣🤣 Fairrr

Wench: The parallels are interesting, and they'll probably end up brewing in my head... Don't be surprised if I keep mentioning stuff

Jezebel: I don’t mind 🙂 Oh, also, there was something I wanted to ask about the show… Did the Pulse happen after the escape or before?

Wench: After

Jezebel: And what was it?

Wench: Do you know what an EMP is?

Jezebel: I was about to say what Dean made himself…. But that’s… EVP right?

Wench: He technically made an electromagnet too, but I think you mean EMF

Jezebel: ☠️

Wench: An EMP is an electromagnetic pulse, and it basically takes out electronics/tech.  The Pulse was a large scale electromagnetic pulse, which took out all of the infrastructure/electronics/technology

Jezebel: Sooo what they should was gonna happen in 2000?

Wench: This show was made in 2000, so idk what you're talking about but it would make sense if so

Jezebel: ☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️ That- 🤣🤣🤣  OMG THAT MAKES SO MUCH FUCKING SENSE NOWWWWW  (To sum up… There was an end of the world fear that when we hit the year 2000 this would happen. All technology would stop working and basically apocalypse.  It was like really scary.  Like 2012 apocalypse level fear.)

Wench: Oh, damn… Then yes!

Jezebel: That is fucking hilarious tho… The show makes so much sense now!  And now I’m ready 🙂

– – – 

Lintlickerrrrr *squinting emoji*  [btw, Nitro emojis don’t work on Tumblr alskfj]  *squint* ☠️👀🤣

“It’s nothing personal”  ☠️☠️☠️☠️

[Oop- innuendo]

DOUBLE CROSS… LE GASP

[“Maternal instinct.”  Y'ALL.  It's.  A KIDNEY BEAN]  ☠️☠️☠️☠️  ["I know what she's going through.  I trust her."  Bitch, you don't know shit; you've never been a pregnant, post-brainwashing X5 who broke out to rejoin her previously-escaped sibling]  ☠️☠️☠️☠️ 

Poor Jace

Tf ☠️☠️☠️

Oooop double crossed double cross

Welp, there goes Logan’s legs  [Guess Max got her wish]

[JAM PONY!]  More bike tricks  [Sketch got better at the bike thing!!!]

☠️☠️☠️☠️

[I told you he was lying about the bip-bip-bip-ing]  ☠️☠️☠️☠️

Double cross x3  [We've got a count developing]

Omg, the second half just went hard af  [I told you it would :)]

QUAD CROSSSSSS OMG THE CRISSS CROSSS APPLESAUCE

[Btw, the card they are playing?  Is absolutely the "the kidney bean convinced her" card]  Ahh the maternal instinct… “My baby spoke to me *angels singing*”  [No, you're forgetting… "My baby revolved in my eye and I knew I couldn't let them die"]  ☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️

The little hint of a smile tho… Lintlicker you dog

[I swear, these past two or so episodes have had Jam Pony scenes only consist of transition scenes, which makes me sad :(]  I KNOW  💔💔💔

Mexico and Canada gonna be protected af

[Max is being.  So.  Oblivious.  just btw]  “This is gonna be ok… you need me again.. I’ll take care of you… The way it should be”  [I swear I saw a Criminal Minds with this plot… The one with the inspirational  speaker chick who kidnaps and tortures anyone who actually becomes self-sufficient enough to not need her help]

[Also… Did I mention Max was oblivious?  How did it take until now for her to register the whole.  You know.  Suicidal bit.]  ☹️☹️☹️☹️  Ooooof  

[I'm gonna put a trigger warning for this one btw.  idk how in depth we'll go, but just in case]  Definitely

Poor buddy

[Now she's worried about him]

He scrunched up her hair and I thought he was about to yank her off

[At least *one* of the unit siblings got a decent spotlight]

“I hope Logan will be ok.  Actually, I know Logan will be ok”  [CIRCLES]

[Also, her explanation of "I know Logan will be ok" being because "I'm in his corner"... bitch, wot.  You didn't pay your boyfriend enough attention to catch that he was suicidal]  “I’m in his corner…  Sometimes… When I’m not busy”

*sigh* But like at least Jace got away

– – – 

Wench: So now you see what I mean by Big Drama

Jezebel: Yes.  Very big. Much drama. That was heavy. Does it get talked about more? Or is he over it next episode (kinda hope that’s not the case, that’s not how depression works ☠️)

Wench: The suicidal bit? I don't think so. Could be wrong, but I don't remember it being addressed again.

Jezebel: Oooof... Not that I’d want him to be suicidal in more eps but like... yanno that’s a big thing to say he is and then just never touch on it again yanno.

Wench: Yeah...

Jezebel: Anyway... The criss-crossing this ep was giving me whiplash

Wench: Yup, agreed

Jezebel: Also I can’t help but think Lydecker almost looked happy they got away

Wench: *whistles*

Jezebel: 🤣🤣🤣 But other than that! I don’t have much else to say ☠️

Wench: Yeah, there's not much to comment on… Most of this was character development.

Jezebel: And now they have the new level of Manticore: Babicore

Wench: alsdkfj Oh you ain't seen nothin' yet... Babicore doesn't come in until s2

Jezebel: ☠️☠️☠️☠️

Wench: Still hate Max tho.

Jezebel: I can see why y’all do for sureeeee

Wench: It gets worse! Because later, she's directing it towards Alec, (who's basically Dean, for context). Like, you've seen enough to know that Jackles doesn't act them the same, but they're so close that it's kinda bonkers that they're so clearly different characters.

Jezebel: I can’t wait!!! Well I can for the bitchiness but not the ackleesss 💕💕💕

Wench: Well, 'til next ep then!

#dark angel #dark angel reactions #reactions #episode reactions #s01e14 #female trouble #max guevara #logan cale #jezebel (pr)

[someprideandprejudice]

I will say it once, and if I must I will say it as many times as I need to. I HATE misunderstandings.

There’s a reason I can’t stand sit-coms and rom-coms—misunderstandings are too often used as plot devices and it always involves some mess of head banging, incredibly uncomfortable, I’m-going-to-walk-through-this-wall-just-to-escape-this-hell second (and first) hand embarrassment. Whenever something like that happens in my shows I physically get up and leave until it passes, and while the situation between Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy wasn’t quite so bad that I’d felt the need to do that, it was still frustrating watching dear Mr. Darcy pine for Lizzy like a schoolboy while Elizabeth was hating his guts because her crush practically told her to.

As a fellow antisocial recluse, I can’t blame Mr. Darcy for his shyer tendencies that no doubt contributed to the mess of his and Elizabeth’s relationship. There are different conclusions people have come to about his attitude—ranging from social anxiety to undiagnosed autism—which I’m hardly knowledgeable enough about either to comment on without accidently offending anyone and setting a mob with pitchforks after myself, so I won’t. As shown in the book, however, Mr. Darcy truly doesn’t like socializing—he doesn’t like dancing, doesn’t like parties, doesn’t like listening to women entertaining said parties with random concertos when he could be reading a book in a quiet corner away from the throngs of society.

Which, mood.

However, the downside of this behavior in his pursuit of romance is that you can’t cultivate said romance without interacting with the object of your affections. Although Mr. Darcy didn’t realize it (and honestly, I love the man, but how can’t you recognize a women doesn’t like you romantically when she’s literally sending death glares at your back? Couldn’t he feel it? Her killing intent??? She practically wanted him castrated and six feet under—) but Elizabeth hadn’t liked him at all since their introduction. This was due to the first impression Mr. Darcy had given her, and which was only further supported in their future interactions as Mr. Darcy kept a cold facade and put distance between them so he’d stopped being so obsessed with her. While on one side it may have looked like a man desperately trying to get over his puppy love, on the other it looked like he was a cold, supercilious, prat of a man, and unfortunately that was the side Elizabeth had only managed to see.

Darcy, you poor, idiotic moron.

Mr. Darcy isn’t the only one to blame, however—if Elizabeth hadn’t stubbornly held to her prejudices of him and cared to 1) get to know and actually pay attention to him and 2) listen to wise big sis Jane, we could have avoided this whole goddamn mess. With as strong headed a woman as Elizabeth is, it’s understandable that she’d taken Mr. Darcy’s first impression at face value and held him to it for almost all of their relationship. Her pride had been hurt by his words and his own pride had offended her. Of course she held him in contempt.

But then Mr. Wickham happened.

Now, I actually like Mr. Wickham. He’s a lying, manipulative scumbag, but he’s smart, and his whole scheme was admittedly impressive. However that’s a ramble for another post—what I’m not impressed by was Elizabeth’s response to his manipulating. She completely, absolutely fell for it.

Elizabeth had practically fallen in love with Mr. Wickham on sight, and her affection for him clouded her judgement to truly think for herself. Mr. Wickham drove a wench between an already cracking foundation and fed on her already bad opinion of Mr. Darcy to make it even worse. If she’d cared to give it much thought initially, she could have wondered why Mr. Wickham was telling her clearly private affairs at all, and in a public space as well. Why would a handsome stranger come out of nowhere and gossip with her about Mr. Darcy, telling her things she technically should have no right to know?

Because of both Mr. Darcy’s shy boy attitude and Elizabeth’s chomping at the bit, their relationship had gone from tense to almost hostile. Although it all does get resolved eventually, a few misunderstandings had gone and derailed an entire relationship, as well as set up the entire plot of the story. I understand why people use misunderstandings as plot devices—they’re convenient. They’re easy to use. Still.

