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honestsycrets · 10 months

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enfócate | tutor!miguel o'hara x reader

❛ pairing | tutor!miguel x student!reader, fake boyfriend!peter x reader

❛ type | explicit

❛ summary | jess is clear: miguel o'hara is a terrible boyfriend. he'll inevitably hurt you-- but peter has other ideas. or, you blow miguel in a library.

❛ tags | spanish tutor!miguel, bratty reader, a kiss with Peter, Miguel's jealousy, bjs, fake boyfriend!peter, slight obsessive qualities, fuck buddies, undefined relationships, fuck boy Miguel.

❛ reqs fulfilled | see here.

❛ sy's notes | the pov on this piece bothers me, it jumps between reader and Miguel. however, i did write two separate pieces for this request (a combined 25 pages vs my usual 11/12). so, i decided to meld them together to create this piece. anywho, if it bothers you, i understand! ❤️ I yoinked a lot of the Spanish from my Spanish learners textbook, hopefully, it's acceptable.

He knew he wanted you from the first day he saw you in the tea cafe.

Jess and he rarely visited the tea shop. It was settled on the edge of campus. Close to the social sciences and arts, but far from the work he did in the Genetics department. As a Ph.D. student, however, not all the work was done in the lab. Jess liked to see the different types of people that came to this tea cafe, where the chair cushions were fluffy emerald pillows and plants hovered overhead.

“Miguel? What's---”

You stood apart from the other students with their sloppy, half-cropped, or frumpy appearances, there was a particular care you took to dressing. It was the embroidered bow in your hair that drew his attention. When you left to fetch a refill of chai, he noticed the soft, frilled socks in tiny ankle boots. He just knew you would taste sweet, leering as he watched you at the drink bar. Jess glanced in your direction, the way you adorably bowed your head after the tea artist gave you your drink, and just knew. Jess looked over her shoulder.

“Not her.”

Jess’s voice was a drawn-out sigh of your name, punctuated by her fist beating the table. Miguel perked at the mention of your name. Oh, so she knew you. She was probably sick of his shit. Good, he was also sick of being used as a vibe check for the lesbians she wanted to pick up.

“Don’t you have enough side pieces?”

Miguel didn’t respond.

“She probably has a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend. Look who she's with.”

That finally got a response.

“You don’t know that,” he kept his eyes straight ahead. You caught him staring, wiggling your little fingers in a hello as you sat at a table. "I want her."

You sat with an incredibly frumpy, annoying photography student who once took his picture for the lab website. Could he be… his attention wavered when you pulled out a book: Español para el siglo. His lips quivered into a wildly sardonic grin. Oh no, no no. It was too easy.

“You’ll ruin her. She’s too innocent.”

He leaned in.

“Are you going to help me or not?”

“Buenas tardes,”

Two chairs and a thin desk. The small study room was more of a glorified broom closet for its students. You were lucky that there was a large window that looked out over the student union, flowers blooming up its brick siding. Bits of lush dark green ivy poked into the window’s view from the library’s tall wall. As the sun set on campus, rich orange and pink settled over the sunset on that warm Friday afternoon. At least the sight was pretty for how overwhelmingly small the space was.

It wasn’t the space that bothered you. It was your tutor.

He was big-- big big. Not just a little big, but really big. The kind of big that was on bodybuilding competitions. It made his long, blue-grey muscle shirt and grey sweats look tiny, sucked to his well-pumped muscle. The room felt a lot smaller as you looked at him, his long brown hair whipped back over his neck. His eyebrows raised on his dark forehead, arms turning one over another, a bundle of muscle.

“Ah... you're him? The man from the tea shop.”

He pulled free his sunglasses and set them down. His warm chocolate eyes glanced from the edge of your now too-short skirt to the glint of a dagger necklace that beat between your breasts. He’s staring. Why is he staring-- you finger the dagger between your thumb and index fingers, soothing yourself with the manipulation.

“Miguel.” He warmed, pulling the seat out beside him. His voice was buttery and smooth, almost like rich caramel. The lilt in his voice lightened, inviting you to take a seat by him. You should. You thought. Sit down. “Siéntate."

You stared.

"I said sit down.”

That was a bad idea. You paused, slipping the bag down from under your shoulder and onto the beige tile by the door. Miguel watched every slight movement. That’s fine. It’s natural to do that. You tugged the bottom of your skirt and took a seat beside him. Miguel pushed the chair back in, pushing your chest to the edge of the desk space. Oh-- oh boy, he was strong. Of course, he was, he was built like a--

“Bueno. Now you're settled. How can I help you?”

Do that again.

“Me? Oh! I... Jess said you could help me need to pass a test,” you murmured. The four semesters of Spanish seemed relatively easy compared to being stuffed next to this Adonis in this tiny study room. Your legs settled over your skirt, hands working over one another to will down the pulse of your wily excitement. What was wrong with you? “To pass my language requirement.”

You should have been able to do that alone but-- let’s say you weren’t the most applied to the language in your childhood. A tutor was a great alternative to embarrassment and thousands of dollars in classes. If only he didn’t look like… this. His large hand left the pasty back of your chair.

“Hm,” he paused. “¿Puedes hablar español?”

“Sí,” you murmured. “My mami was-- well, I should have listened to her.”

Hm.

You want to know what Hm means. Your leg tremored on its own accord. He swept a leather bag by his side up and pulled out a thick folder, running across several tabs. Lab notes, diet plans, pruebas.

“It happens,” he notes, sliding a page free. “Let’s see how much you know, princesa.”

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to know more, to hear the hum of Spanish bouncing off his lips. It was a world apart from your mother’s shrill screams on Saturday mornings to clean an already clean house. It held its own beauty and mystery when he spoke it. You took the page from him, setting it down on the bland tablespace by your phone, lighting up with a notification.

Jess When you meet Miguel, don’t do it.

"¿Princesa?" you asked.

"You dress like one. Don’t worry if you fail,” you plucked out a pink mechanical pencil, complete with little animated characters tightened around the wrapping. You perked at his words, choking a small smile. “I expect you to.”

Why was he like this? You took another unfortunate look at him, his large forearm plastered over the desk, making the book he had to look like peanuts in comparison. God, he was hot-- you felt comparatively hideous, drooling over a man that was out of your league. Maybe he could be your piece of eye candy this year. Your phone buzzed along the table again. Miguel’s eyes shot to it, a frown pulling at his lips.

Jess Don’t fuck him. He can’t keep his dick to himself.

He reaches over, flipping your phone down with an overworked smile sundering his expression. It’s almost fake.

“Are you…” you turned your eyes to the questions on the page. “A student?”

“Grad student,” Miguel answered. So, older than you then. “I graduated with a BA in Spanish and a BS in Genetics.”

“Oh! A dual degree?” The man couldn’t be normal. He had to do both. “Did it… take a while?”

“No, it was accelerated.”

He was unreal. There was no way this man was ordinary. It was physically impossible for the man to be that hot and successful. You scribbled across the page, nipping the back of your pencil at particularly hard questions.

“So you just do this for… a living?” you asked him.

“I teach and train clients, yes.”

“Train?”

“Gym,” Miguel set his cheek on his fist.

“I do cardio with Jess. No strength training for me.” Jess-- who suggested Miguel to you. You had some shit to bitch at her about the next time you saw her. Namely, why she didn’t warn you about Miguel. He was a boon for chaos in your life.

“I’d waste your time. I’m all marshmallow,” you pat your soft belly. “All pan dulce and burros.”

He chuckled.

“You have a beautiful body.”

And that was that. You set the pencil down on a page half full of answers, glancing toward his full lips. They were quirked into an arrogant smirk. He knew the effect he had on women. He glanced to the page, then to you, his lips growing into a smile laden with arrogance.

“Your hips--” he glanced down, “My girls couldn’t pay to get them.”

He noticed. You supposed that the miniskirt wasn’t the best choice for meeting a new man.

“Do you talk to everyone like this?”

“No. Only the ones that look at me like you did."

Oh.

If it were a game of whom ate whom up first, you had to be honest-- it may have been you. You couldn’t shoot anything back at that, angling your head down at the page guiltily. A sigh fell from his chest. His large hand came to the back of your head, cupping the thick bow on the back of your head. His fingers ran across the silk, teasing it between his fingers.

“Calm down, you’re not the first one to do it. You won't be the last,” he turned your head to look at him, large fingers combing through the strands of your hair. He chased the panic in your wide eyes, doe eyes blown wide. Your heartbeat soared into your chest, choking you there, looking for an outlet from your shame.

