#if this doesn’t format correctly i will cry i think

[goosessideblog]

unwellness stimboard

#cipherspeaks #gif warning #inanimate insanity #inanimate insanity invitational #ii mephone4s #ii 18 #if this doesn’t format correctly i will cry i think

[realtylong]

Ffmpegx final cut pro

FFMPEGX FINAL CUT PRO INSTALL

FFMPEGX FINAL CUT PRO PORTABLE

FFMPEGX FINAL CUT PRO PC

FFMPEGX FINAL CUT PRO WINDOWS

For example, they both ship decoders for DV, various RLE flavors, and raw video with their operating systems. Don't use any of these, preferably ever.īoth companies also have their own implementations of standard codecs. Apple has 8BPS, Animation, Sorenson 3, and a few others I can't remember. MS has Video 1 (MSVC), MS-MPEG4v2-3, WMV7-9, and VC1. MS and Apple have both released proprietary codecs. Is it just MS pushing a particular format, or is it MS and Apple both? I know its hard to imagine DV not spanning across platforms however, that is certainly the case.

FFMPEGX FINAL CUT PRO WINDOWS

Nevertheless, I imagine if windows can play a video "straight out of the box" it will be able to edit it with any app that is installed thus I have made that my basis or goal. I have no idea if most editing apps are quicktime based. Well, I have tried to make a point of my problem involving editing but I may have been unclear, besides which, most attempts have not played correctly in any event, so that may have tended me to not specify enough. And I imagine that as long as MS is pushing their own formats, it won't ever exist. If you're looking for one format to rule them all, it just doesn't exist.

FFMPEGX FINAL CUT PRO PORTABLE

Regardless, a machine with an editing app on it would be a far cry from "straight out of the box" and I can't imagine one that doesn't come with support for the DV codec in an avi as daishi suggested.Īlso, are all these people bringing in portable HDs as well? How exactly are they getting this DV footage (or God forbid uncompressed) back home?

FFMPEGX FINAL CUT PRO PC

Correct me if I'm wrong, but aren't most (certainly not all, but most) PC editing apps QT based anyway, and therefore already have QT? I haven't used a PC for video in awhile so that may have changed. I think most of the original advice assumed you were just trying to play the files on each platform, not edit.

FFMPEGX FINAL CUT PRO INSTALL

Most people would say "just install quicktime" or other sidesteps, I've gotten to the point where now I just want to find something as generic as possible for myself. As I said before most people would say "just install quicktime" or other sidesteps, but that always seemed to me to be avoiding the issue. I've talked to a number of people since I exhausted general google searches and I never have gotten much of an answer. I have a number of other duties I have to take care of and I really don't have time to teach each person what a codec is, what to install, and all the minutia.īeing naive I thought there was going to be a very simple, very common format I could tell everyone to use, and write instructions for, a cross-platform format. No harm there, but a very healthy portion of these people, despite wanting to edit video, do not have the same general knowledge base I have to figure out what codecs needs be installed and so on. More often than not these students also have adobe premiere or some such program on their windows computer at home and would prefere to edit there. and they want to put some film into a digital format. However, a number of students frequently come in to use the machine because they don't have a vcr or av switch etc. For my own part, using various codecs on various os's isn't a big deal. care to explain your situation? Sure, I work in a university general lab doing various odd jobs one of which is managing an iMac used for audio/video editing. I don't understand a situation where one would need to be editing-capable, but yet limited to what os has. Just find some dv vfw codec and install on windows machine. Bidaum, yes, os's don't pack a lot of when it comes to video, so you'll probably have to back up on your original request.

#Ffmpegx final cut pro

[burnedbyshoto]

i wonder

i wonder (if you remember the way we looked at each other)

— Living as roommates with your best friend is easy until someone fucks up and catches feelings.

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pairing: todoroki shouto x fem!reader

warnings: 18+, smut fem!reader, and they were roommates, childhood friends!au, university!au, quirkless!au, modern!au, americanized university experience, alcohol consumption, drug consumption, the plot is for the sex AHA, womanizer!shouto, shouto and reader are bad roommates but seiji is worse, shouto has sex at 16 for the first time, vouyerism-ish, iffy shouto tendencies, jealous!shouto, jealous!reader, drunk sex so dubcon depending on you, nipplegasms, reader has nipple piercings, blowjob, switching, marking, biting, scratching, praise kink, missing tag ;)

word count: 20,141

a/n: this is for the roommates bnharem collab! please check out all the other amazing fics and art! note to self, dont get drunk the night before this is due and I hope you guys enjoy this!!! I had a lot of fun writing it!!! also,,, sorry if mobile doesn’t correctly format!

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You cracked your eyes open.

The gentle white stream of light permeated through soft cotton curtains, lighting the room in pale stripes and careful touches. Dust particles danced within the shining light, bending and twirling with the flowing air and moving winds. You breathed in deeply, your body still tired, your head still foggy from a night of distractions and too many drinks. 

Your eyes are closed once again, your still hazy mind trying to ignore the bitter, rank taste of the alcohol and cum on your tongue and your hands scratching as your naked cleavage. There was still enough time in the day; it was Sunday after—

Wait.

CUM?!

Your eyes flew open, your lips smacking each other as you confirm the awful, salty taste of cum on your tongue. Your hands swiping up and down your front to confirm your state of undress. Your heart starts hammering in your chest, your palms immediately sweating as you try to think about just who the fuck you ended up back in bed with.

Think, y/n, think!

A small grunt came from behind you, and you felt your entire body go rigid immediately. The soft expel of air fanning against your sticky neck is both welcomed and untrusted. With what can only be described as you, as stiff as a stick, peering behind your shoulder similar to a mother who definitely heard her child throw up on her bed but is somehow praying that she was hearing shit, you turned around.

A messy bedhead of red and white greeted you: unfocused, sleepy grey, and brilliant blue eyes staring back at you with fond familiarity and welcome.

“‘Morning, y/n,” Todoroki Shouto grumbles, voice husky, scratchy, deeply warm from his slumber. His next words are damning, though, the slight pride and knowing implications in the small breathe he uttered next. “Had fun last night?”

There was silence, a stroke of hesitancy, then crushing all-consuming fear.

You screamed.

At the top of your lungs.

O N E  W E E K  A N D  A  D A Y  E A R L I E R

“Who the fuck touched my fucking Angry Orchard Rosés?!” a voice snapped from the kitchen; the tone was fed up, seconds from blasting to smithereens.

You were in the living room, a pair of sweats on, your hair not put together, your face still bare. The music you played as part of your pregame ritual was practically vibrating the wooden floor as you sang along to your music. The telling glass bottle of deliciously pink alcohol swinging inconspicuously between your fingers as you drank it between verses. Despite your other roommate (who you repeatedly told your friends to be ‘like Bakugou but a gazillion times worse because you don’t and can’t like him,’) being seconds from trying to start another feud or possibly a lawsuit against you, your mouth dropped in mock shock before guzzling down the rest of the drink.

“I saw that you fucking skank!” Shishikura Seiji screeched from the kitchen; his stomps were long and heavy as he made his way from the kitchen to the living room where you were. “There were two bottles left in there! Don’t tell me your alcoholic ass drank them both! So help me, I’ll press on your damn chest until you’re puking out my drink.”

“Shishikura, stop,” Shouto spoke up, his own arm raising as he took a long, slow drink from the other missing rosé bottle. “These are 2% alcohol, you’ve had them in the fridge for months now, and you never drink them anyways.”

You grinned as you pulled the glass bottle from your lip, your face failing at the fake look of surprise, guilt, and sorrow for your unwanted and unneeded roommate.

“Sorry, they’re such girly drinks. I figured I’d take them off your hands,” you speak with distractingly bright amusement. “Alcoholics like me, we don’t care. Watch out; I might go for your mouth wash if you’re not too careful.”

“You do that, and I’ll poison you like a damn bitch,” Shishikura threatened, his voice in a menacing growl.

“Ooooo, you want me to bark for you, Shishikura? Want me on my hands and knees?” you taunt back, walking backward until you’re collapsing onto the couch besides Shouto. Your arm quickly sneaks between his, and you lay your head on his shoulder. Shishikura’s face is flushed red, his pupils beady as he trembles with concealed rage.

“She’s quite good at it,” Shouto chimes in, the corner of his mouth twitching into an amused smirk as he takes another drink of the weak liquor. He shifts on the couch, allowing you to curl more comfortably at his side; the both of you know just how much your incredibly prude roommate hates any sort of PDA. “Want to hear her bark? She’s also quite good with her tongue.”

As if to emphasize Shouto’s point, you stuck out your tongue, refusing to break eye contact with Shishikura as the tip of your tongue breached the opening of the bottle.

“The actual fuck is wrong with the both of you?!” Shishikura spluttered, his face somehow turning purple and green and red. A truly incredible sight to be had. “‘Childhood friends are great roommates to have’ my fucking ass, you both are monstrosities!”

Shishikura stormed out of the living room, his ears neon red as his purple hair fell to cover his face. As soon as he was out of sight, you turned to Shouto, your tongue removing itself from the bottle and back into your mouth as you began to laugh loudly.

Childhood friends to roommates, ah, what a remarkable story you had with Todoroki Shouto.

It was accurate to relay that you had known Shouto for more than seventeen years now at your current age of twenty-one. Seventeen years of being what is easily seen as the best of friends, the closest companions, and indeed a bond that would withstand time and situation. 

The two of you met during the first week of what was preschool. Although both of you could not remember a single instance of events during this time, your mothers had always been excited to relay this story to you for many years that you could remember. It was odd to try to remember it, but even as they painted a picture of your first interaction, you could do nothing but admit that it sounded exactly like how it could have gone. 

You couldn’t remember being four years old; you don’t recall what it was like to strain your neck to look up at your parents or how it felt to be so utterly dependent but to scream brazenly about your childish independence. Your mother smiles when she retells the story of your first interaction, of how you were holding her hand as she walked you to the building where your preschool was to be had. 

Your hand was so small in hers. Tightly clutching onto her fingers as you looked around at the other children who were also arriving or had already arrived. Some children were bawling by their parents, others aimlessly playing with toys, and some were attempting to talk to one another, but by the apparent looks of curiosity surrounding the babbling and rambling tangents that could only be understood by a firing toddler brain, everyone was getting along. 

A teacher greeted you kindly, squatting down to reach your eye level as they excitedly introduced themselves and asked for your name. You, of course, with your hands clutching the skirts of your mother’s dress, responded with hesitant confidence.

“You’re such a brave girl!” the teacher awed happily, stretching out a hand for you. “Is it okay if I take you from your mom and show you which cubby is yours?”

There was a moment of confusion, then clear understanding hovering over your little head. Your mom looked down with an encouraging smile and pushed you forward.

“Do I get a middle cubby? I don’t want a top one,” you admit, your hand stretching out to grab the teacher’s stretched-out hand. 

Your mother watched on happily as you removed your schoolbag and lunchpail and placed them neatly within the somehow middle cubby marked with your name. The teacher also helped you put on your white school slippers before gesturing towards the bright, colorful room, their mouth moving as if explaining every little detail before pointing at the corner. Your mother tilted her head, curious as she followed the teachers point to the corner of the room where a boy with exceptional red and white hair — split perfectly in the middle — sat quietly, with fat tears rolling down his cheeks.

(Shouto, although he can not remember this day himself, will argue with you and only you that he was, in fact, NOT crying.)

Trying to not allow the shock of the unnatural hair color affect her, your mother watched as you nodded to your new teacher and walked over with clenched fist confidence to the small boy.

She watched as you approached him, your jaw moving as you so obviously spoke, hopefully introducing yourself. The boy looked up at you with bright, wet eyes but seemed to speak right back to you. 

“Alright, parents! Thank you all for dropping off your children! Do not worry. We will take great care of them all, and they are in competent hands! First days are hard for everyone, so if you can exit quietly, I, and the rest of us teachers, would appreciate that greatly!”

Or at least that’s what Rei claimed the teacher said.  However, your mother was watching on with increasing exponential horror as she watched you throw a punch at the air before twisting around and pointing right at her and saying with a voice that was much too loud.

“Punch whoever made you cry, Shouto-chan! My mama says that it is okay to punch bullies!”

Thankfully no one but your mother heard you, and even though she scolded you on the way out, whisper yelling that you “better not punch anyone!” her relief was for naught.

When she would return in the afternoon, a bit late because there had been a hold up on the train, you were pouting sitting on the floor with a scuffled uniform, your arms crossed definitely. Next to you was the boy with red and white hair, equally scuffed next to a white-haired woman and an older white-haired boy.

“Oh my god, what happened?!” she shrieked, racing over to you.

“Y/l/n-san,” the teacher spoke with a tone that indicated disappointment with the subtle undertone of amusement. “Y/n-chan has something to tell you.”

Your mother had taught you many things, she will admit, in your very short life. But sass and annoyment was something not often seen in your household or in you, and to see it so blatantly on your chubby-cheeked face was quickly giving your mother greys.

“Shouto-chan told me that his stupid bully brother Touya was being a meanie, and so I helped him punch him back!” you said with tears in your eyes because you didn’t want to back down from your actions, but you also did not like being scolded. “I don’t regret it!”

“Y/n!”

“Y/n-chan!”

“I don’t either,” Shouto-chan grumbled as your mother collapsed to her knees and began to profusely apologize for you to the woman who was undoubtedly Shouto’s mother. “Touya-nii was making fun of my hair again… y/n-chan helped me, though. Please don’t scold her!”

To say the most in the shortest amount of time, you were, in fact, scolded despite Shouto’s begging. Touya stopped making fun of Shouto’s natural hair. Rei accepted your mother’s apology. The teachers were given two bottles of sake.

And, of course, the most important, the most paramount thing to arise from this first day of school was that your and Todoroki Shouto’s friendship was now bound by blood, sweat, and tears.

Preschool became elementary school, which became middle school, and fading into highschool.

It was without saying that your relationship, your friendship with Todoroki Shouto, was probably one of the biggest, most defining parts of your entire life. He was there when your first tooth fell out, when he dropped ice cubes down people’s shirts, you two had bathed together when you were young, had sleepovers well past the age where him being a boy and you being a girl should have made things weird. You laughed when his voice cracked and dropped, he elbowed your chest plenty when you began growing boobs, you taunted his lack of body hair, he bought you your favorite ice cream and heating packs on your first period. You attended cram school together, went to the park and beaches on days off from school. You were partners in every school activity except under specific circumstances. He had listened to you when you told him excitedly about your first kiss when you turned fourteen, and you laughed when he said at the age of fifteen that he had still yet to kiss anyone.

Everyone always claimed, always asked, wondered, and whispered if the two of you were dating. Childhood friends still this close and not dating? Unheard of; practically illegal! Nevertheless, you ignored the disappointed frowns or the hopeful grins as you and Shouto both denied any sort of romantic connection.

Soon the both of you were in high school, and Shouto was mere days from turning sixteen. Much like when the both of you were when you were four years old, you seemed to be the one spouting many words — sometimes unnecessary words that wound you both up in trouble — of wisdom. You were loud when you needed, talking most of the time only to him and your surprisingly large group of friends. (You weren’t that surprised. Everyone wanted to be friends with the handsome, could easily be royalty or a model, Todoroki Shouto.) Shouto remained, for better or worse, quiet, reserved, and a bit awkward. He was a sweet boy, don’t get it wrong, and you would protect him until the end of your days, but the boy was a complete airhead and relied on you for interpreting social interactions.

“Camie-senpai wants me to go over to her house after my birthday,” Shouto explains, his hands exchanging his school shoes for his outdoor ones. “Something about wanting to do that one second-year first-year student project thing for the third years right away.”

“You have Camie?” you ask, slumping against the metal lockers with a slight thud. “Lucky, she’s so nice… I have stupid Agoyamato. Have you had a conversation with him? It’s actually the worst! He thinks he’s all that!”

“I’m sure it’ll be okay; you’re nice enough that he won’t be like… that,” Shouto smiles, slinging his bag on his shoulders before nudging his head towards the exit. “Ready?”

“Am I ever ready?” you ask with a whine but nevertheless proceed onward.

Time passed, and between cram school, actual school, some clubs, eventually January 11th passed and you held an ice cream cake that Shouto loved. You ate the cake together, relaxing as you sat in the warmth of his kitchen.

“Happy birthday, Shoucchan, never change!” you chirp, shoving his arm that rose to place the piece of cake in his mouth with your shoulder and watched as the sweet pastry splattered on top of the table. “...um?”

“I’ll give you ten seconds to run.”

“Only ten?! What about the happy birthday boy.”

“Oh, true. Three seconds to run.”

“Why?!”

“It’s my birthday.”

An hour later, when your stomach hurt from laughing too much and the sickly sweet weight of too much ice cream cake, you lay snuggled into Shouto’s side as the both of you watched some old movie.

“Thanks for always being here for me,” you mumble, eyes growing heavy as the heat of Shouto’s body began to lull you to sleep.

“I’m always here for you,” Shouto softly responded, hand gliding up and down the curve of your spine. “We should get you home. Your mom yelled and nearly skinned us both the last time you fell asleep here.”

“Only cuz she’s scared that we’ll have some sudden revelation we like each other and fuck each other’s brains out,” you groaned, absolutely not content with having to move. With your face buried in your hands now, you missed the weird pattern in Shouto’s chest over that.

“Come on, let’s go.”

“...fine, just because it’s your birthday.”

The next day, when Shouto followed Camie home instead of you, there was something that made you feel off as you waved at them goodbye. It wasn’t jealousy, that much you knew, but something worse when you watched the way your never-been-kissed-before best friend was ignorant to the dark eyes Camie sent his way.

To be quite honest, you’re not sure if you should be as surprised as you are when you get a phone call at ten p.m. to the sound of a confused, suppressed, overwhelmed voice of your best friend asking if you could confirm if Camie had fucked him. You then stayed on the phone for Shouto until well past two a.m., your heart hurting as he recounted the memory over and over again. You weren’t sure as to why your heart was breaking. By the sounds of it, Shouto had actually enjoyed it, but with every stammer to his voice, you felt lightyears away.

Most shockingly, however, was the effects this had on Shouto and his overall persona.

From ages four until fifteen, Todoroki Shouto was someone who was quiet, observant, took things a bit too literally, at all times was entirely precious in the way he interacted with people, and most importantly, unaware of the female population who lusted after him. It worked well for you because it was fun to tease him about things, nag him about how he was sixteen, and hadn’t been kissed even though if he asked any girl at school to kiss him, they definitely would. 

But sixteen-year-old Todoroki Shouto was a new shift, a new paradigm for you to learn. It wasn’t that he wasn’t confident before, but now he emitted a sense of confidence that he was aware of, that everyone was aware of. He became mature, sophisticated, styled even. He was still at times quiet, always completely observant. He rarely took things literally and understood rhetoric and sarcasm and hyperboles. Long gone were the days of preciousness, and instead, there was a sense of a predator on the hunt that bled in the way that he talked to people. Most importantly, however, he was fully aware of the female population and precisely who was lusting after him.

He flirted with women and girls. You would find him leaning against the lockers talking with them, somehow trapping them despite not actually trapping them. A new girl was sitting at your table with him practically every week in high school, each girl asking for the hundredth millionth time that the both of you were not dating. Some girls were even bold enough to apologize to you for stealing your best friend — as if you wanted Shouto.

You had already seen his dick, thank you very much (although the last time you saw it was well before you were nine years old), you weren’t missing out on how it probably looked now! Honestly, you had no idea how Shouto never managed to run out of female students to fuck, the school wasn’t that large, and he seemed to go through a few a week sometimes.

But he was your best friend, your childhood friend, and no matter how many girls came crawling back to your lunch table, bawling to Shouto to take him back, soaking the fabric of your skirt to help convince him to take her back, you stayed. You stayed, accepting the fact that your best friend had become an awkward teenage boy and turned into some high school sex freak.

You stayed when his shaggy hairstyle was clipped and became short.

Overnight, just as he went from being a complete virgin to not one, he went from a scrawny sixteen-year-old boy to a leanly built eighteen-year-old hot-ass heartthrob womanizer.

High school wasn’t forever. Even though it took you about a year to accept and integrate Shouto’s new sex life and behavior into your daily lifestyle with him (he always left four of the three days open for you as all his relationships were casual only). Soon enough, the both of you relaxed and found your own relationship to be entirely the same, and when university exams and applications came about, it was decided that yet again, the both of you would follow each other anywhere.

Which is where you were now.

Tokyo University,  a third-year student, living in an upscale three-person apartment with your best friend, of course. Shouto plus someone who practically begged in the most unbegging way to live with you.

Todoroki Shouto and Shishikura Seiji in the same apartment as you made for an interesting combination.

You hadn’t wanted Shishikura Seiji as a roommate at all. Period. 

There were about eleven other people you only considered asking, but they all said no for their own reasons. Bakugou and Midoriya had found their own apartment closer to the University, and for much cheaper, Kirishima and Mina were RA’s and could not move in. Kaminari said he liked Sero’s couch too much to leave, and Sero couldn’t live in an apartment without a balcony. Momo said the room was too small, Jirou said she’d rather continue living with Momo, Uraraka said it was a tad bit too much for her to afford (to be fair, you didn’t have to pay because the Todoroki’s were paying for your housing, but you understood), Tsuyu and Hagakure said they were living at home. Iida said he would be too uncomfortable living with a couple.

Everyone you found on the street wouldn’t accept your offer. Hence, Shouto invited the meatball and rosé obsessed Shishikura Seiji to live with the two of you simply because he was Shouto’s lab partner in one of his advanced physics classes. Stupid chemical engineering nerd.

At twenty-one years, you can now say that you’ve entirely adjusted to Shouto’s womanizer ways. Too often do you find yourself sitting at the kitchen counter, a steaming cup of tea in your hand as you drink it in slowly, watching with much amusement as either a no-name girl leaves or a walk of shame Shouto enters. It happens at most five times a week; you were used to it. While the unease had finally left, you had to admit you were impressed your best friend could easily sleep around as he did and maintain his outstanding grades.

However, just because you were finally used to Shouto’s womanizer tendencies didn’t mean the world was. Even in University, your fellow students would ask with wide eyes and behind flat palms if the two of you were dating — specifically if Shouto was cheating on you or if it was an open relationship. You would each and every time, smile cheekily, shake your head and say with a roll of your eyes: “No, we’re not dating. He’s not cheating, and no, this is nothing more than us being best friends. Sho is too much of a jealous person to allow for an open relationship.”

Somehow, the constant begging of approval and the erasure of any romantic connection between you and Shouto from the plethora of female students at Tokyo University wasn’t even the most annoying part of it all. No, not at all.

What really ground your nerves was a pattern you noticed when you were eighteen.

Unlike Shouto, you hadn’t had the chance to lose your virginity until you were eighteen. Most of the boys who liked you always assumed you and Shouto were dating, the ones who gathered the courage to ask you out anyways were boys you were less than impressed with. By some act of some higher god, your crush — the school's third-year baseball team's captain when you were a first-year — reappeared in your life and asked you out. It wasn’t your best decision, you can fully admit it, but he was friendly and sweet as he fucked you in his small bed.

You hadn’t expected sex to be like that, and if you had enjoyed this, you couldn’t help but wonder just how Shouto was in bed to have girls behaving like that.

However, the spell was broken when he helped you change back into your clothes, and he begged you not to tell Shouto he was the person you cheated on him with.

It was on this day that it clicked.

What went for him, unfortunately, went for you too.

Except where girls rose to the challenge to dethrone you from Shouto’s side (a shame because they were vying for a seat that you had no claim over), the boys lowered their head like some damn omega to Shouto’s alpha.

Disgusting.

Even with the plentiful, plethora, consistent denial of your relationship with Shouto, even with the tally of girls, Shouto’s bedded (and more excitedly, deflowered — ugh!) rose consistently, no one ever really believed you weren’t dating him! Too many a time, you had been centimeters from making out with a guy for them to pull away, screeching that they couldn’t allow you to betray Shouto. The men who didn’t care were sleezebags, and thus, with a growl and a snarl, you found that you were only able to fuck men who thought jackhammering their fingers into your labia — yes, your labia — would make you cum.

You didn’t want to say you hated your childhood best friend for such duplicitous, selfish reasons… but you did.

But today was Saturday, a few months into the new second semester of the school year, and with school spirit once again high and workload low. The entire campus was brimming with parties, celebrations, alcohol drinking competition, sleazy dancing, and enough sexual tension to kill all celibate people.

So, we look back to where we started.

Shishikura Seiji running away as you nestled back against Shouto’s chest.

“I didn’t think he was actually going to drink these things,” Shouto sighed, spinning the last few remaining drinks of his rosé in his hand. “It’s been in the fridge for almost five months.”

“He probably made his meatballs again and needed something terrible to blame the flavor on,” you half joke half say in complete seriousness. You were not fond of Shishikura at all, and he was not fond of you either. He had a tendency to mansplain everything, which continuously ground on your nerves, especially when he had no jurisdiction to act so confidently.

He was a physics major, not a goddamn god.

Fuck off.

“I feel sorta bad,” Shouto sighs, his hand low and warm on your waist. “But I will admit, these drinks are practically like carbonated water.”

“2% alcohol,” you stress, your grin widening as you pull away from his chest to stare at him. Your gaze is bright, and his eyes are filled with amusement. “You’re either the world's lightest lightweight or a child with no tolerance to actually expect to get drunk off this shit.”

“I think you’re slurring your words already though, you sure you’re okay, lightweight?” Shouto teases, his soft smirk teasing.

“Who was the one who took three shots and passed out?” you wonder innocently, finger to your chin as if you were trying to remember.

“At least I don’t throw up when I crossfade.”

“IT'S NOT MY FAULT. MY BIOLOGY JUST HAPPENS TO WORKS THAT WAY!”

“Alright, bitch,” Shouto snorts, completely unattractively, “hurry up and get ready, yeah? We have a party we’re already late to, and we have no drinks for an actual pregame.”

You squeal excitedly, having forgotten the massive party that was being held a few blocks away. “I’ll be ready in ten!”

Typically, when you went out partying, you went with the group of eleven people you would have rather replaced Shishikura as a roommate. To get ready for said parties, you would always find yourself at Momo’s place with an outfit change, makeup bag, and hair styling items. You had made it a tradition with the other girls to get ready together. The only exceptions to which this wouldn’t happen was when someone had a work event or some family thing come up.

In your case, you had been stuck at a professor's office, diligently helping to put together their research journal as they were in their final steps of publishing their findings. Due to your friendly relationship with your professor, the time had been lost, and your ten p.m. call time to arrive at Momo’s had been missed with a quick:

↳ held up at work! go on without me, sorry! see you at the party!!!!

When you crashed through the front door of your apartment, you froze, seeing Shouto in the hallway by the mirror. Sometime between getting his haircut to be shorter and from this day, he had begun to style his hair by threading it back by his fingers, and boy, it looked fucking good. He was already dressed up for the party. Black joggers, a white t-shirt that was a bit too small if the tight, seductive way it clung to his muscles spoke of anything, and a hoodie he had no care about in case he lost it after taking it off once getting there. Shouto was practically immune to all weather types, he could be in both snow or fire without a single worry, but he knew that a large sweatshirt that smelled like him was enough to hook and line any truly desperate female.

Shouto had chuckled, taking in your frazzled state with years of practice and nudged toward the fridge, already knowing that you had missed your pregaming with the girls.

“Shishikura has two rosés left. Grab ‘em, and we can pregame together.”

But that was all unimportant and already said.

In the end, it took you thirty minutes to get ready.