It’s just. So. ANNOYING—

#pride and prejudice #jane austen #book blog project #elizabeth bennet #mr darcy #mr wickham #not my gifs #i hate misunderstandings #theyre just embarrassing #lizzy and darcy’s relationship in general is embarrassing #just communicate!!!! with words!!!!! #they’re idiots #but i still like them #mr darcy is my spirit animal #elizabeth is a whipped schoolgirl #actually they’re both whipped school children

[hyunderwater]

๋ and then they were (number) neighbors ໍ⬫

minho x jisung (stray kids)

fluff, slow-burn sorta, idiots in love, enemies to lovers if we're being generous

tw(s): food mentions, inappropriate/sexual jokes, swearing, recreational drug use, a passing joke about religion, poor mental health, bad internet safety

wc: 7k

ao3

01 - 02

*~*~*~*~*

 A chocolatey aroma fills his apartment as Minho slides the freshly baked cookies out of the oven.

He sighs, staring down at the cookies.

“Ugh.”

They’re perfect.

Why does he have to waste them on a new neighbor again?

Oh, right. Because he’s nice. He briefly contemplates spitting on them before shaking his head.

“What is wrong with me? For all we know, this person could be a literal angel,” he says to his cat. Soonie just glares back.

“Figures.”

While the cookies cool, he stares at himself in the mirror.

“Fuck,” he says. “Why can’t you cooperate?”

His hair, stubbornly, remains where it is, flattened to his head. He looks like an egg.

The water is ice-cold, making his hand flinch when the stream hits his skin.

His hair looks moderately better tamed back with the water, he thinks. He swipes eyeshadow around his eyes, just enough to make his eyes “pop”, like those beauty gurus on Youtube say.

He poses in the mirror, admiring the way the neck of his sweater accentuates his collarbones.

“Fine.”

The cats are all gathered around the stove-top where he left the cookies to cool, staring up at them like a cult about to worship their god.

“You guys are so creepy,” he says fondly, reaching down to pet the tops of their heads.

Minho gently places the cookies into the perfect container- not too cheap, but cheap enough that he won’t miss it. There’s a lot of things in that apartment that he���d never miss. So many objects that carry memories he wishes he could forget.

Finally, he steps out the door.

Every step from his door to his neighbor’s feels like it places another weight onto his legs; when he finally reaches that door, faded white paint peeling off of the wood, he can barely walk.

His fist reaches through the air in slow motion. The knock reverberates through his bones. He winces at the volume.

He’s been standing there for five minutes, and nobody’s answered.

He tries again.

This time, it’s only thirty seconds before the door swings open. At first, nothing seems amiss. There’s a guy at the door, presumably his neighbor, and two more people laughing in the back of the room over a pan of brownies. Then the guys start uncontrollably giggling, and the dude in front of him is staring at him like he’s an otherworldly being, and the smell of brownies is laced with another, more subtle smell, and he realizes. They’re fucking zooted.

“Are you guys eating weed brownies?” is the first thing that he says.

“I am so sorry, hi, do you want cookies? I’m so sor-!” is the second thing.

He’s cut off by the guy in front of him, who whispers reverently, “Dude, you are soooo smoking hot, oh my god. Cookies? Fuuuuck yeah dude, holy shit. Are you my soulmate?”

Minho just stares at the stranger, who’s reddened eyes are dragging over his face and body sluggishly, like they can’t comprehend the sight of him.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” the dude says again.

“I know,” Minho blurts, then turns bright red.

“I, um, bye?”

He spins on his heel and scurries back down the hallway, pausing halfway when he realizes he’s still clutching the cookies.

He flushes even more, and runs back to shove the cookies into the guy’s arms, stuttering an apology and dashing back to his apartment to stew in his misery.

Leaning his head back against the door, he groans loudly.

“Fuck this. Fuck socializing. Fuck…me. What? No.”

This can’t be how life is supposed to be.

*~*~*~*~*

“I’m sorry, Minho. I’m sorry I made you like this. I’m sorry I couldn’t raise you right.”

Saltwater rose up, lapping at his chin, pulling tight around his neck. She bobbed on the surface, eyes glassy, unaware of the sea threatening to swallow her whole.

“Mom- You didn’t- I’m-”

The water rose higher, covering his mouth. Bubbles flew out of his mouth as he tried to tell her. As he tried to tell himself.

“I love you, Lino. I’m sorry, sweet. I’m sorry I did this to you. I’m sorry I made you worthless.”

The water closed in over his head, choking him as he flailed in the water, reaching for her again. Salt flooded his mouth as he sank under the water, away from his mother.

He wakes in a cold sweat. His mouth tastes of salt from his tears, and the dream rushes back to him.

“Mom,” he whispers into the dark. His hands shake as he pries the blanket off of himself. The dark is a comfort, covering him like a blanket. In the dark, nobody can see your tears. In the dark, it’s easy to pretend you’ll be okay. In the silence, he lets the tears come.

A yell cuts through the night.

He yelps, tugging the blankets over himself again.

“You’re fucking trash! Watch me destroy you and your loser team, motherfucker!”

The words are muffled through the wall, but they’re unmistakably trash talk.

Minho sits there frozen in shock, the tears drying on his face.

“Yeah, fuckin’ punk,” they yell again.

“The stoner neighbor,” Minho grumbles to himself. He briefly regrets making the cookies.

“Oh, really? Yeah. Yeah, and after I win this game I’ll bend your dad over a table.”

Minho’s mouth drops open.

“Yeah, I’m fuckin’ gay. Bi, actually. Got a problem? No? Good. Tell your daddy and mommy I’ll see them tonight.”

There’s a pause, and Minho hopes that his neighbor has finally decided to shut up.

“What did you call me? You fucking default setting, I’ll-”

Minho slams his fist against the wall. The apartment falls into silence again, and he collapses with a sigh. He’s tugged from the brink of sleep by another shout. 

“Are you fucking kidding m-”

He makes a mental note to buy noise canceling headphones.

*~*~*~*~*

Chan looks almost sympathetic, patting Minho’s arm like he’s a child.

“Minho. You need to get laid, like, emotionally.”

Minho bites into his croissant, frowning at Chan.

“What the hell?”

Chan slurps his americano noisily.

“I meant what I said. You’re all stressed. You need somebody to cuddle or something, since we both know how horribly hook-ups go for you.”

“I have cats.”

He sighs, pinching his nose bridge.

“Dude. Really? I meant an actual human being.”

“Just because your partner loves cuddling doesn’t mean that’s what I want,” Minho grumbles.

Chan raises his eyebrow.

“Maybe not, but you did spend three hours cuddling Hyunjin the last time you came over.”

His expression turns sincere again.

“Seriously, though, I know you don’t need anyone, but even introverts need some human contact. Consistent human contact,” he interjects before Minho can protest. 

Minho fidgets with his cup, staring down into his tea. They both know how stressful and busy adulthood has been, and Minho knows he needs more social time than seeing Chan once a month.

“Okay, fine. I do need someone, probably.”

Chan leans forward, the concerned expression replaced with a dimpled smile.

“So? Is there anybody?”

Minho almost opens his mouth, almost tells Chan all about his new stoner neighbor who called him hot, and is apparently very, very attracted to men, but then he stops. What if Chan tries to push them together? God no, that would be a nightmare. Totally. Ew. Gross.

“Nope. There’s nobody.” He takes a massive bite of his croissant, hoping that it masks anything his face might give away.

Chan sighs again. 

“Boring. Well, hope you find someone, Lino. I gotta go.” He puts money on the table and flounces away, flashing Minho a pitying smile over his shoulder.

Minho sips his tea. Maybe Chan was right. Maybe he’s lonely.

He never really considered it. He always thought he’d be happy with his cats. After all his failed relationships, doomed from the unenthusiastic start, he just gave up, figuring he would be happier by himself. He’s always been a loner.

“Are you done, sir?”

“Uh, yeah! Thank you so much!”

The waitress nods, smiling brightly at him. He beams back.

Chan was wrong. He’s doing just fine by himself. He’s happy.

The waitress walks away, bright smile still plastered on her face. For a second, it flickers like a mirage, a chip in her cheerful facade.

It was a mask.

Suddenly, the warmth evaporates. It’s not like he expected it to be genuine, but even that little glimmer of a smile brightened his day ten-fold. Shit. Fuck. No. Chan’s never right, right? There was that one time that he thought that that one dude in their class had been from Canada when he was actually from the United States. Yeah. Chan is wrong sometimes. Sometimes.

He’s fine.

He’s not lonely.

He scratches behind Soonie’s ears, cooing as the other two wind around his ankles, purring for his attention.

“Hi babies!”

He sits down, not even bothering to remove his shoes, content to let the cats pile on top of him.

“I’m not lonely, right?” he sighs into Doongie’s fur.

All three cats stop purring and stare directly at him. Dori’s tail flicks.

He groans.

“Not you guys too! You’re supposed to be on my side!” He swears Doongie rolls her eyes at that.

“Hey! I feed you guys! I buy you toys! I even clean up your shit!”

Dori snuggles back into his lap, purring loudly. He relents immediately, scratching her back gently.

“Sorry, babies.” 

He maneuvers around Soonie to get to his phone, opening up his chat with Chan.

crazy cat lady: i’m not lonely

crazy cat lady: i’m actually really happy right now

old man: you just had another conversation with your cats didn’t you

crazy cat lady: fuck you

old man: i don’t think i’d enjoy that

crazy cat lady: don’t even lie

old man: go bake cookies and feed your cats dinner like the spinster you are

crazy cat lady: go rant to your partner about ryan reynolds like the messy bisexual you are

He puts his phone back down on the floor, then buries his face into the pile of cats.

“Maybe I need to talk to more humans,” he muses.

There’s a loud thumping noise, and the cats scatter.

“What the hell was-” Something thunks again. The noise is followed by a loud moan, loud enough to clearly pierce through the wall.

“Damn these cheap apartments and their thin walls.” Minho buries his face in his hands, cursing himself for forgetting to get those noise canceling headphones.

He stays there on the floor for twenty minutes, tears streaking down his face, as his neighbor gets pounded next door.