“Breathe for me,” he leaned in, his warm breath tingling your ear. His cologne was clean, like the lapse of the waves on the shore back home where the tropical heat was a second skin. You listened, taking a weary, deep breath in, then out again. Again.

“Go on.” His knuckles rapped on the sheet. Miguel’s hand fell away. You found yourself longing for it again.

“He’s gorgeous.”

“I told you not to fuck him," your superior, Jess said, her feet bouncing off the stairstepper effortlessly.

“I didn't-- I just, he called me beautiful.”

“He would call anyone beautiful if it meant fucking them. Don’t fall for it.”

You knew Jess wouldn’t say it unless she were serious. She always knew what you needed help with, where to locate a good solution, and had the right words to calm you down.

“How?” you said, louder than you intended. You were suddenly thankful for the pounding music that beat down on your ears in your school’s gym and the rush of people that came and went. “Jess, you’re a lesbian. You don’t understand-- he’s thick. Like, he’s luchador status big. Big, big.”

“I’ve dated some thick women.”

“And he likes me,” you said pointedly, rushing to the topmost step, remembering his words. The way he calmed you down from your embarrassment, seeming without concern for his own body. It was… sweet. “Men usually don’t like me, Jess. I’m too… soft.”

“Okay, girl, whatever,” you were pretty sure she rolled her eyes. “Unless you’re going to be another one of his fuck toys, just ignore him.”

“How?”

Her stare trained on the floors lapsed. Thirty and she was still going. “If you don’t want him, just fire him. What’s going to do? Come find you?”

You stopped for the entirety of five… or ten seconds. Enough to consider her words. Enough to quite literally get plop off the stair stepper and onto the cold floor. Jess exhaled a stale breath, reaching over to jam the STOP button on your machine. Ow.

“Good job.”

Miguel likes to tutor you. Not because you’re good at Spanish, no, for a girl that grew up with a Spanish mother, your skills are quite poor. But he likes the opportunity to have you in a room all by yourself, late at night. Wednesdays are great days for that.

Your soft buttercup yellow dress is short today, exposing your thick thighs that take up so much of the chair. He pretends that he’s listening as you go over a list of irregular verbs, your lip pouting in response to the irregular verbs. Some were simple in their familiarity like poder with endings such as pudiste; but the plurals and other irregular verbs, you pouted at. It was cute.

“Miggy, it’s not funny, ” Oh, nicknames now. Miguel throws a glance at your glossy lips, undoubtedly sticky but oh so soft looking.

“I never said it was.”

“You’re smirking.”

“Then don’t whine,” he said. “It’s cute.”

“Oh--” As to be expected, you shifted your hands between your legs, drawing your skirt in between your legs. He faltered and took a glance, coasting his eye over its edges and memorizing the way it fell over your skin. You’ll ruin her, he remembers Jess saying. She wasn’t wrong, he sensed the bit of it now, how close you sat--

“Take a break, princesa. Vocabulary-- ascendencia.”

Rather than take a break, you turned and caught the corner of his lips in what was a terrible, cherry-red kiss that would stain his skin. But the connection of your lips, puckered in a pouting kiss on his skin, caught him off guard.

“Descent,” you took his red pen out of his loose grip, scribbling descent by the word. Fuck. Miguel took a sip of now cold coffee. A smile kept pulling at his cheeks, looking out of the window and catching the slight reflection of your lipstick smeared across his lip and cheek, he bobs his head into a nod.

“Correcto.”

You’re with Peter the first time you see Miguel with another woman.

It’s at lunch. Tuesdays and Thursdays are regularly spent running to the College of Arts, waiting for Peter to get out, and a picnic. Today, you forgot to bring lunch, running off to the union hand wrapped around his elbow as he talked to you about a bright new camera lens filter.

“These new pictures are going to come out perfect! Thanks for lending me the money,” he beamed. You loved the way he talked about his art-- stopping to show you his newest pictures of the camera that hung around his neck. Peter was always good with a camera, catching you in all the prettiest angles in your trade of photos for… sponsoring a lens or whatever. Or, at least, bringing down the cost. “Look at this one. Look how pretty you look in that dress, kinda like a pin-up! We should do some’a those next.”

Feet thumping over the pavement, you failed to sense Miguel's presence until you smelled his peppery cologne carried on the air. There, on a bench, he sat next to a girl. She was pretty, with long dark hair and soft skin. Her hand was on his thigh and his arm around her shoulder, eating the last bit of a flaky empanada-- your eyes burned, the closeness of her head on his shoulder, clearly done and finished, waiting for whatever next plan he had. You don’t want to know what that could be.

“Huh? Oh. hi Miguel!” Peter waved to your dismay. You held onto him a little tighter, wringing circles around his sleeve. Miguel spares you two a glance, his eyebrows pushing together. But he waves, lazy and short. You stifle the hot prick of tears at the corner of your eyes and yank Peter away. “Wha-- I’m coming, I’m coming!"

Days later, Peter has a plan.

“I’ve got it-- the solution to your tea guy problem! You should have told me sooner that it was Miguel.”

Peter was very excited. Why, you weren’t sure. He liked to feel helpful. That’s why he was a photographer. Photography lets others feel beautiful and seen. He picked at your lunch, his head flopped on your thigh as he worked through his camera.

“I’ll be your boyfriend!”

“You want to be my boyfriend?” you offered him a grape. He opened his mouth with an adorable ‘ah’ of his his lips. You slipped the grape between his lips. He chewed appreciatively. “I don’t know, Peter. Isn’t it lying?”

“C’mon, I know Miguel. He’s macho. The kind of guy you have to make jealous. And I can do it! I’m boyfriend material. Aren’t I?”

“Sí. But I don’t think I can make him jealous.”

It was a sunshiney day, sprawled out at lunch on a cool picnic blanket, tracing the clouds when you heard his voice. Soft, smooth, inviting. Your head spun around, this time with a lean blonde-haired girl-- her legs were long, tummy nice and flat, blue eyes shining like little sapphires set in her pale face. She swooned on his arm. The perfect sorority princess. What if he called her princesa, too?

“--close lab with me--”

“I can do it myself.”

Miguel’s eyes caught yours, raising his hand lazily to greet you as he walked down the sidewalk, undoubtedly back to his genetics lab on the other side of campus. Over where brilliant boys and girls and theys were, rushing through accelerated scientific programs while you figured out how to fix broken artifacts. He lived in another impossible world. A realm far away from Peter and you: photography and the maintenance of culture and art.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Peter's eyes were glossy with concern. “It’s okay. We don’t have to-- did I say something wrong?”

You shook your head. Peter sat up, his eyes bounced up-- from Miguel over his shoulder to your sudden sad eyes. Peter set his hand on your cheek, the fibers of his soft pink cardigan tickling your jaw. Your eyes tore from Miguel, whose pace became sluggish as if steps along took immense effort. Peter’s nose bumped against yours, clumsy and oh so Peterish-- his hand on the middle of your back, his warm but cracked lips swallowing the gasp that tumbled from your lips. He tasted of sweet fruit, the sloppy lunch you shared, and a silly comfort.

He watching? Peter murmured against your lips.

You nearly forgot to return the kiss, captured in the way Miguel stared-- something in his warm brown eyes was almost wounded. Peter shoved you onto the picnic blanket, a soft sorry murmured under his breath as his thin frame fell between your legs. Miguel stomped away, his bumbling blonde rushing to keep up.

“Oh yeah,” Peter rolled over onto his back, crossing his legs one over another. You watched Miguel stomp past the tall hedges, out of your line of sight. “He’s gonna be mad at you.”

“Peter!”

Miguel was still in a bad mood hours later.

“¡Qué surpresa!” he murmured, offering you your paper blotted with red circles. “You did remarkably shit on this test. Do you focus on anything? Or just Peter?”

“Perdona me.” Your focus was shot with his consistent presence in your life. Not that he could appreciate that.

“How long are you going to keep wasting my time?”

“Are you talking about the Spanish or--”

Miguel set the red pen down, a sharp slam snapping the pen under his force. The fragile plastic snapped into shards of plastic. He flicked it away, paper and pen both, his large hand flexing in and out of a closed fist. You traced the tracks of his veins along his forearm.

“Are you mad that I kissed you?”

“Stop.”

“Or are you angry that Peter did?”

“Don’t touch me.”