You had practically smeared on your makeup, hoping the warm, crazy miscoloring would be hidden within the crazy light show the party would definitely be displaying. Your outfit consisted of a tank top that exposed your cleavage and a skirt that hugged your legs and ass just right.

You came stumbling out of your room, fingers trying to shove on your earrings, the rings on your fingers clicking loudly against each other. You smiled breathily, gratefully accepting Shouto’s sweater as you slipped on your comfortable heels at the doorway before hurrying out.

Shouto kept an arm around your shoulder the entire way out, the immense heat of his body keeping you warm as his sweater rested lazily, awkwardly, around your shoulders and arms. You didn’t want to put it entirely on to save your makeup, and in case anyone had any fucking thing to say about the show you and Shouto were putting on. Eventually, the bright and comical conversation between you and Shouto began to grow louder as the pounding of dance music began to ring in your ears. Soon enough, you passed a few drunk people, more and more, until you reached the house where the party was.

Shoving the sweatshirt into Shouto’s chest, you grinned as the smell of alcohol, weed, over-cologne men and women, the faint smell of puke, and the gross crawl of BO flooded your nose.

Ah yes, nothing like a university party.

Shouto laughs at your evident piqued excitement, and after he pulls on the light blue sweatshirt, he grabs your hand, and into the overcrowded home you go.

The intense heat of overcrowded bodies on a dance floor that also makes up a drinking game floor makes you grateful for your choice of clothes. Everyone around you is already drunk, sloshed, intoxicated off their ass as unknown drinks spill from their red Solo cups, sometimes even raining down on you. You grimace as Shouto continues to pull you through. You can taste the Hennesy on your upper lip and somehow know that whoever was drinking it was a freshman with a vendetta to kill his liver and love for drinking before coming of legal age.

“What do you want to drink?” Shouto yells over the nearly obnoxiously loud music. He has his sight on the drinks counter. “Mixed or the juice?”

“Fuck me up with the jungle juice!” you yell right back, pressing to his side as two dancing (see, vigorously dry-humping) nearly trample on top of you. “Parties are meant to be a non-sober event. I need to be borderline blacked out five hours ago!”

The agreeing chuckle from Shouto isn’t heard by you at all, but you can feel his chest give a familiar vibration as finally, he pulls you from the sea of bodies to where the floor is especially wet and sticky. You’ve reached the bar area.

Grabbing your own red Solo Cup, you watch as Shouto makes his own drink. Heavy on the alcohol, light on the mixer, and a good handful of ice (he’s always liked the cold better). His hand reaches for your cup and you offer your cup up as he opens up an ice chest filled with neon-colored jungle juice.

When the drink is returned to you, the both of you cheers and take a long drink.

“Y/N!”

“Y/N-CHAN!”

“You’re finally here, you fucking slut! Getcha fat ass over here now!”

Your neck is twisted to see the absolutely plastered group of girls you considered to be your closest friends, and you laugh loudly.

“Seems like I’m needed,” you yell at Shouto, trying your best to act nonchalantly as he smiles knowingly at you. “Text me about what you decide to do if we don’t see each other?”

“Of course,” he simply responds before placing the curve of his cup back onto his lip as hands grabbed your arms and whisked you away.

In a matter of sixty minutes, you all had played five drinking games.

The girls felt it was imperative to get you to their level right away, so they started off with a game of King’s Cup. Not only was the deck rigged against you — you pulled all four of the four cards and thus had to chug four times — but you had drawn the last King and drank some weird concoction of jungle juice, a tequila shot, a vodka shot, and whatever the fucking hell Mina was drinking. How you managed to chug that and stay on your feet was beyond you, but it was without saying that you had utterly and inevitably caught up with the girls.

After the King's Cup came the Flip Cup game, your team won thankfully due to Mina’s one flip wonder as Kaminari struggled to down the shot in the cup.

After Flip Cup came Smoke or Fire, a game that had Tsuyu stuck on the bus for a record-breaking one round. No one could believe she did that.

Then came a round of Shot Roulette to end with what you were currently doing now, using a drinking card game Momo had made in her spare time to do embarrassing things at random.

Five games in an hour… you questioned if there was by any chance illegal substances in the jungle juice because it had felt like a whopping two minutes.

“It’s midnight!” Hagakure hollered, stumbling backward as she grinned in drunken, stupid happiness. She giggled before singing, “Midnight… memoriessss~!”

Mina groaned at the reference but completely perked up as the dance music changed suddenly from its slightly mellow, good vibe song to none other than Everytime We Touch by Cascada. By tradition, by applicable law by all and every god, when this one song played, everyone needed to stop what they were doing and immediately head to the dance floor.

With your hand slightly sticky with alcohol, and your mind absolutely clouded with alcohol, you whooped loudly as Mina dragged you to the dancefloor. 

You, seven girls, formed a closed circle, your Solo cups sloshing over with alcohol, and your faces scrunched tight as you danced and sang as loudly as you could. Each pounding beat of music vibrated in your chest, each offkey note sung by the party-goers making you feel light, happy, dizzy, and oh so perfectly drunk. For just a split moment, you lock eyes with Shouto, who’s across the dance floor, his arms wrapped around some girl you don’t recognize, eyes drinking you in. You smile for a bit before turning back around, arms rocketing up to the air with your excitement.

Although the song ended, the DJ continued to play bangers, and you never once stopped in your mirthful dancing and grinding against your friends as the night continued to carry on. But when you spun out from Mina, your entire world spinning with it, a pair of warm, heavy, large hands rested on your waist, and you laughed.

“Who is this?” you ask, head slamming backward to try and look at the person who had caught you yet hadn’t tried grinding against you. “Oh, Inasa? Hi!”

Yoarashi Inasa was one of your University's well-known jocks. He was a skilled runner, one of the best Japan has ever seen despite his body type telling you he was a bodybuilder. Immediately your smile of idiotic stupor became intentful, seductive, still bordering extreme intoxication. Was Inasa your type? No, not really, but you could reasonably and accurately say that he was a handsome man, with a fantastic body, not to mention a pleasant personality.

You also itched to know what his dick looked like.

This was definitely someone you could see yourself fucking tonight.

“Hi, y/l/n,” Inasa said, his naturally loud voice easily picked up on despite the music being blasted in your ear. “How’s your night going?”

You lick your dry lips, eyes blinking a few times before you turn in his arms, your arms stretching so that you could wrap them around his neck. “Better now that you’re here,” you smile shyly. “How’s yours.”

“Ahem,” Inasa blushes, his eyes staring straight at your cleavage before looking back up at you. “H-Hoping to get better from here! Well, I’m sure it will be.”

“Oh?” you ask, your confidence building faster and faster as you press further against him. “Anything you have in mind?” —you press your thigh suggestively against the semi-hard spot against his jeans. — “Anyway... I can... help?”

Inasa groans deep in his chest, his head knocking backward at your implications, the pleasant vibrations passing on to you. You grin, fingers scraping against the bottom of his buzzcut and bringing him closer, praying for a kiss. But as he returns his head back down, his gaze leaves yours for a split second, and you watch in horror as a sobering look washes over him.

“Actually… you’re here with some random dude, right? I don’t want to step on his toes. I thought I saw you come in with some guy; sorry y/l/n, I can’t do this.”

And just as quickly as he was against you, he was gone.

It took everything in you not to screech bloody murder over the fact that you were once again left horny with no man to take responsibility for it.

Calculated Rate of Not Getting Dicked Down When I Want to Get Dicked Down When Coming to a Party With Shouto: 78% Calculated Rate of Not Getting Dicked Down When I Want to Get Dicked Down When Coming to a Party Without Shouto: 22%

Walking home alone, cold, and with extreme bitterness towards Yoarashi Inasa was a sadly sobering experience. By the time you collapsed onto your bed, you were only slightly buzzed, boarding sobriety while not being sober exactly.

Fuck men.

Fuck their cowardness over a nonexistent romantic/sexual relationship between you and Shouto.

But also… you really wanted to fuck men right now.

The slicked horniness of the potential thought of bedding Inasa had made its unignorable appearance via your soaked panties. You hated yourself, hated your biological needs and lusts.

“I’ll wring Shouto’s neck in front of all of them next time,” you grumble to yourself. “Stage a fake breakup for an imaginary thing…”

Nestling further into your pillows, your eyes closed, body relaxing against the bed when a peculiar sound seemed to echo in your ear.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.

Your eyes slammed open, your jaw-dropping at the very obvious, entirely embarrassing sound of Shouto having sex on his desk sounded in your room! Of course it sounded in your room. His desk was pressed to your wall because that would mean whenever he was his icky womanizer self, you wouldn’t have to hear anything! Your rooms were soundproof but apparently not movement proof.

The thwack of the wood desk slammed against the wall, and with your ear so close to the wall, you began to hear the shaky, intense breathing of Shouto. The whines, keens, and screams of the girl he was fucking as she begged for more. Sobbing that his cock was too much for her.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

Your panties soaked even more, and with a brain that somehow retracted back into its state of stupor, your fingers brushed against your swollen, ready clit.

This was wrong, so very, very wrong, you thought, the sounds of pitched whining against the stupidly impressive, steady, consistent fucking.

Your mind was a drunken fever. 

Your eyes closed not all the way, yet blind to the wall before you as your finger danced and teased against your demanding clit.

You whined softly, matching the groaning of Shouto, who banged something other than the desk into the wall.

For a moment, just this once, you wanted to be the one desperately clinging to Shouto’s back, hips snapping and circling in tandem to his, allowing him to drill his cock deep within you. Your back arched, heat reaching your toes, buzzing filling your lips.

“Yes, fuck, right there, Todoroki!” the girl screamed, begged, and prayed. “Oh my god, yes, yes yes, right there, right the— mmph!”

You find your teeth sinking into your fist, trying to keep your pounding, horny induced brain from crying out. You wanted to know what he was doing to her, if he had kissed her silent, shoved his fingers in her mouth. Maybe he had fucked her so good she couldn’t possibly say more.

There is nothing from Shouto you can hear, no noises of praise, nothing except the occasional ragged breath that seems to permeate through the walls and whisper sweetly, teasingly, like a succumbs in your ear.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

It increases, in noise, the wall separating your room from his beginning to rattle, shake in his conquest.

Your fingers are wet, entirely slippery with your conquest, your hips thrashing against your touch, clinging to a phantom memory of the last male you had managed to fuck. Then, as your stomach trembles with the orgasm that's mere seconds from blessing you with a release, you hear him—Shouto.

“Fuck.”

It’s not much. If anything, this girl should be so embarrassed she hasn’t been able to elicit a loud response from Shouto, but it’s a verbal gift from heaven above for you. His voice, tight, husky, drenched with a driving lust, whispers to you and only you, wrapping you in this blanket of solitude and need. 

With your back arching from the mattress, your hips leaving the soft surface, and your jaw growing slack, your moan is silent, unheard by no one but the heavens as you cum. Heat floods throughout your entire body, tickling and twirling in you until you can’t do anything but shudder, shaking as you fall back down on your bed, dizzy and completely satisfied. 

You don’t think about it.

Don’t try to unpack just what happened right now because the reality that you had just masturbated to the sound of your childhood best friend fucking some random girl is a bit too much. Even for you.

So you don’t think about it, and soon the thudding of the desk on the wall is nothing but a drumming lullaby, and sleep consumes you.

When you wake up, you don’t remember what you did.

You get up and trudge to the bathroom, your party clothes abandoned completely so that you’re wearing nothing but a large shirt you had stolen from Shouto years ago. You scratch your belly as you walk into the bathroom, eyes caked with your sleep still as you begin brushing your teeth.

As you brush your teeth, you begin to take off last night's makeup — well, whatever remained of it.

Spitting out the last foamy remains of the paste from your mouth, you rinsed your mouth before washing your skin. You looked much more awake now. Slapping your cheeks in an encouraging, ‘im a functional human adult taking part in some random face wash commercial,’ you exited the bathroom and went to the kitchen. 

Shishikura was already in the kitchen, his face expressionless, entirely dead to the world as he scooped some rice into a bowl and topped it off with some eggs.

“Morning,” you yawn, arms stretching over your head as you near closer to your unwanted roommate.

Shishikura sneers at you, but even he was more polite in the morning, sometimes.

“I heard the both of you get back last night,” Shishikura mocked, slamming the lid to his rice cooker with an unimpressed scowl. “You were thirty minutes apart. You know, if you two still want to be partying like a bunch of eighteen-year-olds, do it respectfully.”

Your smile back at him is as fake as he is, and you refuse to move out of the way as he tries to walk back to his room. He growls — gross? — and sidesteps you, grumbling the entire way back to his room as you roll your eyes at his retreating form.

What a child.

You entered the kitchen, fixing up your own things for breakfast.

Kettle brewing hot water for tea, rice cooker on for your own rice (you make enough for Shouto too), and you begin cooking some ham and eggs, readying yourself for a Sunday for going to the library and studying. You hummed to yourself, your phone plugged into the speaker as your music filled the quiet morning air.

You bobbed your head in rhythm with the music, your eyes concentrating on slowly cooking eggs as you poured the hot water from your kettle into the teacup. As you placed your teabag in, you looked up to the sound of a creaking door and grinned wickedly as a girl with light blue hair walked out of the hall you and Shouto’s room were in.

Her dress was rumbled, a few blooming red and purple marks sitting prettily on her collarbone, and her face flushed red as she began to scurry out.

“Bye!” you call out, laughing at the scared eep from the girl and the disgruntled groan from Shouto’s room.

You set down your tea, flipping the eggs in the pan as you heard more shuffling before finally, Shouto made his appearance. He was in nothing but grey sweatpants that sat so low on his waist you could not only see the band of his boxer-briefs, but you were entirely aware of the v-lines, the abs, the pecs, and the small happy trail from his belly button down. You also noted that there was not a single mark on his body, and you wondered if he had ever taken a single mark from a one-night fuck before.

God really cursed you with an objectively attractive best friend, huh.

“Morning, slut,” you sing, noticing with happiness that your rice cooker sang a merry tune, indicating that the rice was done. “Breakfast?”

“Mm,” Shouto grumbled, his hands rubbing his face as he trudged closer to the kitchen, taking a spot on one of the stools. “Depends. Did you make it?”

“...I always make it.”

“I think I like Shishikura’s breakfast better.”

Silence.

You glare at Shouto, and in turn, his lips press to a comfortable, teasing smile.

“Fend for your damn self then.”

Shouto laughed loudly as you began to stubbornly fix yourself a bowl of both your servings. You ate far less than he did, but still enough to fill you until after three pm, so the size of your bowl was hysterical. 

“You’re such a horrible wife-roommate,” Shouto accuses, standing up from the stool and entering the kitchen to try and persuade you otherwise to give him his own food. “And here I thought that you liked cooking for me.”

“Go tell your stupid wife-roommate Shishikura instead,” you cry loudly, the faux sniffles from you stupidly fake as you begin to shovel a mouthful of rice and eggs into your mouth. “I’m shwure you’chll beh happ t’gther!”

“That’s absolutely disgusting, y/l/n,” Shouto accuses, his nose scrunching as he traps you in his arms, mouth trying to intercept the food moving from your bowl and into your mouth. 

With another desire to prove how unsatisfied in your roommate-marriage you were, you opened your mouth and stuck out your tongue full of uneaten, partially chewed rice.

“Ea’ eh!” you mocked, your grin growing as Shouto’s initial instinct was to whip his head away from you.

But as always, because Shouto enjoyed being incredibly annoying, he went after your tongue, readying to eat the chewed-up food off your very tongue. 

Eventually, you gave Shouto back his part of the breakfast, laughing as the both of you chatted about who was going to repay Shishikura for the used rosés. Neither one of you could decide, and so it was something to be solved later. Noon, however, came and with a nod, you accepted Shouto’s hug goodbye, to which you twisted his nose triumphantly as you waddled out of the front door, clothed in your winter gear, textbooks, and laptop,

It was time to brave the world and get this paper done.

“Mina, I mean… absolutely no offense when I say this, but it still shocks me every time you say you’re a chemistry major. You just seem so…”

“Dumb?”

“Yeah.”

“You gotta be some kind of stupid to willingly take inorganic chem,” Mina laughed, balancing her textbooks on her head as the both of you climbed the stairwell to the library’s study rooms. “That's why I have the dance minor! Best of both worlds!”

“Could never forget about that,” you laughed as the both of you neared the top of the stairwell.

You didn’t mean to notice him. As a matter of fact, most of your failed conquests at parties never amounted to much anger from you, but seeing Inasa from across the way, his face buried in some aerodynamics textbook, anger boiled in you. On the way to meeting with Mina, you had realized your mistake last night and how you wouldn’t have made said mistake if it hadn’t been for Inasa! You could’ve been dicked down, slammed against your bed and wall as the giant of a man fucked you!

“I’ll be right back,” you sneered, eyes narrowing as you passed your textbook to Mina.

With fire following in ever long, powerful stride, you blinked and immediately found yourself before Inasa.

“Hi. Wanna explain what happened last night?”

Inasa reacted as if you had shot him, his knees coming up to hit the table, his body knocking backward, and he tumbled, crashing to the floor as you watched with a gaping mouth.

“Y-Y/L/N!” Inasa shouted, his face going through half a billion emotions before settling in anxiety-filled fear. You watched, horrified yourself, as he swung to his knees, his head crashing to the floor as he began apologizing to you. “GOODMORNING, HOW ARE YOU TODAY?!”

“Pipe it down, Inasa!” you hiss, your cheeks flooding with embarrassed heat as you garnered the attention of everyone on the floor. “I’m not going to hurt you! I just wanted to talk!”

“Aha, yes, of course!” Inasa laughs, a full belly laugh. He sits up and you freeze seeing the bloodied cut on his forehead. He stands up, completely unaffected by the gash on his forehead, and uprights his chair before sitting comfortably. “How can I help you?”

“What happened to you last night?” you try again, eyebrow raised, arms crossed definitely and awkwardly because yeah… you were confronting a guy who didn't want to sleep with you. “You were into me and then suddenly wasn’t.”

Inasa laughs more, although nothing you said, implied, or did was even remotely funny.

Irritation runs through your veins.

“Inasa, please,” you sigh in helplessness, your eyes annoyed, pleading, and hopeful that he would be the one to finally give you an actual reason.

“It’s… it’s not you. If that’s what you’re wondering,” Inasa finally sighs. His face turns uncharacteristically solemn as his tongue passes through his lips, his shoulders raising to a shrug. “Typically speaking, you are exactly who and what I want when I endeavor in less than chivalrous but still passionate activities. I wanted you last night, and I will not lie that even as I left, I regretted behaving as I did.”

“Well, you did it, and it sorta really sucked,” you laugh, your mouth taut in a frown as your feelings are genuinely hurt.

You keep being put down, and there’s no reason for it.

Why couldn’t you be as sexually active as you wish you could be?

“...Todoroki has a claim on you,” Inasa spoke slowly, his mouth dipping from a usual smile to a frown. “I know you guys aren’t together, but in a way, you two are.”

“No,” you say with complete certainty, anger burning in your chest, “we’re not.”

“Try telling Todoroki that,” Inasa shrugs, his fingers scratching through his buzz cut. “Listen, I wanted to have intercourse with you last night; I did. I also am aware that Todoroki is a womanizer, but he said you were off-limits for all of us.”

“He said that?” your voice is perfectly calm, not showing the raging fire in you.

“Well, no, he definitely did not,” Inasa sighs, the palm of his hands pressing tightly against his eyes. “He has never said it… but it’s the way he talks about you, how he looks at you. It’s a claim on you, even if it’s not a verbal one, and well, no one wants to defy him.”

Your nostrils flare in your irritation, and you find that you’re stepping into Inasa’s personal space, his eyes going wide as you step between his legs and press your hands on his chest.

“I’ll be going home in about five hours. If you still want to fuck me, wait for me,” you say slowly, trying to make sure he understands. “I don’t care if Sho looks at me the way he does; he is not my boyfriend.”

Inasa gulps, his tan skin sporting a healthy pink flush, “Yes, ma’am.”

Five hours later, you’re walking into your apartment with Inasa behind you, his warm, slightly sweaty hand clasped in yours. You make eye contact with both your roommates, Shishikura, whose eyes are rolling to the depths of his skull, and Shouto, who looks like a wall. You, despite the anger you’re feeling for Shouto, smile prettily, then grin wolfishly as you corral Inasa towards your room. You send your roommates a wink before closing the door with a decisive click.

Much like you assumed the night prior, your drunken hazed, lust-driven, anger-flared thoughts proved to be right. Inasa fucked you against the wall, deep into the mattress, he drilled and fucked you until his dick was wet with your slick, and his leg was trembling with his plentiful unleashed loads. But you weren’t done yet, too many times have you been denied, and even though Inasa was trembling, his voice shaking with desperate pleas to slow down or he would cum too fast, you rode him with powerful, swiveling hips.

Once he left, you felt light again.

Your head light, body glowing as you dressed your bruised, cum slick body in a robe as you trudged to the bathroom. You showered, letting the warm water and sweet-smelling oils drench your body before you eventually exited, your hair in a towel, Shouto’s shirt on your person again.

Waltzing to the living room, you grinned as you collapsed on the couch, every grievance you held when you walked in forgotten at the moment.

“Hello,” you smile, your head falling onto Shouto’s lap who was, at the moment, very interested in his phone. Shishikura was gone, undoubtedly leaving in case he heard something he didn’t want to hear during your little four-hour sexscapade. “I am a leaf flowing through the river right now, if you’re wondering.”

“Don’t need to wonder. You were perfectly loud enough,” Shouto grumbled, his eyes rolling. “Says something that I could, considering the rooms are soundproof.”

“I should hope so! After you, the girls rave that Inasa is the best fuck on campus,” you hum, still on a delirious high as you attempt to reach for your best friend's hand to grasp. But to your shock, Shouto jerks away from your touch, and he stands, letting your head fall roughly on the couch. And just like that, your anger is back. The emotion Inasa had managed to fuck out of you for a bit returned at full force. “Shouto?!”

“What?” he snaps.

“What the fuck is your problem?!”

“My problem is that you brought someone to fuck at fucking five p.m.,” Shouto explains, his expression like the void, empty, dark, menacing. “We agreed to keep it until past ten.”

Your face screws up as you push up off the couch, “Are you kidding me?! I’ve seen you constantly bring girls to fuck at any and all times of the day! Don’t suddenly bring that shit in when it clearly isn’t an actual rule in this apartment!”

“You were also being obnoxiously loud,” Shouto narrows his eyes at you.

“You are too!”

“When am I ever?”

“I literally listened to you fuck that girl last night against our shared wall!”

“You moved your bed to our shared wall?! When?!”

“Doesn’t matter! I would’ve heard it just fine on the other side!”

“The girl wasn’t even that fucking loud!” 

“You can’t ever remember the names of the girls you fuck! Do you know anything about them ever? Are you even using condoms?!”

“You only ever fuck men with questionable personalities.”

“Gee, I wonder fucking why!”

The two of you were nose to nose, anger flaring and near tangible between the two of you.

“What do you mean?” he grits slowly.

“I’m talking about you mad dogging any male human who so much as looks or thinks of me!” you snap, finger shoving between his pecs. “No one touches me because somehow they respect the way a womanizer looks at me.”

“I’m not looking at you in any special way,” Shouto squints his eyes, completely not having your accusations.

“Even if you don’t, this fucking behavior is pathetic of you!” you say, hands motioning between you two and the room. “I had sex, and you’re acting like some pathetic child! I have been putting up with your sex-craze tendencies since we were sixteen, asshole! Sixteen! If I want to gloat and float about having sex, then I fucking deserve to.”

His nostrils flare, his upper lip curling in a small twitch before he rolls his eyes and walks away.

“That’s right, Todoroki,” you laugh bitterly at his retreating form. “Walk away from a fight because you can never win them.”

It took a bit for the dust to settle, but as soon as it did, you realized in horror that you and Shouto had, for the first time ever, fought.

Being roommates with Shouto was always a fun thing. Having your childhood best friend right at your disposal meant that you could have dinner nights, movie nights, game nights, morning waffles, hikes, and literally anything whenever and wherever you wanted. He was a person to talk to when the days were long, and there was no one else in the world, the person who was there for you through thick and thin. But for two days, he had been locked away in his room, unwilling to look at you, refusing to be anywhere near you.

Your friends had noticed immediately.

The way the both of you hadn’t shown up together, the way you sat at opposite ends of the table, refusing to be trapped in a conversation together. Separate the two of you were, and the world acted as if Earth had dropped out of gravity.

You could care less right now.

You were rightfully mad at him! How dare he act so pettily over you having a sex life when you were expected to blink, turn the other way, and laugh when he would shower after a girl would leave before joining you on the couch to watch a movie. He was in the wrong, not you!

But even if you were unwilling to budge and he was refusing to see things the way they should be, you were now incredibly lonesome. So as you sat with your back on the mattress. Your butt to the wall, and your legs kicking against the wall, you thought of what you could do. With a bitter sigh, you rolled off your bed and scurried out of the apartment. Nothing but your wallet and ID on you so that you could get to the store on the first floor of the complex.

Holding the item in hand, you knocked on a door, your gaze already on the floor, embarrassed that you were going to do what you had to do.

“What?” came the annoyed voice of Shishikura, the door to his room opening as he looked at you unimpressed and very obviously unwelcomed.

“Truce?” you asked, raising the six-pack of Angry Orchard Rosé Cider. 

Shishikura looks at you, at the ciders, then back at you.

“Fine.”

How in the world you’re drunk off of four rosé ciders is beyond you, but you are. You’re in the living room, laughing so hard that your stomach hurts as you’re trying not to snort the liquid from your mouth and out your nose. Shishikura is equally plastered off of one drink, his red a ruby red against his purple hair. He’s leaning against you, his breathing ragged, near asthmatic as he tries to once explain just how Shouto looked like when some girl slapped him across the face yesterday for ghosting her after sex.

“He was so shocked!” Shishikura squeaked out, his voice pitchy and incredibly high as he laughed more and more. “You should have seen it!”

Your feet kicked at the air, your face and lungs burning with a fire you hadn’t felt in so long as your laughter turned silent. You gasped for air, trying to contain yourself but failing hysterically.

“Do you wa’ another meatballsh?” Shishikura suddenly asked, his hands flailing to grab his plate of meat. “I think you want another o’.”

“I wan’ ‘ne!” you cried with a slight slur, tears of joy slipping past your eyes to which you haphazardly scrubbed them off your face. “They’re soooo good! I didn’t think they could be so… be so good!”

You find yourself eating another meatball, drinking it down with the cider and feeling happy again. Shishikura goes still by your side, and you hum in wonder, unfocused eyes trying to find what had caught his attention and falling onto the one man you were mad at currently.

Shouto was standing at the apartment entrance, dressed in ripped black jeans, a tight grey turtleneck sweater, and his backpack slung on his shoulder. It was, without a doubt, a studying-only outfit. You knew and have discussed too many times with Shouto about how he never trusted women to take his turtlenecks off without potentially ruining the fabric.

“Well, someone’s finally home... from a night of beddin mo’ women, huh?” a voice spoke, but you were completely unsure if it was you or Shishikura who said it.

Judging by the way Shouto’s eyes locked on Shishikura and not yours, it seemed it was him who said it.

“No, I was doing something,” Shouto retorted, his hand gripping the strap of his backpack, his eyes shifting between you and Shishikura. “A paper for class.”

“Sure,” you end up speaking up, your voice sounding completely sober. You sit up so that your elbow is resting on Shishikura’s nearest shoulder. You raise the glass bottle to your lips, drinking its content without care, never once breaking eye contact. “What was the paper's name? You going after your TA? Or was it a professor by chance?”