*~*~*~*~*

He knows the dark circles under his eyes are only getting more prominent, knows that his friends are becoming increasingly more concerned, but those goddamn noise-canceling headphones still haven’t come in the mail, and his neighbor seems to have no concept of being a decent human being and respecting other people’s spaces.

Hyunjin even buys him a fancy coffee from that café he loves, bouncing up to him before his first class with the offering and a pitying smile.  Minho accepts it gratefully, downing the entire thing in five minutes, hoping the caffeine coursing through his veins is enough to carry him through an entire day of teaching dance.

As soon as his door shuts behind him, he slumps onto the floor for the third time in the last week, shoes and jacket still on, staring listlessly at the window.

Dori pads up to him.

“Hi, honey,” he whispers, carding a hand through her fur. She meows at him.

He might just be imagining it, but her eyes seem filled with concern. She meows again, batting his hand with her paw. 

“Dori, I’m fine,” he says, forcing a smile. He’s not sure who he’s trying to convince.

He sits there until a dull ache sets into his bones. He forces himself to stand, walk towards his kitchen, take care of his cats and himself. He forces himself to keep going.

He’s sitting on his couch nursing a bowl of soup and watching another cheesy 2000’s romcom when he hears it. The pulsating bass thunders through the wall, almost as loud as the badly written dialogue in his movie.

“You’re shitting me,” he grumbles. He sits through the rest of the movie, trying to ignore the trashy party music, but it’s like the droning of a fly: incessant, not stopping until you smack the source of the noise.

He finds himself curled up on his bed, sipping burning hot tea and blasting music so loudly through his headphones that his brain sorta aches, but it’s better than the muffled music from next door, so he bears it.

It’s so loud that he barely hears it when his phone beeps.

xxx-xxx-xxxx: hey number neighbor!!

Oh. Well. That’s not important.

He puts his phone back down. But then the music isn’t quite enough, and his fingers are itching, and fuck it, he’s curious.

number neighbor: please tell me you aren’t a child

xxx-xxx-xxxx: nope! full-grown adult

number neighbor: so why are you even texting me

xxx-xxx-xxxx: im at a party and it’s really kinda boring

number neighbor: leave the fuckin party

xxx-xxx-xxxx: i cant its my party

number neighbor: oh god you throw parties

xxx-xxx-xxxx: normally no

xxx-xxx-xxxx: ngl this was a mistake

xxx-xxx-xxxx: so whats ur name?

xxx-xxx-xxxx: or a nickname i can call you?

number neighbor: lino

number neighbor: thats a nickname

xxx-;xxx-xxxx: ooh cute!! you can call me hannie that’s also a nickname hehe

lino :D: k

hannie(??): so what do u do?

lino :D: i teach dance

hannie(??): THATS SO COOL

hannie(??): i rap sing and produce songs w 2 friends

lino :D: jesus christ

hannie(??): wait are u like christian

lino :D: not really i mean sorta?

lino :D: im not super religious

lino :D: i mean im literally gay so yeah

hannie(??): you can be gay and religious!!

lino :D: true

hannie(??): yeah idk i don’t think im super religious

hannie(??): also im bi lol so same

hannie(??): WAIT

hannie(??): pronouns?

lino :D: he/him thx for asking. u?

hannie(??): ooh same :)

lino :D: hold on can we go back to the fact that i said “jesus christ” as in “whoa ur talented” and ur first thought was omg what if he’s religious

hannie(??): idk i literally have no idea who you are man you could be like a priest or some shit

Minho definitely does not giggle out loud at that.

lino :D: idk u either but i can still tell you’re an idiot

hannie(??): thats mean

lino :D: cry about it

hannie(??): that would be pretty embarrassing literally almost everyone i know is here

lino :D: crying isn’t embarrassing. fuck it. cry. what even is life

hannie(??): i would say fuck it ur right but if im gonna cry tonight it better be on someone’s dick/strap

lino :D: how. you’re the one hosting the party

hannie(??): fuck. 

hannie(??): ur right.

hannie(??): where do you live?

lino :D: why the fuck would i tell you

hannie(??): wait yeah

hannie(??): you’d have to be pretty damn stupid to give out ur address to strangers on the internet

lino :D: almost as stupid as you

hannie(??): well fuck you

lino :D: you’d enjoy that

Whoa. He did not intend to take it there. Hm. Well, no harm in flirting with someone he’ll never meet.

hannie(??): so would u

lino :D: wait so are you literally just standing in the corner of your own party on your phone texting a stranger

lino :D: lol loser

hannie(??): i mean

hannie(??): kinda

hannie(??): but it’s not like anyone cares

hannie(??): i just wanna be sober enough to shovel these drunk ppl out of my apartment at like four a.m.

lino :D: omg no

lino :D: you’re seriously one of those assholes who throws parties when you have neighbors next door

hannie(??): FUCK

hannie(??): ONE OF THEM IS REALLY HOT TOO

lino :D: you really did not think this through at all huh

hannie(??): i don’t normally think

hannie(??): *things thru

hannie(??): sry forgot the last part

lino :D: actually it seems like you don’t think at all

lino :D: you were right from the beginning

hannie(??): shut up

hannie(??): ur so annoying

lino :D: you don’t even know me

hannie(??): just bc i barely know u doesn’t mean i cant think ur annoying

hannie(??): OH FUCK OH SHIT SOMEONE’S THROWING UP

hannie(??): okay this party’s ending rn

hannie(??): i gtg bye

lino :D: bye lol

lino :D: good luck with the vomit

He closes his phone and turns his face to the darkness. Today, it feels welcoming, like a warm hug. Today, it doesn’t feel like the world is made of tiny little push-pins, just pointy enough to keep him on his toes. Today, the world feels like there’s a spot for him. The music pumping through the walls fades away.

Slowly, ever so slowly, sleep reaches up and circles her arms around his consciousness, dripping honey-sweet across his brain.

He wakes up at eight in the morning to the sound of a song ending. His ears feel strange when he pulls out his headphones, the shape melded to his ear. He turns his phone on, pausing the next song before it starts to play. His phone buzzes in his hand, and he almost drops it, feeling like he’s been dunked in ice-cold water.

hannie(??): good morning lino!! how’d u sleep??

He stares at the text. What the hell?

lino :D: thought you’d forget about me

hannie(??): why??? ur kinda cool

hannie(??): anyways i wanna get to know you

hannie(??): whats ur favorite animal

lino :D: cats

lino :D: i have three

hannie(??): THREE??

lino :D: yeah

lino :D: soonie, doongie, and dori

hannie(??): thats adorable

lino :D: hbu? any pets?

hannie(??): naw

hannie(??): i wanna see ur cats tho they sound adorable

lino :D: attachment: 12 images

hannie(??): OH MY FUCKING GOD

hannie(??): SO CUTE

lino :D: my babies

hannie(??): YOU CALL THEM YOUR BABIES

lino :D: is that an issue

lino :D: you can lick a dirty asshole if it is

hannie(??): if it’s yours i wouldn’t mind ;)

lino :D: you are revolting

hannie(??): you like it tho

lino :D: no, i really don’t

hannie(??): don’t lie to me

lino :D: i only lie to the people who deserve it

hannie(??): that tells me nothing

lino :D: so you think you deserve it?

hannie(??): STOP DISTRACTING ME IM TRYING TO DO ICEBREAKERS

lino :D: no no

lino :D: we were making a breakthrough

hannie(??): so we’re already we?

lino :D: that is commonly how one refers to a group that they are in, yes

hannie(??): so we’re a group

lino :D: group; noun: a number of people or things that are located close together or are considered or classed together.

hannie(??): so you think we’re close

lino :D: i don’t even know you

hannie(??): THAT WAS THE POINT OF THE ICEBREAKERS ASSHOLE

lino :D: functioning adults don’t need icebreakers to get to know ppl

hannie(??): IM A COLLEGE STUDENT IN MY SENIOR YEAR

hannie(??): WHAT PART OF THAT SCREAMS FUNCTIONING ADULT TO YOU

lino :D: i should have assumed

lino :D: you did host a party bc of peer pressure

hannie(??): wait so are you still in school?

lino :D: no i graduated like two yrs ago

hannie(??): dilf

lino :D: what the fuck

lino :D: do you know what a dilf is

hannie(??): an older man ;)

lino :D: are you okay

lino :D: also my only children are my cats

hannie(??): i forgot you had cats and mentioning them felt like a sucker punch to the stomach

hannie(??): place and time, man

lino :D: the place and time for cats is everywhere and all the time

hannie(??): EXCEPT AFTER I CALLED THEIR DAD A DILF

lino :D: everywhere. all the time.

hannie(??): smh cat ppl

lino :D: im going to hunt you down and kill you slowly

hannie(??): i’d love that

lino :D: cool

hannie(??): ;)

hannie(??): okay srsly tho ICEBREAKERS

lino :D: fine but ur boring

hannie(??): fuck you okay fav flower?

lino :D: snapdragons

lino :D: they’re pretty but also so fuckin cool like

lino :D: snapdragon is the best name period

lino :D: wbu what’s ur favorite

hannie(??): lily of the valley i like how they look like 1800’s milkmaids

lino :D: true they do

lino :D: you don’t seem like a lily of the valley man to me tho

hannie(??): i’m layered like an onion

lino :D: like shrek?

hannie(??): marry me

lino :D: what

hannie(??): NO PEOPLE EVER GET THAT REFERENCE

hannie(??): high school han used to try to get girls with that

lino :D: no wonder girls never dated you

lino :D: were you prematurely forced into a sexual awakening from pure desperation?

lino :D: cause no girls would date you?

hannie(??): hey!!

hannie(??): i dated a girl!!!

lino :D: singular?

hannie(??): shut up

hannie(??): she thought i was hot bc i rapped in school once

lino :D: there’s no fuckin way you’re that good

hannie(??): but i am

hannie(??): want proof?