Though he said that, you didn’t listen. You slid out of the chair and in between his spread legs, your hands trailing his handsome jawline. He jerked back when your lips caught his, the legs of his chair hitting the wall. Though he said no, his mouth opened to your kiss, and his palms flushed against your soft cheeks. You pinned him between your body and the wall-- and though you were sure he’d quickly whirl you off if he really wanted to, he didn’t. His tongue pushed into your mouth, owning yours. His hands skimmed your back, trailing lower and lower down your deep red dress until he connected with your ass.

“You need to stop.” Miguel broke from his kiss. Though he said that, he brought you onto his lap. You felt little in his large arms, his hands guiding your hips over his crotch. “Before I do something you’ll regret.”

You listened to the sounds of the library’s floor. The scrunch of take out into the trash, the sing of a door opening and closing. It was dinner time. Most everyone had gone to get their snacks— and here you were, looking down at Miguel with rapt eyes.

“Peter is just a friend.”

“A friend who happens to jam his tongue down your throat,” he turned the word over on his tongue and found offense in it. “Now why do I doubt that?”

“He only wanted to help.”

“By kissing you?”

Your fingers trailed his jaw, dipping back down for another kiss if only to say you could. That Miguel couldn’t tell you what to do. A sound of frustration ripped up his throat. You felt him, his dick twitching to life behind those sweatpants. He felt big. You bit your lower lip— a movement that didn’t escape his attentive eyes.

“By making you as jealous,” You slid off his lap and onto the dirty floor. But as you lifted a hand, cupping his dick through the heavy fabric, he couldn’t bear to stop you.

His lips pulled in a wicked grin, your soft palm stroking along his length. He hooked his thumbs into his sweats, yanking them down over his knees and onto the floor. His cock kissed his belly, straining with droplets of moisture at the tip. Miguel set his hand on your shoulder and forced you to heel on the floor. His temperament evened out. “You were jealous.”

“Yes--” you murmured. “Are.. those girls, are they special?”

“Special? No, none of them are.”

“I want to be.”

“That so?” Your soft hands trailed along the dark hair on his calves, up his thighs, settling your nose where his muscular hand tightened around the root. He wrenched his swarthy hand along his length, drawing along his veiny cock shamelessly. "Let's see how much you do, princesa."

“Please.”

“Aquí se habla español.” Miguel teased. Your fingers dipped down, small tickles of your fingertips as his heavy balls. He watched you massage them with half-lidded eyes, his lips pursing in a pleased hum.

“Por favor.”

“Abre,” you did, sliding your soft mouth open, a well of saliva on your tongue. Miguel slid himself into your warm mouth, a ruptured groan fizzing in his chest. You didn’t want to be too loud— someone might look into the small window on the door, and see you on your knees between Miguel’s thick legs, sucking his cock down when you should be going over that test you just failed.

You caught the salty beads at Miguel’s top on your tongue, sliding sloppily around his thick head, and lapping at his slit for more. Your soft hands stroked along his length, clumsy and shy. He hummed in approval, a sound you were more than thankful to elicit. Miguel took a fist full of your hair and drove himself into your mouth, your tongue stroking the underside of his length.

“Pero mira esto,” Miguel wrenched his head in your hair, grabbing handfuls of it in his palm. “You can focus on something. Sucking my dick.”

Even if you wanted to look up, Miguel drove your head down onto his dick, the dark, trimmed tuft of his pubic hair tickling your nose. He drew his hips back. You nearly pulled off him, if not for his hand assuring that you wouldn’t move off of it. Drool coursed down from your lips, soaking your chin and neck, connecting to his cock as if it were a spiderweb. Your cheeks flushed with blood— you must have looked a mess.

“Coño," Miguel tutted with his tongue, grasping his phone. Your lips pursed around his tip, eyes flickering up to catch the lens of his phone camera on your ruined face. A picture or a video, you weren’t entirely sure. Only that it sent thumps of pleasure down your core to know he wanted to record it, keep it close. You suckled along his sensitive head, working his moans free. He set his phone aside.

Miguel stood and dragged your head along with him to pin you between the ledge of the desk space and his wonderful hips. His hands slipped behind your head, keeping you still and steady, driving himself deep into your mouth. Past your tongue, down your throat, it felt like he hit parts of you that you could only dream of. You struggled with his size, choking the urge to swallow him when he forced you to hold him there. As if your throat was just a hole for his pleasure. Your sad attempt to suckle him down was tempered by the rocking of his hips, his needy face fucking. Your eyes screwed shut, bits of color dancing behind your eyes, the easiest way to deal with this was to focus— on the way he tasted, the scent of his fresh body wash, the light judder of his hips as he came close.

"Hah-- ay, qué rico," his nails scraped the back of your neck, sloppy and undefined thrusts filling your throat. He spurts thick ropes of his cum down your throat and mouth, withdrawing to jerk the last bursts of his cum over your lips. Miguel’s breath fell from his lips in heavy gulps, meeting yours down on your aching knees. Strings of coughed-up cum connected your sodden lips to his cock, globs of his seed slipping between your breasts. You ached.

“Tate quieta.”

You don’t know where you’d go, your palms catching yourself on the floor. He snapped another photo, humming appreciatively. Miguel reached into his gym bag, pulling a sweaty shirt free. Your fingers dipped into his warm cum that spattered across your warm chest, drawing it to your lips. He tasted salty, tangy, and just right.

"You look so-- so beautiful, princesa, just perfect," Miguel bent down, wiping the rest of his mess from your chest and face, gently stroking away all evidence of your face fucking before cleaning his cock and tucking himself away into his sweatpants. He chucked the t-shirt back into his bag, glazing his eyes over your hazy, exhausted eyes. He crouched down.

“Rule one, I never share my women,” he settled his knuckle under your chin, urging you to look him in the eyes. Something told him you wouldn't be as easy as the others, but for some reason, he shrugged the thought aside. “As long as I'm fucking you, you date no one but me. If I find out you are, we're done. Am I clear?”

He was a walking red flag. But for once, in your good girl life, you wanted that. You wanted to fuck in the library-- against the genetics building late at night-- to kiss him during a sunny picnic. More than you wanted a lot of things. His eyes went soft with your answer.

“Claro que sí, Miggy.”

He loves it when he gets what he wants.

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littledreamling · 1 year

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Tea and Books Asks

The Dreamling Nation server had the bright idea to turn this ask game into a tag game

Anyway, here’s mine! I’ve already answered a few of these and if you sent me an ask, the answer will be here instead. Sorry for the long post and thank you @firemandeanbuck for the tag!!

1. What period of history do you enjoy learning about?

I love learning about the Renaissance (roughly 1300-1700) in Europe, especially how science, religion, and geopolitics all tied together to shape and influence each other. A lot of that has been fueled by my love for Hob, so I wanted to know as much about the time period he would’ve lived in as possible, but I also fell in love with the interplay between Germany, Italy, and the Ottoman Empire during that time period, as well as whatever the fuck the Iberian Peninsula was doing. I’ve just barely started scratching the surface but it’s already so fascinating to me.

2. Who is your favourite fictional character and why?

Has to be Hob, without a doubt. I love his optimism and almost violently positive outlook on life. He’s not a good person, but he’s not a bad person either. He’s just a person, a true representation of humanity, and I find myself relating to him a lot.

3. What do you order at a café?

Something far too sweet and complicated. And probably a muffin or a croissant or something.

4. Libraries, botanical gardens, or art galleries?

All of the above, but I prefer aquariums over all of them

5. Do you have a favourite film soundtrack?

Is it weird if I say Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron? Because Hans Zimmer put his heart soul and bussy into that soundtrack and it’s full of absolute bangers. Also Interstellar and… pretty much everything Hans Zimmer has ever done honestly

6. What does your dream home look like?

Bright, filled with books and plants, with lots of textures and soft things. When I was younger, I had a dream (one that has been revitalized thanks to conversations in the dreamling nation server) of living in an old church, either Episcopalian or Catholic because I love the stained glass and architecture. Also, religious trauma lmao

7. What makes you feel better on gloomy days?

A good book, good music, walking in the woods, talking to friends, generally attempting to bring light back into my life in any way I can. I generally find that the days when I most want to crawl into a dark hole and be left alone are the days when I really need brightness and good company

8. What are your top three films? Books?

Films: The Hunt for Red October, Angels and Demons, and Stardust though I could list at least ten more very easily

Books: I haven’t been able to do a lot of reading lately, so I’m going to fall back on my tried and true favorites: Frankenstein by Mary Shelley, The Abhorsen series by Garth Nix, and the Goblin Wood by Hilari Bell

9. Are you an organized person, generally?

My adhd forces me to be, if only as a coping mechanism. I alternate between states of disorganized chaos and meticulous order, usually corresponding to my stress levels and how much I’ve been procrastinating lmao

10. Do you have a favourite classic novel?

Frankenstein by Mary Shelley. I read it in middle school and fell in love; it’s the only assigned reading book I’ve ever finished cover to cover.