Shouto’s eyebrows furrow, his face completely unimpressed by your comeback, but he remains silent.

“He looks like he’s trying to cosplay that one Young The Rock picture, no way would a dignified professor or TA fuck him!” Shishikura laughed with a loud bark, and all of a sudden, that was all you could see too.

The both of you howled with laughter, laughing and slapping each other as you attempted to drink the last bits of the rosés as Shouto rolled his eyes and walked away.

“This is fun. No wonder why you guys do it to me so often.”

-

As time does, it moves forward.

It seemed as if the entire campus had tuned in to what had transpired between you and Shouto. No one the slightest bit sure as to what happened, but everyone knew something big had happened. There was no more walking together before classes or after classes, no weird Instagram or Snapchat stories of the other, both of you never having to excuse yourself because you had plans with the other. Even though they claimed to not care about other people’s business, the school was suddenly invested in the single speculation that Todoroki Shouto’s and Y/l/n Y/n’s relationship was over.

“Breaking News, it was never a real relationship!” you would scream the first few times you heard it, which only worked to make them whisper louder that you were in further denial.

For the last seventeen years of your life, you had never gone more than two days without talking or seeing your childhood best friend. Those two days happened when Rei had experienced a staggering, hospital-inducing breakdown from stress and had subsequently burned Shouto when you were five years old. The two days were because he spent four days in the hospital. The first two days, he was not allowed visitors as the hospital staff put him under a coma to help his body from entering shock and heal. Of course, the moment he was awakened, you were dragging your mother to his bedside.

That was the only time you hadn’t seen or spoken to Shouto consistently.

But since Sunday evening, you had only seen Shouto once when you were drunk with Shishikura. You had only spoken to him then too.

For the first time in seventeen years, you broke your record of not talking or seeing Shouto.

From two days to five.

It was weird.

You felt almost empty.

So when Mina and Uraraka placed their arms around your shoulders, their eyes dead serious, you knew that they had a distraction for you.

“The deltas are throwing a party,” Uraraka spoke with mystery. “It is on Saturday.”

“It is only right that we go, get our asses so drunk our blood is practically a distillery, and fuck anyone who looks at us a second longer than anyone else,” Mina agrees, her tone wise and knowing as she nods her head.

“Our question to you is:” they spoke together, their voices weirdly, obviously practiced, in synch. “Are you in?”

Your tongue is pressed between your lips, your fingers pressing against the textbook you were using to help support your essay’s thesis, and you roll your eyes.

You grin.

“Obviously.”

And as time promises each and every time, Saturday finally came.

“What is our objective tonight?!” Mina screams over the background music that Jirou is blasting in Momo’s larger-than-life bathroom.

“To fuck bitches and get money!” Hagakure, the only one currently not downing a drink, screams back.

“NO, WRONG!” Mina shakes her head, climbing onto the white marble countertops and pointing at Jirou. “Kyo! Your turn!”

“To beat that prick in the sound booth and prove that I’m—”

“NO! Wrong again! Yaomomo!”

“Um, to make everlasting mem—”

“INCORRECT, YOU GORGEOUS PRINCESS! Tsuyu, don’t fail me, babe!”

“Well, it’s to prove to Todoroki that y/n-chan should be able to fuck any person she wants.”

“A bit lengthy, a bit focused on the wrong parts of it, but YES! Tonight’s operation: get y/n a man — preferably Inasa — who fucks the negativity out of her!”

You laugh loudly, rolling your eyes as you lean in closer to the mirror. You hold a Mike’s Hard in one hand, and in the other is your eyeliner as you paint on your makeup. You’re not really hearing the conversations that the girls are having, your own mind too lost in the music, and the swaying you’ve picked up as the three bottles of Mike’s you’ve had in the past thirty minutes are calming down your still frazzled nerves.

You don’t pull away from your reflection until after you’re done smoothing over your favorite lipstick on your pouty lips. You look over at your reflection and see Mina dancing with an awkwardly stiff Jirou and a delightfully giggling Momo on the bathroom countertops. A smile forms on your face, happiness radiating in your chest, and you grin looking at your friends.

But Shouto still sat in your mind, and you couldn’t help but wonder why.

Why did it hurt knowing that he was avoiding you as much as you were him?

Why didn’t he just try to corner you?

Why did you care that he didn’t?

He was your best friend in the entire world, since your earliest memories, he’s been there, you reason, your whooping not quite as loud as you watch Jirou awkwardly be sandwich between a grinding Mina and a complacent Momo.

It was his fault you, you further reasoned, smiling widely at Hagakure, who was twirling around you, applying her lipstick as a super crazy never before seen talent of hers. He was the one acting like an idiot over the people you slept with even though you let all the people he slept with slide!

But why did you?

Your brows furrowed slightly, unfurrowing just as quickly as Mina pulled you and Uraraka up onto the countertop with her as Jirou and Momo dropped to the floor.

You fucking were in love with Shouto, damnit! Of course you let the stupid personal things go just to appease him! Your back straightened, your eyes rolling as you began to dance with the Kehlani music thumping in the background, but then you freeze.

You were in love with him.

You loved Shouto.

Not in a friendly, platonic, family way.

In an ‘I would date you if I could and marry you on the prettiest beach in front of the most beautiful sunset’ way.

You found that your body was dancing on autopilot as you began to reassess your thoughts, your actions, your wants with Shouto, desperately trying to disprove this love for him. But no matter what you did, you found that it was true no matter what angle you looked at it.

The bass dropped, and you went stiff, your body standing straight and tall although you felt incredibly, terribly small.

“I love him,” you spoke, although you’re not sure who to. Maybe it was to the laughing gods above you or the crying spirits around you. But the girls heard it for some reason, and they, as they were patiently waiting for these past six, nearly seven days, caught you as you went weak.

Finally, realizing that you were in love with your childhood best friend was not the conclusion you expected from a week's silence from Shouto and you. But as you were currently in a crop top with a mesh shirt underneath and the most ripped jeans you owned, chugging down a neon green and blue nearly toxic alcoholic drink, you realized that being at this party was the right way to conclude this circus of a week.

The rush of the liquid dropping down the beer bong was something you found yourself struggling to keep up with, and you felt some of the liquid pour out of your mouth as you grunt, trailing down your heaving chest, creating an image in your onlookers as you refused to choke or pull away. Swallowing the last bit of the drink, ripping the plastic tube out of your mouth, you threw your hands in the air, Tsuyu, who had held and poured the contents for you, screaming too as she lifted your arm in victory.

You couldn’t really hear the music anymore, much more entranced with the music you were singing on your own, and you were currently holding Mina’s face, touching foreheads with her as you spoke a mantra of your love for her.

“Ashido Mina, you are the baddest bitch in the whole wide world. I love your pink hair and your fat ass, and I would die for you. I love you… so fucking much,” is what you said. How it was actually said and how it was perceived is a whole other story because Mina laughed loudly and allowed you to hug her despite your sticky alcohol body.

Your twenties were the new two’s, it seemed.

“Yo, y/l/n!” a voice yelled, and although you let go of Mina’s face, your arms found a new home around her neck as you turned around.

“Hm?”

Your terrible drunk eyes looked all over before falling on a man wearing a basketball jersey and joggers.

Shindou Yo, one of campus’ manwhores. He had a reputation similar to Shouto, you knew that very well, but you were aware that he was disturbingly creepy. According to many vital witnesses, the man slept with just about anyone willing regardless of gender, so not only did you know what the girls thought of him, experienced with him, there was a wider demographic not even Shouto had entered. Number one thing to be told was the fact that Shindou was into some heavy, dark shit to an extreme, his room reeked of sex, and he himself smelled like booze, weed, and BO. But a strong dick was a strong dick at the end of the day.

“Come play beer pong with me?” he asked, his hands shoved into his pockets as he smiled innocently. “I’ve heard some pretty solid shit about your skills, and I want to see how I add up.”

“I’ll play!” you agree immediately, jumping at the thought of drinking more. “Bu I don’t wa’ beer… ish nashty.”

“Anything for you, darling.”

With your arm still holding onto Mina, you accepted Shindou’s hand and allowed him to drag you off to where he wanted to play the game of beer pong.

The game of beer pong went without a single thing going wrong. You were paired up with Shindou, and Mina had managed to find Kirishima in the crowd before you got to your destination and demanded she have him as a partner and not Monoma.

It was safe to say that you were drunk, disgustingly out of your mind. It was an intense game of Cup Pong, the two different teams equally as bad in the drunken stupor, but finally, the two teams were down to a single cup and Kirishima — who was the only reason why they were winning!!!! — had the last ball. You watched in terrible apprehension, fingers digging into Shinsou’s biceps as Kirishima rose the wet ping pong ball to Mina’s lips and let her blow on it for good luck before bringing it back in and began a few steadying practice throws.

“You know, I’m glad I saw you at this party,” Shindou whispers to you, his head ducking down so that you and only you could hear that.

“Why?” you say a lot louder than you wanted, your heart hammering in fear that you would lose this game.

“Because you’re sexy as fuck,” Shindou spoke, his voice turning deeper, huskier, “and now you’re single.”

You blink, attention stolen from the game as you forgot about the final cup and looked at Shindou with a blank stare and an open mouth.

“What?”

“Cuz you and Todoroki are over,” Shindou explains to you as if you’re a child. “You guys are over, right? That’s all everyone’s talking about, and all us guys are ready to fuck you whenever you’re ready.”

His smirk irritates you, the lust in his eyes angering you as you drop your hold on his arm.

“We weren’t together, and you knew that,” you say, eyes narrowing as the crowd watching the game explodes in raging cheers as Kirishima sinks the ball into the cup. “Why the fuck would Shouto be fucking every girl that walks if we were together? What makes you think I’d be okay with it?”

“You’re a cuck,” Shindou continues on, confidence unaffected. “Oh, are the two of you maybe changing roles now? Does the big guy want me to fuck you in front of him?”

Your fist makes contact with his throat before you can even stop yourself and the cheers quickly turn into gasps.

After apologizing profusely to the party holders, they decided that you could, in fact, stay at the party. Your knuckles throbbed in pain, the alcohol in your system buzzing in you in a way that wasn’t fun or relaxing as you made a simple side-step dance move in the middle of the dance floor. The girls, who had at the beginning of the party, drifted ways, had once more glued themselves at your side on the floor. You weren’t in a dancing mood as you took a drink of what you assumed to be a Moscow mule made by Mina for you to keep you at a high for the rest of the party.

Like hell you would ever let Shouto cuck you!

Let him fuck another woman in front of you?

You would go insane if he ever thought that would be acceptable.

“Down girl, relax!” Mina yelled by your ear. “I thought I was babysitting y/n, not Bakugou Katsuki!”

You startled, realizing that your frown had become a fierce snarl as you danced on the floor.

“Come on, babe, let’s get you feeling good again; let’s enjoy this night!” Mina exclaimed, her hands pushing your drink to your mouth and forcing you to chug the contents of the drink. The red Solo Cup is dropped to the floor as soon as you finish. She grabbed your wrists and began to fluidly move your arms — or as well as she could manage herself because she, too, was drunk.

But with Mina winking and smiling at you, the rest of the girls eventually throw themselves into your linked dance circle, your own negative emotions left and in came joy.

It took about another round of ten songs for the dance circle to be destroyed and to have all of you resuming a rave-like jumping and scream-singing as Jirou finally snuck her way into the DJ booth and succeeded to take over. You spun around at the end of one song, laughing completely out of breath as you clapped your hands together. You often forget that while Jirou only listened to a very specific genre, she was a musical genius who had banger playlists for every occasion.

It seemed frat parties were one of them.

However, the next song had your head tilting backward, your grin spreading even wider as you began to move your hips in slow, distinct movements. Dancing with your hips was something you had learned, something you instilled into your dancing category for as long as you could remember.

The beats were loud, deep, thumping deep in the ground and vibrating with great strength in your chest as you pointed a finger at Mina, who was also dancing similarly to you. Your lips moved as you sang the song quietly, the heat and humidity of the room suddenly pressing onto you like another person. You hummed, flicking the parts of your hair sticking to the nape of your neck off, grateful for the slightly cooler air hitting your sweaty skin.

As you rolled your hips down, your hands fanning yourself, trying to cool down your deliriously warm, alcohol-heated body, you froze for just a bit. A person pressed to your back, your ass pressing against a hot thigh, and a hand resting upon the curve of your thigh, keeping you in place. You might have cared, but the body against yours was a welcomed one. Your hips and ass continuing to move in tandem with the music, deliberate highs and lows, and you worked your way up and down the man's body who met yours with spinning accuracy that made you began to pant, your heart racing because this was hot to you. You raised your arms behind you, clasping onto his neck, keeping him on you.

His hair was soft under your touch, slightly sweaty but threaded and parted between your fingers just too easily. His left hand, which had found a spot on your stomach, was radiating heat, something easily felt due to you only having mesh cloth there.

It was slow.

Sensual.

Somehow familiar.

Absolutely mind-numbing.

His chest broad against your back, muscles strong and tight against you.

He was skilled, practiced. Someone you knew was not going to disappoint you, and as your lust-glazed eyes took in the entirely shocked looks of your friends, you finally turned to look.

Somehow, someway, you weren’t shocked at all to see Shouto’s clouded, dark eyes locking on yours. Your world seems to freeze as something between you and Shouto is so obviously broken between you, forever changing, no longer able to go back. It didn’t matter that this was the first time in almost a week you had seen him, had talked to him, he was there, and you wanted to feel his skin scorching against yours. His touch screamed of his want for you, your recognition of your love for him, and your current lust for him. You were angry, hurt, confused, but you were too drunk to care, too intoxicated on the spell the two of you created on this dance floor.

But even as your world froze, the music continued on.

Grabbing Shouto’s hand, you spun around so that his chest was now pressed against yours, your legs between his. You continued dancing, continued to roll your hips down as you sunk down to the ground as Shouto remained standing, his hand supporting and balancing you as you went down and up. He began to dance with you again, the world seemingly disappearing as the two of you ground and panted heavily in each other's ears.

He pushed forward, and you whined, feeling the blazing swollen heat of his semi-hard cock against your stomach, but you met him there.

Your fingers fisting in his hair as his hands found their way into your back pockets, gripping your ass, and your eyes fluttered shut as his mouth, blazing, intense, and intentful, mashed against yours. You kissed him back immediately, all defenses abandoned to that of your lust, wants, and needs. His mouth was a fire, his kiss a blaze that consumed you, drowned you, made you push for more.

It was a kiss that lasted who knows how long, but by the time you had separated, you could feel the familiar sting to your slowly swelling lips and the song that had ended.

His eyes were a near black, his cheeks flushed, and his arms kept you so close you had to think if you were in the privacy of your home or in public.

“I want you,” you whispered, your voice begging, pleading for him.

“I need you,” he responded, his voice equally wishing.

“Take me home,” you speak, lips pressing sloppy, desperate hot kisses to his neck. “Take me home and fuck me.”

“Fuck, yes, okay. Let’s go,” Shouto pants, his hands leaving your ass and grabbing onto one of yours before taking you and dragging you away.

It wouldn’t hit you until much later, but the very first kiss you had ever had with Shouto was in the middle of a dance floor, at a party where the male population had been ready to snatch you up after your relationship with Shouto was so-called over.

You were breathless.

No matter how deep you inhaled, you felt like you weren’t having enough oxygen flooding your veins, filling your lungs. You laugh loudly in the night, uncaring about the strangers you passed looking at you and Shouto, who chuckled and snorted with every giggle you made.

This felt crazy, insane, something serendipitous and not real even in the smallest of bits.

He kissed you.

He wanted you.

He said he needed you.

Wants and needs were different things, but he said need.

He needed you.

Just you.

Your feet ached from the running, but you could only focus on Shouto, your mind filling and swimming in the memory of his body pressed to you. The way his lips ghosted over your neck, and the way he danced against you — with you. The four-block walk back to your apartment seemed too far, and your eyes locked on a nearing alleyway.

With much more strength than you should have, you shoved Shouto into the alleyway, your mouth immediately pressing onto his.

Shouto groaned into your mouth, letting you drink his noises as you pulled him close, consuming him in a messy clash of teeth, spit, and tongue. You whined back, your legs slotting between his thigh and grinding down on the hard muscle. It alleviated the growing, scorching heat in your panties but also intensified it, making you want for more and more and more.

“You drive me fucking insane,” Shouto groaned in your mouth, shifting and guiding your rolling hips his thigh better, more fluid, more intense.

Your eyes barely cracked open, your mouth no longer kissing him put pressing against his in an open mouth pant. Your drunken breath saying nothing but implying the world.

Something Shouto was more than keen on giving you.

“Holy fuck,” he whispered for you to hear, so reverent, so holy. And so that you, the center of his world, the only thing he saw and believed in, knew how passionately, how ardently he believed in you, his mouth slid down your neck, and his teeth sunk in your flesh. He claimed you, praised you, making you a part of him.

“I’m still so mad at you!” you moan, voice pitched, whiny, and deliriously high. “I love you, asshole. I love you, and you sleep around! I love you, and I don’t care if you sleep around, but you care that I sleep around?!”

“I love you too,” Shouto mumbles against your neck, his teeth continuing to press into your skin that seems to explode with heat at the revelation. “I love, and I’m an idiot; I’m so sorry.”

And then he does something with his tongue against your neck, the soft of swipes, the wet tickling heat making your head slam back against the brick wall, and a mangled, strangled moan of unadulterated want emits from you.

“We'll talk about this in the morning,” you pant, fingers fisting in his shirt. “We can fix this, but right now, shut up and fuck me.”

“Y/n—”

“I’m horny,” you interrupt, hips sharply jutting into his leg. “You made me horny. Take responsibility.”

His eyes flashed dark, his nostrils flaring, and your words cemented in his head. He resumed his painting, his worship on your neck as you cried loudly in the alleyway, desperate, needy for more.

It was dizzying to have him on you like this.

For so long, you had only touched him in a few ways, had only ever felt a specific type of warmth. But this was unlike anything you’ve ever done with him, to him. It felt like you were burning and freezing, consumed by heat and energy and everything Shouto. His all too familiar cologne filled your nose, drowning your brain, invading your senses. His frantic heartbeat felt against your own body, telling you exactly how you were affecting him, how you made his heart speed and jump with every breathy whine.

“Fuck, I can’t do this. We need to get home now!” Shouto growls, his hands grabbing you by the wrist yet again and pulling you away.

His strides are long, quick, and powerful. You’re running to keep up, beautifully out of breath, staggering and stumbling to keep up in his objective to get back to the apartment now.

It doesn’t seem to take long before he’s pushing open the doors to the apartment complex, corralling you through the doors and into the elevator to get to the eleventh floor. The elevator doors are behind you, and with no one else in the life, you turn on him and immediately resume your own endeavor of claiming Shouto with your mouth, body, and soul. He matches your intensity, hands roaming from where the clasp of your bra sat to the curve of your ass. He grabbed you, pulled you in closer, the air in his nose staggering as you stammer against his mouth.

Teeth touch lips, tongues in each other's cheeks, and Shouto leads you out of the elevator backward, his one hand on your waist forever steady and the other one holding the key. Your fingers are back in his hair, pulling and tugging sharply on the soft, short strands with nearly disappeared gel. He gets to the door, fumbling with the key as you continue to kiss him, distracting him with the smallest of movements.

“Which room?” he asks against your mouth, pushing you through the threshold, his foot closing the door behind him.

The shoes are haphazardly kicked off and you’re now on your tiptoes to continue kissing him as you were. You tried to think, tried to figure out if you wanted to be surrounded by Shouto’s scent or to have him displayed in your room. His teeth then suckle on your bottom lip, biting down on the swollen, hot flesh just gentle enough that your mind draws a blank and your voice responds on its own.

“Mine.”

You shriek then, Shouto swiftly picking you up off the floor and you panic, hands swatting and beating on him as you scream to let you down. He continues walking, holding you without a worry, his arms remaining strong and firm beneath you. But with your distraction, with your lips no longer pressed sinfully against his, Shouto’s mouth finds a junction point on your clavicle and sinks his teeth down again, claiming you once more.

“S-Sho—” your voice hitches, the feeling too intense for you to process all at once. You hear your room door open and close, and without warning, you’re soaring through the air before collapsing on the bed.

“You think I go to the gym to get muscles for fun?” Shouto taunts, his fingers hooking under the dark grey t-shirt he’s wearing. “Angel, I go to the gym to make sure I can fuck you in any position, against any surface or wall you want.”

Your body feels like it's scorching as he removes his shirt, his muscles rippling and moving seductively with the devious, intentional movement.

“What’s wrong, y/n?” Shouto asks, the shirt dropping to the floor, removing all traces of oxygen from your person. He steps closer, fingers circling around your ankle and suddenly pulling you in toward him until you were sitting at the edge, his lips hovering over yours. “Cat got your tongue?”

Your tongue feels dry in your mouth, but your eyes narrow before you push up and capture his mouth back with yours. He kisses you back deeply, bending down so that you begin to shift backward, allowing him the space to crawl onto the bed with you, and at the last moment, your leg wraps around his waist and spins the both of you. Shouto gasps as you pin him onto the mattress, your tongue invading his mouth, brushing and swirling against his, coaxing his own tongue back into your own mouth. With the wet heat in your mouth, your teeth playfully, just gently dig into his appendage and tug.

“No, but it seems like I got yours,” you humor him, your teeth releasing his tongue, and Shouto looks up at you like you were both the sun and the moon, and the stars were a gift to him.

It takes your breath away.

Shouto grins, shifting onto his elbows so that he’s closer to you before kissing you again.

The kiss is growing louder, both your mouths ever so consuming, trying to relay years of repressed, unknown emotions and feelings within a drastic, incredible touch. Your hips begin shifting against his crotch, humping his clothed erection, demonstrating yet again the power and grace you hold in your body.

Shouto’s hands move from your ribs up to your breasts, and with the hot, rough flesh of his skin, he squeezes your tender flesh. You moan into his mouth, hips bucking wildly against him at the sensation. It isn’t a powerful flesh, but a reminder, a demonstration of just what and where he could inflect passionate actions.

Your hands scour his chest, fingernails dragging teasingly down his firm, developed muscles, fingers flicking and teasing at his own exposed nipples. Shouto grunts into your mouth, hips bucking powerfully upward into your clothed cunt, and you splutter at the power behind it. But it seems as though Shouto is over the fishnet mesh shirt and crop top you’re wearing because he’s tugging it out of the waistband of your jeans and commands in a deep, lust-ridden voice: “Off.”

Goosebumps flash across your skin, bubbling and spraying across your sensitive skin as your shirt and crop top join Shouto’s on the floor. Your gasp loudly when Shouto rolls the both of you over swiftly, his mouth immediately pressing hot, viper kisses on your breasts. All thought and reason leave your mind as his teeth nip and pull. His fingers pushing the straps of your bra off your shoulders and shoving your boobs out of the bra in a firm hold.

“You have no idea how fucking long I’ve wanted to touch you, kiss you, fuck you,” Shouto whispers, his tone almost dark as his hot air fans against your already pebbling nipples. “Fuck, angel, you’re better than anything I’ve ever dreamed about.”

You whine loudly, fingers tangling in his hair as you desperately, wordlessly try to persuade him to put his lips around your attentive, eager nipples.

“I always forget you got these things,” Shouto says in wonder, his fingers touching the metal bars sitting so innocently, deviously on through your nipple. He tugs on the bar, and all the nerves in your breast fire and tingle, and your feet curl by his back as you whimper. “Fuck... I can’t believe I forgot…”

“S-Shouto, I fucking swear!” you almost screech, hands desperately pulling at strands of red and white, wanting his teeth and tongue and the suction of his mouth on your nipple. “Stop. Fucking. Talking!”

Shouto chuckles, his eyes of blue and grey flashing up at you dangerously, knowingly.

“Okay,” he says cheekily, and as if he read your thoughts, his teeth gently bit down on your all too ready nipple. Your head slams against the mattress, your chest feeling alive as if you had been electrocuted. He sucks your nipple, teeth tugging on the sensitive flesh, clacking against the metal in your flesh. His fingers taking care of your lonesome nipple, keeping it company with gentle, purposeful rolls as he has you sobbing his name.

“Please, please, please,” you beg, although you have no idea what you’re begging for. Your hips pathetically grinding into his clothed cock, trying to get yourself to cum while not having been touched. “Sho— Shouto!”

Shouto pulls away from your nipple with a loud pop. His breath panting, short, and overwhelmingly strained as if simply sucking your throbbing, needy nipple had given him the same amount of pleasure as it did you before consuming your forgotten one. Just as before, you melted against him, begging please, pretty please to him but never telling him what you were wanting. You didn’t know what you were wanting.

But unlike before, his hands leave their attentive position on your free nipple and slam your hips back down onto the mattress, keeping you down and still as he continued his ministrations until you were nipplegasming. You choked as the orgasm consumed you, your body going rigid and your eyes rolling to the depths of your head as his hot mouth was all you could think of. For a moment, the needy wet heat between your thighs was easily ignorable, something unneeded until Shouto was pulling away and kissing you again.

His chest was pressed tight against your own chest, your sensitive, overstimulated nipples rubbing against his chest with the welcomed friction as you let out a wordless, near-dizzy sigh into Shouto’s mouth. He kissed you with incredible passion, with dizzying heat, and consuming lust.

Your voice was so small, your voice easily drowned in Shouto’s mouth as your fingernails dug into his back and raked down pathetically, desperately proving that you were still here. Still fighting him on just who would win this night. Your fingers went down the curve of his spine, trailing down until you found the waistband of his sweats, and with his mouth everso distractingly on the swell of your breasts, biting, marking, and sucking hickies and his print on you for forever, he helped you slide the pants off.

In an almost dramatic fashion, his eyes burning deep into yours, leaving you stunned and a worshiper at his feet, he rose off your bed and let the pants fall. You shakily inhaled, your eyes suddenly transfixed and only seeing the hard, leaking dick that stood tall and proud against his twitching stomach. At the mere sight of him, you now truly, completely, and entirely understood just why the girls were obsessed.

From tip to the base, he was thick, the flush of his skin gorgeous, the curve of his cock optimal to fuck anyone. He was long, thick, and delicious—trimmed pubes of red and white and balls that had your mouth watering and going dry. You wondered, imagined, tried to visualize just how much it was going to hurt getting that in you. You’ve never had a man with a dick like that, never had to choke or fuck on something that looked like it would possibly render you stupid the moment you were impaled.

“Can I?” you ask, ‘can I touch you? Can I suck you?’ go unsaid.

“You owe me one,” Shouto says, his words teasing if it wasn’t for the way his voice betrayed him with the eagerness, the want and inexplicable tell that says if you don’t touch him, he will lose his fucking mind. “Please, do it.”

You’re dragging him back onto the bed, sitting him by your headboard, spreading his legs apart as you situate yourself between them. With a tentative, shaky hand, you reach out and grab on his dick.

His flesh is hot to the touch; it's hard and twitches just so at your grasp. Shouto lets out a gasp mixed with a whine, and you look at him with wide eyes and parted lips. Unable to help yourself, you lean in, your nose touching the underside of his length and nuzzling into the flesh. You look back up at him with hooded eyes, eyes dark with mirth, lust, and an overwhelming need to please Shouto. He stares back, eyes entirely too bright, almost scared, almost as if he can’t believe this is happening.

You smile softly, eyes breaking contact to look at the swelling cock in your hand, and then back at him as your tongue pokes out of your mouth and puts a long, wet stripe against his length.

And Shouto?

Shouto moans like a man who’s had warm food after days of starving.