lino :D: please leave

hannie(??): my tongue is v muscular

lino :D: my dick has never been more flaccid

hannie(??): shut up

lino :D: you’re the one who just said your tongue is muscular

hannie(??): it is

hannie(??): it’s sexy

lino :D: really

hannie(??): wanna see for yourself?

lino :D: what the hell are you going to do

lino :D: send me a video of your tongue waggling around?

hannie(??): i hadn’t thought that far ahead honestly

lino :D: yeah

lino :D: i figured

hannie(??): i swear im smart

hannie(??): im good at a lot of things

lino :D: like what

hannie(??): i can write and produce music and sorta dance and sing and speak two languages fluently

hannie(??): also my tongue is v talented

lino :D: sexy resume

lino :D: *solid

hannie(??): sexy solid?

lino :D: no solid resume

hannie(??): you said my resume was sexy

lino :D: typo

hannie(??): how did you misspell it that badly tho

lino :D: autocorrect wants to be grated like a block of cheese

hannie(??): it’s cute that you get that mad over tiny things

lino :D: hey

lino :D: my cats are cute

lino :D: not me

hannie(??): lies

hannie(??): i only see LIES

hannie(??): proof that you think i deserve to be lied to

lino :D: you would probably believe it if i lied to you

hannie(??): ur so mean to me

lino :D: you're gullible and i’m a good liar

hannie(??): okay fine

hannie(??): maybe ur right sometimes

lino :D: *all the time

lino :D: looks like i’m not the only one who can’t spell

hannie(??): F

hannie(??): U

hannie(??): K

hannie(??): Y

hannie(??): O

hannie(??): U

hannie(??): how’s that for spelling

hannie(??): WAIT

lino :D: fuk you?

hannie(??): NO

lino :D: typo?

hannie(??): i hate you

lino :D: happens to the best of us

hannie(??): yeah cause i am the best of us

lino :D: no

lino :D: sorry honey you just aren’t

hannie(??): ooh breaking out the pet names already?

hannie(??): at least take a man to dinner first ;)

lino :D: are you an incubus sent to punish me for homosexuality

hannie(??): does that mean im awakening your gayness

lino :D: no ur just bothering me

hannie(??): gayly?

lino :D: i mean

lino :D: yeah

lino :D: you are flirting with me and it is gay and also bothering me

hannie(??): if you weren’t gay that would be pretty offensive

lino :D: lucky for you i am

hannie(??): ?????????

hannie(??): ???????????????

hannie(??): SUIRFHEOURHOUWHFW

hannie(??): SDUFHWOEOBDJNEKRHEHKEHG

hannie(??): don’t do that

lino :D: you can’t handle a taste of your own medicine?

hannie(??): what no what i totally can

lino :D: that’s good

lino :D: now i don’t have to worry about accidentally overriding your brain 

lino :D: wouldn’t want that

lino :D: what would i do with that pretty face then?

hannie(??): uh

hannie(??): uh

hannie(??): wuh

hannie(??): um

hannie(??): kiss it?

lino :D: really?

hannie(??): would you like that, baby?

lino :D: i think you’d enjoy it more

lino :D: even though that sexy muscular tongue may work miracles i think mine works more

hannie(??): FUCk

hannie(??): FUCK YOU THATS ITANT FIAR

lino :D: actual words, please

hannie(??): fuck you that isnt fair

lino :D: why so mad?

hannie(??): YOU KNOW WHAT I MEANT

hannie(??): asshole

lino :D: what even happened to the icebreakers how did we get here

hannie(??): idk man all i remember is cats and that ur a dilf

lino :D: OH FUCK SHIT CATS

hannie(??): ?

lino :D: i forgot to feed them and they’re mad

hannie(??): OH MY GOD RUN

lino :D: bye

He drops his phone onto the bed and stares at the ceiling. The blurry white blends with the sunshine leaking in from the window, swirling like honey across the paint. His blankets are half-off his body, too hot and too cold at the same time, but somehow it’s okay.

Somehow, he feels okay.

The kitchen tile is cool under his feet. His cats perk up at the sound of the cabinets opening, three heads swiveling to stare at him.

“Yeah, babies, you’ll get your food.”

The kitchen is pleasantly quiet, filled with the soft purrs of the cats and the sounds of birds singing their sweet songs to the world. Today, he drizzles extra honey into his tea, pours his homemade raspberry-maple syrup sauce over fluffy pancakes from his own recipe. Today, he lets himself sing as he cleans, belt the notes he can barely hit, laugh to himself when his voice cracks.

“Maybe this is the way life’s supposed to feel,” he tells his cats. They blink at him. “But you guys would never know, would you? You just spend all day lounging around in the sun.” Soonie purrs in agreement. 

“You already know what life is supposed to be like because that’s what it is for you. You’re lucky, babies.” He brushes a hand across soft fur, skimming lightly over all three cats, stopping once to scratch Dori behind the ear.

“I wouldn’t dream of taking that away from you.”

*~*~*~*~*

“You’ve been on your phone all the time lately,” Hyunjin whines, stomping his foot like a child.

“It’s none of your business, Jinnie.” His phone pinged again, and Hyunjin groaned loudly.

“But it’s so weiirdddd, Min, you get a text and then you’re all giggly and smiley and nice all day! That never happens! It’s like you’re-” He pauses to gasp loudly, pointing an accusing finger at Minho.

“You’re in a relationship.”

Minho scoffs.

“Wh- no. No!”

“I’m telling Chan right now, I swear to god-”

“I don’t think it’s a rela-”

Hyunjin’s phone almost slips out of his hands.

“So there is an ‘it’.”

Shit.

“Uh-”

“How long? Who is it? Where do they live? Are they hot?”

Minho wrinkles his nose.

“Don’t be so superficial, Jinnie.”

“It’s called having standards, and look where it landed me. Now spill.”

Hyunjin raises an eyebrow.

Minho looks at his shoes. Wow, he really needs to get new Converse. These ones are falling apart.

“We’ve been texting for a couple weeks,” he mumbles.

Hyunjin lets out a maniacal giggle, fingers flying across his phone screen.

“Where did you meet him?”

Minho flushes. Oh my god, were these shoes white before? Gross.

“Min,” Hyunjin says, not looking up from his phone.

“Stop texting everything to Chan and I’ll tell you.”

“Damn, that bad? Well. You know I’m just gonna text everything to him after.” Hyunjin knows him, though, so his phone goes into his pocket anyways.

“Fine. I, uh, I met him online, I guess? Uh. We’re number neighbors.” The silence is so loud that Minho can hear a faint trickle of the music coming from the class upstairs.

“Close your mouth, please,” Minho sighs.

“Do you know who this guy is? Do you know where he lives? Hell, Min, do you even know what he looks like?”

Wow, that dirt stain looks like Australia. Is that shoelace fraying?

“Uh. Well. I know what his favorite flower is.”

Hyunjin’s face twists, his eyes filled with pure pain.

“Lee Minho. Are you shitting me?”

“I-”

“For years, I have tried to get you to become more reckless. Years spent trying to loosen the stick up your ass! And once I finally accept your cat dad self for what you are, you decide to do something that could get you killed?”

He takes a deep breath, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Minho. Tell me you didn’t give this guy any info about you.”

“I didn’t give him my name, I just gave him a nickname and told him some random stuff like my career and age and about my cats.”

Hyunjin looks like he’s about to cry.

“So now there’s a creep out there who knows how old you are, what you do for a living, your nickname, and has emotional leverage over you in the form of your cats.”

Oh. Wow. 

“Well, when you put it like that–”

“Just don’t get yourself murdered, okay? I’d cry.”

“Wow. I’m touched.”

Hyunjin walks away, muttering to himself about reckless idiots.

“MAKE SURE HE’S HOT BEFORE YOU FALL IN LOVE,” he yells over his shoulder.

“I sure fucking hope he is,” Minho mutters to himself.

His phone pings again.

hannie🐿: lino!! u there?

lino&lt;3: yeah sorry a friend was interrogating me

hannie🐿: about what ;)?

lino&lt;3: you

hannie🐿: oh wow i really wasn’t expecting you to just say that

lino&lt;3: i know

lino&lt;3: you really always expect me to beat around the bush, huh

hannie🐿: yeah u always say what u mean

hannie🐿: its kinda scary ngl

hannie🐿: this is so weird i just realized i kno so much about u and i dont even kno ur real name

lino&lt;3: that’s so weird

Nausea rises in his stomach, and suddenly, he can’t. He puts his phone on Do Not Disturb, shoves it in his pocket.

Not right now.

He can’t.

Because Hyunjin was right: it’s weird, and it’s dangerous. He can’t deny that. What if he’s been flirting with some old guy who preys on younger men? What if he lied about his age? What if he’s not actually a guy, or lied about his sexuality as a sick joke?

Heat rises in his throat.

No.

No.

Whatever.

He shoves it to the back of his mind. The clock ticks behind him, sternly reminding him of his responsibilities. 

When he gets to the studio, he tosses his things into the corner. His phone hits the floor with a loud clunking sound; he turns his head away. Unimportant.

He throws himself into teaching, forcefully shoving the thoughts from his head. At the end of the lesson he’s dripping with sweat and his whole body aches.

“Good work today, people!”

They file out, tossing tired smiles at Minho as they go.

He picks up his stuff, doesn’t check his phone.

When he gets home, he drops his stuff on the ground, walks to his bedroom.

On the way, his head starts to pound. Suddenly, the thoughts are pressing at him again, pushing at the edge of his vision and shoving at the back of his knees. He lands on the ground with grace, a product of years training as a dancer.

Minho shuts his eyes. A scream threatens to tear from his throat. The dark claws at his mind, surrounding it. It’s too much.

He grabs his computer, puts on a cheesy drama, pretends it’s okay. Maybe he can trick himself.