11. What character archetype or trope is your favourite?

I’m not really sure to be completely honest… I suppose I go in for tortured souls who endure, not despite, but because of. I like characters that have every reason to quit but continue anyway, even if (especially if) they know they’re doomed to fail.

12. Do you prefer baking or cooking?

Baking for sure. I’m a scientist at heart and while baking can be creative, it’s all about following clear instructions that (usually, hopefully) lead to a clear outcome without much variation. That’s the goal anyway

13. Which season do you feel at home in?

Autumn. I love the colors, the crisp air, being able to bundle up but still look nice (unlike winter, when I just look… kinda frumpy and perpetually exhausted). All of my favorite holidays are in the fall, including my birthday (which isn’t a holiday but should be) so it’s just a good time all around.

14. What is your opinion on poetry?

I love poetry. To me, it’s like a puzzle, seemingly so basic and straight-forward on the first reading, but each successive pass reveals new meaning. It fascinates me and I wish I was better at reading, writing, and analyzing it.

15. Do you speak formally when texting and emailing?

Sometimes? It depends more on the context and what device I’m using to write. On my phone, absolutely not, I almost never capitalize anything and grammar is… an afterthought at best. On my ipad and computer, though, I’m in the habit of using proper punctuation and capitalization because I use those devices to write fics.

16. How do you organize your music playlists?

Very haphazardly. Mostly based on vibes (on spotify, I have two folders called “Cool, Calm, and Collected” and “Hot, Violent, and Agitated”) but also by activity (“walking in the woods” and “writing” for example). My spotify is a mess that only I can ever make sense of, which works really well for the most part but can be very frustrating when I’m driving and my friends are trying to navigate my maze of music playlists

17. Who is your favourite author?

I think I’m contractually obligated to say Neil Gaiman…

18. Chai or hot chocolate?

Hot chocolate, all day every day. I have an incurable sweet tooth and hot chocolate is one of my comfort drinks, especially in the face of writer’s block or intense stress. In fact, I’m thinking about making some right now.

19. Do you prefer forests, sea shores, or meadows?

Forests. I love the unique quiet of a forest, a hush that isn’t a hush at all once you really start to listen. I’ve always felt very connected to nature and forests in particular and I could spend all day wandering between trees, listening to the sounds of life all around me.

20. If you were to cultivate a fruit orchard, what would you grow?

Pears. They’re my favorite fruit and I’d want to have them on hand as often as possible. I don’t know the first thing about growing pears (or any fruit, really) so I have no idea how hard it would be or if I’d be any good at it, but I’d definitely try!

I’m tagging @aquilathefighter @ghostboyjules @mathomhouse-e @sonata-ix @wizardofgoodfortune and @tj-dragonblade

Feel free to ignore if you’ve already done it or don’t want to!

#dreamling nation #long post #thanks for the tag!#tea and books ask game #tea and books tag game #this got out of hand #but here’s me oversharing… as usual lmao #about me #personal ish

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thatesqcrush · 3 years

Text

Team Bonding

Bryan Kneef x Reader. NSFW. Warnings: dub-con, because he’s her superior. Oral sex, vaginal fingering, and fisting. Yes. You read that right. Also squirting. You have been warned. Oh, and this covers ice-skating in my naughty & nice bingo. This is most definitely naughty.

WC: 2.8K

***

“Bryan Kneef doesn’t do ice skating.” A voice boomed from down the hall.

“Stop referring to yourself in third-person you psycho.” You rolled your eyes as you headed towards the voice. You paused in front of a decorative mirror in the empty law firm and rubbed lip balm over your lips.

“I told you, Bryan Kneef doesn’t do ice skating.”

You rubbed your lips together, and then made way to the lobby, finding the acerbic head of litigation at STR Laurie, sitting in a chair, with a scowl on his face. Which, lets face it, was nothing new for Bryan Kneef.

“Look, I know this is the last thing you wanted to be doing. But your bosses up there, wanted to make the transition with Reddick Boseman smooth.” You pointed towards the ceiling and then pointed back down. “It’s not my fault we got paired up together. You said I could choose what we got to do. I chose ice skating.”

You walked past him and hit the button, calling for the elevator. You crossed your arms and began tapping your foot, irritated. “Well?”

Bryan glowered and then stood. “Fine.”

When STR Laurie announced that they wanted to do a team building exercise with Reddick Boseman & Lockhart, you were less than thrilled. The last thing you wanted to do was spend more time with work on your weekend. Especially when you were paired with Bryan. You were not blind, the man was fucking gorgeous and he cropped up in many a fantasy with your battery operated boyfriend. However, his attitude left much to be desired. He would work you and the rest of the paralegal department to the bone. You knew from his bio on the firm website, that he started himself as a paralegal upon graduating from Northwestern Law – you figured he’d be cognizant of how to treat junior staff, probably having been through it himself. Instead, he chose to continue the cycle of asshole treatment. Bryan tried to get out of it himself, but his own boss Gavin Firth told him to make nice and take part – especially if he wanted to keep leading the litigation department and not give it to Diane. Backed into a corner, Bryan reluctantly agreed.

Initially, he had hoped he would be paired with a fellow colleague who he would be able to convince to blow off this event and hit high end bar with. And if not that, he had hoped it was the blonde secretary with big tits two floors down that he could wham, bam, thank you ma’am and then move on from. Instead – he got stuck with you – the mousy senior paralegal. He knew who were – he knew who everyone was. You had worked with him on a few cases before. You were very good at your job but otherwise, left little to the imagination with your baggy, shapeless sacks of dresses and frumpy sweaters. There was no desire for him to try to get under your skirt. Not when there was a bevvy of women and men he could have, just a dial away.

As the elevator went down, Bryan chose to study your profile. Though you were bundled up to the hilt in a white puffer coat and burgundy hat, he could still see your long lashes and lush lips that had a sheen from whatever you put on them. His nose caught the barest whiff of perfume and he had to admit that it smelled lovely. The elevator landed and you walked out first. He was surprised to see a shapely ass under the dark denim fitted jeans you wore.

STR was close to Millennium Park. You both made way through to the ice skating rink, barely a word between you. You were meeting a few other STR/Boseman colleagues and friends from your department who were already there. Bryan paid for the skating rental and soon enough you were both on the ice. You skated towards your friends with ease, leaving the attorney behind, gripping the sides. A look of panic was on his face as he tried to maintain balance. You turned around and let out a derisive laugh before skating back towards him, offering your hand.

“Is the big bad lawyer afraid of a little ice?” You mocked.

“Shut up and leave me alone. I am here, aren’t I? Go back to your friends and go take your pictures. Make fun of me all you want. Come Monday, I am going to bury you all with doc production.” Bryan sneered.

You skated closer to him and offered your hand once more. “Come on, it’s not that hard – watch me.” You stood next to him. “Your knees should always stay slightly bent. That position lowers your center of gravity, stabilizing you. It also helps you to skate without falling. Also, you should always have your weight positioned over your skating leg. One time you’re skating on the right leg, and the next moment on the left one. Every time you switch legs, you must shift your weight so that it’s over the skating leg.”

You demonstrated what you had explained and then repeated it. Bryan looked at you like a deer in headlights. Your lips twitched into a small smile. “Give me your hand.”

Bryan sighed, his breath causing a small puff of air. “Fine.” He grunted and took your hand. Your hand and his hand were encased in gloves and you mourned the idea that you weren’t holding hands bare skin to bare skin. You skated easily and Bryan wobbled a bit behind, but managing to keep pace. However, at one point, another skater flew by catching Bryan off guard and he lost his balance, falling, bringing you down with him.

“Mother fucking cock sucker son of a bitch!” You swore loudly, rubbing the side of your left ankle. “Ugh, I think I twisted it, you jerk!” Tears pricked your eyes.

“You? How about me?” Bryan snapped. “I can’t even get stand up without falling down.”

“Boo hoo asshole.” Two of your friends helped you up and you tried to bear weight but found that you could not. You were helped off the ice and Bryan followed, clambering to get off the ice, using the wall of the rink to help him.

You winced as you remove the skate, examining your ankle. It was starting to swell and the area was tender to touch. Bryan sat next to you, removing his own skates as well.

“How bad is it?” You heard him ask. You looked at him. “It’s sprained.”

For a brief moment, he looked remorseful. And just as quickly as you blinked, it was gone. “I’ll get us a car; I’ll take you home.”