You lick from base to tip, saliva mixing with precum as your mouth presses teasing, open mouth kisses down the length of his cock, tongue pressing against the sweltering heat of his balls.

“Fuck, y/n, stop teasing,” Shouto grits, his hips pathetically snapping into nothing, his hands desperately trying to touch you, to which you swatted him away each and every time. You tut, shaking your head. With both your hands fisting his dick at the middle of his length, your squeeze and pull in opposite directions.

The reaction is one that you were hoping for, Shouto’s head slamming to the headboard with a clash, his legs jumping just a bit, and precum coming out in even heavy drops. You laugh breathlessly at his display, enamored with how fucking easy he is to get to make noises. He’d never made noises before, no other girl had him the way you did, and that made you crazy with power.

Before you wanted to, your mouth consumed to head of his cock, allowing the musky smell that was completely and only Shouto to fully consume you. You sucked on his thick swollen head, tongue pressing on the leaking slit on his head as he choked on your name. You smile, taking him in further, straining against the weight in your mouth, the pressure on the back of your throat, and the stretch of your throat. As soon as you had him a bit way in, you were pushing out, his hips driving to find you but missing you. Shouto’s noise was almost broken, near needy, and your head spun with his noises. Unable to stop, you pushed in again, allowing the drive of his hips to send his cock further down your throat.

Tears filled your eyes at the action, his cock much too large, much too thick to be fucked into your throat as such. Your fists acted as a barrier as you adjusted, your throat humming, mouth moaning as Shouto lost himself to the heat of your wet mouth. You bobbed your head, fucking him diligently and intently with your mouth, driving him further down, your tongue and hollowed cheeks. You sucked his dick with the intention of ruining him, of making him fill your mouth and throat with him so he could never doubt that it was him you wanted, him you needed to consume. You let go of one hand, allowing it to fondle with his balls as his cock went further into your mouth, the sounds of your choking, gagging, and crying egging him on.

“You take me so good,” Shouto sang to you, whispering words that only you’ve heard. “Fuck, angel, take me all the way. I know you can do it.”

With his hands at the back of your head, your fingers squeezing his balls, and the shaky removal of your final hand on his cock, he drives his hips all the way up. Shouto curses loudly, and you choke, feeling the rush of cum shooting down your throat, and you’re let free.

“Swallow it all, don’t spit it up,” Shouto breathes, his body shifting upward, eyes intent, focused. “Let me see.”

You cough violently, mouth closed as you swallow the salty cum, only letting your mouth open to allow the drool and spit to drip from your flat tongue as you show him that you swallowed every last seed. He groaned, grasping you by the chin and pulling you back in for a passionate, all-consuming kiss. The taste of Shouto and his cum sat heavily in your throat, and you were shaking as he began to unbutton your jeans, shedding them off of you as he flipped you back around so that your back was resting against the mattress.

Salt sweat dripped down your neck, and Shouto left fingertip bruises on your waist, your knees and legs awkwardly kicking as you finally got your jeans off your ankles. You shuttered, feeling Shouto’s hot, spit-slick dick pressing against your stomach, your cunt flipping and twisting at the thought of taking him all in.

“You’re still, fuck… you’re still hard?” you gasp, Shouto’s fingers tracing the innards of your thighs, scratching at your ass, slapping it once, twice, leaving you pitched and shaking.

“How can I not be when you’re down beneath me?” Shouto asks, his eyes looking at you as if he was burning the very naked image to you in his brain for him forever. “You’re mine, right?”

The question itself, while unexpected, was not unwanted.

You feel yourself nodding, your fingers scratching up his flexed arms, “Yours and only yours.”

“Good,” Shouto smirks, leaning in, his entire weight on the one hand beside your head, making you groan as his lips were so close yet so far away. “I’m yours as you are mine.”

With that, his fingers pressed to your thus far, unattended to clit, your legs shaking, kicking the air as you howled in pleasure. But it was such an intimate place, something you never expected Shouto to ever touch, and so, in a voice so pathetic you couldn’t even recognize it as yours, you screeched: “D-Don’t touch that!”

Shouto cocked an eyebrow, his head tilting as his fingers swirled around your swollen nub, sending just enough electrifying pleasure through every neuron in your body. “Why not?” he asked, voice authoritative and curious and sadistic. “It’s mine — you’re mine. I can play with what’s mine whenever I want.”

The words make your entire will collapse, the words liquid heat in your ears and mind. You moan loudly, feeling Shouto adjust your hips, lining your spasming cunt with his cock, and with his tongue delving into your mouth, his lips pressing against yours, he slowly pushed into you.

Shouto was loud the entire way into you, the deep grunts, breathless moans, and mindless babble of how this was unlike anything he’s had before, better than anything he’s ever imagined. He bottoms out quickly, hands leaving purple bruises against your skin as you lay on the bed silent.

Your back is entirely arched, jaw slacked, voice dead on your tongue because the feeling of him buried deep within you is staggering. You let out a single tone noise, your mouth gasping for breath as your voice finally begins to come back to you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you whisper over and over, your legs tight around Shouto’s hips, shaking with the feeling in you. “God, y-you’re so big, Sho… I’m—”

You can’t finish your sentence because he shifts just enough that his cock is meeting places in you that had never been encountered before. Your eyes roll back again, your fingers pressing ruby red scars to his back as you scratch and tear his back.

“You’re so fucking tight, shit,” Shouto pants, his mouth panting against the sweat on your collarbone, his own breathing heavy and spaced. “You’re perfect, y/n, so fucking perfect.”

You preen with those words, your mouth finding a home at his temple to which you kiss him, drag your lips down to his ear. You bite and nibble as you adjust to him buried deep within you. And he heaves a sigh and pushes up off you, eyes daring to stare into you as he huffs almost in disbelief of this entire night.

“I’m going to start moving,” he says, fingers scratching down your sides to your thighs. “Are you ready?”

Not trusting your voice, you nod. Shouto smiles, leaning back down for one last kiss to which you quickly returned, staying there as his hips moved backward before thrusting back into you. It's the first thrust of many, but your arms wrap even tighter underneath his own, your nails scarring his back as he goes again and again. You fucks into you deliberately, readily, with purpose and skill that speaks wonders and lives up to the many rumors you’ve ever heard.

His thrusts are powerful, slapping into your thighs with a mighty smack, making you whimper and wail into his salty neck as your hips lift up to meet his. It's a powerful dance, a dizzying cycle. His cock sliding up and down your puffy velvet walls, your weeping walls clenching him in a vice, unforgiving and unwilling to let go.

He speaks praises into your ear, your yours, your mouth.

“Such a pretty angel, moaning for me, crying for me, tell me you want my cock. Tell me you want me buried in your fucking stomach.”

You are converted to him in return, seeing him, speaking to him, devoted to him.

“Fuck, I want you more. Faster, harder! Don’t stop! I can feel you in my stomach, Sho! Fuck! Fuck me, fuck me fuck me!”

His weight is pressed on your thighs, spreading your thighs further apart, fucking into deeper, fucking you so powerfully, so desperately your soaked cunt squelches and drips your essence, soaking your bed and his legs. Your teeth sink into his skin, copper filling your mouth, and your vision feels missing as you are slamming your hips up, rolling them desperately to fuck back into him. You can feel his hand clutching yours, pressing it into the mattress as he somehow speeds up again, drilling you into the mattress, the bed creaking and bending under both your weight.

“More, more, more!”

And he gives, and gives, and gives.

You wail his name, the heat in your skin, tickling your clit and innards making you sweat, the alcohol on your skin sticking you to Shouto.

Shouto grunts your name, hisses your name, damns you heaven and back for having such a fucking grip on him. It's when he looks into your eyes, cock drilling into you at a speed and power that no human should ever obtain, one hand gripping yours and the other pinching and teasing your clit, you cum, bursting open at the seams.

Your orgasm is loud, clenching, all-consuming, and you drag Shouto down with you as he stammers, shudders, and cums deep within your womb. His seed spilling out of you as the both of you collapse onto the bed with breathless, thoughtless minds.

“Fuck,” he says.

“Right?” you chuckle.

And with your nose pressed to his sweaty, sex-lulled body, you fall asleep with his hands traveling up and down your spine. Hopefully, things would be well when you woke up.

P R E S E N T

To stop you from screeching so loudly you woke up the entire world, Shouto held his hand to your mouth, his eyes wide, terrified, and completely confused.

“Please stop yelling… my head hurts…” Shouto begs, his face completely exhausted but with that post-orgasm sleep glow.

“We had sex?!” you shriek, throwing his hand off your mouth. “We were mad at each other, and we had sex?!”

“Oh,” Shouto seems to remember, his head rolling before he sat up, bringing you up with him. “Right, we should talk about that, huh?”

“You think?!” you shriek, entirely overwhelmed with the fact that you had done so much embarrassing shit last night.

It’s quiet for a bit. The birds chirping outside an almost cheerful taunt as the both of you, for the first time in seventeen years, find it too awkward to talk. No one wants to speak first, to mention the elephant in the room, for once it happened, there really was no going back. Not that there was much to go back from.

“I’m in love with you,” Shouto finally says. It’s an admittance, a whisper that's strong despite it told in such a hushed voice as if you would laugh at him as he confessed. “I’ve actually been in love with you for as long as I can remember.”

Now that shocks you.

Your eyes are wide, and you’re staring at Shouto, unsure what to say, what to ask, but you know you need more answers.

“I know, hard to believe, huh?” Shouto chuckles, his hand running through his sex and sleep disheveled hair. “It’s true, though… I don’t remember not ever being in love with you.”

“No… no way,” you say, your body running cold, and you shiver. You remember then that you’re sitting up, and you’re very incredibly naked. Shouto notices and moves to grab a blanket at the foot of the bed and wraps it around you. “That doesn’t make sense,” you argue, your furrowed brows making your skin crease as you try to think back on all your years and memories, looking for signs in which Todoroki Shouto loved you. “You never showed it.”

“Camie said the same thing,” Shouto sighed, his hand rubbing the back of his neck as he shrugged nonchalantly. “Before I was sixteen… I don’t know; I guess I could understand why. I only ever talked to you, always paired up with you. I let you hold my hand, and I let you hug me… I thought me telling you that I had never been kissed before would make you want to kiss me, but it never did. I know I was awkward and a little different when we were younger, so when I was paired up with Camie… I thought she would help me.”

“By fucking you?” you asked, your frown deepening as you remembered your bitter feelings over Camie stealing Shouto’s virginity.

“She… she said that by being sexual, maybe you would see me as a man, and not the four-year-old crying boy in preschool,” Shouto smiled sadly, his fingers picking at one another. “Me having sex was supposed to show you that I was a man who wanted to see you as a woman in return, but it didn’t work.”

“Well, no shit,” you snort, relaxing a bit although you felt limp. You found yourself leaning against Shouto’s strong shoulders, your head landing heavily on him. “You went from a virgin to fucking anything with a wet hole.”

“...yeah, I’m sorry about that,” Shouto said with regret, his shoulders sagging just a bit. “At first, I thought I needed to fuck more girls to prove I was a man to you because you acted like nothing had happened after Camie… but sex was fun, it felt good.”

“Sex is good,” you agree with a soft chuckle to which he returned.

He shifted a bit, arms tightening and relaxing before he finally admitted, “It helped distract me from you because you looked at others the way I wanted you to look at me.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper back.

“No, don’t be,” Shouto speaks firmly, his arm wrapping around your shoulder and pressing a kiss to your temple. “It was my fault. I was never assertive enough, confident enough to simply confess.”

“So, does you being in love with me having anything to do with you driving the entire male population away from me?”

Your eyes look up at him, finding his embarrassed gaze before he glances away.

“That actually wasn’t intentional… I guess I just talk about you a lot.”

“Yeah, but still doesn’t mean you couldn’t ever deny it yourself!”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

“Apologize then.”

“Y/l/n Y/n, I am sorry for making the entire male population we’ve ever come across think we were an item and not telling them otherwise. I am sorry for keeping you from enjoying sex while I continued to. I am lousy, and my love for you should be unreturned because that was ass of me.”

You sigh, your lips pursed to keep from smiling as you looked back at his handsome face.

“Now, ask me the damn question, crybaby.”

“Crybaby?”

“You finally admitted that you were, in fact, crying!!!!!”

If you asked Shishikura Seiji what the worst thing about being the third roommate to Todoroki Shouto and you was, he would give a million and three answers as to why it was the worst.

One: he absolutely hated how loud the both of you were. Todoroki Shouto was someone he thought was quiet and introverted, but whenever he was around you, he was loud. You were just plain old loud, and he thought it was annoying.

Two: he absolutely hated your rice. Call it petty, but after you fed him on his first night and tried putting him into a chokehold for saying the song your rice cooker sang at its end was the stupidest fucking thing ever made, everything you made taste like ash and dirt.

Twenty: he hated that there were biweekly karaoke nights. He would be studying away in his room and wanted to die when he heard the all too familiar sound of Mamma Mia’s Here We Go Again blasting in the living room.

Hundred fifty-seven: SO. MUCH. FUCKING. SEX.

Three hundred thirteen: SO. MUCH. DRINKING.

Five thousand: SO. MUCH. WEED.

Ten thousand three: you put his toilet seat up whenever you’re drunk, so he falls in when he goes to pee in the morning.

Five hundred: the way the both of you looked at each other, fucking disgusting.

To say the least, there were a lot of many different reasons scaling from actual issues to petty small shit, but Shishikura was not in any position to find a new apartment, so he stayed. To be quite honest, having been living with Dumb and Dumber (you and Shouto, respectively), he only thought there would be one thing that would make him lose his actual mind.

The day that would inevitably come and the both of you realized your feelings were, in fact, returned. He didn’t want to even imagine how the animalistic sex he often had to hear coming from your hallway would increase, or the sappy stupid romantic love he would see in the living room because as best friends, you both had no care for PDA and if you were allowed to kiss? Allowed to have sex? He feared he would have to wear a hazmat suit in every corner of the apartment. You both were already incredibly loud as a duo (see reason one as to why he hates living here); he feared the worst when the mutual love was realized.

But he exited his room a week after that Sunday morning with a fully loaded water gun just in case. His eyes narrowed, the hair on his neck raised as his beady eyes focused in on the living room.

Shouto sat on the couch, his back on the armrest, and you sitting between his thighs as you watched him play some game on his Switch, your smile large and annoyingly bright, but he realized that he couldn’t hear you screaming or speaking so loudly he could listen to the conversation.

No, as a matter of fact, Shishikura couldn’t hear a single word; the words being exchanged between you and Shouto spoke so softly, so intimately, it shocked him. Shishikura noticed with an almost awed surprise that even though your smile was as annoyingly bright as before. It wasn’t directed at anything but Shouto, and Shouto’s smile, while nowhere near as big, just as warm and full to you.

It was intimate, romantic even.

Nothing had changed in your relationship except now, finally, now, you were allowed to kiss and fuck each other like heat-driven animals.

Shishikura was shocked to his core, unable to comprehend the sight in front of him.

You nor Shouto paid him any mind, too lost in the game and in each other to look his way as he made his way into the kitchen for his lunch. Shishikura set the water gun on the counter, a small smile spreading on his face despite himself, and chuckled.

Maybe the two of you together weren’t something to hate on after all.

“Hey, is that a water gun?!”

#todoroki x reader #todoroki smut #bnha #bnha x reader #mha

[anxious2dsimp]

oooooh heLLO i really enjoyed your denki fic, very cute, 10000/10. since requests are open, could i get kirishima and kaminari with an s/o that Really Likes anime? headcanons or a drabbe, or whatever else you feel comfortable with :DDD

😭 Omg hi! Thank you so much, I appreciate it a ton :) You’re my first ever request & I go really excited about the idea, hope you like it! I decided to do it in Headcanon format bc there’s so much I wanna add omg I hope it isn’t too long...

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾｡･:*:･ﾟ★｡*✧･ﾟ:˚۰˚☽˚｡･:

Kirishima and Kaminari with an S/O that loves anime

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾｡･:*:･ﾟ★｡*✧･ﾟ:˚۰˚☽˚｡･:

Pairings: Kirishima x Reader, Kaminari x Reader

Reader: Gender Neutral!

Format: Headcanons​

Warnings: None! Some light cursing courtesy of Bakugou :)

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾｡･:*:･ﾟ★｡*✧･ﾟ:˚۰˚☽˚｡･:

Kirishima Eijirou:

I don’t think Kirishima watches anime regularly, or if he would even know any shows at all.

Let’s face it, he probably just watches workout YouTubers and regular action-packed movies.

HOWEVER, he loves knowing more about you, so he’ll be interested when you bring it up to him!

You probably first talked about it during a random conversation where he asked what you were currently watching.

So you just told him the plot of whichever anime you were watching atm, and he liked it so he asked for the name.

You told him it was an anime, and he was like: “so a cartoon?” sigh

*cut to you explaining how anime is more than just cartoons & how it’s a whole thing with genres and everything*

Tbh, Kiri probably wasn’t that sold on the idea...

but seeing how you lit up talking about it he wants to know more just to see you all excited and hyped

I love him sm😭

He’d probably not watch any shows by himself but watch whichever you decide to watch together to spend time with you and see your reactions <3

He’s probably paying more attention to you than the show, but he does get invested in the story since all the characters are so “manly”

Sometimes you’ll just be cuddling and you’ll rant to him about what happened in the latest episode of whatever show you’re watching on your own since he knows he won’t watch it.

And so you’ll just tell him all about the plot and the characters, and the unexpected twist and your theories...

He’ll just be attentively listening to your shenanigans thinking; “god I love them so much”

If he ever sees you crying over a show, you best believe he’ll bring you tissues and a snack, he doesn’t judge!

One time you were just sobbing on the dorm’s common room couch, still getting over your favorite character’s death in the episode you had watched the night before.

Bakugou was just like ?? and since Kirishima was getting a drink from the fridge apparently not even remotely concerned he asked:

“Shitty hair, shouldn’t you like check on your s/o or something so they shut up?”

“They’re fine, just getting over a character dying in their show. I snuggled them up in the blanket, so I’m getting them something to drink & they’ll be fine in a few hours.”

Bakugou rolls his eyes SO HARD, but Kirishima doesn’t even notice bc he’s on his way to cuddle you.

If you ever want to do something anime-related like go to a convention or go buy manga or merch he’d gladly come along.

Expect him to get you the coolest little anime-related gifts for your birthday or Christmas (along with whatever he had already planned to get you) since he knows how obsessed you are.

Overall, just a really supportive bf <3

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾｡･:*:･ﾟ★｡*✧･ﾟ:˚۰˚☽˚｡･:

Kaminari Denki:

Unlike Kiri, Kaminari LOVES anime! Idk why, but he gives off massive weeb vibes to me (in the best sense)

The thing is, you had NO IDEA of this because at first he hid it from everyone.

He initially had merch in his room but Bakugou & Mina teased him about it so he hid it whenever the bakusquad would hang in his dorm :’(

He did it too when you two started dating, bc he wanted to seem cool in your eyes & not like a dork...

Oh boy how wrong he was

You didn’t hide your anime obsession but never brought the topic up bc you didn’t think anyone else in the class liked it

So you can imagine your surprise when you found out

You two were hanging out in his room, and while he was setting up a movie on his laptop you got up to grab snacks where you saw him usually take food out of.

The second you open the drawer and Denki’s brain registers it he just screams “NOOO!” at the top of his lungs.

You literally jumped so high, it really caught you off-guard lmao

So now you’re just standing there, confused asf, because all there was in there was a figurine from one of your favorite animes and snacks.

As you take it out and examine it, turning around to face your bf he’s just panicking

He’s just staring at you like a deer caught in headlights and thinking:

Omg they’re onto me, will they even know what that is? what do I say when they ask? Will they believe me if I say it's someone else’s? They’ll think I play with toys or something please let the earth swallow me, someone help!

“This figurine is sick, where’d you get it? I’ve wanted one from that show for so long!”

Kaminari just blinks at you.

Did he hear that correctly? By the look on your face, it looked that way. He thought there was no way you could possibly become even more perfect in his eyes, but you just did.

Needless to say, you two ditched the movie and spent the afternoon talking about anime.

Since then you started going to conventions together, even cosplaying for fun a couple of times (just imagine him cosplaying Zenitsu from Demon slayer & you Nezuko or Tanjiro 🥺)

You’d watch SO MANY SHOWS TOGETHER OMG, and once anime season starts you’d get together once a week to binge all the new episodes.

Also gets you cute gifts and you do the same for him (considering he doesn’t hide his anime stuff anymore).

Honestly, he doesn’t even care who teases him bc you think it’s cool and that’s all he needs to know :’)

Loves making anime references or jokes just to get you to laugh while everyone else just looks at you two like tf???

Speaking of, brace yourself because he will absolutely use anime-related pickup lines on you lol

You get to exchange mangas and wear his merch hoodies from shows you also love.

Overall just couple goals, I ship it so much

#Cassie likes MHA! #bnha hcs #mha hcs #bnha headcanons #mha headcanons #my hero academia hcs #kirishima hcs #kaminari hcs #kaminari x reader #kirishima x reader #kaminari headcanons #kirishima headcanon #denki kaminari x reader #kirishima eijirou x reader #kirishima eijirou headcanons #denki kaminari headcanons #denki kaminari hcs #eijirou kirishima hcs #kirishima fluff #kaminari fluff

[kadethecat]

what about... 20? :D

Thanks for doing the ask game! 20 is breaking the rules. I haven’t written in a while, so sorry if it’s not the best, but here it is. Also the formatting might be messed up since I’m on mobile.

Summary: Susie and Noelle wanted to have a cool night where they could watch a bunch of episodes of their favorite show, but the streaming service they have access to through noelles parents doesn’t have it on there, so Susie suggests Piracy.

“You mean like a date? Really?” Noelle wanted to make sure she was interpreting what Susie had said right.

Susie turned to the side and put a hand behind her head, her hair hiding her eyes even more. “Well, only if you want it to be…” Noelle was touched. Noelle couldn’t believe a cool girl like Susie wanted to go out with her! She was barely keeping herself from jumping around. “So what do you… what do you wanna do?” Susie was looking her in the eyes now.

“Um… maybe we could watch a movie, or a show or something?” Noelle suggested.

“Oh, I know! You could show me that cartoon you were talking about! If you uh… if you want to, anyway.”

Oh geez, Noelle hadn’t thought that Susie would actually be interested when she brought it up. She’d still follow through and watch it with her, but she was a bit embarrassed about her own taste. “Um, sure. What time?”

“Can we do 11? Like in the morning?” Susie asked.

“I’m pretty sure that works for me. So… see you then I guess?”

“Uh, sure. I’ll see you later.”

Noelle and Susie had parted ways from in front of the school, and Noelle was in her room, gushing. She was just so happy that she finally had a real official date with the girl she liked! Of course Noelle was still in fear of it going horribly horribly wrong, but she was able to put that fear aside for the most part. As well as how she always felt guilty thinking about Susie, and even guiltier now that something was actually happening. Ah, she should probably start preparing for the date to make sure it goes well.

She booted up the computer and made sure she remembered her family’s Sora login correctly. She successfully got into the streaming service, and looked in her watch list for Caught in Rola. Huh, it didn’t show up. Sora does glitch a lot... She decided to put the site’s search function into use, and Noelle put the name of the series in, and still no results showed.

Noelle’s heart was pretty crushed. Her date with Susie was probably ruined, and she hadn’t even finished the last season of the show. Ugh, she couldn’t believe that they would just take it down with no warning. She fell into bed and put on the white noise she liked to sleep to, and turned off her lamp. She still couldn’t stop thinking about the situation she was in. What was she going to say to Susie? Would she think it was Noelle’s fault? Maybe the blame did fall on Noelle. After all, it was her who told Susie that she would definitely be able to do it.

- -

The doorbell rang. It was 11:17, and Noelle was still anxious. Maybe she just shouldn’t open the door. Maybe then she can forget about this and it will somehow be fixed… the doorbell rapidly rang a few more times, and Noelle walked to the door to unlock and open it.

“Hi, Noelle, I almost thought you weren’t gonna get the door, haha. Sorry for being late. I like, forgot for a second that 10:57 was right before 11, so when I checked the clock then, I wasn’t prepared at all to leave, but hopefully it’s okay?” Susie was a bit embarrassed, and it showed on her face.

“It’s totally okay! Um, Susie? Do you think you would be okay if we uh, did something else other than watching the show…?” Noelle asked, avoiding eye contact with her date.

“Wha? I’m not mad or something, but why?”

“Well I checked and… Sora doesn’t have Caught in Rola on it any more. Sorry to let you down.”

“Oh, well. that’s not good. Uh I do think I know… something else we can do. Can I use your computer for a moment?”

Noelle was unsure what Susie was thinking of. “Alright, sure, as long as it’s within reason. And you can come inside now! Sorry for making you wait outside for so long.”

The two headed inside the roomy house, and made their way into Noelle’s room. Noelle had temporarily taken down the most embarrassing posters she had, but a few were still up. Noelle sat on her bed next to Susie, set the laptop between them and logged into her account to direct Susie onto the browser.

“Okay uhh, do you have an adblocker?” Susie asked Noelle, looking up from the monitor.

“No? Probably not I think, what’s that for?”

“No? Uh, okay. It like, removes annoying ads and popups from websites while you’re on them.” Susie tried explaining. “I’ll just get one for you if you want. It’s free to have.”

Noelle just gave a simple “Okay,” and Susie continued her work on the device.

“Okay so, I know a website that we can probably watch it on, so I’m gonna pull that up now.” She put in a weird sounding url and hit enter. A bunch of ads and spam showed up for a split second, but were quickly done away with thanks to what Susie had gotten for Noelle. “Here it is! It seems sketchy but it’s completely alright to do and doesn’t make you a bad person on its own.” Susie proclaimed.

“Wow, you’re sure that this is okay? It’s pretty cool!” Noelle was pretty excited to see the show, she would even be able to finish it on her own if she couldn’t with Susie.

“Well, yeah, as long as you didn’t invite any cops, haha ha…” the room went a bit cold.

“This- Are you saying that this is a crime!?” Noelle nearly shouted. Was she dating a criminal? Was her mom actually right about Susie being a delinquent bad influence?

“Hey, hey, I said it was moral, not legal.” Susie tried to reassure.

“Wh-what if we get caught? Undyne’s really scary, and-and people might think it’s my your fault O-or-“

“Hey, Noelle.” Susie said pretty calmly. “We’re not hurting anyone. We’re just a couple of teens who wanna watch a cartoon. And, you’re mom’s paying for that other service anyway, so the creators of the show already got stuff for what they made. It’s basically already been completely paid for, if that uh, makes sense.”

Noelle was actually almost crying, but she thought that Susie was probably right. She tended to draw her own moral line at things that the people around her would approve of, but, well, now that she thought about it, there was probably more that they wouldn’t approve of or understand, like the dark world, or how Kris can time travel, apparently.

“Wow, that’s uh… a lot.” Susie was staring at Noelle.

“Did uh.. I… I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”

“Hey, it’s okay! Let’s… let’s go watch our illegal cartoons now.”

“Okay!” The two girls pulled up the show, and watched the show until into the night.

#Deltarune #suselle #Susie #Noelle #fic #fanfic

[samingtonwilson]

Mac and Cheese

Summary: Bucky takes the last box of frozen mac and cheese, takes your phone, and makes you fall in love with him. The audacity of that man.

Prompt: “This has been a very bad week and you just grabbed the last box of my favorite comfort food at the supermarket” 

Pairing: bucky x reader

a/n: i wrote this and was fully done formatting it and everything, like, 6 months ago. i didn’t post it because it’s approx. 82% nonsense but i figured why not post it now when it’s still 82% nonsense but im struggling to finish everything else. so taal, long time vegan, writes a story about mac and cheese and, listen, idk what this fic is either. can i write a fic without adding sam to it? no.