It’s one in the morning when he can’t bear it anymore.

He slams his computer shut and puts it on his bedside table. He lets his thoughts blanket him until sleep finally blacks out his mind.

The salt water was inside his brain now, searing at the sides of his skull.

It must have leaked in through his ears, already fully submerged. He was kicking as hard as he could, trying to uncover his ears to hear her last words, even though they’re always the same.

I’m sorry I made you worthless.

He could see her mouth forming the words, but his limbs were strangely heavy, like they’ve been filled with sand.

He sank to the bottom slowly, fighting until the last second so he could make the most of his last glimpse of his mother.

Sometimes he wonders why he could never see the dark shape of her falling through the ocean next to him. He knows that she was there. 

Then he remembers the way his eyes squeezed shut so tightly, like the fear finally wins when the water closes around him.

And if he can’t see it, it must not be there.

Through the windows, he can hear muffled birdsong, not quiet enough for the hour and the pounding in his head.

His vision is still blurry with sleep when he unlocks his phone.

lino&lt;3: i had a dream again tonight

He has to type it three times before the words make sense.

hannie🐿: again?

lino&lt;3: yeah

lino&lt;3: it happens a lot

hannie🐿: do u wanna tell me about it?

Does he? 

lino&lt;3: im in the sea with my mother

lino&lt;3: and we’re drowning

lino&lt;3: and she tells me she loves me

lino&lt;3: and that she’s sorry she made me worthless

lino&lt;3: her last words are the same every time

lino&lt;3: and then we sink underwater

lino&lt;3: i can’t swim

lino&lt;3: i can’t even save my own mother in a dream

hannie🐿: your not worthless

lino&lt;3: *you’re

lino&lt;3: thank you.

hannie🐿: seriously tho ur cool and funny and nice and u have three cats and u teach dance and that’s so amazing!! where would the world be without u?

hannie🐿: also don’t forget that u can talk to me whenever k?

lino&lt;3: my mom’s still alive

There’s a moment where Minho can almost picture the stupid expression on Han’s face right now as he tries to figure out how they got there. He decides to take pity on him.

lino&lt;3: we just live kinda far away from each other 

lino&lt;3: and i tried so hard to make her happy for so long

lino&lt;3: gifted-child curse

lino&lt;3: i got good grades, i’m a talented dancer, i can sing

lino&lt;3: package fucking deal of a child

lino&lt;3: i guess i never grew out of that phase of wanting to be perfect at everything for her

lino&lt;3: oh my god i totally just dropped half of my life story on you

lino&lt;3: i am so so sorry

hannie🐿: honestly its fine i sorta asked

hannie🐿: but u kno u dont have to do shit for ur mom

hannie🐿: u can do shit for u

lino&lt;3: i don’t even know where the hell you came from or how you got into my life

lino&lt;3: but you were definitely a gift

lino&lt;3: maybe good karma from that one time i helped that old lady cross a street

hannie🐿: oh yeah def

Maybe Hyunjin was wrong about Han. Maybe he’s really just a sweet idiot who decided to text his number neighbor one day. What a coincidence.

*~*~*~*

He only has the nightmare once that week, and still, something feels different. It’s something in the way his mother looks at him when she says her final words. Almost apologetic. Like she regrets the words the second they’re in the air. When Minho goes under the water, it cradles him. Almost like it’s protecting him.

Everyone seems to notice the difference. His students smile more, relax into the dances with ease. Hyunjin doesn’t hesitate to approach him, and Chan texts him full rants instead of small messages.

For the first time in months, he isn’t mad at everything and everyone.

For the first time in months, nothing seems to irritate him.

For the first time in months, he finds himself genuinely smiling.

And it feels like freedom.

He still feels Hyunjin’s eyes linger on him when he’s on his phone, but he can’t bring himself to care when he’s talking to Han.

lino&lt;3: seriously though i did not luck out in the neighbor department

lino&lt;3: this fucker has no idea how thin the walls are

hannie🐿: oof

hannie🐿: im pretty sure the walls are okay where i live

hannie🐿: i never hear my neighbors except when the hot one starts banging on the wall to make me shut up

His stomach cramps. A bitter taste floods his mouth, and suddenly he feels queasy. What the hell? Is he sick?

lino&lt;3: hot neighbor, huh?

lino&lt;3: the loud neighbor isn’t actually that bad

Now that he thinks about it, Loud Neighbor is actually pretty cute. Heart-shaped smile, fluffy hair, squirrel cheeks. Warm eyes, even when they were red from the weed.

Minho mentally curses himself. He’s texting Han! Why is he thinking about Cute- uh, Loud Neighbor?

hannie🐿: ooh ur making me jealous

lino&lt;3: you started it

hannie🐿: looks like im not the only jealous one

Jealous?

Oh.

lino&lt;3: no

hannie🐿: u definitely r tho

lino&lt;3: no

lino&lt;3: do you want me to be jealous

hannie🐿:  yeah

lino&lt;3: that’s your problem

hannie🐿: i think ur enjoying this

lino&lt;3: you wish

hannie🐿: never denied that

lino&lt;3: where is your shame

hannie🐿: im only like this cuz u cant see my face

lino&lt;3: i bet its a pretty face though

hannie🐿: sukhfoushflshiofodg

hannie🐿: STOp

hannie🐿: this isnt fair

hannie🐿: u CANR DO THIS TO WM

hannie🐿: FUCK

lino&lt;3: not thinking about hot neighbor now, are we?

Oh shit. Oh holy shit. He’s jealous. He’s really fucking jealous

hannie🐿: see u r jealous

hannie🐿: no denying it now

lino&lt;3: or maybe you’re just obsessed with me

hannie🐿: screenshot.png

lino&lt;3: okay that might have come across as jealous but i swear i wasn’t

hannie🐿: mhm

hannie🐿: tooootally

lino&lt;3: okay bye i have to hang out with my cats

hannie🐿: 🤨

hannie🐿: byeee

Because he can’t lie to Han, he does go and hang out with his cats. Sitting there on the floor, stroking Doongie’s fur while she purrs loudly, he realizes he has no idea what to do now.

He’s fidgety again at work, almost knocking his coffee over when he tries to grab his phone.

“You’re fidgety,” Hyunjin points out, watching Minho cradle his coffee mug in two hands. “You have anything you wanna tell me?”

“No,” Minho says reflexively. Too many years of getting himself into messes by spilling the tea to Hyunjin.

“You’re lying.”

He looks into his cup, watching little clumps of bubbles float around in the swirling liquid.

“Yeah. Hyunjin, I think I have feelings for Han. Like big-time feelings.”

He doesn’t dare look up.

Someone’s arms wrap around him, and before he knows it, he’s sobbing into Hyunjin’s shoulder.

“I know I was harsh on you, Lino, but I just wanted you to be safe. I’m here for you, okay?”

Minho nodded, face still buried in Hyunjin’s now-damp shirt.

“Um.”

“What.”

“This shirt is really expensive…”

Minho groaned, peeling his face off of Hyunjin.

“You and your ridiculously overpriced clothing,” he sighed.

“Hey, Minho?”

“Jesus, Jinnie, what?”

“Love you, dumbass.”

“Love you too, dick brain.”

He manages to go almost the whole day without thinking about Han or Cute Neighbor.

Okay, fine, he does slip up once or twice or maybe like four times. Point is, he doesn’t spend the whole day thinking about Han or Cute Neighbor, which is pretty impressive.

He loses his streak once he gets back to his apartment, which is kinda sad, but how is he not supposed to think about Cute Neighbor when they’re right on the other side of that wall!

hannie🐿: heyyyy

lino&lt;3: hey

hannie🐿: this is super random but like do you wanna call

lino&lt;3: uh 

lino&lt;3: sure?

His hands are trembling so much that he almost drops his phone when it starts to ring.

[incoming call: hannie🐿]

Shit. Shit shit shit. Oh god, why did he agree to this?

His phone rings one more time, and now he has to pick it up, right?

He clicks the button.

“Hello?”

Oh my god. Oh my god, he sounds like a nerd. Is it possible to have a nerdy voice? Why is that hot? 

“Uh- are you there?”

Oh shit, it’s a phone call. He should be talking. 

“Hey,” he croaks. Wait.

“Oh fuck, I promise I’m not a creepy old guy, I just haven’t used my voice in like four hours.”

Han laughs. Even his laugh is cute. Minho is screwed. Minho is so screwed.

“No, honestly, even though your voice was scratchy as hell, uh, it was kinda hot. Uh. I mean, it sounded deep, not. Not, um, old.”

“You think my voice is hot?” The words come out a little harsh, like he’s accusing Han of something. Accusing him of finding him hot. Ha.

“Kinda. Honestly, and I mean honestly, I’m not just trying to make you jealous, you kinda sounded like my hot neighbor for a second there. I mean, y’know, he yells at me all the time. It’s, uh, it’s sorta embarrassing, but the first time I met him I was so high that I took one look at him and went-” Han drops his voice a little, and makes his words run together like they’re melting. “-wooooow. You’re reaaaally fuckin’ hot. What a first impression, huh?”

Minho can’t breathe. He should have seen it coming. He should have seen it coming a mile away. 

He raises a shaking fist, and slams it against the wall as hard as he can.

There’s a muffled thump from Han’s end, then he yells, “What the hell! My neighbor just slammed something against the wa-” 

“He’s probably fucking someone,” Minho says, the words tripping out of his mouth. He pulls the phone away from his ear and listens as Cute Nei- no, Han, continues yelling, the words blended into nonsense through the wall.

Picking up the phone again, he stammers, “Uh- sorry- gotta go- um, cat emergency,” before hanging up without waiting for Han’s response.

His brain is static.

How.

How. 

How?

Coincidence is one thing, but this is incredible. This, this doesn’t happen. How? It’s just not possible.