You cocked your brow. “Excuse me, I can get home on my own just fine.” And stubborn as you were, you tried to stand but let out a grimace of pain, plopping back onto the hard bench.

“Let me take you home.” Bryan replied.

“Wonderful.” You seethed. Bryan returned your skates, along with his and brought over you shoes. You smashed your foot into your sneaker as best you could. Bryan offered his arm and begrudgingly, you took it, and limped out of the park. The ride home was uneventful, again with barely any conversation. You hobbled up the stairs rather comically and it was Bryan’s turn to roll his eyes at your pathetic attempt. You yelped as he suddenly picked you up, bridal style.

“What’s your apartment?”

“2D.” You replied mournfully, feeling embarrassed and humiliated that you could barely manage to get around and now you were being carried like a baby. There was a small part of you, however, that squealed inwardly. You clutched onto Bryan, his body solid and warm. He smelled wonderful and you allowed yourself to pretend to be swept away by the handsome lawyer.

“I got it from here, you can put me down.” You insisted once you were both inside. You both took off your coats. Bryan swallowed hard – for all the mousy outfits you wore at work, today you wore a form fitting sweater, which showed off the dip of your hip and swells of your tits.

Bryan carefully set you down and sharp pain shot up your leg and you swore again. “Maybe you should see someone.”

“I’ll tape it and ice it,” you reassured Bryan. “I’ll be fine.” This earned you an exasperated sigh. “I will take some ibuprofen,” you added for good measure.

Bryan grumbled in French about you being stubborn as he made way through your apartment. “I heard that, and you’re one to talk,” you replied cheekily, surprising him that you knew another language. Bryan was further surprised at your modest, but overall modern apartment. He liked the exposed brick and thought your small Christmas tree with its large, vintage bulbs was tacky, but charming in a way. He went into your kitchen and rummaged through your freezer, before returning with a bag of frozen peas.

“Put this on your ankle.” Bryan ordered. You took the bag. You propped your ankle onto your coffee table and stuck the bag on. You looked up at him. “I’m good. You can go now – and don’t worry, I’ll be in on Monday. Thanks for the lift.”

Bryan nodded and turned away, making his way back down your hallway. As soon as he did, you attempted to stand and swore loudly once more. Bryan turned on the balls on his feet. “Christ, Y/N, at least wait ‘til I am gone.”

“Wha—hey!” You shouted as he picked you up again, this time over his shoulder, so you were face to his ass. He gave your ass a playful spank and made his way down your other hallway, looking for your bedroom. “Put me down!”

He found it fairly quickly and unceremoniously threw you onto your bed.

“Are you always this stubborn?” He asked, his hands on his hips. He eyed your bedroom. It was small, like the rest of your apartment.

“Are you always a pretentious asshole?” You asked. Finally, you couldn’t stand it any longer. “Why are you being nice to me?”

Bryan didn’t respond. Instead, he sat next to you. “I know everyone thinks I am an asshole.” You snorted and Bryan let out a defeated sigh. “Okay, so I am an asshole. But I am still a fucking person.”

“The devil has feelings?” You covered your mouth and then cringed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

Bryan shrugged. “For all the shit I do, yeah, I do.” He turned to you. “Look, I am sorry that I hurt your ankle. And maybe take Monday off – see a doctor. Don’t worry about it. I will make sure it doesn’t count against your PTO.”

You looked at him and you smiled. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

You were suddenly aware that Bryan was in your bedroom, on your bed. He looked debonair in his burgundy sweater and dark jeans. You could see the dark beard with the tiniest flecks of grey. When he began to massage your foot, you felt desire pool in your most intimate of parts.

“Bryan – I…” You swallowed hard. He looked up at you, his green eyes were intense and he gave the slightest nod to you. You leapt into his lap, ignoring the screaming pain of your ankle and kissed him. Bryan kissed you in return and slipped his tongue into your mouth, seeking and exploring. His hands were over your ass, grabbing at your flesh. He gave you a playful squeeze which earned him a moan from you.

A hand moved up and under your sweater, skillfully unhooking your bra and immediately moving to your breasts. He tugged and twisted a nipple, enjoying how you squirmed in his embrace.

“Let me take care of you,” Bryan replied breaking the kiss. You nodded, panting. You removed your sweater and fished off your bra. His eyes darkened at the sight of your shapely breasts. He couldn’t wait to get his mouth on them.

“Oh yes,” you agreed, practically purring. “I ache.”

Bryan hummed in acknowledgement. He pushed you back onto the bed and helped you out of your jeans. Slowly his hand made its way back under your underwear, along your hip. Your breathing hitched as his hand moved closer to the apex of your thighs. You were already sopping in anticipation.

“You’re so wet,” Bryan noted, a single finger stroking you briefly, before slipping inside. You sighed at the feeling of his finger in you. Encouraging, you pushed your panties to the side allowing him greater access.

Bryan slipped another finger inside of you, his tempo quickening. You began moving against his hand, mewling as he continued his ministrations. His fingers pumped in and out of you faster and faster. You cried out in pleasure. Bryan slowed his momentum before removing his fingers completely. You whimpered in protest and Bryan made a big show of sucking on his fingers. “You are delicious.” Bryan commented and you blushed in response.

Leaning over, he grabbed a pillow and encouraged you to lift your hips, placing the pillow under you. You spread your legs wantonly and unabashedly. Nipping your thighs, Bryan nestled in between your legs, his tongue in your folds, licking you and swirling his tongue on your swollen clitoris. You groaned, and your hands lost themselves in his dark hair, trying to keep him in place. The added feel of his beard along your sensitive skin only heightened your pleasure.

Bryan hummed in agreement and the vibrations sent shockwaves up your body. You arched your back as his tongue flicked on your clitoris as he slipped two fingers back in, all the way deep to the knuckle. Ignoring your aching ankle, your hips rose to meet the thrusts of his fingers. A third finger slipped inside, stretching you.

“Oh shit! Bryan!”

“That’s right, take it.” Bryan whispered. His thumb rubbed your clitoris haphazardly. You like getting fucked by my hand?”

“Yes, fuck, give it to me!” Your legs were shaking. “I am going to cum.” You groaned.

“Not yet.” Bryan grunted. He withdrew his hand and you whined at the lost contact. “Do you have any lube?”

You looked up at him, curious. “Uh, top drawer. Condoms in there too.”

Bryan winked at you and moved off your bed. As he rummaged through your drawer, you eyed the tent in his pants hungrily.

Bryan removed his shirt, leaving his jeans on. Seeing his thick body, with his dusty rose nipples and smattering of chest hair – he was even more hot than you could have imagined. He spread your legs again and dipped his head once more tasting you. You watched as he drizzled lube along your folds and then over his hand. He tucked his thumb into his palm, tapering his fingers and then slowly penetrated you until his entire hand was inside of you.

You let out a sound that was akin to animalistic howl. “Holy shit, holy shit, oh my God!” Bryan began rock his hand back and forth, fucking you with his fist. You felt so full and all you could think – or even say was more, more, more!

“Cum for me,” Bryan growled, his fingers finding that sweet spot that no one else ever had. You sobbed in pleasure and he dipped his head back between your legs and flicked his tongue against your clit. You came hard, shouting his name, grabbing the sheets haphazardly. Bryan continued to pump in and out of you, while looking up at you. A smirk graced his face, and he stroked that sweet spot once more. Your lungs burned as you gasped for air, feeling tremendous pressure and then release as you squirted all over Bryan’s face. Bryan lapped at you through your orgasm until it subsided. Slowly he removed his fist. Moving back up to you, he pushed his fingers into your mouth. “Suck” he ordered. You sucked on his fingers, tasting yourself.

You nipped Bryan’s fingers playfully and he chuckled, removing them. He pressed a kiss on your lips. “Feeling better?”

“Mmmm much,” you replied grinning. Pushing Bryan gently back onto the bed, you climbed onto him. “But I do think more TLC is in order,” you replied taking his hands and placing them on your breasts. “Up to the challenge, Mr. Kneef?”

Bryan winked. “I think I like my odds.”

FIN.