Mac and cheese. That’s all you want. Disgusting, frozen, usually-quite-mushy-if-not-microwaved-correctly mac and fucking cheese. 

The kind with the layer of cheese on top. The kind with that real elbow pasta, not rotini or penne or seashell pasta— real macaroni. The kind you try to only eat one serving size of before you eat everything in the package. The kind you always gravitate to when your eyes are stained red, swollen, and too proud to be anything other than dry.

You take the subway. You switch lines. You endure the smell of the F train during rush hour when you aren’t sure where your thigh ends and the thigh of the woman sitting beside you begins. All for that one Trader Joe’s, out of many, in Brooklyn the hipsters abandon before six because the coffee shop next door closes at five.

Your feet ache in your boots and you’re pretty sure a rock has somehow lodged itself between your toes, it’s starting to rain and you have no umbrella, you don’t think your throat has ever felt so parched. 

But you tuck your phone into your back pocket and march into that store with the hideous overhead lighting that makes your skin look like it hasn’t seen a bottle of toner in days like you’re Hades, the box of mac and cheese is Persephone, and Trader Joe’s is Mount Olympus.

You aren’t planning on smiling at anyone in greeting. You aren’t planning on making eye contact with anyone. You aren’t even planning on waiting politely behind whoever is inevitably idly standing in front of the pasta section of the frozen aisle— you’re going to say, “Excuse me.” Like the badass, New Yorker, on-the-verge-of-tears bitch you are and you’re going to toss that mac and cheese into your basket like you’re Steph Curry at the NBA Finals.

Lines are long when you walk in, cashiers bored-looking and tired. The produce section is a jungle of stay at home fathers and people who make their own pressed juice, the salad display a mess of college students trying to eat healthy. 

Your eyes accidentally meet those of a toddler who is slyly plucking a grape from a bag he had no intention of spending his allowance on and you smile.

You hold your basket like a designer handbag and dilly-dally only for a moment to pick up some yogurt for breakfast tomorrow. 

And some inauthentic babka because there’s no way in hell you’re going to endure Zabar’s after this. 

And a package of olive oil popcorn, a bottle of three dollar chardonnay, and string cheese. 

But that’s it. Self-control.

You feel the chill of the frozen aisle before you step into it. You feel the magnetic pull of that box with only one step in its direction. You stop for just a second to grab the mini mango and cream pops.

You almost roll your eyes to yourself when you see that someone is indeed standing right in front of the frozen selection of pasta. He’s staring at two boxes— a red one in his gloved left hand and the one in his right hand green.

As you grow closer you notice behind his curtain of dark hair that his eyebrows are knit together and he’s frowning at a decision he must be forcing himself to make. 

Sophie’s Choice, but involving mediocre excuses for Italian food and no Nazis— hopefully. Because who really knows these days?

He wears a forest green hoodie under a black leather jacket, black jeans tight around thick thighs. Boots, too. You think you might swoon.

And you wait behind him. You tap your foot, shift your weight, and chew on your bottom lip. You don’t say anything.

He looks over his shoulder when you curse under your breath and set the heavy basket at your feet. He’s apologetic— and handsome— by the looks of it, blue eyes slightly widened and lips downturned. “Shit,” he says as he takes a few steps to the right. “I’m sorry.”

You shrug. You kick your basket with the toe of your boot until it lightly smacks against the bottom of the freezer. “No problem. It’s a big decision.”

His eyes lift from the boxes and he smiles. “Biggest one I’ve gotten to make in a while.”

Setting your hands atop the cold metal railing, you stare down into the freezer. You see farfalle with roasted tomatoes, rigatoni with pesto, ricotta and spinach ravioli, roasted vegetable lasagna, cauliflower gnocchi, chicken parm, and… an empty space. 

You tilt your head.

You lean away and crouch to read the description cards, looking for the bubble letters to tell you where on Earth your saving grace is. When you spot the card, you stand again. The indicated space is empty, your heart is empty, your will to live is—

A box of organic pesto tortellini is tossed back into the freezer and you look up. Your eyes might lose their prideful dryness at any moment, even in public next to that handsome stranger with the nice jacket and,

the box of mac and cheese.

You gasp audibly and leap backwards. You point at the box in his left hand.

With an expression of panic, he holds his hands— and the box— up in innocence. “It’s okay. I’m not—”

“What the fuck is that?” you shout to gain the attention of customers you don’t even perceive, waggling your finger at the box. Your wide-eyed stare, and bared teeth, and messy hair must be terrifying. You hope they are.

He looks down at his hand. An eyebrow lifts. And, confusedly, he asks, “The box?”

“Yes, the fucking box!”

“It’s mac and—” he meets your gaze again. You’re wearing your anger like armor. But you aren’t scared. Bucky thinks he might never have felt such relief at a woman’s anger. “It’s mac and cheese.”

You shake your head. Wildly. Your neck hurts. “It’s the last box of mac and cheese!”

He glances at the box, then back at you. He jabs his thumb over his shoulder. “They might have some in the back—”

You shake your head again. A hint of devastation cracks your voice as you say, “It’s Monday night. Trader Joe’s restocks Tuesday night. This is usually all they have left.”

“I—” He pauses. “Is this shit really that good—”

“No, it’s not but that’s not the point!” you’re shouting again. And crying. Oh, God, you’re crying. In public. “The point is my building is going co-op!”

He tilts his head. “Your building is—”

“And I have to buy my apartment if I want to keep it! And they don’t give raises at my job to women unless they’re willing to suck something I won’t say in front of that kid right there,” you nod toward a little girl in a pink raincoat with her pin straight black hair in pigtails who stares at you in bewilderment. You sniffle. “So I quit. And I’m proud of myself for it. Because I have integrity, and I have self-respect, and I have no gag reflex, so the rejection should kill my boss dead.”

He cracks a small smile when you let out a short, watery, pathetic laugh. Easily, he holds the box out to you. “I hope your boss is dead, too.”

You laugh again and don’t hesitate before taking the box. You wipe your cheeks with your sleeve. “Thank you. You’re nice.”

“Not a popular opinion, but one I’ll certainly take.” He’s smiling and it’s warm. “Sorry— about all that.”

“You’re apologizing to me? I just screamed at you in the Trader Joe’s freezer aisle over mac and cheese.”

He shakes his head and picks up his own basket when you grab yours. “Your building’s going co-op and your boss deserves to burn in hell. You should get all the mac and cheese you want.”

You reach into the freezer for that green box of tortellini he’d thrown in, tossing it into his basket with a smile. Steph Curry at the NBA Finals. “Still. I’m sorry for yelling and I hope the tortellini doesn’t suck too bad.”

“It’s frozen pasta. My expectations are low.”

You hum a laugh and walk past him to the crowded lines at the registers. “As they should be.”

It’s when you’re lost in the sea of customers and Bucky is deciding between frozen palak paneer and frozen lamb vindaloo with basmati rice that he feels a tug at the hem of his jacket. 

He looks away from the green and orange boxes, lowering his gaze to meet curious almond-shaped eyes beneath blunt black bangs. He smiles and she returns it. “Yes?”

She reveals her right hand, which she had hidden behind her pink raincoat, and holds a phone up to Bucky as far as her arm will let her.

“Is that your phone?”

She shakes her head and giggles. Loud, happy, and squeaky. “Yelling lady dropped her phone.”

Bucky’s eyebrows knit together until a woman, much closer to his height, steps behind the little girl. She takes the phone the girl holds out and offers it to Bucky when he straightens his posture. Her smile looks like the little girl’s. “We figured you would have a good chance at getting it back to her.”

He takes the phone and nods his thanks. Pressing the power button reveals a picture of you and a dog, a large, fluffy dog with its pink tongue hanging low. You’re smiling brightly and, oddly, it seems like the dog is, too.

—

“So you just took her phone? Didn’t even ask an employee to keep it there in case she came back for it?”

Bucky, watching the tray of pasta rotate in the microwave, scowls. “I would’ve if I’d known that was an option. And stop eating my fuckin’ chips.”

Sam tosses back another handful of kettle-cooked barbecue potato chips in defiance so the obnoxious crunching echoes through the kitchen. He smiles sarcastically when Bucky snatches the bag and rolls it up. Half is already gone. “You come up with how you’re gonna get it back to her?”

“Thinkin’ about asking Pepper to post a picture of it like it’s a missing child to that ‘Tweeter’ nonsense,” Bucky replies dryly. He’s glaring at Sam as he leans his hip against the counter. “You and I both know I haven’t come up with shit.”

Sam snorts and is smiling in amusement, deep brown eyes alight. Bucky hates the sight. “Tweeter. You’re so fuckin’ old.”

It’s been hours since Bucky took the phone from who he learned is little Vivienne and her mother, and he is no closer to getting it back to you. 

He’d tried looking for you at the store but there were too many people for a Trader Joe’s that Yelp claimed was the least busy in New York for that to yield results. So he returned to the Tower. He thought about asking Tony to look into the doohickey but figured an invasion of privacy should be the last resort.

He pulls the tray from the microwave with nimble vibranium fingers and sniffs the pasta before setting it down on the counter. He removes a bowl from one of the cabinets and dumps the steaming pasta in it, a sprinkle of freshly grated parmesan from a tub he’d bought— also at Trader Joe’s— a finishing touch.

“She’s cute,” Sam says when the screen lights up with an incoming text notification.

Bucky spins his fork between his fingers as he walks around the counter to sit on the barstool beside Sam’s. He glances at the phone as well. “Very cute,” he agrees. “She had a shitty day. Something about her apartment goin’ co-op. Whatever the hell that means.”

Sam frowns. “Means she’s gotta buy the place. And with New York real estate prices right now,” he shakes his head with a sigh. “She better have a well-paying job.”

“Quit that today, too.” Bucky takes a bite of the pasta and hisses as it burns his tongue. “Boss is a creep that asked for some action in exchange for a raise.”

“Jesus. Poor girl.”

The tortellini isn’t great. It’s a little bland, a bit too dry, and there isn’t enough filling— but it’s better than Bucky had expected. He takes another bite. “Yeah. And I took the last box of mac and cheese. Which is what she went to the store for.”

“I’m surprised your head wasn’t chopped off.”

Bucky smiles. “She yelled— a lot. Was crying, too, ‘til she said something and made herself laugh.”

Sam then begins teasing Bucky juvenilely for having a crush until both men are laughing and shoving one another to see who falls off their stool first, Sam only relenting when Bucky hands the potato chips to him again as a peace offering.

The bowl is in the sink and the chips are down to just crumbs when a loud ringtone— an instrumental version of an R&B song Bucky recognizes from Sam’s many plays of the original— shocks the two of them.

It’s from an unknown number and Bucky is unsure if he should pick up until Sam swipes answer and puts the call on speakerphone. “Hello?”

A sigh. Bucky doesn’t know if it’s one of relief or frustration. “I’m hoping whoever this is found my phone and didn’t steal it.”  

Sam shoves Bucky’s shoulder with a toothy grin and Bucky rolls his eyes. “The little girl you almost traumatized in the freezer aisle found it and gave it to me.”

Another sigh— the relief in this one is obvious— and you’re laughing. “It’s you— tortellini dude. Must’ve fallen when I crouched down.”

“Seems like it, yeah.”

“So are you gonna ask for my address or do I have to schlep over to Avengers Tower?”

Bucky and Sam exchange a look. “Avengers Tower?”

“You weren’t exactly in disguise— I realized who you are the minute I left the store. Would’ve recognized you right away but I was in my own head and you aren’t my favorite Avenger.”

Bucky smiles. “Yeah? And who is?”

“Falcon.”

Immediately, the phone is taken from Bucky’s hand. “Hi, baby, you’ve got Falcon.”

A gasp, a pause, then you laugh. Audibly stunned laughter. “You guys actually hang out with each other? That’s cute.”

Before Sam can reply, Bucky flicks his forehead— in reply to which Sam elbows Bucky’s ribs— and takes the phone back. “I can bring your phone to you whenever you’re free.”

“Awesome. I’m unemployed now so any time tomorrow is fine.”

You tell him your address before hanging up and he wishes you a good night. Your laughter is the last thing he hears before three beeps signify the end of the call.

—

Bucky takes the subway. He switches lines to the F train. He tries not to mind the overpowering smell of stale B.O. and deli meat leftover from rush hour, the skittering steps of a rat across the floor in the adjacent empty car. He ignores those who stare at him intensely enough to burn the fabric right off his skin. All for that one apartment in SoHo.

He thinks the gash below his ribs might still be leaking as the warm, moist subway station air blows past him. He can feel that cluster of bruises above his knee— the one from the pipe the hostile operative had ripped off the rickety walls of a nearly destroyed Hydra base— every time he takes a step, more so as he climbs the stairs.

He knows he must be quite a sight with combat boots and tac pants worn and dusty, a simple bomber jacket thrown over a ripped, sliced, stained compression tank. His mind is blank, his eyes shadowy, the ghost of something terrible lurking behind blue and grey. 

Posture stiff and muscles cold, steps crisp despite the ache, he follows the familiar path and manages to form the thought of turning around. Not bringing this all to a threshold— or, more accurately, a windowsill— he’s only crossed three or four times. He’s too weak, though.

It takes one rap of his knuckles against the third-story window for a lamp to flicker on, gauzy drapes pushed aside. You smile as he lifts the window open, stepping aside as he enters the apartment with careful grace. He feels less guilty when he sees that your bed is still made and your hair isn’t the tangled mess it usually is when he bursts in at a late hour.

“I have a door.”

“Okay, show-off.”

It’s when he steps into the light of the standing lamp in the room’s corner that your quiet laughter gives way to a soft gasp. 

He doesn’t like the widening of your eyes or the way you gently lift the right side of his jacket, fingers light against the torn fabric. But you laugh again, and it shakes in nervousness. “You know I’m not a doctor, right? Or a nurse? Or even a pharmacist with high self-efficacy?”

He nods and, despite himself, there’s a smile pulling at a corner of his lips. His eyes brighten a little. “It’ll heal itself.”

“Confidence. I like that in a burglar.”

Before he can take a step further into your bedroom, you click your tongue against the roof of your mouth and point at his feet. “Boots.”

He kicks them off with a sigh and a groan when the shifting of his knee sends a tremor up his leg. His jacket is tossed aside as well, and he catches the black t-shirt you throw to him. You’d washed it, folded it, and put it in your closet. 

Just a little more brightness. “You owe me mac and cheese.”

“Oh, I owe you mac and cheese? We’re really holding onto shit from four months ago?”

He nods again and pulls his tank off, withholding a wince.

Eyebrow raised, you cross your arms over your chest. You’re giving him a narrow look but, because you’re clearly struggling against a smile, it’s one of his favorites of the expressions you’ve ever offered him. 

You give him a towel next— pastel blue. “Shower and then we’ll see about me owing you something.”

He wants to say thank you, do more than smile. 

But he knows if he so much as opens his mouth while you’re looking at him the way you are, he’ll tell you he’s fallen in love with you over the last four months, that maybe he’s been in love since you screamed at him in the freezer section of Trade Joe’s. 

He’ll go to say thank you, but the words of a Byron poem he’d learned to impress a girl in his English class more than eighty years ago will come pouring out or he’ll simply kiss you like he wishes he could on the nights he can’t sleep or during the missions he can just barely endure. 

He’ll go to say thank you, and then tell you with no clarity whatsoever that you’re what he finds comfort in when he’s had a hard day. That the disgusting, mushy, nothing-compared-to-fresh mac and cheese is just an excuse.

But he just smiles. And nods. And takes a shower.

His hair is still wet as he stands across from you at the kitchen counter. There’s a bowl of steaming pasta between you, a spoon in his hand and a fork in yours. “You’re dripping onto the counter.”

With a cocking of his eyebrow, he shakes his head and you sputter a laugh, shoving his shoulder. “Bucky!”

He laughs then, fully and happily, as he reaches over to wipe the drops from your cheeks and forehead. You only smile back, the gleaming of your eyes making him feel warm all over.

“This shit’s terrible, by the way,” he says after a minute of staring.

You shrug a shoulder. “Told you.”

“And you fought me for it. Publicly.”

You shrug again and laugh. You lean your elbows atop the counter to match his relaxed posture, dragging a noodle through a particularly large puddle of melted cheese. 

Looking up, your nose nearly bumps Bucky’s and you hope he doesn’t hear your breath stall. You try to smile. “Makes me feel better when I need to fill that hole in my heart.”

“With cholesterol?” he jokes.

“Yes. It’s excellent. It’s like spackle.” As he laughs and you roll your eyes, you push off the counter to stand straight. “I’m glad you’re back.”

“Yeah?”

You hum. “I’m seeing an apartment I want tomorrow and need the rent lowered. And you’re the Winter Soldier.”

He considers that for a moment and you burst into laughter just as his eyes narrow into a fond glare. “You want me to scare them into lowering the rent?”

“Don’t think of it as you scaring them,” you begin, rounding the counter to stand next to him, hip leant against the marble, “think of it as you being an amazing friend and helping me.” A moment later you add, “By scaring them.”

He chuckles and shakes his head. He glances at the bowl to avoid the risk of staring at you for too long. “Fine.”

You grin. “You really take no convincing.”

A snort and he meets your gaze. “Only when it comes to you. I’m afraid you’ll start crying again.”

“So I could ask you for anything and you’d probably say yes?”

He shrugs a bit, then nods. Who is he kidding? You could ask for his right arm and he’d give it to you.

“Okay. Go on a date with me then.”

There’s a pause— in the conversation, in his chest. “A what?”

“A date. It’s like dinner, or coffee, or a movie, or something.” You grin when he takes half a step in your direction and his hands grip onto the counter at either side of you. “It’s this thing people do when they like each other.”

Something much more than like is in the sparkling of your eyes and the tilt of your head. Something that might match exactly what’s in his eyes whenever he’s around you. His insides burn at the thought.

“I know what a date is.”

“They had those back in your day?”

He nods and leans forward. “Not from the Stone Ages.”

Your lips brush lightly against his, hand set on his chest to feel the rapid beating beneath. You smile and he thinks he might melt. “Could’ve fooled me with that hair.”

Laughing, he presses his lips to yours a little harder.

—

Apartment littered with unpacked boxes, misplaced books, and askew furniture, you sit on top of the counter where Bucky works. He’s twirling a knife through his metal fingers, arranging sprigs of chives on the cutting board with the flesh ones. 

He smiles when he catches you staring at the pan cooling on the stove. “S’not done yet.”

You sigh. Loudly, heavily. “You took it out of the oven. That means it’s done.”

“It needs to cool for a few minutes or you’ll burn off your taste buds. You want to burn off your taste buds?”

“You want to burn off your taste buds?” you repeat in a high-pitched, taunting voice. You’re scowling and, somehow, look to be on the verge of snatching the knife from him to stab it through his chest. “Maybe I do.”

Less than a minute later, you groan and add, “I don’t care how good you are in bed. I’m about ten seconds from dumping you.”

Swiftly, he chops the chives and turns around to sprinkle a bit into the baking dish. “You know, most people would say thank you.”

“Most people don’t have to wait an hour while their boyfriend attempts to make mac and cheese when there’s a perfectly good box in the freezer that would take four minutes.”

“It’s worth it.”

In all honesty, he doesn’t know if it’s worth it. 

He’d asked Sam for a recipe and did his best to follow it despite the autocorrect which had changed “gruyere” to “grape year.” But he trusts it since Sam generally knows what he’s doing in the kitchen. Unlike Steve who had continuously attempted to chime in with useless suggestions such as, “Maybe don’t add the paprika.”

“Just trust me,” he urges as if replying to the growling of your stomach which has interrupted his search for the plates he could’ve sworn he’d unpacked. He’s crouched and searching the lower cabinets as he adds, “You’ll fall in love with me after you try it.” 

“Who says I haven’t already?” 

He stops searching.

He peeks his head above the edge of the counter and, his eyes wide, he sees you pulling two plates from a box placed on the small nook table. Your smile is small and a bit sheepish— the latter something he’d never seen from you. 

“You never took them out,” you tell him, the clatter of ceramic on the wooden surface loud when you set the plates down. As you approach and he stands to his full height, you sigh and roll your eyes at the look he gives you. “Yes, I love you. It can’t be that shocking.”

“It isn’t.” 

“Someone should tell your face that.”

Chuckling over the heavy thumps in his chest, he leans forward to kiss you but pauses just to say, “I love you, too, by the way.” 

When an empty dish sits between the two of you, Bucky’s stomach warm and full of over three-quarters of it, you stand from the table and walk to the freezer. 

Shooting a smile over your shoulder, you grab the familiar red box and toss it into the stainless steel trash can. Steph Curry at the NBA Finals. “I’m never eating that shit again.”

#this reader is a human disaster #dkjfgdkjgj #bucky #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fluff

[btsandvmin]

Ask: Reply - 2021.03.18

I don’t know what might be the best way to go about asks, but for now I’ll try to answer asks as they come and when I can/want to I’ll collect them together in a post instead of answering indivudually. I’ve seen other Vminie blogs with similar formats and have done a few collection posts like this before, and it really seems to be the easiest way to digest your questions.

Let’s go through what you’ve sent me today as I finally opened up this blog for asks again. :)

Topics:

Ask 1 - Vmin’s emotional connection vs ship moments Ask 2 - KTH1 and creative control Ask 3 - What makes a ship big? Ask 4 - Thoughts on Tae/kook’s relationship (+ edit on other post) Ask 5 - When did they first mention the dumpling fight? Ask 6 - A little about me and my big analysis Ask 7-9 - Thank yous and nice things

Thank you all for waiting. <3 Read more under the cut.

Ask 1 -  Vmin’s emotional connection vs ship moments

I agree with you. I might not look at other ships as focused as I do with Vmin, but I would guess no other ship comes close to how much Vmin have shown their emotional intimacy in many ways over the years. Not to mention how many times even BTS themselves point out Vmin’s bond as special. Not to mention to begin with we shouldn’t be insecure about their bond based on their interactions with others. We should judge Vmin based on how they interact with each other.

All members have skinship (though some more than others), but both Jimin and Tae are super comfortable with touching, sometimes even with strangers. Looking at moments you can ship all ships, and there are even those that believe their ship to be real for almost all ships in BTS at this point. Why? Well because if you focus on your ship and put emphasis on the moments between them as bigger or more important, you can find “proof” for anything. Because that’s just how close and shipworthy all of the dynamics in BTS are. They all love each other, and shippers can find their own preferred love amongst them. 

I think we also need to remember all the things Vmin has CONFIRMED that other shippers try to prove with their own ships. How is tae/kook hugging or ji/kook cuddling supposed to make me feel insecure about Vmin when they have that too AND call each other soulmates in a song that made one of their procucers cry and other things like Namjoon getting goosebumps thinking about their bond? Taehyung cried reading his letter to Jimin and Jimin said no other member would likely truly understand why he cried. Taehyung has called Jimin the warmest person he knows and his one and only best friend. AND AGAIN, SOULMATE. The years of material we have show us again and again how important they are to each other and how they grow and work hard together to make their bond even stronger.

Vminies, please appriciate what we have because we are spoiled.

Ask 2 - KTH1 and creative control

Honestly this is a difficult one. The thing is that we know that likely to some degree Big Hit will always be involved with what the boys do and release. But I also think their freedom to express themselves is better than most idol companies, and BTS whole brand is to be as genuine as possible. As for what Tae would be asked to tone down is hard to say exactly, but we do know that Yoongi and Namjoon (and other members) have been pretty dark and honest in their lyrics. I know from a Vmin perspective it could be something either LGBT+ or even directly Vmin related, but there isn’t enough to go on for me to make a good guess. We literally just know that he was told to tone it down. It doesn’t even have to be about the subjects or lyrics, even though that does seem the most likely. But we do know that Taehyung wants to release something that reflect him and that he can be proud of, so I am sure no matter what we get they will be his honest feelings. I am very excited and a bit scared thinking about Tae’s mixtape if I am being honest.

That being said, I think there could be lines that they should be careful not to cross. I think it’s possible with Taehyung’s personality who “doesn’t beat around the bush” that he might want to express more than what might be appropriate. Not just from Big Hit’s perspective but for his own sake. Don’t get me wrong, I am not saying Tae is an idiot who doesn’t know what’s good for him. I just think at times he might be rebellious against his own better judement because it is something so important to him. For me talking about the Christmas song is partly such a moment, but I still think he was careful and ambiguous enough about it, even though he allowed himself to complain. Still, I am sure if it is about sexuality or even a relationship he knows the risks of being too open about it and would likely understand the need to be careful, or tone things down, if that was the case. A mixtape/album is not something done rashly or in the moment, so no matter what we get I am sure it will have been checked and considered by Tae and by Big Hit.

So basically I suppose the delay could be about creative control but mostly I really think it’s about Taehyung wanting to do well and writing when he feels like it without pressure. Which I feel is a very healthy approach by him honestly. We know mixtapes takes time and we know how Hobi felt about his first one, so I really think we should just give him time and I am sure we will get something amazing.

Ask 3 - What makes a ship big?

Aaaaaaw~! Thank you so much for your love and compliments. I feel like am very lacking in many areas still, but regardless I am glad my posts are appriciated. If I can bring a smile to anyones’ face that is an acomplishment to be proud of. Thank you. <3

As for what makes a ship big or not is of course quite subjective. For me at this point I would say ALL BTS ships are big ships. Not comparing them to each other but just by the huge amount of fans they all have. (I hope you don’t have to learn the pain or liking a rare-pair from a small fandom T-T). Almost all the ships in BTS even have analysis and people who believe in them, and I think that is partly an effect of size as well. That being said I think the bigger a ship is the easier it is for it to grow more. Which is why it is no surprise a lot of BTS ships that were popular right at the start are still the biggest ones now. But with more material and more fans there comes communities focused on their own ship, and they all grow as they get more moments. Vmin too have had a few times when they blow up for a while and gather new curious shippers. Friends is clearly a great example of this. Even Sweet Night seem to be something of a turning point for some to start shipping Vmin. All ships will grown in size with each passing year as we are always given new material. Even if a ship doesn’t get a lot, it will likely get enough to keep fans engaged.

For me I would say the loudest and the most agressive are often the biggest  (more bad apples the bigger the basket you know) and I think we can see some size indications by what ships trend more often etc. Ships can also be big in different ways and in different forums... Like how ji/kookers have taken tumblr as their platform while tae/kookers seem to be on youtube comments a lot.

All in all I don’t think size matters much though. Especially not with BTS where all ships get a lot of material and has their own fans who create for, share and dicuss about their pair. Popularity to me is not really something I think too much about, and honestly I think the way only the most popular pairs seem to get attention in the form of “worry” etc. is very telling. If JK and Hobi share a bed and cuddle and celebrate JK’s BD together, or Hobi post them having a picknick outside their house at night no one bats an eye... But if it was JK with one of Vmin? Confirmed to be dating and all other shippers get worried. 

Going into detail why ships gets big is a different conversation though. :P I hope I understood your ask correctly. Basically I consider all BTS ships as more or less big (perhaps with the exception of 2seok).

Ask 4 - Thoughts on Tae/kook’s relationship

So I got two Tae/kook asks today, seemingly because Tae/kook has had a lot of moments recently. I deleted the first one, but this one I feel is safe enough to share. I’ve talked about tae/kook before... (HERE for example) and I stand by that now too. I don’t have to dismiss other ships to feel confident about Vmin’s love for each other.