One thing is for sure: there is absolutely no way he’s coming out of this unscathed.

*~*~*~*~*

next>>>

#yall they're back #im actually so excited for this one <333 #kpop boys #kpop #kpopidol #stray kids #skz #kpop fanfic #hyunjin skz #felix skz #skz fic #kpop au #idol x idol #seungmin #felix #hyunjin #lee yongbok #lee felix #hwang hyunjin #kpop fic #han jisung #skz jisung #lee minho #skz minho #lee know #skz fluff #slow burn #gay idiots #chan skz #food mention

[yourneighborhoodneighbor]

black cat and his kittens ch4

(masterpost to my fics while ao3 is down) AO3

fic under the cut

previous chapter

Black Cat and his

Shouta ran down the hallways of the eerily empty and dark corridors of UA. He could feel a few sore spots were he’d gotten small cuts or bruises would be forming. That didn’t matter. He needed to be in the infirmary yesterday, though not for himself, mind you.

This shouldn’t have happened, he thought bitterly before dispelling the thought. What mattered now were not should or shouldn’t haves. It happened and now all that was left was to deal with it. Logically, in their line of “work”, he knew neither he nor his children, any of them, were ever truly safe. Safer, yes, sometimes, but not safe.

UA had called and assigned them -really just him, but where he went, his children followed- as escorts for one of the first year’s out-of-school excursions. Just another pair of eyes on a bunch of rambacious hero wannabe teenagers who were officially only accompanied by a single teacher, yknow? And it had been just that.

Had been.

The hero museum the class went to was in a not-bad part of town, so there was not much reason for anything bad to happen. Criminals, of course, didn't give a fraction of a shit about that. So of course two random gangs, neither of which “owned” that territory, just had to go and pick a fight in the bloody park.

Shouta had been worried for his children, but not so more than usual. They could handle

themselves. Life had made sure of that. He had made sure of that.

And then some rando thug had gone and fired a shot, distracting his youngest who immediately started frantically looking around to make sure none of family had been hit, giving yet another rando the opportunity to stab him in his half second of inattention. Shouta had been pissed.

In the end he didn’t get to punch the guy, Katsuki had beaten him (metaphorically) to it, much to the detriment of poor man’s (who he’d beaten literally) health.

Things had moved quickly after that. The fight was finished, 1A safely gotten back to UA, he’d taken the time to shower properly. And now he was standing in front of the infirmary. The closed door didn’t deter him. It wouldn’t have, even if it had been locked.

Inside, the first thing he saw were Keigo’s wings. Kinda hard to look past them when they were so big and red. The guy was looking at his children like, well, like a hawk. Next to him was Hizashi, who was in light conversation with Shirakumo. Shouta’s attention was fully on the figures on the beds though.

Shoto, Hitoshi and Katsuki didnt look too bad, with only a few gauzes here and there. In the last bed though, his little troublemaker lay, still as the others but paler than his brothers. Without a shirt on, the bandages around his abdomen were fully on display. The ghost of forming bruises could also be seen. Recovery Girl had deemed the stab wound more important to heal than those.

The others had gone quiet as Shouta entered the room. After a few moments of silence, they decided to give the father some privacy, knowing that the children were safe. On their way out they let the vigilante know they were available for anything, and they meant anything, even if it was a craving for that ramen from all the way in Hosu (I mean it Sho, you just gotta call-).

Alone with his problem children now, he got close to each bed in turn. After inspecting his kids to his satisfaction peace of mind and moving their fringes out of their faces, he grabbed a chair and sat in the middle of the room, facing them all. He let out a yawn. He couldn’t sleep yet though, he knew it wouldn’t be long until-

“Shouta, dear, don’t you dare fall asleep before I’ve checked you over” - Recovery Girl’s voice rang out softly but authoritavely. There she was. Shouta stood up. Better to just get it over with.

He let himself be checked over and healed with a kiss that left him even more exhausted, but due to

his injuries being minimal, fortunately not passed out. After explaining the teenagers health status and giving him instructions to care for themselves (You included Shouta, don’t make me hunt you down-) the grandmotherly woman left the family alone again.

Deciding that despite wanting to stay awake to look over his children it would be more logical to be well rested and in good shape to be able to care for them when they were awake, Shouta let himself fall asleep on one of the beds positioned on the oposite side of the room, facing all his kids at once.

He was awoken some time later by a light rustling of sheets. He sat up to to find that it had been Shouto who’d awoken first. The heterochromatic boy stretched and looked around, first at his sibling then lastly at his dad.

Silently, because he was always silent, Shouta got out of his own bed and sat in Shouto’s, opening his arms in invitation. The teenager didn’t need to be asked twice. He immediately dived right into his dad’s chest, nuzzling into him a bit before settling and just enjoying the embrace. Dad was here. Dad was calm. That meant everything was and would be alright. Izuku was going to be just fine.

The two stayed like for a while until the next kitten woke up. Hitoshi’s naturally wild hair looked even wilder after having just woken up. Like his brother before him, he first looked around the room, at his still sleeping siblings and then at the hugging duo.

He slunk out of his bed and joined in on Shouto’s. The latter shifted over a bit as Shouta opened one of his arms to allow the purple-haired teen to join in on the cuddle pile. Shouta was amused, though not surprised, not anymore after years of knowing his children, to note that the two boys nuzzled each other a bit before settling, falling into a light doze again. The eldest vigilante allowed himself a small smile. His children really were kittens. He wouldn’t change them for the world.

The long haired man was just starting to doze off himself when the most explosive, and also the most protective, of his kittens sat bolt upright in his own bed. His eyes fell on his dad within a second, fractionally relaxing at seeing most of his family safe in one place. After five years of knowing the teen, specially before they had found the youngest member of their made family and seen the effect the green eyed bean had on him, the father knew only one thing would fully calm him down right now.

Breaking eye contact first, Shouta looked over Katsuki’s shoulder, making the boy turn to follow his gaze. On the cot next to his lay a still unconscious Izuku. The second oldest son scrambled to untangle the sheets covering him and get over to his little brother. He took great care in looking the other over, fingers ghosting over pale skin and even moving unruly hair out of a slightly damp forehead with care and gentleness he never showed anybody else. He was the first to break the

silence that had taken residence in the infirmary for the past few hours.

“What the fuck happened to them?” -the blond growled out. The words, while relatively quiet, sounded loud in the still room, waking Shouto and Hitoshi, who had been in a deeper sleep thanks to the safety and comfort being in their dad’s arms provided.

The question wasn’t born of concern. Shouta, being the dad he was, understood what his son meant.

“I took care of the rest. Not a single one of them got away.” - he signed back, seeing as the blond didn’t have his hearing aids on, them having been taken out before he went to sleep. If he had used a bit or a lot more force than necessary while knocking out the thugs, well, no one had to know.

All the residual tension left the spiky haired boy. Izu was fine. His brothers were fine. Dad was fine. The assholes had all been aprehended (and if dad’s gestures were any indication, they had also had the shit beat out of them). That meant that he himself was fucking fine as well.

When the green bean had screamed out, Katsuki had instantly seen red. He wouldn’t let anyone get hurt on his watch again, never again, not after her, his brother wasn’t going to die, Katsuki would save him, he was strong now, thiswasntgoingtobelikewhenhiswaslittleandhisdad-

Good for everyone involved, Keigo had arrived right on time. He’d taken Izu and Katsuki straight to UA, where Chiyo had already been waiting. They had been taken care of and sometime later, after Sho and Toshi had arrived, been put to sleep. Now everyone was fine.

Shouta broke Katsuki out of his thoughts by standing up and approaching Izuku. The others just stared at first, not knowing what their dad was doing. The stood up to help once he picked up Izuku and carried him against his chest and they understood what the man was trying to do. Grabbing Shouto’s capture weapon, which was the cleanest at the moment, they helped their dad securely strap a blissfully passed out Izuku to his chest.

After that was done, Shouta handed out a piece of capture weapon to each of his still standing sons. They grabbed on without hesitation.

While to some it would seem a bit weird or ridiculous to basically hold your teenage sons on a leash, Shouta knew it provided his kids with a sense of security. Reassurance that he was still there, and he wasn’t going anywhere. Honestly, it served as reassurance for himself as well, letting

him make sure he still had his kids safely with him, as long as he felt the slight pull of the glorified scarf.

“Leave your uniforms and the rest of your stuff here. Chizome said he and the others would clean it up for us. Chiyo gave strict instructions to rest, and I don't know about you, but I’d like to keep my head.” - he told the conscious portion of his kits. They were all wearing UA sports uniforms, for lack of other proper clothes at the school once out of their vigilante outfits. The group started making their way to the 1A dorm rooms.

When they got close enough, Hitoshi let out a small whistle.

“We’re staying in the dorms?” - he asked, eyes slightly wide at the sight of the building. UA had installed the dorms recently, making this year the first one of UA as a boarding school. All students had been staying at UA since the beginning of the year. The Kittens, however, hadn’t been to them before.

“Yeah, Chizome is homeroom teacher of this class, so he stays here too. We’re getting one of the empty rooms.” -Shouta said. Almost as an afterthought he added - “Zashi and Kumo are here somewhere with other classes as well. And if I’m not wrong, Kumo has your sun friends in his.”

Though it went unsaid, the kits understood the silent “If you need something...”. They nodded to show they got it.

They got inside the building with a keycard Chizome had left hidden in some plants for them. The place was dark and silent, but that was to be expected at... 3 something in the morning. Quickly looking for the room the teacher had told Shouta had been prepared for them, they slipped inside without the occupants of the building any wiser to the strangers in their temporary home.