Tags: @madpanda75 @tropes-and-tales @delia26 @mgarner1227 @beardedmccoy @youreverycolor @neely1177 @the-baby-bookworm @mrsrafaelbarba @skittle479 @ottosuricato @sass-and-suspenders @mommakat32 @dreila03 @beccabarba @garturbo @lovebennycolon @imjustreallynosy @sweetsummertime99 @whyissvuruiningmylovelife @annabelleb49 @scarletsoldierrr @cesarofangirl78 @redlipstickandplaid @redlipstickandblacktea @zoeykaytesmom @differentshadesofgray @misssirenlove @esparza-army @bananas-pajamas @mishaissocoolike @thefanficfaerie @theenchantedgalleryofstories @catnip987 @choppedgalaxynerd @pieceofshittytitty @ktiz90 @evee87 @itsjustmyfantasyroom @detective-giggles @rampantmuses @jazzyjoi @caked-crusader @rachelxwayne @prurientpuddlejumper @lv7867 @permanentlydizzy @bisexual-dreamer02 @madamsnape921 @averyhotchner @teamsladsandgents

#bryan kneef smut #bryan kneef x reader #Bryan kneef imagine #brian kneef x reader #brian kneef x you #thatesqcrush holiday bingo

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pagingevilspawn · 3 years

Note

Hi could u please write a fic where alex is diagnosed with a serious illness and jo is there with him for support ?

doctors make the worst family members

anon, i’m gonna start by saying that this is most certainly NOT what you asked for, but it's what you're getting. One; I can't write angst for shit so it would just be a major disappointment, and two; I truly just don’t have the heart to write my favorite character with a serious illness, lol.

Also, welcome to the series I'm starting. It's called, “payton uses evan peters characters from ahs for jolex baby names because she loves him and every character he plays”. (“payton loves evan peters too much” for short) it’ll be a ride 😎

anyways... hope you enjoy, nevertheless!

____

Jo Karev stood in her husband’s room, pacing around one the hospital’s floors so much she would make a hole in them if she continued any longer. She anxiously bit her nails with one hand, the other rubbing circles on her seventeen week baby bump.

She stops her movements suddenly, making her way to the uncomfortable hospital chair that sat in the corner of the room, flopping down into it, more than happy to be off her feet. They were beginning to feel like she had just through the grand canyon, not to mention, were the size of cantaloupes.

“You good now?” Alex asks her from his bed, a teasing smirk on his lips. His arms were crossed in front of his hospital gown, an item he (very) reluctantly put on. Jo had given him a glare and he knew he couldn’t refuse. Never get in a fight with Josephine Karev, he learned that one a while ago, but it was especially important that he never got into a fight with a pregnant Josephine Karev. She went full on criminal defense attorney, and he wasn’t going to lie, it was pretty scary.

Jo throws him a sharp glare. Due to her pregnancy, her mood swings had been hitting harder than ever. One second she wanted to pummel her husband, and the next she wanted him to hold her in his arms forever. Although, she supposed that wasn’t too out of the normal though, since Alex was always finding some way to piss her off and then say something sickenly sweet to make it up to her. A more accurate description would be how she went from joyful in the morning to blubbering tears and incoherent words when she figured out her favorite pair of jeans didn’t fit. (It was a scary sight, Alex had to console her for a good twenty minutes before she was able to fully calm down. Pregnancy hormones were wack.)

“Shut up.” she glowers, sinking lower in her seat, tracing circles on her belly in an effort to calm the kicking in her stomach. Baby decided now would be a good time to jab a kick straight to her rib, so she hunches over in her chair, letting out a small hiss of pain before adjusting herself, not missing the way Alex’s eyes look at her warily.

“You okay?” he questions, making Jo bob her head up and down.

“Fine. Your daughter just likes you more than me, which you know, I'm totally okay with. I mean, it’s not like I'm growing her inside me for nine months or anything.” she stares at him pointedly, causing the worry etched on his face to fade away and form a crooked smirk.

Alex chuckles, leaning back into the multiple hospital authorized pillows behind him as he runs a hand through his hair. He had a snarky comment on the tip of his tongue, but decided to hold it in. Jo was stressed, and the last thing he needed was to cause her any more.

It didn’t take long for Jo to begin her pacing again. She traveled the length of the room. The door, to the blue chair. Door to the blue chair. Back and forth, back and forth. Alex was starting to get dizzy just by looking at her. Her brown locks flew behind her as she moved, at times picking up her pace, making it across the room even quicker. It was at then that she would fiddle with the rings on her left hand, twisting them and untwisting them, tracing her fingers over the large diamond from her engagement ring and the smaller ones from her wedding ring. When she was little she always thought it was the other way around. She thought the big, fancy diamond was for the wedding, while the more modest piece of jewelry was the one that was ever so delicately placed in the velvet box.

She stares at the ring fondly, a small smile subconsciously gracing her lips. God, it was so beautiful. A 2.5 carat princess cut with a platinum band. Jo knew the name of the shape of the diamond wasn’t by accident, it had most definitely been the main reason why he had chosen that exact one. (She found out it was a princess cut when Kepner had taken her finger and examined the ring, sprouting out facts about the new piece of jewelry she was wearing. Also known as the only reason she knew any details about the rock that only left her finger when she had to be surgery, a rare now since she had transferred to OB)

When he pulled out that ring the first time, she was shocked to say the least, one; because, well he was proposing to her, and two; it was so freaking gorgeous.

Jo was never the type of woman to gush over rings and weddings and frilly dresses with frumpy looking bridesmaids gowns and too many different forks to choose from at dinner. But when she saw that ring? It didn’t matter that they were arguing, it didn’t matter that she felt like he wasn’t in her corner, she just wanted that ring. She never felt like that with Paul (for obvious reasons), the want to stick that ring on her finger and never take it off. Besides that fact that it was beautiful, she knew the real reason she wanted it so badly was because it came from him, from Alex, the man she loved more than life itself. She hated when she had to tell him to put the beautiful ring away, because she wanted nothing more than to wear it herself.

“Jo, I’m gonna be fine.” the man says, watching as his wife stops her movements, turning around to glare at him so sharply he wanted to pull the words back into his mouth and zip them up.

“You don’t know that!” she explodes at him, moving her arms around aimlessly, angry tears beginning to glaze over her eyes. Damn pregnancy hormones.

She lets out a huff, her breath coming out shakily as she tries to fan out the water in eyes.

Alex flashes her a small smile, “Jo, it's an appy. A freakin’ appy. Bailey’s doing it! Nothing’s gonna go wrong if Bailey is doing my appy.” he remarked.

“So many things could go wrong!” she exclaims, pacing around the room once more as words come flying out of her mouth with absolutely no filter at all. “There’s bleeding, infection, inflammation, your appendix could burst-”

She’s cut off by Alex, who’s shaking his head. “Jo.” he looks up at her, her brown eyes boring into his, “I’ll be fine.” he reassures her, watching as she tries to swallow the lump growing in her throat. He pats the bed beside her, signaling for her to come sit next to him.

Jo waddles to him, curling up to his side and placing her head on his chest as he runs fingers through her hair. “You can’t die on me, alright?” she mumbles into him, letting a single tear come down her cheek and land on his hospital gown.

“I won't. Promise.” he places a peck on top of her head.

Jo lets out a little chuckle, “I was never this emotional with Walker.” she teases.

Alex laughs, pulling her closer into him. “Trust me, I know.” he says, earning him a slap on the chest. “Speak of the devil…” he trails off, seeing Meredith walk into the room with a little boy glued to her hip.

“Momma! Daddy!” the three year old exclaims once he sees his parents, a wide smile painting his face as he tries to wiggle out of his auntie’s arms and onto the ground. It felt like he hadn’t seen them in forever, even if it was just six hours before he was being dropped off at daycare.

“Hi bubs!” Jo exclaims, taking Walker from Meredith’s extended hold and setting him down on her lap, his big, hazel eyes staring up at his parents in adoration while the blonde goes to sit in the chair Jo previously occupied.

Walker adjusts his position, making sure not to sit on his mommy’s bump. “Hi baby sissy.” he says to her stomach. Jo takes his hand and puts it on her abdomen, watching his face light up as he feels a sharp kick come straight to his tiny palm.

“Sissy says hi back.” Alex grins, ruffling the little boys spiky hair, which had somehow stayed intact throughout his adventurous day at the hospital’s daycare. He had his wife to thank for that. Jo had somehow managed to find a way to keep their son’s hair in place after long hours, thanks to copious amounts of gel she had mastered the use of. He used to say that a shaggy haircut was fine and perfectly normal, but she said that she ‘didn’t want her son looking like Will Byers’. All haircut debates officially ended after that.

The parents listen as their little boy rattles on about his day, from seeing his best friend Peter to knocking down the block towers he built over and over again. Their three year old was a little bundle of joy, their complete surprise baby. Jo always joked that he was created the night of her faux pregnancy announcement, since the dates lined up. Walker was something else. He inherited Jo’s hazel eyes nose, but everything else about the little boy screamed Karev, from the big head he had when he was born to the crooked smirk that permanently stayed plastered on his lips, always ready to get into some trouble.