Tae/kook has always had a very physical and playful dynamic. Even when Tae changed and toned down this side of him we got moments where he played with JK or they hugged or cuddled close. I do see a little change now after ITS but mostly in that Tae seems to initiate more, not that it looks different in nature. I think when Tae changed his dynamic with JK lost a lot of it’s “main focus” as Tae wasn’t as playful. Look at JK with Jin as a comparison and I think JK in general is drawn to hang with people who are happy and fun to tease. 

Anyways, about their bond I do think tae/kook are close but as grown men they don’t have the same relationship that they used to when they were younger. They simply grew up and their dynamics changed. They haven’t had a lot of more serious conversations, but I think now that distance have become a little shorter after ITS. I think Tae/kook has a great bond that is underrated by many in the fandom but overrated greatly by their shippers. They clearly love each other and have fun with each other and can be very comfortable physically. 

But are they as close as Vmin? Personally I really doubt it. And even if Tae/kook would be real why should that have any impact on Vmin? Surely you wouldn’t think they are together but cheating or something drastic like that. I am also not sure why you would be particularly worried about tae/kook based on physical interactions alone though... I mean, both Hope/kook, Tae/jin, Ji/kook and Vmin also have a loooot of very intimate looking moments if you ask me.

You don’t have to worry about Vmin. If Tae has gushed about Jimin being special to him from 2013 to 2020 I don’t see why 2021 would be any different.

I also got a reply to this post where I mentioned the tae/kook ask I deleted. I must first say that it was my mistake to write JK’s lips and not his lip mole. I have edited the post to make clear he talked about the mole and not the lips.

Either way, thank you anon for giving perspective and adding your thoughts to the moments. Not to mention moments like this happen for all members and I don’t think we can draw any strong conclusions from them saying another members is sexy or something similar. But yeah, people pick and choose what they will remember, and often focusing on the negative will leave a bigger impact than the positive.

Ask 5 - When did they first mention the dumpling fight?

Hi and don’t worry. I honestly think a lot of Vminies don’t know about this because the first time was such a small moment not many would pay attention and remember it. We knew about it since 2016 where Tae offhandedly mentioned him and Jimin fighting about dumplings once.

I don’t even have the actual source for the first time Tae mentioned it, but it was all the way back in July 2016 in an interview with @star1 magazine, so we know it happened before that.

Then Tae got asked about it on a post it during a BST era fansign as well. Also, did you know the reason they fought was 💜?

Yeah.... Let’s just say I am not surprised at all to hear their dumpling fight having more meaning than first let on. As with most things brought up in the lyrics of Friends it’s something we already knew about since before. I also talked about this in my post Vmin analysis - “Friends”. (Though at that point we hadn’t heard them speak much about it and didn’t know how big of a deal it seemed to be.) It makes me wonder if the other things they talk about in the lyrics might also have more meaning than we know. 

Personally I think the reason we even got them talking about the dumpling incident so much is thanks to JK in the carpool karaoke. When asked what Vmin would fight about he was the one who mentioned dumplings and likely brought more attention to it than if it would simply have remained as one of the many lyrical anecdotes in the song. I am glad we got to know more, because honestly the dumpling incident seems to have been a pivotal moment in Vmin’s relationship.

Ask 6 - A little about me and my big analysis

Hi and thank you so much for the lovely compliments. Trying to consider all kinds of possibilities I feel should be obvious if you truly want to analyse something, but sadly I think when it comes to observing real people and being invested emotionally that becomes really difficult. Me too have to hold myself back a lot, because in the end there is always going to be room for error. And if I am wrong, who will be hurt? Likely all of you who listen to me and take my words into consideration. So I rather be upfront about the risk of being wrong than to speak too confidently and accidentally ending up misleading someone. I am really so happy and proud over Vminies who can stand back and not become delusional despite everything we actually have (this includes myself, because it’s not always easy to not get caught up in theories).

As for who I am it’s of course ok to ask. I am from Sweden and is 30 years old. (English isn’t my native language so I hope you forgive my mistakes, I know I have a lot of them in my posts). I’ve been a BTS fan since 2016 and Vmin fan almost since the start. I have been a fan of other groups long before BTS too and was pretty deep into the Japanese idol culture before fell for K-pop. For some additional info I also work with marketing and project managing and have a degree in conflict resolution. Thanks for being curious about me. :)

About my big analysis I am working on it still, and of course I hope to post it as soon as I can. I am a bit hesistant in bringing attention to some things though, as I have seen some of my previous theories and speculations be regarded as fact. I don’t want Vminies to run with my interpretations in a way that make them confident in Vmin being real. So yeah, I do want to post it, but I am also a bit worried what reactions it might get. I try very hard to remind you all that my theories are only speculations and we won’t know anything for sure (unless it would be confirmed). It still isn’t finished yet though, but I’ll keep working hard.

Ask 7 -  Thank you for the fic rec

Thank you! I am glad you enjoyed it. I haven’t had too much time to catch up on reading and just added a lot from my bookmarks, but good thing it was so appriciated by you all. Vmin writers truly are amazing aren’t they? :) 

(And don’t worry about me getting bad asks. I think I would have quit a long time ago if I let them bother me too much.)

Ask 8 - Just a very sweet anon

Thank you! I’m ok. Not great, but ok. Life goes on, you know? But I feel like I finally have the energy to blog again, and honestly that feels pretty great. It feels like I’ve been gone forever, but I hope you will still enjoy my musings and thoughts as you send me questions and I write new posts. :3

Ask 9 - The whole world is different from yesterday~ Just with your joy~

Omg what a sweet thing to say, thank you so much, you are putting a big smile on my face right now. I am glad you enjoy and understand my thoughts so much. I know many of you have missed my thoughts and even asked me when I would open my asks again, and so much always happen with Vmin too... (There is literally enough material to write books about them.) Thank you for waiting and being so understanding. I am happy to be back too. <3

Thank you everyone for you asks and I hope you liked this new format. :) I’ll try to keep it up and if you have any thoughts and opinions feel free to share them.

#vmin #btsandvmin #Btsandvmin ask #Btsandvmin answer #ask collection #vmin thoughts #BTS shipping #the dumpling incident #my post #ask: reply

[insfiringyou]

Thanks anon for the post below, our reply is in the comments as you submitted it instead of as an ask :)

I liked the anon asking why V is like he is as a character. I enjoyed thinking about it because tbh I also really, REALLY struggle with him 😒😒😒. Hearing admins and other readers explore him has been helpful.

So I was thinking the bullying history for sure and also a lack of siblings. Maybe real V has some siblings way younger than him? I don’t know about real-life or character V’s sibling status, but I don’t think he’s mentioned siblings in the story.

No hate at all to real-life only children!! And as we see with YS (who is mature & thoughtful) not all only children in the story have V’s struggles. I think though when you have a big, dreamy, kind of demanding personality, similarish-aged (lol) siblings help because you are forced to think of and accommodate others from early in life. It can’t just be about you and your desires. I think it’s also a good reality check because most siblings tease you and call you out on your bullshit. Because they grow up with you, if you’re close enough as siblings, they see your patterns, you know? Like maybe V’s parents don’t know his dating habits much, but if V had a sibling or 2 that he really loved (maybe an older sibling would’ve been good for him and maybe, specifically, a sister who V really thinks is awesome and really respects) they could say like “hey you treat the girls you date like fictional characters. They are full people and you need to respect that.” And maybe V would take it to heart, you know? I think sister (instead of brother) because V already has weird masculinity stuff going on. Maybe he’d feel competitive with a brother like for his dad’s love or to be more manly or whatever. But a sister with a strong personality who’s a little more realistic than him (while still valuing openness and loving him) a lot would’ve been good I think. Also seeing women in a more realistic light from when he was young I think would’ve been helpful for him.

I feel like he’s in this weird spot where he doesn’t have someone he’s close to who can really push him and help him see himself and his behaviors differently/accurately without also leading him to think he’s horrible and developing poor self-esteem. For ex, I feel if RM or Suga tried to sort of “lecture” him, he’d feel really stressed and ashamed inside (because he ultimately respects and loves them) and would then blow up to protect himself or would really shut down and get depressed/have a bad self-image for a while.

Whereas I think a sibling can sometimes strike this balance of dragging you and really forcing you to see reality but, because you also know their issues, have a similar family background/were raised similarly, and because there’s this sense of unconditional love you can count on, you sort of cry it out/hash it out/yell it out and grow without hating yourself or severely damaging the relationship (obvs with healthy siblings and I’m saying V would benefit from a healthy sibling dynamic).

Like how he’s just ignoring the members? I feel a sibling (again a close, loving one!) would be like bothering V until he engaged, you know? Leaving messages like “what the eff is wrong with you?! Answer my calls,” “what are you dead? Pick up,” “hiding with your head in the sand are you?!” You know like pushing his buttons but with the intention of showing him there’s someone out there that’s not like “giving up on him.” Or the sibling could be someone that just drops by unannounced, nagging V bit, and like pushing him to engage a bit. I just don’t think he could hide from a sibling the way he does the members. And I think his false persona would be immediately seen and called out by a sibling, especially when he used the persona as a defense mechanism. V hiding instead of dealing with things is one of his big issues and maybe a sibling would help with that a bit.

For ex, after his cheating JK could’ve “hid” like V and just dropped off. He could’ve been so ashamed and embarrassed that he just shut YS and everyone out and disappeared. And he was ashamed and embarrassed and yet he still did his work and he didn’t completely shut everyone out. And when YS gives him the chance to earn her love back, JK is 100% vulnerable (“I totally messed up, I still love you so much, I feel so stupid…” like he let his feelings be known). I think, if I remember correctly, he even admits his wrong to RM or someone? It’s so healthy, you know? I totally fucked up, but I’m going to be vulnerable and honest, and I’m going to do better. And that energy encourages both personal growth (because you see and admit your faults) AND love and respect from others (which V wants so much but doesn’t seem to understand how to get it). Like admins always say, V wants love and respect but puts on a fake persona to try and get it versus being vulnerable because he’s so scared of being vulnerable. Maybe a sibling who would sort of “force” vulnerability because they’d be close and could see V clearly would help.

And the sibling could kind of say like “get over yourself; you’re neither the worst or the best” and would pull V of his isolated musings and self-protective mode a bit because loving siblings have a way of doing that. And yeah he has Cass who kinda pushes him/calls him out, but I think he’s the type that needs a more consistent person to do that for him who he also knows loves him unconditionally and thinks highly of him overall. Just my thoughts of course!!

I obvs love JK and YS so much lol 😍. I like that they’re more casual but still have heart to hearts in little ways like when YS wanted to know if JK liked her blonde hair better or when JK kind of felt embarrassed about not getting YS more nuanced, “mature” gifts for Valentine’s and instead getting more like stereotypical sweet things that have a more “teens in love” vibe lol. I do think, if admins ever want to, it’d be interesting to hear him talk to her about his career a bit. Does he like his pop songs? Does he wish he could sing some other things? I know part of his character development is identity formation because he’s so sweet and easygoing that he’s a little more easily influenced by others and not as sure who he is. And of course he’s still on the younger side. Anyway, if it ever fits a YS/JK story, I’d love to hear him open up to her about his thoughts on his solo career/career trajectory! Ok that’s more than enough words, bye lol!

#bts #bts v #v #v x cassandra #bts jungkook #jungkook #Jungkook x Young-Soon

[girls-scenarios]

Waiting to Love You

Idol: Denise (Secret Number)

Prompt: secret number denise scenario where female reader is her best friend from america and she surprises denise at debut stage and they confess to each other. lots of fluff pls 🥺🥺🥺

Writer: Admin Kiwi

A/N: I hope you all enjoy!

Debut. When Denise was training, day in and day out until her muscles ached and she fell asleep as soon as she closed her eyes, debut had seemed so far away, like a dream. But it was finally here. She breathed in to steady her nerves, her debut song repeating in her head. The lyrics and dance came almost automatically know, her body moving on its own as soon as the music started. It wasn’t likely that she would mess up, but the idea still scared her. What if she did mess everything up, or didn’t hit a note correctly? What would people think of her?

“How are you feeling?” Lea’s voice made her jump, knocking her out of her thoughts. When she turned around, the older woman smiled at her, her face kind and sweet. “Nervous?”

“I am,” Denise admitted, twisting her hands together. “What about you? Are you nervous?”

“Well, I’ve done this before.” Lea let out a laugh. “But I’m still a little nervous. It’s a new start and I want to do my best.”

“That’s how I feel. I want everything to be perfect. I’m scared I’m going to mess up.”

“I think you’ll do amazing. All you can do is your best.” Lea reached out to give her a gentle hug. “All your training wasn’t for nothing! Plus, it’s our first performance, it doesn’t have to be perfect. We can prove ourselves on music shows too. We can do this!” She was always so bright and cheerful, no matter the circumstances. “Although I do wish my parents could have come,” she added with a bit of a sad smile. “But I know they’re watching the live video!”

At her words, Denise remembered her own family and friends back in America and tried to swallow down the sudden rush of loneliness. Her parents had tried to be in Korea for her debut, but things just hadn’t worked out. They would be coming later and would see her perform on music shows, at least, but her friends, on the other hand.... She couldn’t really ask them to come all this way just to see her perform.

She thought back to the texts of support she’d received that morning, and one in particular made her heart skip a beat.

-Hey, congratulations on your debut! I’m so proud of you, I know you’ll do great!

You had always been supportive of her dream, even when it had seemed so far away back in America. At some point, she had started seeing you as more than a friend, wanting to hold your hand and to be held in your arms, but she had never had the confidence to tell you. And now she was miles away in a different country, just happy that you hadn’t forgotten about her after she left.

If only you could be here.... She shook herself, trying to stay positive. She had fans waiting, as well as the friends she’d made in Korea and, of course, her members. And all her friends and family would be watching and supporting her from home. She couldn’t be sad when she had so much support.

“Girls, we’re going on in five minutes!”

“Come on,” Lea said, taking Denise’s arm. “Let’s go kill it.”

Taking a deep breath, the younger girl smiled and nodded, ignoring the pounding of her heart. “Right, let’s do this!”

-

When they finally walked on stage to cheers and flashing cameras, Denise was too nervous to look directly at the crowd. Instead, she focused on the cameras, smiling her best smile and waving, trying her best to look confident even if her hands were shaking a bit. There were so many people, were they all there for them? Were they really already this popular?

As she moved into position, she took one last deep breath, recalled all of her training, and relaxed her body, allowing her instinct and memory to take over.

As she danced and sang, she was too nervous to look at any of the fans faces, instead focusing on the main camera broadcasting their debut instead. Of course, her body remembered the dance, and her voice didn’t fail her. She performed just as she’d trained despite her shaking hands, and as they got into their ending formation, a proud smile crossed her lips. She’d done it.

It was only then that she dared to look out into the crowd, eyes crossing over the fans until they landed on a familiar face and she almost fell over.

There you were, standing in the crowd and cheering with a bright smile on her face. But how? You were supposed to be back in America, what were you doing at her showcase? And why hadn’t you told her anything? Her head spun and her heart pounded for an entirely different reason as they stood to their feet and bowed, but somehow she managed to keep her composure.

She had to finish this showcase. Then she’d go find you.

-

The showcase passed in a blur of questions, answers, and more singing. Denise tried her best to pay attention, but her eyes kept being drawn to you. Finally, the showcase ended and she found herself rushing to the dressing room after they stepped off the stage, much to the surprise of her members.

“Denise? Is something wrong?” Lea called after her, and she shook her head.

“No, I just need to check something!”

When she got back to the dressing room, she grabbed her phone from her bag and, with her hands shaking harder than before, typed out a message.

-(Y/N), are you really here or am I imagining things?

-I’m really here. How could I miss my favorite person’s debut stage?

Denise sucked in a breath as her face heated up, emotions tumbling around inside her chest.

-Come backstage. I’ll go tell them to let you in. I want to see you.

-I want to see you too.

Still clutching her phone, she rushed off to find the security guard, almost desperate to see you again. It had been so long that seeing your face in person made her want to cry. Somehow she managed to hold it together enough to tell security that her friend was there, and before she knew it, you were stepping through the backstage door with a bouquet of flowers in your arms and a giant smile on your face.

“Congratulations, Denise. You did great,” you said, and the tears burst out as she ran over to wrap you into a tight hug.

“(Y/N), you’re really here!” She didn’t cry often, but she couldn’t happen. It was a happy cry, at least, brought on from seeing the person she loved most again. “You really came.”

“I really came,” you said softly, placing the flowers to the side to hug her back just as tightly. With her chest pressed against yours, she could feel your heartbeat, in tune with her own pounding heart.

“I’ve missed you so much.”

“I’ve missed you too. America isn’t the same without you there. But I was happy to see you performing today. You really do belong on the stage.” As you pulled away, you tucked her hair back behind her ear and smiled, soft and affectionate. “You’ve gotten even prettier. You took my breath away when you stepped out, you know.”

Wiping at her face, she took you in once again. She’d seen you through facetime calls and photos, but in person she could tell that you were older, more mature, and somehow, even more attractive than you’d been when the two of you were school friends. Your gaze only made more feelings well up in her throat, and when you wiped away her tears, they burst out on their own.

“I love  you,” her lips said on the own, and for a moment, her heart stopped. What was she doing? What if-?

She couldn’t even finish her worries before you laughed and pulled her into a hug again.

“I love you too. That’s why I flew all the way to Korea to see you again.” Your voice was soft. “I just wish we’d discovered our feelings when we still lived down the street from each other.”

“Y-you liked me back then?” Her eyes widened and she pulled away to look at you.

“I did. I’ve liked you for a long time. But I didn’t realize how strong my feelings were until you moved away. I’ve wanted to hug you so badly.”

“Me too. I’ve liked you for a long time too. But I never knew.... I never guessed.... I should have-.”

“It’s not your fault,” you said with another smile. “We might be separated now, but we still have the rest of our lives ahead of us. And plus, who knows? Maybe I’ll get into a foreign exchange program here.” There was a sparkle in your eyes that told her you had something planned, and she found herself smiling, hope welling up inside her chest.

“You applied to come here?”

“We can talk about that later. First, there’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you for years. Can I kiss you?” A blush dusted your cheeks as you spoke and she giggled, leaning in to press her forehead against hers, feeling like she might burst from happiness.

“What a coincidence, I’ve been wanting to say yes for years too!”

#femifics #secret number #denise #secret number scenarios #denise scenarios #girl group scenarios #kpop scenario #girl groups #kpop girl groups

[strawberrytheduck]

Belle Quacks-Chapter 13

(TW: Mental breakdown/self-esteem issues)

Quackerjack and Bushroot walked the girls home, Quackerjack still feeling protective and Bushroot just wanting to get to know Camellia better. “Thank you guys, for helping us.” The fox said, squeezing Bushroot’s leafy hand. Quacky gave a simple ‘no problem’ where as Bushroot stumbled over his words, saying how he was happy to help and that he was glad they were safe. “You certainly talk a lot, it’s cute. You’re sweet too.” She hummed, looking at the plant mutant. He blushed, his face turning a dark green. A smirk was present on the demented jester’s cheerful face, telling them to ignore him. Camellia asked him what plant he was and to tell her more about it, spurring a lecture that caused Belle to zone out and fall asleep. Quacky happily carried her, tuning out the plant nerds. Camellia seemed happy to talk to him, smiling warmly and running a hand through his petals once in a while. Bushroot never really got to talk like this for so long, not even with Rhoda. Camellia was a lot like her in some ways, smart, pretty and kind. She was also so different, being pagan, a mammal, multiple piercings, confident and strong. The florist was honestly the most beautiful person he’d ever seen and she didn’t mind him, she liked his company. “I really love your passion Reggie, it’s something I admire. This whole thing has been fast paced and chaotic but you’re definitely a highlight.” The mutant unlocked the door and opened it for her, opting to help with Belle. Camellia was fascinated to say the least, who could blame her? Bushroot was the closest being she ever met to a pagan deity, he was incredibly sweet and he was smart, she wanted more time with him.

Belle barely stirred when she was placed on to the bed, letting out a tiny yawn. Jack had to hold his beak shut to avoid squealing at his sister. Bushroot simply ‘awww’ed as he put the covers over her. She had a long day, she was entitled to some sleep. Quackerjack then pulled something out of his pocket, a plush version of himself and a note. He placed the note on the bedside table and the plushie in her arms. “I’m giving her a little me, that way she’ll always have a piece of me or something to cuddle during a breakdown or panic attack.” He stated, kissing her on the forehead. The small, sleeping duck pulled the plush closer to her, nuzzling it slightly. The taller woman chuckled fondly, smiling at the guys. Belle seemed happy and sleeping peacefully. Quackerjack then asked where she’d sleep, instantly pushing her closer to the bed when she said the couch. “I’m sure you’ve shared the bed before, just go to bed.” He insisted. She rolled her eyes, giggling. Bidding them goodnight, she kissed Bushroot on his forehead before joining Belle. The plant had to be dragged out by the other duck, who put the keys on the side, and shook him by the shoulders. “Earth to Reggie, I know you’ve been kissed by a woman you likely think is a goddess but get yourself together.” He said, tapping his friend. The botanist mumbled something, little flowers growing from his petals and around the base of them in a flower crown like formation. ‘Goodness, he’s helpless.’ The toymaker thought, giggling at his friend. Once Bushroot snapped out of it, he looked like a full on floral arrangement. “Well, you fell for her quick. So did Morgana when it comes to Belle. Come on, let’s go.” And with that, they left.

Camellia was already awake and gone when Belle woke up, not that she minded. She was admiring the Jacky plush in her hands, giggling to herself. It looked just like him, complete with a hat secured with Velcro and a very small Mr. BananaBrain in one of his hands. Naturally, she loved it, hugging it close and kicking her legs in the air. “My own little Jacky! Now I can ask you for advice! Cammy’s great but sometimes I think I overwork her.” She said to the cuddly jester. Her eyes caught sight of an envelope on the bedside table. She grabbed it, carefully opening it to retrieve the note. ‘Belle, I thought you’d like a cuddly version of me! A special, one of a kind toy from Quackerjack Toys, just for you! This way, I’ll be there when you need me, even if I’m not there in person. Little Jacky and his tiny friend are guaranteed to light up any dark times. Love Jackson.’ It read. The message was short but sweet, making her happier and love the little doll more. She never had toys growing up, then again, neither did Jack, making this one her first one. Belle swore she’d never part with it, it was her brother after all, just small and available. “So, I’m hanging out with Morgana later, does she actually like me?” The plush fell foward, which she took as a yes. The duck giggled happily, rocking side-to-side. She got up, flapping her hands a little before rushing over to her clothes in order to pick something nice to wear. Belle felt she had to impress Morgana and she didn’t understand why or why she always felt warm or that she had butterflies in her stomach when she was around the sorceress. Maybe she was coming down with something. But how could she from just standing in front of someone and be fine until she thought about them? “Is something wrong with me?” She whispered to herself, picking out a red dress with a black belt that she forgot she had. Morgana would love her in that outfit.

It was a little out of her comfort zone but she didn’t mind, it would impress the sorceress and that was what she wanted. She looked her new doll, a little confused. “Should I wear this? Would Morgana like it?” Jack fell forward again, cementing her choice. Maybe some red makeup? A little eye shadow would draw attention to her eyes Camellia would say. Once she had the dress on, she walked up to Camellia’s mirror and just stared. What is she thinking? This dress doesn’t look good on her at all, her hair is to childish and vibrant to make it look good. The dress was also more low cut and fitted than she was used to, drawing attention to her thin frame and collar bones. She looked sick. ‘This is a mistake, I can’t wear this. But nothing would be better, it’s too hot for my usual outfit. Morgana would want me to wear something like this, surely.’ Belle held back a sob, staring at herself still. ‘My arms look like sticks. Ugly sticks, not the cool ones. My ribs are visible, that won’t do.’ She was a little thinner than average, but not as thin as she thought. Her ribs didn’t stick out a lot, only slightly. But she couldn’t help but notice them and almost every detail of her body. Soon, Camellia came running in, asking what was wrong. The fox saw her friend, fists clenched, palm and fingers down on the desk. Tears spilled from her eyes as she bit her beak, her gaze on the mirror. “Oh Belle, come on, you look great.” Belle heard as she was pulled into a hug. “E-Easy for y-y-you to say, y-you always l-look beautiful.” She sobbed out. Camellia walked with her to the bed, sitting them down. She stroked her friend’s hair, whispering to her. Belle struggled to calm down, reaching for the plush of her brother.

Camellia handed it to her, kissing her forehead. “Hey now, you’re beautiful, wipe those gorgeous eyes, Sweet.” She cooed, tilting Belle’s head upward. The look on the duck’s face broke her heart, it was pure and utter despair. “M-Morgana would w-w-want me t-to wear this, r-r-r-right?” The poor, sweet little thing, she tried so hard. Camellia wiped Belle’s eyes for her, shushing her softly. “Oh Sweetheart, she’d want you to wear what you want, you shouldn’t wear something you don’t like.” She stood them both back up, holding Belle’s hand and bringing her to the mirror. The duck looked at her reflection, still slightly hazy due to left over tears. Camellia was out of the mirror’s frame, leaving her in it. She didn’t know what Camellia wanted her to see. “Tell me what you don’t like here.” Came the soft voice from next to her. “M-My arms, t-they’re twig-like. A-A-And my r-ribs are visible.” Camellia smiled sadly at her, explaining that it was on the inside that counts. That she, Morgana and the Fearsome Four absolutely adored her. That anyone staring was just jealous of her. She was gorgeous, inside and out in their eyes. “It is important, however, that you think you’re beautiful. Tell me, what do you think?” Belle took a deep breath before focusing on her reflection. ‘I shouldn’t wear form fitting clothes.’ A voice at the back of her mind said. “It’s different, that’s good.” She said, trying to ignore that voice. ‘You’re arms are sickly, you could snap them in half. And goodness, you look like a corpse.’ That was sort of true, she didn’t look all that healthy. Still, she didn’t look as bad as she thought. “I look kinda pretty.” She whispered. “I look pretty and confident in this dress. Does it go with my hair? No, but hey, I look good.” Belle said, steeling her resolve.

“See? You always look great, remember that.” Camellia said, hugging her. Belle hugged her back, giggling. She opted to skip the eye shadow, feeling it would spur another crying session and that she didn’t need it. She did put her hair in a ponytail though, putting on some obsidian and ruby earrings to match the dress. Morgana would love her regardless, she told herself. She walked into the main room and pouring herself some cereal, Plush-Jack sitting in her tote bag comfortably. Belle listened to the music from the TV as she ate, watching Camellia set up a spell of some kind. Apparently one that’s meant to bring happiness and overall good vibes if she remembered correctly. She picked up one of Camellia’s various romance books in order to not distract her friend from her daily meditation and also to stimulate herself as she ate. It was surprisingly easy to get into and the book was well loved, clearly one of Camellia’s favourites. A calming aura came over her, making her feel that despite the rocky start, today would be a good day.

#oc fic #oc #darkwing duck oc #darkwing duck ocs #morgana macawber #bushroot #quackerjack #oc x canon

[miraclesnail]

1000 ways but part 34

I am finally done with all of Michael’s part! Yes! Took well over a year and lots, lots of procrastination not helped by anime, but it’s done!

ao3 link

series summary: A thousand ways to tell the Stoll brothers apart and I can name you one. Travis and Connor centric oneshots featuring characters from PJO/HOO. 

Part 34: Michael - Listen

Entire fic is under the read more but not formatted correctly 

cw: MCD

 Michael — Listen

Michael (16) - Travis (16) - Connor (15)

August 2009

During The Last Olympian

   "I'll come back."

That's what he promised to mom, right? What he said? The very last thing he said?