After turning on the light, the vigilantes could see an apparent mess of blankets an pillows on the floor. Apparent, because the people it was intended for recognised it as a nest. Hitoshi made a little content sound, letting go of of his leash an falling face first into the soft goodness. Shouto was the next to let go, sitting down more calmly and picking up a note. After reading it and letting out a small smile, he passed it to his dad before lying down and curling up against Hitoshi.

Made you one of my awesome nests that I know you love so much (don’t even try to deny it Cat) -Hawksie :P

Shouta let out a sigh but couldn’t quite suppress a smile. Katsuki snorted next to him at the hero’s note. He helped Shouta unravel Izuku without dropping him (Shouta could do it on his own, he’d done it before, but he’d be damned if he didn’t give his children what they needed, and right now, Katsuki needed to feel he was helping Izuku). He stayed standing while Shouta lay down, his back against Shouto’s and the littlest kit tucked securely into his chest.

Katsuki made sure everyone was settled before turning off the light and going to lay down behind Izuku, snaking one of his arms in between Shouta’s around the sleeping bean’s torso.

There, all cuddling together, with the knowledge that they were all safe and would stay that way, at least for the night, the family of cat themed vigilantes soon fell into a deep slumber, content to be with one another.

The last to succumb was Shouta, who wondered about what morning would bring for his children and the rest of the teenagers in the building.

...

But that was a problem for tomorrow. Right now, his kids were safe with him. That was all he cared to think about.

In minutes, he too, was deeply asleep.

next chapter

#bnha #dadzawa #vigilante izuku #class 1a #aizawa shouta #midoriya izuku #katsuki bakugo #todoroki shoto #shinsou hitoshi #fanfiction #my fics #yourneighborhoodneighbor

[therealityhelix]

By Talos, This Can’t be Happening pt 10

Time for another Tamriel Tuesday! I want to say that one of Helix’s primary attributes in the ES world is Luck...but what kind of luck exactly? This is the chapter where some of you might figure out just what is really in store for our ‘heroes’, if you haven’t already. Neglected things are settled. Also Gotham City is in New Jersey, fight me.

Rated PG13 for: Blood, violence, sexual situations, bad puns, and other poor life choices.

@cardwrecks @captainbaddecisions

   ?~?~?~?~?

“This is ridiculous!” Helix snarled. She was seated on a bench next to Swag, in what served as the prison interrogation area, surrounded by heavily armed and armored guards. They'd been dragged in as soon as the old womans house had been checked, revealing an unfortunately freshly dead man. The poor lady had been so distraught she hadn't even been coherent; currently, everyone was waiting on her to calm down enough to describe what she'd seen.

“Stay seated.” a guard commanded.

There had been a discussion, upon bringing them in, as to whether Helixs' hands should be fully bound so she couldn't cast. She had not been amused at all, and was still riled.

“Literally just passing by!” she hissed through clenched teeth. “Completely clean! Not a speck on clothes or weapons! No evidence whatsoever!”

“And you are a mage.” Another guard countered. She growled in frustration, an angry sound Swag rarely heard from her.

“We told you about the other guy.” he said, irritated.

“You've been here less than a week, and already you have brought a dangerous monster right up to the city gates, been imprisoned for disorderly conduct, investigated for theft of imperial goods, and involved in two other deaths!” the head guard, one Carius Runellius, exclaimed. “I'm getting tired of looking at you!”

“Tangentially.” Swag clicked out each syllable like a bullet in its chamber. “And we could get outta your sight real fast, if you weren't holding us for no reason.”

“Sir.” One of the interrogators poked his head in from an adjacent room. “Erline has calmed down a bit. She says it was Raynil Dralas in her house, not these two.”

“The vampire hunter?” Carius scoffed.

“Vampires?” Swag asked. He glanced over at Helix. “Vampires???”

Her tightly pressed lips and deep breath in and out through the nose were answer enough.

Vampires. There were vampires too. This world sucked.

Pun fucking intended.

The old woman, Erline, tried to shove into the room.

“Yes, it was Dralas, not these young people! I saw him! Standing there, with his bloody sword!”

She dropped her face into her hands.

“It's terrible! Oh, it's terrible! But it wasn't them, it was that elf!”

“Dralas...does that mean...Bradon was a vampire?” Carius mused.

“What?” Erline exclaimed. “Of course not! How could you even say that?”

“Now that I think of it...He never came out during the day, did he?” a second guard mentioned.

“He was a street cleaner!” the old woman shot back. “Of course he worked at night! Have you all gone mad?”

“Keep calm, ma'am.” the interrogator said.

“But he wasn't a vampire! That's crazy! You all knew him!” she cried, as the interrogator led her away.

Carius let out a sound between a sigh and a groan.

“Worst week since my promotion.” he griped.

“Are we free to go?” Helix asked.

“Yes.” he said, exasperation deep in his voice, then he leaned in close to Swag. “Bit of advice. Get out of here before you are implicated in anything else.”

So there was the ultimatum. Fine.

“Yeah, I hear ya.” Swag murmured back. He stood and offered Helix his hand. “Ready to go, babe?”

“Beyond.” she said harshly, taking the proffered hand, and swanning through the gathered guardsmen like a miffed princess.

“We got enough supplies to skip town?” he asked.

“Are we being run out?”

“Straight up.”

“Then yes.”

They left the city behind right then and there, heading west. Swag's gaze on a swivel in search of enemies.

“So, you've gotta visit every city in this whole country?” he asked.

“Every city that has a guild, yeah. Not all of them do, but there's like...eight? I think? Big ones, if I read the map in the Bruma guild right. Already got that recommendation, and I know at least she'll be punctual about sending my name in. She wants her name to be seen by the archmage as much as possible, so any reason to send him something, she's gonna take.”

“Blacksmith back there suggested I go to a town called Chorrol for some armor. Is that one of them?”

“Yeah, it's further west. If we follow this road, we'll eventually get there. When we do, we should probably get ourselves an actual map.”

“And maybe another weapon.” he suggested. “We've only got my dagger, and you could probably use that hatchet if you had to, but maybe...” He stopped in the road, squinting into the forest. “I mean, there's a whole lotta trees out there. There's gotta be a stick or something I can swing. I still know how.”

“We'll keep an eye out.”

The road was sparsely populated, but not empty; occasional travelers, pairs and trios wandered by on their way to Bruma, carts and horses. Helix left the road to avoid these, her childhood fear of horses, and his inability to ride one effectively cutting off that mode of travel.

Though Helix had sold or traded most of her plants, she was right back to collecting them, clipping bundles of lavender, spiky thistle heads, assorted fungus-with the gloves he'd taken from the waystation she was able to gather a wider variety-and spikes of silvery mugwort.

Soon she would be festooned with them once again, like a walking shrubbery, and he had to tug her back onto the road before she traipsed off further into the forest several times. It was like her own personal compulsion.

Early evening brought them across a quiet farmstead, disturbingly empty. A small, prominent graveyard stood out front. Though Swag could just guess where the occupants had gone, the garden still stood, wilting without care, and a few stringy-looking chickens scurried about. The farmhouse looked like it had simply been abandoned, everything tidy, and only a little dusty.

“Sooo, this is creepy, right? I'm not the only one who thinks this is creepy.” he asked.

“It is, but...it's also not as uncommon as you might think. These hardscrabble farmsteads were pretty common all across the landscape back home. Sometimes, some catastrophe destroys a family, or their ability to keep up the farm, and it leaves an open space. A few weeks, months, someone else will move in and try again. It's part of the lifestyle.”

“We aren't staying. We're staying?”

“There is no one here. The farm isn't being cared for, you can tell from the state of the plants. The family wasn't killed by animals or monsters, or there wouldn't have been anything to bury, and likely not by bandits either, or they wouldn't have been buried at all. We'll stay for the night, and move on in the morning. Not long enough to piss off any lingering spirits.”

“Did you really have to mention that last part?”

“Don't worry about it. Will you harvest those potatoes? I'm going to take care of something else.”

“Sure. Uh...which ones are the potatoes?”

She looked about to say something sarcastic, but he just shrugged, hands up.

“Gotham City, New Jersey. My whole life.”

She nodded, then stalked into the yard.

“Check it out.” she said, grabbing a wicked looking trident implement. Pointing out exactly which plants she was talking about, she thrust the tines of the giant fork into the soil at the base of one of the plants, and lifted a whole bundle of little potatoes out of the dirt.

“Well goddamn. So that's how it works. Okay yeah, I can do that. You want me to do all'a these?”

“Please. Anything we don't use tonight can come with us.” she pointed to another row of plants. “Radishes. If you want them, grab the leaf bundle at the base and pull real hard. And I want at least one of those cabbages. Grab in both hands and twist like you're ripping someone's head off.”

“Damn, farming is brutal.”

“You're not wrong. Well's right over there; make sure everything gets nice and clean.”

She disappeared around the house while he stabbed at the ground with the garden fork. It was hard work, but of course it was, it was fucking farming. Looking at his big pile of potatoes, long white radishes, and pretty green cabbage made him inordinately proud though. Salt of the earth, he was. A survivor. Accomplished. T'aint much, but it's honest work.

Helix returned back from around the farmhouse, three plucked and cleaned chickens dangling from her hand.

His stomach wobbled. Okay nevermind. His country girl was always gonna be a little tougher. Looked like the hatchet had already come in handy.

Two of the chickens were hung over a low, smokey fire, in a tent-like structure, and the third went into the cooking pot inside the farmhouse, along with some potatoes, cabbage, and a few other things Helix found in the pantry.

She began making a new batch of bread, one that wouldn't be ruined by a leaking bottle, and Swag picked over the small collection of books he'd discovered near the fireplace. Most of them had evocative, pulp novel names, like; The Death Blow of Abernanit, The Horrors of Castle Xyr, and The Lusty Argonian Maid. But Azura and the Box caught his attention.