Some days he acted like an angel, but majority of the time he was the literal spawn of Evil Spawn. Cristina’s custom made onesies and t-shirts were frequently worn by little Walker, which proudly stated, “My Daddy is an Evil Spawn!”, “Spawn of Evil Spawn”, “Product of an Evil Spawn and Hairball” just to name a few.

Walker and Meredith found them hilarious, Jo and Alex… not so much.

A few minutes later a nurse walks in, asking Alex if he needed anything while simultaneously checking his vitals when the little boy speaks up.

“Hi!” he chirps excitedly, a crooked grin on his face. He loved meeting new people, one of the few differences he shared from his parents, but they knew that was a good thing. Walker had always been sociable and practically made friends everywhere he went. The cashier at the grocery store, the workers at the receptionist’s desk, random people he passed on the street… little Karev was quite a people person.

“Hi there sweetie,” the woman in her mid-twenties coos, tucking a strand of strawberry blonde hair behind her ear as she bends down slightly to meet the little boy’s height. “I’m Andrea, what’s your name?” she asks.

“Walker!” the tiny brunette exclaims.

Andrea laughs, shaking her head a little bit at the adorable little boy, looking up to meet Alex’s eyes. “Your vitals are good Doctor Karev. Dr Bailey should be in soon to go have you sign your consent forms, but otherwise just sit here until then.”

Alex says his thanks as the nurse walks out the door, his son watching as the young girl leaves. Walker leans up unexpectedly, whispering loudly enough for the three adults in the room to hear.

“She had big boobies.” he giggles, clutching a hand over his mouth, trying to hide his large grin.

Jo’s face could only be described as scandalized, while Alex and Meredith burst into loud laughter, their sound filling up the room with the little boy’s giggles.

“Walker Alexander Karev!” oh you are so your father’s son.

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hermannsthumb · 4 years

Note

"newt isn’t sleazy and is also too busy wrestling with the ethics of hitting on his hot TA if the guy is 5 months older than him to even notice" pleeeease write this

Anonymous asked: "When I Kissed the Teacher" AU ft professor newt and his hot 5-month-older TA hermann

and coincidentally, this older one

Anonymous asked: i just rewatched mamma mia 2 and was wondering if i could request a "when i kissed the teacher" newmann fic?? love your writing!!!!!!

Ask And Ye Shall Receive. sorry ive been MIA 😔 concept from this post I made earlier this month. idk what class newt teaches that hermann would be qualified to TA for but just like, decide for yourselves

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

Newt’s never been a list-making kind of guy, or--for that matter--even really a planning ahead kind of guy, but certain circumstances have thrown his life more out of wack than usual lately, and he kind of needs the stability the like of things like lists offer. Desperate times and everything. Or, at the very least, Newt is desperate.

So Newt plans, and plots, and deliberates, and he even agonizes a little, but most of all, he makes a list.

On one half of the page, he writes pros. On the other, he writes cons. On top, he writes--what else?--Hermann.

The problem started in late August. Newt knew for months he was going to be assigned a teaching assistant come that semester--it was him, after all, who’d suggested it to the dean in the first place--but the Hermann Gottlieb of extensive, impressive, overachieving CV and overly-former cover letter was a far cry from Hermann Gottlieb in the flesh. Newt expected a dork, frankly. Someone too socially awkward to feel brave enough to thank someone for holding a door open for him. He expected a PhD student so eager to please he’d cater to Newt’s every whim, whether it was grading horrendous freshman lab reports or fetching him a sandwich from the commissary between class sections.

They met for the first time at the campus coffee shop. Hermann was dressed in an oversized pair of slacks, a threadbare green sweatervest, and honest-to-God saddle shoes; the buttons of his Oxford were done up all the way, from the collar to the cuffs, and an ornate cane was settled against his thigh. His haircut was tragic. “Dr. Geiszler,” he said, all clipped and English, and held his hand out to Newt. “Hermann Gottlieb. It is a great pleasure to meet you. I’m an admirer of your work.”

"Sup,” Newt said, and tried to bump their fists together.

Newt knew he was in deep shit then. It wasn’t just because Hermann was gorgeous (which he was, in a sort of weird, frumpy, ripped-outta-1945 way), or that the scowl he proceeded to level Newt with made his soul wither and his heart race a little bit too fast, but both of those things in conjunction with a big one: Newt was, and is, so fucking love-starved. It’s an unfortunate byproduct of being made a professor when he was as young as he was and completing a PhD before he completed puberty. His early twenties should’ve been spent dyeing his hair terrible colors and adding to his already impressive tattoo collection and having questionable hookups with other young twentysomethings; unfortunately, the only young twentysomethings Newt ever seems to come across are his students, and he has a very strict code of ethics. Not to mention it wasn’t like he was getting any action before that as a weird, gangly teenager with peers several years his senior. He was bound to latch onto the first genius hottie who crossed his path who wasn’t trying to flirt their way into bumping that B- to a B+. And better yet, Hermann is five whole months his senior!

The shit only got deeper when the semester started. No, Hermann was not the sort to fetch Newt sandwiches, or coffee, or Aspirin from his office, nor was he the sort to handle the dreaded lab reports (at least not unless Newt handled them with him), and he definitely wasn’t eager to please. Newt, anyway. If anything the opposite was true: he seemed to actively derive enjoyment from undermining Newt at every turn.

“Wrong,” he’d mutter during class if Newt screwed something up in a lecture, or “No, Geiszler, you’re doing it wrong again,” or “How in the blazes did you get three bloody PhDs when you can’t even do simple addition?” and snatch Newt’s dry erase marker away to scrawl his own answers on the whiteboard. It was less like having a TA and more like having...well, a bitchy, annoying co-teacher. Or, God help Newt, a colleague. And boy, did he wave those five months over Newt’s head like a fucking flag. Newt was immature; inexperienced; clearly not as serious about his studies--his completed studies--as Hermann. Meanwhile Newt’s class (bright young twenty somethings, taller than Newt, cooler than Newt, with more friends than Newt) would giggle and snicker, and Hermann would look smug.

It drove Newt fucking batty.

It also made him, like, super turned on.

The two can co-exist. Apparently. Hermann Gottlieb is already helping Newt discover new and existing concepts; what a fucking excellent TA he is. Someone give that man a raise.

So Newt draws up a list, and he writes Pros, and he writes Cons, and he writes Hermann. The pros are regrettably easy to come up with, because Hermann is Hermann, and (bitchiness and undermining of Newt aside) it’s unfair how many he has. Hot. Stupid sexy accent. Stupidly smart. This is crossed out and replaced with so smart he makes me feel stupid (in a good way), because it seems like an important distinction. Glasses on chain. Mysterious. (In a tall, dark, and handsome way. Sort of. Average height--which is tall to Newt, pale, and handsome. He still scowls more than he talks, which makes him feel mysterious. In a Bronte sort of way. Newt can picture Hermann drawing a billowing cloak around his shoulders and stalking some desolate moor in the moonlight, though in this case maybe’s more of a puffy parka than a cloak.) In tiniest font of all is makes me laugh, because Hermann does, goddamn it, with his snide asides and cutting remarks and sarcasm, often not even directed at Newt when it’s just the two of them alone in Newt’s office at night.

The placement of “is my TA” on the chart is acting as a particular annoyance to Newt, entirely on account of the fact that he can think of several pros and cons for that as well, and he’s not sure whether to nestle it between dark eyelashes and once called me a moron in front of my class and I got a hard-on or beneath sweaters smell like sweat and mothballs, has annoying tic of clearing throat when lost in thought, and the dick wins 86% of our arguments. Sexy forbidden fling. Abuse of power. Is older than me so it's not as weird as it could be? I’m his boss. The school’s paying Hermann though, not Newt, and it’s not like he’s going to scurry off to the dean and demand Hermann’s funding slashed if Hermann turns him down (which he’d most likely do). But it still feels like a breach of ethics.

On the other hand, Hermann is exactly the sort of guy he’d try to pick up at a bar if he still did things like that. (Tenure, rather than giving Newt breathing space to kick back and relax a little, has only increased his obsession with his work, and now when he gets a Friday night free to himself he mostly switches crap on the TV and falls asleep with his cat on the couch.) It’s about the experience, the impossible task of seducing someone who--by all accounts--is too straight-laced and tight-buttoned to indulge in something that debase. They were always the best in bed. Tension, Newt knows, has to snap at some point.