"I'll come back."

The bridge is unstable.

"I'll come back."

The pillar he's sitting at is too wobbly. It's going to collapse.

"I'll come back."

Percy is signaling for him to get off and to get off now.

"I'll come back."

But there's a demigod on the other side, nocking an arrow with eyes locked onto Percy.

"I'll come back."

Percy, who is the leader. Who will guide them out of this mess. Who has done so much. Faced so much. Who's been carrying a weight none of them can understand. Percy, who deserves to make it to the very end. To live to the very end and be happy.

Annabeth took a knife for Percy for a reason even though Percy was on a fucking roll, fighting like he's invincible. Maybe he's not so invincible. Maybe, like Annabeth's stabber, the others know how to take Percy down too.

Michael can't let that happen.

Percy is going to live and Michael is going to teach Percy how to finally shoot an arrow straight.

He spends five more seconds, getting an arrow ready and shooting it into the demigod's chest.

"I'll come back."

Then he slings his bow over his shoulder and starts descending down the bridge.

"I'll come back."

He knows before he even takes his first step down.

He's not going to get off on time. He's not going to make it. He's going to die. He's out of arrows. He can't zipline down to safety like he normally would. It's too far. He can't climb down that fast. He can't fly or jump or do some crazy parkour to land himself in safety.

He's not going to make it.

He's going to die.

"I'll come back."

Don't give up, his mom screams, screeches, begs in his mind. Try. You have to try.

His four siblings cry in his head too, pleading, Please, Mikey!

Try. Try try try try trytrytrytrytry. Try.

"I'll come back."

The last ropes holding the bridge up snaps.

I'll come back.

He's falling.

He's not going to make it.

I'm going to die.

No, no, no. Fight. He'll come back. He promised them. So fight.

Throw the bow. Try to place it on the ledge. Your siblings will know you fell. They will search for you. Just survive the fall and the rapids, survive not breaking your bones, survive not drowning, then you can finally watch High School Musical with your family, teach Will and Percy how to shoot an arrow accurately, listen to Austin geek over his Youtube channel one more time, watch Kayla train for the Olympics, fight Clarisse over dumb shit, scrabble with Travis and Connor over dumber shit, tease Sherman for his crush on Miranda. Survive and he can do all of that.

But he hits the rocky sides of the ravine headfirst — hard, disorienting, probably concussed now — before falling into the rapids below, sinking under the fast currents and water filling his lungs.

   He thinks he must have fallen unconscious or passed out or something. By the time he opens his eyes the blue sky is all red, the air a bit dusty. Everything looks faded and bleak. He's lying on his back beside the ravine Percy opened up, feet dangling over the edge. Will, Kayla, Austin, all his siblings are gone. Michael stands and looks for his bow. He knew he tossed it here somewhere. He looks. And looks. And looks. Along the ravine's edge. Around the ravine. A few feet away from the edge. Something's wrong. It's gone. His bow nowhere to be found. Nothing is to be found exactly. No blood. No dust. Not even stray and broken arrows. And Michael knows he broke at least three and tossed them aside. Did his siblings really take it with them? For what? Repairs? Those assholes. It's just arrows. They can always make more.

"Michael?"

Ah finally. A person. One of the Stoll brothers. Standing alone in the middle of the car-littered street in the typical orange shirt and bronze armor. Michael runs up to him, ignoring the way the other counselor takes a step back.

"Where is everyone? Are they all okay?" he asks.

Travis, Connor, he still can't tell them apart after all these years, but his co-counselor doesn't answer. Instead opting to keep staring at him with a disbelieving glint to their eyes.

"What?" he says, irritation piling up by the second as Travis or Connor just continues to stare. "What is it?" He's still just staring and Michael has enough. He snaps his fingers in front of the eyes. "Come on. We don't have all day. We're in a middle of a fucking battle in case you didn't notice."

At that, Stoll finally snaps out of it, shaking his head once. "Yeah. Yeah, you're right. Come on. Let's go."

Then he's taking off down the middle of the street, walking fast and rigid. Michael follows beside him, cautiously. Travis… Or Connor, whichever one he's with, they're usually a bit more chatty, a bit more loose-limbed. "What's wrong with you?" Michael questions, "Did something happen?"

"What? Nothing happened! Everything is peachy! Everything is fine!" The high-pitched laugh says it's anything but fine. "But I could go for a run or some strawberry ice cream right now. Or just strawberries. I am starving. What do you say about taking a detour before we meet up with the others? For old times sake?"

Michael squints at the son of Hermes, who suspiciously keeps his eyes forward. "Are you Travis?"

"You've known us for two years and you still can't tell us apart? That's pretty sad, Mikey." But Travis nods to confirm, still not looking at him.

"You're acting funny. What's wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong," Travis lies again, walking faster.

"Stop with the bullshit. Something is wrong."

"Nothing is—"

Michael darts in front of Travis, the son of Hermes just barely stopping in time to avoid colliding with him. "Tell me the truth. What happened? Is it Will? Did something happen to my cabin?"

Travis's head is lowered. It's hard to see his face. But Travis's fists curl by his side, tight, before forcibly relaxing. And when Travis picks his head up, there's the usual carefree, does-not-gives-a-fuck expression Michael is used to.

"Michael," Travis says, "how do you feel?"

"Fine. Great even. Now tell me what's—"

"No sores? No pain anywhere?" Travis pushes.

Now that Travis mentions it, he feels perfect. No aching. No pangs. No bruises. Not even a scratch or drop of blood on him.

"What's the last thing you remember?"

Falling.

He was falling.

The bridge. Shooting an arrow. Climbing down.

Falling

Into the ravine.

He hits something, hard and rocky.

Then water.

The struggle to breathe. The panic. The flailing.

And then—

"I'm dead, aren't I?"

Travis turns his back to him, stares at the fire-tinted sky. "Yeah," he mumbles.

Dead. He died. He's dead.

I didn't make it.

I won't be coming back.

Michael swallows, tries to collect himself, blinks hard at the tears he can feel are coming. None of it works. Plan B. Distraction. Focus on something else. Anything else.

"Are you dead too?" Michael asks.

"What? Oh, no, my dad leads souls to the underworld but he's kinda busy right now fighting Typhon so we're doing it for him. Everyone is at the Empire State Building right now, resting. Connor and a couple others have the drachmas for the ferry fare. I'm just leading all the wandering spirits to them."

"Shouldn't you be resting too?"

"Too wired for that," Travis says with a high-pitched laugh. "I raided a convenience store a while ago and downed like ten Monster drinks. Probably won't sleep for like a week. Don't tell Will, but I did not pay for the drinks."

"That's not healthy."

"Yeah, I know. Connor took away the remaining five or so I was going to drink. Totally unfair. Speaking of unfair, you're not going for rebirth right? If you are, then before you reincarnate could you tell Beckendorf that he was mean to boobytrap his chest box? Like, yeah, it took Connor a day to figure out how to open it but spraying pink dye and glitter? That's cruel."

Michael's lips twitch upwards. He remembers that well. Serves them right though for not respecting the dead. "Yeah, I could pass the message for you."

He could see it before Travis could start. The way he twiddles his thumb, the side-eye away, the scratching of the cheek. "... Speaking of messages, do you want me to—"

"No."

"But she's your—"

"Drop it, Travis," Michael snaps and Travis did, shrugging but not without a mumble, "At least I tried."

Travis starts walking again, to the Empire State Building, and Michael falls into step beside him.

Travis talks. About Beckendorf. About his fight on the Brooklyn Bridge. About Lee. About Annabeth's stab wound and her near death. About his dead siblings. About Connor. About his ex-cabinmates he saw just now. About herding enemies and friends alike along in this boundary state of life and death. Travis talks. And talks. And talks. And Michael listens dutifully, doesn't allow himself to think of anything else.

They near the building. The streets remain empty. But Travis waves at empty air and laughs at a joke that isn't there, responding to someone he can't see or hear. He wonders if his cabinmates are nearby. He wonders if they're okay. He wonders if they know he's dead. He wonders if one of them, any of them, will tell his mom and siblings. That he's dead. That he won't be coming back. That he's a big, fucking liar and an asshole and an idiot and incompetent and a screw-up and a—

"We're here. Connor is over there." Travis points to the entrance where Connor sits on the curb, bags of drachmas by his side. "I'll be going now. Lots of other demigods to herd over here. Ciao."

Travis about faces and walks away fast. In a fleet of panic, Michael turns too and utters, "Wait. Can you tell my mo—" but he chickens out. He cows under Travis's stare. He turns back around and mutters instead, "Watch over my cabin. Especially Will. I better not see any of them for a long, long time or… or I'll kick your ass."

"Okay," Travis promises, "We'll watch over them. You can count on us. I'll die before I'll let anything happen to them."

"That's not what I—" The words fall on deaf ears. Travis is gone, running down the empty street in a blur. God, he hopes he didn't just jinx Travis's fate. He already feels shitty enough.

Michael trudges to where Connor is sitting on the curb, a cheek on his hand and seemingly bored. But the way his eyes twitch ever so slightly to the side and the way he flips a drachma towards an empty space, the coin disappearing in thin air, the way Connor's face grimaces for a second before gathering itself back into impassivity, he's anything but. And when the blue eyes fall on him, Michael watches them go from surprise to grief to weary to forced indifference, all in two seconds.

"Hey," he greets, coughing once to get the lump out of his throat, "Can I have a coin?"

Connor glances down at the drachma in his hand. Then he glances up at him. And grins. He fucking grins.

"Sure," Connor says, standing slowly, "But for a price."

"What price?" But Michael knows. Michael can see it just the same way he saw it in Travis.

"What do you want to tell your mortal family?"

"Nothing," he grits out. "I don't have anything to say."

"They deserve to know," Connor reasons, needlessly. "Especially since you left them in the worst way possible."

"I know that," Michael snaps. "I was there."

"So? Your message?"

"I saw you handing out the coins without any of that bullshit. Why are you hassling me?!"

Connor shrugs. "Consider it penance for bothering Travis on your first day."

Michael darts forward, intending to just take it by force but his hands phases through Connor's clenched fist like he's Casper the Friendly Ghost. Connor steps back and rolls the drachma across his fingers, grinning all the while. Come and try again. Michael can literally hear the taunt even if Connor doesn't say anything.

Damn it. Damn it. Damn it.

"Fine. Fine!" Michael yells, "Tell them that I'm fucking sorry. I am so fucking sorry I lied and I can't even do something as easy as staying alive. I'm sorry for leaving without really saying goodbye. I'm sorry I screwed up so bad. I'm sorry for never accomplishing anything. I'm sorry for not becoming someone to be proud of. I'm sorry for doing absolutely nothing in my life. I'm sorry, okay?"

His half-siblings pop into mind. He's leaving them without saying goodbye too. He's leaving them when he's still needed. He's leaving them at the height of the fucking war… but the last battle if they win this. Better not here for the peak then absent for the entire year. Better to die like this then live shamefully and cowardly behind closed doors, wandering if his dad's side of the family is doing okay, if they're struggling, if they're even alive.

"I don't regret it. I don't regret what I did. Even knowing that I die, I wouldn't change the choice I made."

Connor smiles mirthlessly. "For what it's worth, I think your family would be proud of you."

"Yeah, yeah, you got your message. Make Chiron deliver it. I don't know how my mom will react and at least Chiron is immortal. Now give me the damn coin," Michael grumbles and holds a hand out, palm up and definitely not sniffling. "You better not join me in heaven. I need at least five decades, maybe a century, to get over what an incredible asshole you and Travis are. Come any earlier and I will literally kick your ass."

Connor rolls his eyes. "It's called Elysium and demigods live on average to 21. It's probably lower if you exclude the outliers."

Lee, died at 19. Beckendorf, died at 18. Castor, at 17. Then that new hunter of Artemis he never met but heard stories about, 12. Oh god. All his friends are going to die young. The only retort Michael can come up with is, "Well, try. I don't want to see your ugly mug."

Connor rolls his eyes again, but he's earnest when he says, still with that languid grin, "I'll miss you, Mike," Then his hand, dangling over his, opens up.

Me too, he tries to say but then the facade drops. Connor turns away but not before Michael can see his face crumpling, caving in. The tears made him freeze. He hesitates. He wavers. The coin lands in his palm before he could say anything and Connor is gone, replaced by thousands upon thousands of the dead all stumbling towards the ferry.

Michael sees Lee and Beckendorf as he waits his turn to board the ferry. It's just their outlines, faint and far, far away, but he knows it's them. And god, it's been so long since he saw Lee. For Beckendorf, it's only been a couple days, but the wave of grief it brings is fresh. They're petting Cerberus, he thinks. Beckendorf is waving a toy around for two of the heads. Lee is strumming his guitar, leaning against the last head who listens with contentment.

He'll pass by them on his way to be judged.

He wonders what they'll say when they see him.

Or should he just sneak by without saying anything and then surprise them at heaven's gate or something?

He's still contemplating what to do when there's a flutter of wings landing beside him. A note is pressed into his hand. Hastily scribbled in Greek. Half of it is unreadable.

"From your dad," whispers the wind, before it's fluttering away just as fast.

   Hey, Michael. I was going to visit ——— entered the Underworld. Uncle Hades ———— come willy-nilly except for Hermes. But Artemis said if I leave right now, ———Typhon ——— barely contained, she’ll sic her ————on me for all of eternity. Even now, as I am writing this, Artemis is giving me the stink eye. She doesn’t think———————————— but I’m proud of you——————you’re a hero—————I love you. 

—Apollo

#michael yew #travis stoll #connor stoll #pjo #fanfiction #cw character death #angst #Now I am going to go buy my gift for secret santa #massively happy I am finally done with Michael #Couldn't write anything else until I get his done #ao3 #my writing #1000 ways

[marvinswriting]

winded

prompt: “I never thought I’d be the one to hurt you.” **this is bears fault**  g/t mg 

“It’s stupid that study halls can’t be co-sized.” I whine, dangling my legs off Damian’s shoulder.

“That doesn't stop you.” He points out.

The stupidest part of my schedule this year was the fact that Damian and I both had study hall in the same period, but not in the same class.

I’m sure other schools have proper study calls, maybe they’re even co-sized, but in Northshore it's a glorified way to say do whatever you want for forty minutes.

Study hall for giants was in the cafeteria, with the librarian as the only monitor, and god knows she couldn't give two shits.

Study hall for tinies was in the tiny cafeteria and the monitor sat in the corner of the cafe on their phone. 

No attendance, no schedule check, nothing. In the past, Regina has skipped many classes by  simply joining me in study hall, claiming it was her period too.

But this year I haven’t showed up to my own study hall once. You honestly think if you gave Damian and I the same free period I wouldn't take advantage of it?

Damian walks through the halls carefully, mindful of me on his shoulder. He had to pick me up at the tiny pick up zone before going to class which meant we were at the opposite side of the school from where we needed to be. 

The tiny pick up zone that was very inconveniently placed in the back corner of the school. Northshore really said, lets be co-sized for the benefits but fuck over all the tinies.

Bitches.

We walked without talking, I picked at my fishnets as Damian moved. He wasn’t moving very fast, but you can’t exactly be late for study hall anyway. 

I held onto the shirt underneath me a bit lighter as Damian passed a group of students taking up most of the hall. I never understood why people walk in more than a row of two. Even with Regina and Aaron, we did a more triangle formation thing. Regina in front, of course. Walking in rows of five or more always just seemed stupid, I mean, you have to be aware of how much space you’re taking up.

These students didn’t seem to care, though. They walked in long rows, nudging each other and messing around. It wasn’t the first time we’ve passed a group like this, and it won't be the last. 

I know how to hold on when somebody accidentally bumps into Damian.

I make eye contact with one of the students.

But nobody’s ever purposely bumped into him. 

Yet.

My stomach sinks as the boy turns and whispers something to his friend who also looks at me as Damian has passed. 

Just another reason why I hate the hallway. For going to a highschool with tinies, people sure started a lot when they saw one.

As Damian steps past them one of the boys nudges out, shouldering Damian. 

Of fucking course.

The world tilted backwards and I only noticed what was happening when my stomach dropped.

I was falling.

I tried to grip onto Damian’s shirt but gravity was stronger.

Everything happened too fast for my mind to process.

Maybe somebody said something, I couldn't tell over the rush of air around me, the way blood pounded in my ears. 

The world was blurred with movement, the only thing clear was the floor- which got closer faster and faster and there was nothing I could do.

A hand wrapped around my body suddenly, a tight grip totally ceasing the fall. My brain was going a hundred miles per hour as all air was forced out of my lungs from the sudden halt. 

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck.

I was just falling.

But now I’m not.

My breath is shallow, each inhale is short and my lungs aren’t working. 

I can’t breathe.

The hand around me immediately opens, unpinning my arms from my sides. I look up, already knowing it’s Damian. He looks just as scared as I am. “Jan?”

I can’t respond, I can’t breath, fuck, I can’t breathe. My arm wraps around my stomach as I shake with a forced inhale. It’s not working.

I can’t breathe.

I've had hand wind knocked out of me before. But it never gets any less scary. I can’t fucking breathe. 

“Janis?!” Damian brings up his hand and my stomach drops at the sudden change in altitude. “Are you okay?”

I nod my head as I finally get a weak inhale. The world is still spinning and I'm shaking- but I’m breathing.

Poorly.

But breathing.

“I’m okay.” I say slowly. My voice cracked pathetically. I felt weak and stupid. 

I fell.

I fell off Damian’s shoulder.

My breath still didn’t feel normal. I couldn’t tell if it was from getting winded or adrenaline because I, once again, fucking fell.

 “What happened?”

Damian's hand was completely flat underneath me, like he was scared to hurt me. The halls have since emptied, the rest of the students long gone. 

“Got the wind knocked out of me, I- I’m okay now though.” I inhale to prove my point, finally able to properly breathe again, despite my arms still wrapped around myself. “Just got scared.”

Damian froze for a moment, staring down at me before- “Oh my god.”

I glance up, confused. “Huh?”

“I did that-” The hand that wasn’t holding me raised to his mouth. “When I grabbed you, I-, oh my god. Janis I’m so sorry I- I didn’t-”

I let my hands fall to my sides, quickly pushing myself into standing position. “No- no. It’s not your fault, Dame.”

“Yes, it is- because I-”

“No.” 

Damian lowers his hand from his mouth as I step closer to the edge of his hand. “I can’t believe I hurt you.” 

It was barely a whisper, but it held so much pain. “Damian, no-” I didn’t know what to say or how to make it better. I wasn't sure how to show I was okay. “You didn’t hurt me.”

“Yes, I did. You may not care that I hurt you but I still did. There’s a difference. And I- oh my god.”’

“Don’t think that way.” 

Damian looks down at me, bringing his other hand around me to cup with the other one. He doesn't speak, but that doesn't mean I can practically hear him blaming himself in his head. 

“Think about if you didn’t catch me. That’s a six foot drop. I’d be dead.”

Damian’s hand stiffens underneath me at the reality of my words.

I’d probably be dead. It’s a long fall. I wasn’t exactly in the position to land correctly.

I’d rather losing my breath than fucking dying.

“Dude, I’m okay because of you. Please don’t blame yourself.” 

Damian still seemed unconvinced, his features flooded with guilt and sadness. 

"C'mere," I hold out my arms as Damian raises his hands to his face. 

I reach out placing my hand on the tip of his nose, smiling when he laughs softly. 

"You're really small."

"And I'm also okay. Because of you. So thank you." I lean forward, pressing a quick kiss onto his nose. 

Damian still doesn't say anything as I sit down, leaning against his fingers. I don’t know what to say or do to prove my point. His hand is unmoving, like he’s scared he may hurt me again. Not that he did the first time. 

I’m put through so much worse by others intentionally. Damian would never hurt me. “I just got winded. It’s passed, I’m okay now. Please listen to me.”

“Okay.” Damian finally said. His voice is soft and breathy, like he may cry.  All I want to do is be able to pull him into a hug and tell him it’s okay- but that’s not exactly an option.

I can tell this is going to be something on his mind for a while. Damian is going to blame himself no matter what I say. He’s always worried about hurting me and has been super careful as a result. That’s why I felt so safe with him so soon after meeting him. And yeah- we’re both shaken up, but I’m okay. It’s not his fault. And, yeah, we should talk about it more in depth somewhere other than the middle of the empty hallway. But for now-

“-You have a study hall we really should be getting to.” I say with a small smile.

Damian huffed a quick laugh, his breath ruffling my hair which was probably still a mess from the fall. “Right, study hall. Pocket?”

“Pocket.”

Damian’s movements, even though small, are significantly more careful than normal. It felt oddly like when we met as I lifted myself into the pocket. Damian taps the outside of the denim quickly before walking, the jacket swaying with each step.

@realmisspolarbear @musicallygt @smallsoysauce

#g/t mean girls #g/t writing #Giant/tiny #g/t #giant damian #tiny janis

[finleyjayne]

EXTRA

Pairing: Bucky x Fem!Reader

A/N: Hey guys, I know y’all don’t know me but I’m going to be trying to post some of my fan-fiction. It’s both exciting and scary, please reblog, share. I’m going to be trying to write a little blurb every day for the month of April. If you have any requests please send them my way and I’ll try my best. Thank you in advance. If you want to follow me for ONLY writings my writing blog is @finleyjaynewriting. 

Warnings: Angst, Panic Attack, Self-deprecating thoughts

Summary: You are a part of the Avengers family but it’s sometimes hard to keep yourself from falling into bad habits that you thought you kicked when an essay question from your last college English class causes you to backslide. It’s a good thing your boyfriend Bucky is there to rally the troops and remind you that you are loved, even when you decide to run around the tower in a cape. 

picture credit goes to: Marwan & Khaled Couture Fall/Winter 2019 

Originally blogged by @fashion-runways​

You had been sitting here, staring at your outline notes, grading rubric, and notebook for over an hour. And you still hadn't a scrap of what to write. The list of adjectives on the page getting fuzzier as you tried to decide whether or not they fit you. Or if they were something that your friends, team-members, or family would use to describe you.

 If there was one word to describe you, you'd like to think that it was intelligent. But seeing as you live in a tower with not one but two geniuses and three supersoldiers who have heightened cognitive functions, it was terrifying how stupid you feel on the daily. Even with your triple-majored ass, you were on the lower end of intelligence. 

 Okay, so the people around you wouldn't call you the smart one in the group. What about determined. I mean, it takes a substantial amount of determination to get three master's degrees at the same time in five years. Tapping your pen against your chin as you think, you shake your head. Yeah, no, not when compared to Mr. I-can-do-this-all-day. 

 Sam is the compassionate and supportive one.

 Natasha is independent and fearless.

 Bucky is strong and loyal.

 Bruce is sweet and patient. 

 Wanda is attentive and courageous.

 Tony is eccentric and a genius.

 Steve is gentle and determined.

 Clint is funny and hardworking (even if he tries to play it off).

 Gods, this assignment is going to be the downfall of my perfect 4.0 GPA. You think to yourself, slamming your head onto your notebooks. Why did you have to take English? None of your majors were English oriented. Music, Engineering, and Chemistry. No  English, no need to know how to write a complete sentence. No need to write 2 pages on what your friends consider you using one word. You should know, you've made it 97% of the way through all three majors without taking a single English class. The most writing I had to do was my dissertations, which had nothing to do with this useless "self-expression piece."  The prompt doesn't even make sense! Write 1000+ words on a single word. How is that logically not just busy-work? 

 Just as your eyes and sinuses start filling with the feeling of hopelessness, Bucky comes waltzing into the tower's library with his book of the week. 

 "Heya dollface. Taking a nap?" He calls, the chuckle entwining into his voice in that perfect way it does. 

 And that's all it takes for your body to unleash the body-shaking sobs. The soulful wail that tore through your chest and out your trembling lips was nothing like you'd ever let anyone see. Especially not your team. You were already the weak one. You didn't need them to think anything less, but after comparing yourself to them for the last two and a half hours, you couldn't keep your self-deprecation locked in its cage anymore. 

 Seeing you this way was terrifying for Bucky. He had never seen you cry anywhere besides on stage. Not when you had been on the Mission from Hell. Not when you were hormonal, and Clint stole your heating stuffy. Not even when you were grieving the loss of your ex-girlfriend. So now having your usually bubbly, determined, happy-go-lucky self in a full breakdown was new territory for him. 

 "Woah," he said, eyes widening as he stared. "Hey, hey, hey, it's okay, doll. If anybody deserves a nap, it's you." He comforted as he took giant steps to your chair. Lifting you effortlessly and positioning you into the cradle of his arms as he took a seat in the large Papasan chair to the side of your chosen workspace. Holding you in a tight embrace like you did when he was having a hard time with his anxiety. 

 He focused on breathing evenly and keeping his heartbeat in check, knowing that if he didn't stay calm, the situation would escalate into something worse. Shushing you and rocking you as he observed the table for anything that could give away why you were crying. Bucky knew better than most about your anxiety and depression. He had asked you once how you knew so much about helping him during one of your many cuddle sessions. You had just said that you were working from your own encounters before you changed the subject.

 Though he didn't know everything, Bucky did try to help you as much as he could, especially as your friendship turned into something more. Still, he couldn't see anything that would cause you to become this upset. Usually, you would complain about your English assignments as you hyper-focused on them. Giving up on figuring it himself, he turned back to his distraught girlfriend, who was fighting to control her emotions in his arms. 

 "Babygirl, can you match your breaths to mine? Come on. Breathe in, hold, breathe out." He whispered, holding her tighter to him as she shakily followed him through the exercise a few more times. "Good, now what has my BAMF girlfriend distressed. Who do I need to take care of?" 

 You could feel the seriousness in his voice before you could see him through your tears. "Nobody, it's not a big deal. Just a stupid essay for English."

 "Don't give me that shit, Y/F/N Y/L/N." Bucky cuts off your excuses sternly. "You rarely cry, which, no matter how much you fight it, is unhealthy." Before you could even open your mouth to argue, he had a gentle, calloused finger on your lips. "Not going to remonstrate this. You are clearly upset, you are not okay, and that is okay. I just want to know why so I can help you more fully." He says, lifting his finger from your lips to tuck a few strands of your hair from your face.

 Sighing, you look down. "It's just this essay, I have to write about one word that my friends use to describe me. I ended up spiraling while trying to find a word that would be mine when all the ones I usually consider myself are more aptly displayed by somebody else. Honestly, I don't know why you keep me around. I'm pretty average." you admit, curling in on yourself as your tears gather again. 

 "Hey, none of that printsessa." He scolded you softly. "You are important to us. You are smart, fun, and inspirational. You are the reason we aren't at each other's throats. You are the instigator of too many of our team-building exercises. You single-handedly instigated the reconciliation between Steve and Tony." He started, giving you a smirk as you begin to scrunch your nose up. Tears were forgotten.

 You really didn't like it when he made sense when you were upset. It made feeling bad really hard. The worst part; Bucky damned well knew it. "But, you're biased, Bucky."

 "Maybe I am, but I also know you. And if I heard you correctly: It doesn't say one word YOU would choose to call yourself, but one word WE would define you as. Therefore, you shouldn't be wondering what words we would use. You should have gotten up and asked us. Or even better, you should've texted the group chat and asked! Then you wouldn't be here sending yourself into a hate-spiral, doll." Bucky reprimands softly. Determined to get rid of the lies that your mind is spewing at you, just like you do for him. 

 "I don't wanna bother you guys with my stupid homework. You guys didn't sign up to be pestered by my lack of self-mediation." You grumble huffily, knowing full well you are acting stubborn.

 "If you won't help yourself. I guess it's up to me to help you." Bucky states, standing up with you still cradled snugly in his arms. 