He pulled the book and snagged a chair. Helix stayed near the fire as well, clipping and cleaning her nails. She kept hers short since she did so much with her hands, though she usually also kept them painted. She'd been flaking the lacquer off as they walked however, and now her nails and lips were bare, and he could see the naked color beneath.

She was, like him, an artificially colorful creature, and yet, without it all, the firelight still painted her with hues unseen by any other than himself. In the flickering light, the slates of her eyes became nearly black, the light scattering off white hairs stood out against the chocolate brown like shining silver filaments. The rose of her skin bloomed into gold and amber, and it was challenging to concentrate on the storyline of the book, apparently told from a Dwemer's point of view.

Markarth, the Dwemer city. What did that mean? He'd probably better learn.

“What's going to happen to the club?” Helix asked abruptly.

“Hm? Oh, don't worry, it'll be fine. There's contingencies. There was always the possibility that I'd drop off the map sometime, so I automated a lot of things. The second night I didn't enter the right code, an email will have been sent out to all the employees, and Nina and Deirdre too. They'll take care of things. Might launch an investigation too, not that it'll get them anywhere in this case. Um...what about Maddy?”

Helix's daughter was an amazingly self-sufficient kid, but even she would have limits. Swag liked her well enough, though she wasn't his, and had never tried to be. She knew who her father was, even if no one else did, and she didn't need any others.

“With her father. That's part of what we agreed on. Three days gone, she lets Narci know, and she goes to him. Her father and I set it up, so he'll know something has happened. But he also knows Narci will take care of the home, so he's unlikely to show up. She might go visit some of her 'big brothers' and 'uncles' too. Word of our disappearance has probably already traveled. Is U.S. gonna be okay?”

Swag snorted.

“No. He's probably glued himself to the girls, terrified he'll be next to disappear. It's all right, they can handle him. They always could. He'll be fine eventually.”

“Everything back home is gonna be okay.”

“Yup.”

They had to believe it. They had to believe that everyone involved would do what they were supposed to; that Narci wouldn't panic, that Madeline-reaching her preteen years-wouldn't rebel, that Unswag wouldn't regress. They had to trust in the systems they put into place, legacies they had set up for when they were gone.

They had to believe, as they lived out this domestic scene in a dead families house, that their own homes weren't burning down.

The chicken soup was delicious, filled with spices and Helix's mysterious plants, and the book contained an interesting idea. While it was dangerous and inadvisable to do so, the gods could be fooled. That was something to tuck away for later.

Since there was fire, and a well, and the proper basins for it, they washed their clothes again, and Swag took some time to take care of their leather items. Years of Italian shoes and quality gloves had taught him the ins and outs, though Helix's gifted girdle was very dry and cracked, which was probably why it had been left behind in the first place. It would need to be replaced eventually. In Chorrol, they could sell the parts of their treasure that wasn't already money, and take care of their less immediate needs.

He could scrub himself with soap now! Wash his hair! Collapse into the bed-finally a real bed-smelling softly of olive oil and bay leaves, press his face against her skin, also scented with sweet laurel. Wallow in these small comforts.

Helix wound around him, soft and warm, nibbled at his throat, and he shivered. He really wanted to follow this course of action, but...

This was a dead persons bed.

He wasn't superstitious. None of his 'kind' were. They knew the undead existed. They'd seen them. They were them. Helix had adopted one, in order to keep them all safe. Haunting was a clear and present possibility.

Also, it just seemed kinda...rude.

Instead, he cuddled close, rubbing his fingers into her scalp until she relaxed into his embrace and dozed off.

                                                                         ?~?~?~?~?

#sartorial sorcery #shards of the nexus #Swag!Riddler #Riddler Family #elder scrolls

[luimagines]

hewwo :)

may i please have colours splitting and gushing over the reader in a pining way u_u

- bestie anon

Yes, you may! Thank you for asking so nicely.

Masterlist

Content under the cut!

It was cold and dark and Four was supposed to be next on watch but he couldn’t sleep. His sides itched, his head hurt and he felt hot and cold all over. The world was spinning even if he was lying down and he was having trouble putting his thoughts together in a cohesive manner. 

He worried that he was sick but he knew what the actual problem. Or rather- he knew what the solution was to this issue.

He groaned and sat up. His head kept spinning even as he reached for his sword.

“Four?” Your voice rang out. He turned to look at you but regretted it almost instantly.

“Are you ok?” You were by his side in seconds. “Do you need help?”

“Get me up.” He groans and you don’t hesitate to to do as he asks.

You both hobble over to the tree line, far from the group. He pushes you away. You protest. He doesn’t let you before he dry heaves into the tree roots. You whine and step away, giving him the needed space.

“Go back to watch the others.” Four coughs out. “I just need a moment.”

“Four- Link-”

“I think I just ate something bad.” The boy turns his head, trying to  smile in your direction but his lose of perception makes it harder than it should be. “I just need a moment.”

“...Ok... If you say so... I’ll be waiting for you to come back, ok?”

“Awesome. Thanks.” Four nods and moves away from the tree, further into the darkness, and away from ear shot.

He finds a small clearing and steadies his stance. With practiced movements he raises his sword above his head and closes his eyes. Bright light covers the immediate area and the pressure in his whole body lessens.

Soon, there are four of him standing side by side, and he can breathe properly again.

“Oh thank god!” Blue groans, louder than he should have and collapses on the ground, throwing himself backwards. “I didn’t think we were going to make it. That was awful. Let’s never do that again.”

“Agree.” Vio takes a deep breath and slowing sits himself on the ground. A hand comes up to his temple to rub small circles there. He looks pained. “I feel like my head is still spinning. But we can’t stay like this for long. We unfortunately had a witness.”

“But they’re so nice.” Red rubs his arms up and down against each other. His nose and cheeks are a bit rosey. The poor boy is colder than he would like to be it seems. “Besides, we made them worry. Let’s just fix ourselves and try to get back.”

“Yeah, that sounds like the best course of action.” Green groans as well, leaning against the tree for support. He’s a bit hotter than he’d like to admit but that can be fixed by simple removing some of his layers. He’s more worried about the others and their problems.

Not to mention that he wants to get back to you as soon as possible. You looked so worried about him.

Blue takes deep and long breaths before he rolls over on his side. “I feel like I’m going to vomit.”

Vio looks up and looks at everyone. “We’re sick.”

“No kidding.”

“You don’t say.”

Red whines.

Vio scoffs and shakes his head. “Not being honest with ourselves is what typically leads us to this mess time and time again. Why don’t we tell them? I don’t know how long we can keep hiding it for.”

“No.” Green shucks his shirt off, tired of the over heating. “They do enough for us. I don’t want to see another worry pool in those pretty little eyes of their again.”

“Their eyes sure are pretty.” Red smiles, sitting down at last. “Like the purest gemstones I’ve ever seen. Literally crystal clear.”

Blue smiles and he lifts his arm to prop himself up ever so slightly. “Or when they blush. Isn’t it the best thing you’ve ever seen?”

“Obviously. But I’m like their laugh more. I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone laugh with restraint before. Like they’re holding back. I think we have to somehow break them. I want to see them laugh fully and without any control over it.” Green smirks. “I’ve been thinking about how to do it.”

“Let me know when you have your plan.” Red chuckles. “I’ll help with that.”

“Great!”

“I doubt you’ve ever paid attention to the little faces they make when they’re concentrating though.” Vio smiles.

Red beams and jumps in place. “Oh, when their tongue sticks out. It’s the cutest! I love it!”

Vio snorts even as he flinches. His head is still bothering him. “Yes, that’s exactly what I was talking about. Glad to know we’re on the same page.”

Green laughs a bit and takes his headband off too for good measure. “Or how they wave their hands around like one of puppets from the town square when they’re telling a good story?”

“It is rather amusing.”

Blue sighs and curls up tighter. “I don’t think I’m going to be able to merge back anytime soon. This is really bad.”

“You want to vomit?”

“I don’t want to but I do feel like I’m going to huck something up.” Blue groans again and swallows audibly.

Red frowns and places his cheek in his fist. “We could ask for their help.”

“No.”

“They’re already awake. They already know we’re in bad shape.” Red continues. “Besides, they’re caring. They care about us.”

Green blows out a razzberry. “More than they should, I say.”

Silence.

“They’re going to do it anyway,,. aren’t they?”

“Yup.”

“Most likely.”

“Without a doubt.”

“Then we tell them we’re sick and nothing else.” Green fans himself with his hand and wipe the back of his wrist against his forehead. He’s still warm. But he’s beginning to cool. He suspects it’s the sweat that’s collecting by his hair line.

“I want to hold their hand.” Red says after a beat. “Do you think they’ll play with our hair?”

“If we ask or in general?”

“Would it be weird if we asked?”

“Screw it. If it was anyone else, yes.” Blue sits up and reaches for the abandoned sword by his side. “But I think we can afford our selves a few luxuries and save ourselves a bit of embarrassment if we let them take care of us.”

“That sounds heavenly.” Vio smiles wider. “I don’t mind that one bit.”

“Green?”

Green pauses, already feeling better than the others before him. “They’re going to ask us what happened to us.”

“We tell them we’re sick. No questions asked.” Vio shrugs. “It’s not a lie.”

“We’re keeping secrets.” Green frowns.

“Everyone is keeping secrets.”

“But they deserve to know this isn't any normal illness.”

“With time.” Red says patiently. “You’re right but not here and not like this.”

Blue sits up fully and moves to stand. “I’m not 100% back but if we’re agreeing on this then we’re going to have to head back to camp. And get our little mini mouse to make sure he don’t pitch ourselves into the nearest tree.”

Green follows suit, if only to make sure Blue doesn’t fall over from the way he’s crouched over himself. He holds his sword out, helping Bleu to do the same and other two don’t waste time.

“On three.”

“Four.”

“Five.”

“Why are we like this?”

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #linked universe x reader #lu four #more color content