 "BUCKY!" You admonish, clinging to him at his sudden movement. "At least let me walk. I'm overwhelmed and sad, not crippled."

 "What's to say, I don't just wanna carry you? Huh? Also, you're holding me just as tightly love." He smiles brightly at you, kissing you briefly before turning back to the exit. Book, schoolwork, and his original objective forgotten for his new mission. He was going to find his doll her confidence again, with all the positive affirmations that should've been her first thoughts.

 Once settled in the elevator, Bucky looks up, "Hey, Friday, can you take us to Tony, please?" After confirmation from the resident AI, he sets your feet on the ground from the bridal carry he's holding you in but keeping you close to him. "So you need one word? What is your plan?" 

 Keeping your arms in their place around his neck, you lean your head against his secure warmth. "I don't really know, Buck. I kinda got stuck on the first step. If it was an analytical or critical styled piece, it would be a breeze, but it is supposed to be a descriptive essay. I don't know what to do with that. If it was a song, I'd be cuddled with you and my ukelele by now, putting finishing touches on the finished product. But no, there isn't any room for incomplete sentences. Maybe I'll make it a song just to spite the evil bat."

 "Hey, dollface, it's okay, I'm here to help you. Does it just have to be one word, or can it be structured for each person you know to have a different word? Remember what Peter said that one time he was working with you on Formatting? Your thesis could be something like 'I am many things to many different people and therefore have many different words that can be used to describe me. These things are A, B, C, and D. Then, you can use each term for a paragraph of fluff."

 Taking a deep breath, your lip twitches somewhere between a smile and a deep frown. "That does sound like a good idea. I don't really want to track down everyone, though. Can we get everyone into the same room and ask them as a group? It would be less hassle, and maybe we can decide on reasoning and stories to use to explain why? I really don't know how to do this without being really pessimistic and cynical about the whole thing."

 "Mr. Stark is in his lab, he is recommended that he is brought down to the commons, where I will page everyone else." Came Friday's disembodied voice. 

 "Thank you, Friday," you whispered. You weren't really sure that you were ready for this, but you know that this is the best way to finish this essay without spiraling into your self-pity again. It has to get done. Procrastination is not an option. After all, these are your friends. They don't have to know that you were bawling your eyes out about this stupid assignment. 

 Taking another steadying breath, you wipe the remainder of your tears off your make-up-less face onto Bucky's soft T-shirt, before turning out of his embrace to march confidently into Tony's Lab. "Hey Tones, your presence is required in the Commons." You call as you walk in the door. Knowing that Friday would've warned you if Tony had been in the middle of something delicate. 

 "What is it for? I want to get this sequence reconfigured. Can it wait?" Tony said, his full attention on a large display of Smalltalk equational programming floating off of his Holotable. 

 "Nope, if you don't come now, you don't get to participate, let Friday do the reconfiguration code. It will be done by the time you get back. If you come and keep your attitude to a minimum, I'll let you use me as a scapegoat for your next prank." You try to bribe when he looked offended that I'd suggest such a thing.

 "Any prank? Even if it's against loverboy?" Tony perked, throwing a truly roguish smirk over your shoulder. 

 "As long as no one is injured or harmed. But to make sure that I can cover your ass, you need to fill me in on the joke BEFORE you pull it." You say herding him away from the endless rows of code while he is occupied with his next plot. 

  When you finally make it to the Commons, The rest of the Avengers are gathered on the couches. All seemed to be in a decent enough mood. Taking a deep breath, you look to Bucky for direction on how to implement this plan of his. 

 He gives your hand a squeeze as he guides you to the middle of the sectional. Holding you from behind, he clears his throat. "Hey, guys. Thanks for coming to this impromptu meeting. I know you guys were probably doing nothing, anyway, but I appreciate you coming down here. Doll, here, needs some help from us. Well, you guys, since apparently, I am biased." His tone is light as he brings attention to us.

 You can't help but feel that knot of uncertainty come back as he speaks, though. You try your best to hide the shaking of your hands by holding onto Bucky's forarms that rest tightly around your middle, grounding you into the moment. Please just let this be quick. 

 "You are biased," you grumble. "You have to say the best things because you are my boyfriend. It makes for a skewed view on what my friends think of me." 

 "She does have a point, Buck. You tend to have neverending heart-eyes whenever anything is about her. Though that is reasonable, seeing as she is your girl. I'd be more concerned if you didn't have a shade or two of rose to your glasses." Steve said from his station in on the nearest end of the couch to the door. 

 "If his glasses are tinted any pinker, they won't be able to be seen through." Scoffed Sam from the other end of the couch. 

 "Doesn't matter," Bucky cut in before there could be any more railroading. "Y/N has an essay that she has to write but couldn't find the right inspiration for the prompt. Seeing as it pertains to our views on her, I felt it necessary to bring our expertise into the mix."

 "Oh, What's the prompt?" Bruce asked from the corner of the window seat. 

 "It's stupid, It's an essay on the word that your friends and family would use to describe you. Well, in this case, describe me." You say to the oak coffee table that separated the majority of them from you and Bucky. 

 "Doll, stop hating, and just accept the help." He whispered into your 

 "Well, you've definitely come to the right place. Come on, guys, what words describe Y/N?" Tony said enthusiastically, rubbing his hands together from the place he found next to Natasha.

 "Friday, can you make a list on the monitor, so we don't forget any?" Steve asked the AI helpfully.

 "Good idea, I'll start with eccentric," Nat stated.

 "Bubbly."

 "Funny."

 "Smart."

 "Out-going."

 "Playful."

 "Creative."

 "Hardworking."

 "resourceful, Multi-talented, Impressive."

 "Badass."

 "Stubborn." 

 Words just kept coming at incredible speed before there was a ding at the elevator. "Mrs. (Y/L/N), The package you ordered last night needs to be signed for if you wouldn't mind." Friday cut in. 

 As more words were being piled onto the TV screen, you turned toward the elevator. "It's here already??" you asked, making your way to the waiting delivery man. I quickly signed for the package before coming back to the group. Ripping into the box without care as Tony and Clint argued over positive and negative words on the list.

 Letting out an excited squeal while you pulled the long, sky-blue cape out of the box and swishing it over your shoulders, clasping it easily, and spinning in a circle to make it swish out. It was just as you imagined. Silky, soft, and absolutely perfect for everything. When you finally came back to the conversation you found yourself at the center of attention, everyone's eyes were on you in different mixes of amusement and exasperation. 

 "Where you going, Miss Bennet?" Tony laughed out.

 "What do you mean, where am I going? This is my house cape. Don't you have one? It's the latest fashion." You bite back, raising your head in indignation. "I love it, I am going to wear it. EVERYWHERE."

 As everyone's faces split into the biggest smiles, Peter walked into the room, tossing his backpack onto the floor as he took a seat between Sam and Steve. 

 "No Capes!" He said, lovingly referencing the Incredibles. Sending a ripple of laughs through the group of superheroes. "So what has you so Extra today, Y/N?"  

 "Nothing, I just saw this for sale while I was doing research for my recital dress and thought it would be nice." You respond fondly, feeling invincible in the cape. 

 "THAT'S IT! YOUR WORD IS EXTRA!" Clint said, springing from his perch. Everyone looked contemplative for a moment before nodding. 

 "Agreed. It's perfect. You give extra in everything you do." Steve said, not really getting the modern connotation.

 Even though it isn't any of the words that you thought they would choose, you can't really complain. Especially when it gives you the privilege of wearing your Couture Cape around the tower, just because you want to.

 Smiling at Bucky, you raised slightly on your toes to kiss his cheek, whispering a thank you. And with that, you whooshed off to write the worst essay in your academic career. Leaving the bickering and astounded Avengers in your wake.

#reader insert #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky barns x reader #student reader #sorry not even remotely sorry #fins reads #fins' fic recs #fins' recs #fins recs fics #fanfiction #fic reblog

[headachebrain]

My Favourite Books of 2020

There was nothing to do in 2020 so I read 62 books. The only places I went this year were work, home and the library. Reading kept me busy, it kept me occupied on public transportation so I wouldn’t stress over how crowded it was or who wasn’t wearing their mask correctly. I learned new things, got inspired to write. I cried a lot. I laughed a lot. I listened to my first audiobook which was such an amazing experience and a highlight of this dark year. Out of 62, here are the 16 books that I loved the most in 2020. I’ve included my Goodreads reviews because they’re funny to me – you can tell I like a book very much when I say “I’m going to be thinking about this for a long time.”

Fiction I wish I wrote:

If I’m reading a novel and it makes me mad that I didn’t write it that means I loved it. Such a Fun Age, the debut novel by Kiley Reid actually made me angry at how good it was. It’s always been my dream to write a contemporary novel about a Black woman just living life. I haven’t been able to do that yet but Reid did it so well. I read a few romance novels this year but none of them hit me. Romance novel clichés don’t get to me like they did in my early twenties when I’d devour romance novels but The Bride Test by Helen Hoang kind of wrecked me. I’m so here for contemporary romance novels having diverse leads, not just in race but in gender identity, body size and mentally. This year I’ve read romance novels about a woman in a wheelchair, fat women, queer folks – it’s incredible. The Bride Test was the best of the bunch for me this year. My Goodreads review says it all. For the past  three years an Elizabeth Acevedo book has been on my best of lists, she is incredible. Clap When You Land is another novel in verse about two Dominican sisters who find out about each other after their father passes away. It made me cry a lot. I know all too well the emotions that go with finding out you have half siblings that were hidden from you and Acevedo captured them so well.

Such a Fun Age by Kiley Reid Goodreads review: I loved this novel. It's the kind of novel I wish I wrote. It was funny, suspenseful and so painfully awkward at times I wanted to put it down. I could really identify with Emira trying to become an adult and find a job she cared about. There aren't a lot of novels where the Black girl main character can just BE - Emira could turn up with her girls and go to work and date and she felt like a full, well rounded human. I'm going to think about this book for a long time.

The Bride Test by Helen Hoang Goodreads review: What a treat.

Clap When You Land by Elizabeth Acevedo Goodreads review: As a Black girl that found out I have multiple half siblings, this book hit me HARD. It was sad, but hopeful and beautifully written. One of the best of 2020.

YA novels I wish were around when I was a kid:

I have vivid memories of searching my elementary school library for books with Black and brown faces on the cover. Even when I worked at a bookstore from 2006-2013 I’d have parents coming up to me asking for books that had characters that reflected their kids. I used to have a little list that I kept in my pocket so I’d be ready when I’d get asked. Now almost ten years after I left the bookstore, I go in and see so many different kinds of people on the covers of YA books. The diversity makes me emotional. Now so many kids can pick up books and see themselves no matter their body type, gender, sexuality or race. I’m not a kid any more but the teen novels I read this year that I loved were super diverse.

You Should See Me in a Crown by Leah Johnson Goodreads review: Started off a bit shaky but about 50 pages in I was hooked. I wish I had this book when I was a kid. What a gorgeous cover. I loved the themes the novel covered, loved that Liz was queer, loved the sickle cell storyline, the grandma made me cry. Little Black girls are so lucky to have this.

Shine by Jessica Jung Goodreads review: I love K-pop so I loved this novel. The writing was really good, the style reminded me of the Sweet Valley High books I read as a kid. Really enjoyed it.

Felix Ever After by Kacen Callender Goodreads review: Really cute. The writing could be tightened up a bit but I enjoyed the story. Also loved the BTS mentions

Memoir that gutted me:

I don’t usually read memoir but thanks to the library I read amazing memoirs by women of colour. In the Dream House and Know My Name focused on domestic abuse and sexual assault respectively that were so honest and heartbreaking but ultimately uplifting and hopeful. With both books I’d be reading and suddenly realize tears were streaming down my face. While Mariah’s memoir, that I listened to in audiobook format, made me laugh, cry and appreciate the living legend she is. She’s a miracle.

In the Dream House by Carmen Maria Machado Goodreads review: Devastating

Know My Name by Chanel Miller Goodreads review: I had this book on hold at the library for a year. This memoir will stay with me for a long time. It's sad, heartbreaking, hopeful and beautifully written. So beautifully written. Everyone should read this book

The Meaning of Mariah Carey by Mariah Carey Goodreads review: I listened to the audiobook version of this memoir, the very first audiobook I've ever listened to and it was such a rich, enjoyable experience. I've always been a Mariah fan, but never a super fan. I was familiar with some of her struggles but I never knew how much she'd been through. Incredible writing and storytelling about an incredible woman that truly beat the odds. I kept thinking to myself "it is a miracle that she's still alive." Easily one of the best memoirs I've ever read.

Brilliant Essay collections:

Essay collections are really hit or miss. I love reading well crafted, interesting essays. Wow, No Thank You and White Negroes both focused on topics I’m interested in – humour, Black women issues, mental health and pop culture. I may only read essay collections by Black women from now on.

Wow, No Thank You by Samantha Irby Goodreads review: The only books that have made me actually laugh out loud were written by Samantha Irby. She's a writer that makes me feel seen, while also inspiring me to try to write essay (which I find so difficult). I enjoyed the majority of these essays, especially ones about trying to get her first book picked up as a TV show. As a fellow Black girl that doesn't do shit, I'm glad Samantha Irby is writing.

White Negroes by Lauren Michele Jackson Goodreads review: Excellent. I'll be thinking about these essays for a long time.

Non-fiction that changed my worldview:

I read The Warmth of Other Suns by Isabel Wilkerson last year and it changed the way I looked at the world. Caste, also by Isabel Wilkerson, affected me the same way. Everyone should read it.

Caste by Isabel Wilkerson Goodreads review: a book everyone needs to read.

Well written fiction:

These novels were the ones I knew I’d never be able to write – they were just good stories about women. One about a Black woman scientist dealing with her mother’s mental illness, one about contemporary women living in Seoul and another about a woman who was sexually assaulted by her teacher. I read a lot of fiction this year but it was fiction by and about women that I really enjoyed.

Transcendent Kingdom by Yaa Gyasi Goodreads review: whew. beautiful prose, devastatingly sad. I loved it.

If I Had Your Face by Frances Cha Goodreads review: Great writing and a fascinating look at the life of women in Korea.

My Dark Vanessa by Kate Elizabeth Russell Goodreads review: tough to read but so well written. I'll be thinking about this novel for a long time.

Honourable mentions: The Deep by Rivers Solomon Cemetery Boys by Aiden Thomas Turtles All The Way Down by John Green Good Talk by Mira Jacob Get a Life, Chloe Brown by Talia Hibbert

#books #Books and Literature #reading #2020 books #best of 2020 #writing #personal

[confusedinfj]

Story Writing Tips

@realentj gave me some writing tips I've been searching for my whole life. And since I never found them, I decided to articulate them for other people who - like me - are hacking their writing by following vague writing advice. Hopefully this helps at least one person 😊

Also, I'm not saying the examples I've given are good. I'm just trying to demonstrate mild improvement 😂

Common Advice Evils

Write what you know = vague. Write SOMETHING you know. Like emotions and feelings of the characters - that's the reason we can read Sci Fi and fantasy.

Show, don't tell = pages of wasted space. Maybe your character is a hypochondriac who can tell their heart is burning as tears run down their face, maybe they're an emotionally unaware person who just goes 'I was sad - idk why'. Say it like the character would.

More dialogue! = no. Dialogue is boring. More thoughts, thoughts about what people are saying. More thoughts than dialogue. NO: 'hi' 'how's it going?' 'good thanks, you?'. YES: 'hi.' She seemed flat today. I wondered why. 'How's it going?' Maybe she'd mention what was wrong.

Set the scene = too many pointless descriptions. Give us the character's thoughts - if they don't notice anything, don't mention it. NO: I walked into the big room. The walls were red, there were three chandeliers, the floor was shiny, there were people everywhere. The room was hot, there were 15 candles... ' YES: I walked into the room, immediately struck by the size. There were chandeliers on the roof, and I stood there, staring at them.

Avoid writing in the first person = terrible advice. I personally find writing in the first person easy - it helps me know what is and isn't important to include.

Keep it simple = good advice. Overcomlicating your plot will bore the reader. You can have a complicated plot, but you're gonna have to make it SEEM simple.

Let your character suffer = good, but don't make them suffer for the sake of it. Suffering looks different for everyone, there's a lot of wiggle room here. It could be as simple as offending a friend for a few days.

Just write = good advice! It doesn't need to be perfect, I needs to be done.

My tips

Write scenes like a movie. This way you'll have less pointless stuff, and something will always be happening for a reason.

Write images, not ideas. My brain seems to work like Brooklyn Nine-Nine or Scrubs, with all the cut scenes. Let your character think the same way if it's right! So instead of: I thought about standing up on the table, in the middle of the room, and screaming. Everyone would probably stare at me if I did that. Try: I pictured myself standing on the table in the middle of the room, screaming, everyone staring at me.

Format things well. It makes it easier to read. If you press tab on a new line it gives it professional looking indents, and it's much easier to read.

Get good at punctuation. This allows you to get the sound of real speech across while still being readable. So instead of: They were on the left and the right they were everywhere. Try: They were left, right - everywhere!

Don't use semicolons. You're probably not using them correctly, and they look obnoxious anyway. Use dashes instead. They're harder to misuse, and they look much more conversational.

Don't try. Just be honest. Writers who try tend to get bogged down in pointless metaphors and needless imagery. Just write.

Let the deeper meaning appear. Don't force it. If you sit down to write a story about x, y, and z you'll probably bore yourself to death.

Write about people. People like people. Even if you have the coolest plot in the world, no one will read it without people. All the best books almost sound boring when you describe them - they're just about people.

Thoughts and feelings. Not descriptions and dialogue. This is what people read stories for, try to get them right. So while you can do: She had blue eyes, blonde hair, and a blue dress. She had a small face. I was a little scared of her. This tells us more about your character: She had blue eyes - that was the first thing I noticed about her. They felt cold, so I looked away. It describes less, but ways more about the thoughts and feelings of the character.

Be honest. Pls don't sit down and try to skip straight to being Tolkien or Keats. Your writing will sound so forced and inflated.... Just be honest when you write.

Write casually. This is a good way to learn to write well, because you won't be distracted trying to sound smart.

Cut words. Any word you can cut, cut it. Pronouns, conjunctions, phrases that could be turned into one word.... Cut 'em. So instead of writing: He was running after me, and I needed to escape. I ran away quickly, breathing heavily. I didn't know where to go. Try: He ran after me - I needed to escape. Running, breathing heavily - I didn't know where to turn.

CONSISTENT CHARACTERS. Maybe it's totally believable your uptight character suddenly wants to do drugs - but you better make sure it is. Don't make your characters do things for the sake of it. If you want your uptight character to do drugs but can't think of a reason why they would, be more creative - maybe it could be an accident? People hate inconsistent characters, and saying 'they're not inconsistent because they're my characters' is just lazy. My biggest pet peeve: Characters ending up together when they really wouldn't. Don't do it.

Say it how the character would. This means you CAN tell, you don't ways have to show! You can totally just write: it was a big house. Didn't think much of the colour though.

Point out things the character cares about. Don't bother describing everything in the house if the character doesn't think it's important. Your character can walk into a mansion and literally be like: x-box. That's all I saw.

Explain your character's feelings. Sometimes having them cry and say they're sad isn't enough. If you do this well, the reader should feel something too. So instead of just: She was upset with me, so I began crying. I was sorry to let her down. You could try: I'd let her down - she was so upset, she was crying, all because of me. I began to cry too, angry that I couldn't be better, stronger. Obvs don't overdo it 😂

Let your character's thoughts ramble. You can even let them cut themselves off mid sentence. Instead of: I tried to figure it out. Was it possible that she flew? No, that seemed to be taking things a little too far. Try: I mean, I suppose it was possible that - no. No, that was a little too far.

Don't over explain things. Say it the simplest, most obvious way and move on. You can always fix it later if you have to. The best writing is simple and honest.

Write down stuff that feels embarrassing and hurts. I don't usually keep that stuff in its first form, but I do keep the essence. It's helpful to see it written down and realise what you're going for.

Let your character miss things. This works particularly well in first person. It means you don't have to explain or describe every single thing, it's very relieving.

Find your voice. Your character's voice that is. You don't need your voice, you need to hear your character. I like to pick a person and write as if they're talking. They can even have multiple voices, like a lot of people have when they're aeghong or talking to themself. If you can hear your character's voice, it will be harder to write them doing something they would never do - you just won't be able to see it.

Have fun! Write things you think are fun - play around with your writing.

Love your story. Even if you don't like the way you've done it, love the story. Learn to separate the story from the actual writing. That way you'll be motivated to go back and fix it later.

Take advice. If you can find it, and it can be hard to come by. Try out anything suggested, you never know what might work!

Ignore the haters. That is, people who insult you and your writing without giving any tips. They're just mean. So many famous authors weren't published until at least 35. Writing is a skill, keep working on it!

Bonus tip: Don't kill characters for the sake of it. It's annoying. Character death should have a point. Yes, that point can be death can seem pointles, but that point doesn't belong in every story, and it shouldn't be repeated multiple times. Then you just look like a psycho and you'll annoy the reader. Just - don't do anything to your characters for the sake of it. Forced tribulation is annoying to the reader.

Bonus bonus tip: pls don't write a story that hinges on a basic miscommunication. If it can be fixed in two minutes in a conversation, it's probably a cliche... Definitely overused in films!

#not mbti #writing #fiction #stories #writing tips #tips #advice #description #writing style #writing descriptions #writing advice #story writing

[texxasserialroundup]

Incoming college students.. listen up!

I have been asked about some tips or advice for incoming college students, both traditional and non-traditional, so here it is.. enjoy!

So I am what you call a non-traditional student I did not go to college right out of high school it took a couple years for me to realize that it was important for me to pursue a higher education beyond my high school diploma. My very first freshman semester I took two classes, one of these was a developmental math course ( I ABSOLUTELY LOATH MATH!) and of course I dropped out of college soon after, honestly I don't even think I did like a full month of classes I just stopped showing up. I wasn’t motivated and all I really wanted to do was hang out with my friends and do hood rat shit (LOL)  Fast forward 4 years after that, when I AGAIN decide to get my act together, it took that mixed with having some personal experiences to kind of get my head straight in regards to my future endeavors and what I want to do with myself. When I say that it's hard to do college by yourself, y’all... it is so hard, it doesn’t help that I'm an introvert who doesn’t like to ask for help from tutors because I feel like I am burdening them and I’m worried that I will embarrass myself with dumb questions.  Neither of my parents graduated high school so that was no help with homework or studying and at the time I was going to a Community College and so the atmosphere is not quite like a four-year University. Everybody just kind of stays to themselves so it is not like it is easy to mingle make new friends, there is not a lot of on campus activities and stuff like that so that also made it difficult. But also I did not know how to study, honestly I'm not going to lie to you guys, I'm currently working on my third college degree and I still don't know how to study and sometimes that really kind of like puts things into perspective about our educational system in regards to the way that they teach towards a specific curriculum. I think that teaching students how to study is extremely important. The way that I get through my college classes is a lot of crying, and I am not being sarcastic, that is exactly what happens. I do a lot of crying, there is a lot of frustration, there is a lot of screaming at myself, there is a lot of self-bullying and personal demons that I battle with. I do not feel like I learn like everybody else, I cannot just read something or watch a video and retain information. Everything must be repetitive; I must read it over and over and over, I must highlight things and make up little phrases in order to remember topics like the Krebs cycle. So, it is repetitive, and it slows me down, it is frustrating, and the experience overall is overwhelming. Especially recently with covid a lot of my classes have been online which essentially translates to teach yourself a brand-new topic, good luck, and may the force be with you kind of thing. For people like me who deal with what my boyfriend calls “impostor syndrome” it really rattles any self confidence that I built throughout my college career and it makes me feel like the achievements that I've done so far aren't valid and that I don't deserve the degrees that I have and that maybe it was a mistake . With these things being said I just want to spread some positivity and some good vibes in regards to anybody who is a freshman going into college, a current college student, or a non-traditional student such as myself who feels like they might be too old to go back to school. Everybody is dealing with their own struggles and college is not easy, if it were everybody would have a college degree. Some tips from myself would be not to be afraid to ask questions, if you're like me, I have really bad anxiety and I don't feel like I can bring myself to ask a question during lecture in front of the class so I'll either email the professor afterwards or I will speak to the professor one-on-one during office hours or I'll try to grab her as soon as class is over before she leaves an ask her a question. The reason why I say this is because college moves very fast and the professors honestly it seems like they're not going to put any extra effort into helping you understand a topic if you don't express your confusion or if you don't understand the topic. At the end of the day you're paying for your college education and you need to create self-confidence and remind yourself that you're worthy and that your questions do deserve to be answered no matter how ridiculous they sound in your head no matter if you think that it will sound dumb. I cannot stress enough the importance of getting your questions answered. My second piece of advice is to utilize any type of group study offered, like I said before, I have really bad anxiety and it's hard for me to just walk up to a stranger and ask to be a study buddy. What I've noticed though is that a few students will get together or it will just be one student and they will start a group chat through either GroupMe or through text message or you know through canvas which is the educational platform that my University uses, and it really helps because you still have access to study guides, notes, or if you miss a day you can reach out and ask what you missed. As well as review and go over important topics and information posted. A lot of the times you don't even have to be face to face with these people, all of it is through text messaging or email. Another really good piece of advice is learn how to use OneNote and Google Docs and learn how to use it in a group format so that multiple people can work on one document together in real time so you can watch somebody else edit a midterm review while you're also adding to a midterm review it.will.save.your.life! Just spend a couple minutes, get on YouTube watch a quick tutorial nothing crazy just a quick rundown, y’all, I am telling you it will do wonders. Next piece of advice will have to be not to compare yourself to other students. My first semester of college at a four-year University I went all out on the school supplies, I bought so many journals, I bought so many sticky notes and planners and different colored pens and sharpies and highlighters. I had index cards, I had binders, I had sectional post-its, basically if office depot sold it I had it in my backpack.  I quickly learned that I did not need half of that crap, but when you're excited about going to your first year of college you want to be prepared and if you're like me I watched other people’s YouTube videos about their experiences and things that worked for them and so I tried to pick and choose what I thought would work for me. Long story short it did not  help and I think that really played a big part in my self-loathing in a sense because I would see all these other students super organized with beautiful handwriting, multi colored notes and just over the top every day, never faltering, just like the perfect student it seemed. It's okay not to be super organized, it's okay not to have the perfect notes, it's okay if all of your notes from all of your classes are in one notebook, if it works for you, it works for you.  No matter what that may be, just keep in mind that this is your college journey no one else’s. Finally, I will emphasize to invest money in a good backpack. Like do not take the backpack from high school with you, I did that, and it was a disaster honestly. It is like my dad used to say growing up, “you get what you pay for.” You are going to be carrying a lot of stuff, probably a tablet, a laptop, textbooks, journals, binders, you name it and you need support for your shoulders, for you back and for your neck. I say this from experience, my college campus is one of the largest public universities in the state of Texas, it takes me 20 minutes to get from my car to the campus, once on campus, I have another eight minute walk to get to my first class. So, it is detrimental to me and my physical health to have a good backpack with support that holds everything and equally distributes the weight correctly. I know this sounds crazy but that is probably the one thing besides getting a good laptop that I would invest a lot of money in. Lastly, I will leave you with this, college is a scary experience for many people and right now we're in very uncertain times which only adds to the stress, but I want you to know that there are resources out there for you and other students and faculty who are more than willing to work with you and accommodate accordingly. Please do not be afraid to reach out to anybody for any type of assistance whether it be academic, mental or physical help, we are all in this together. Be kind to one another and stay curious. -SLR

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