He’d like to wrap Hermann’s personal piano wire around his thumb and bang away at the keys until it snaps, too. Ethics, Newt thinks (folding up the list and stuffing it out of sight), his ass.

Newt sacrifices a Friday night with his cat and Unsolved Mysteries in favor of working on a solution to his Hermann Problem. Swamped with work, he tells Hermann over the phone, it fucking sucks, dude, I could really use your help in my office, and Hermann grumbles, and snaps that Newt should learn to be better prepared for his own damn classes, but declares he’ll be on campus in half an hour and that Newt will be ordering him takeaway for dinner as an apology.

The door swings open at half past five. Hermann is bundled in that heavy parka and scarf (which, even for a Boston November, still looks a little too warm), and his hair is damp. “Is it raining?” Newt says, perhaps stupidly, because there’s not a single droplet of water anywhere else on Hermann’s body.

Hermann makes a face at him and pushes the door shut with his cane. “No,” he says, tersely.

“Then why...” Newt touches his own hair.

“I was taking a bloody bath,” Hermann snaps. “I don’t work on Fridays, as you well know, Newton.”

The use of his full first name stings Newt oddly even as the notion of Hermann luxuriating in a bathtub excites him. “That’s Dr. Geiszler,” Newt snaps back, because goddamn it, he’s Hermann’s boss, he deserves respect, and then mentally adds a small, depressing tally to the Cons half of the board. Ethics, ethics.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry, Dr. Geiszler,” Hermann says. He throws his scarf and coat viciously at the small couch in the corner of Newt’s office, then takes his usual seat across from Newt. “Well? Where are those papers it’s so crucial we grade?”

Hermann in a bathtub, Newt thinks. Hermann naked. Papers, Newt thinks. “Papers,” Newt says, and he shoves a stack at Hermann with twice as much force as he means to, causing several to flutter to the ground. “We need...to grade them,” he says. Hermann naked, in a bathtub, maybe some candles lit around him, some nice music on, daydreaming about that wretched professor he works for. Damn it. “I have a pen,” he says. “To grade.”

“What on earth are you saying?” Hermann says. “Be quiet. I can’t concentrate with your abominable prattling on.” Then he mumbles something that sounds like incessant, rips the top paper off the stack, and begins to slash at it in red ink. He doesn’t bother gathering the two from the ground.

Why did Newt invite him here, again?

Oh, right. He pushes his glasses up his nose and feigns casualness, pulling out another paper for himself to grade. “A bath,” he says. “Just to, uh, relax? Or...?”

Hermann narrows his eyes. “Or?”

Newt shrugs. “It’s Friday. Were you getting ready for a date or something?”

This time, Hermann’s mouth twists down into a frown. Almost suspicious. “Why do you care?” he says.

“I don’t,” Newt says quickly. “Just making small talk.” God, he could picture some stud of a computer science PhD candidate winning Hermann over with techno babble--or maybe one of his fellow students, ugh, maybe they made a study group together that meets Friday nights, and Hermann was getting all gussied up, goddamn handsome astrophysics grad students--

“I was relaxing,” Hermann says. “You must be aware at this point you cause me a great deal of stress, Dr. Geiszler, on a daily basis.”

“Oh,” Newt says.

He gives up on the small talk after that. Hermann’s promised takeout arrives--a small carton of pad thai--as does Newt’s--a large carton of the spiciest thing they had on the menu--and they eat in silence. They have about three-quarters of the papers to go when Hermann suddenly sits back in his seat with a groan and rubs at his eyes under his granny glasses. “Bugger,” he says. “I can’t fathom this one for the life of me. I’m too tired.”

“It’s getting kinda late,” Newt agrees. “Maybe we should--”

“It’s not that,” Hermann says. “I had a glass of wine earlier, and--oh, it doesn’t matter. Your students need to learn how to write in a way that’s actually bloody legible--it’s like chicken scratch.”

Newt hops up and leans over his shoulder, squinting down at the page. Hermann’s hair smells nice, like something floral, and his skin has a small hint of what could almost be cologne. Why is Hermann wearing cologne? “Okay, let me see it,” Newt says, struggling to keep from getting lightheaded at the close proximity to Hermann. “I’m used to that kind of shit.”

“No,” Hermann says, drawing the paper close to his chest. “I am perfectly capable of managing it on my own.”

“Dude,” Newt says, “let me look at it, seriously. Hermann--”

He manages to tug it away from him. The handwriting is pretty bad, but the math seems to be worse. “Didn’t they do the readings?” Newt mutters under his breath. “That’s not even the right equation for the diameter. I gave them a cheat sheet, man.” They’re junior year engineering students--they should know this shit.

“I know what the equation is,” Hermann snaps. “I can grade it on my own. Give it back.”

“I didn’t say you didn’t know,” Newt says, “I said this kid--”

“It’s the radius squared--”

“Hermann, dude,” Newt says, “I know you’re--”

And that’s when Hermann grabs him by his skinny tie and kisses him, hard.

They stare at each other afterwards. Hermann’s eyes are as wide as saucers; his mouth is hanging open. Newt’s tie slips from his fingers, which then fall limp to his lap. “Holy shit,” Newt squeaks.

Hermann is gone with a swish of his parka and a loud clack of his cane. And with a stack of papers Newt still has to somehow get through. Figures.

Their next few classes together are subdued. Hermann doesn’t interject any of his biting commentary or corrections, or even offer critiques of Newt’s lack of professionalism (when in the past his skinny jeans were such an easy target), and when the period is over, he practically sprints from the classroom before he and Newt can be alone together for even a second. It’s fine by Newt. Whatever. Maybe Hermann can get over it over Thanksgiving break, and Newt can try to get over the memory of Hermann’s strong fingers tugging him down, Hermann’s floral shampoo, Hermann’s chapped, wide lips against his, the little grunt of shock Hermann made as he did it, like he couldn’t believe his own audacity...

It’s not likely.

It’s December, the last week before finals, and Newt’s in his office bundled up in a sweatshirt (because the heat never seems to fucking work in here), revising a draft of an exam, and dreading the thought of trudging home in the snow, when there’s suddenly a knock at his door. Anticipating some overeager freshman here outside of office hours, he doesn’t look up as he says “Come in.”

A familiar clearing of a throat.

Newt shoots straight up to his feet. He knocks a mug of coffee to the floor in the process. “Hermann,” he says. “Uh. Hi. What--what are you doing here?”

Hermann shuts the door behind him, then takes a careful step forward. He’s back in his big dumb coat and big long scarf. “I thought I ought to tell you myself first,” he says, primly. “I’ve submitted a request to the dean to be reassigned to another professor next semester. Our research interests are far more in line, and I don’t imagine our personalities shall clash as much.”

“Oh,” Newt says, pretending his heart isn't sinking in his chest like a hunk of lead. Was he that bad of a kisser? He feels like he deserves a second shot at it--he wasn’t ready last time, you know, he bets he’d really wow Hermann if he had a fair heads up. “Are.. are those the only reasons why?”

“No,” Hermann admits. “They’re not.”

He crosses the room, and corners Newt against his desk before Newt even realizes what’s happening. “They’re not,” he says again, then adds in a murmur (lifting one hand to brush his fingers against Newt’s hair), “Dr. Geiszler.”

Neither of them talk much, after that.

#newmann #maria's fanfiction tag #thxstral

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multifandomhaven · 4 years

Text

Tip VI

Pairing: Nacho Varga x OC

Night melted into morning and, as Nacho and Sarah lay on the couch, their words got a little less guarded. Nacho suggested retaliation and Sarah shot him down every single time.

"Let me take care of it, Sarah," Nacho gently prodded.

He sat on the opposite end of the sofa, Sarah's feet in his lap. His fingers worked from the bottom of her feet, rubbing and circling like he'd been born and trained for it, all the way up to her knee and back down again. "I'll go... have a talk with him."

Sarah sighed, her head laid back against the arm of the couch. She felt Lola shift beside her, sandwiched between her rib and the cushion, and gave her a scratch behind her ear. "No. No way."

"Why not?" Nacho asked, rubbing his palm over the plane of her leg. His finger circled her ankle lightly, before making it's way back down again. "I can handle him."

Sarah relaxed a little further against him, turning to putty when both hands moved up, massaging her calves. "I don't doubt that you can, I just don't want you getting into trouble for me."

Nacho glanced at her though the corner of his eye and shook his head. "I won't."

"C'mon, you don't know that," Sarah sat up on her elbows, the black shirt rising on her stomach as she did. Nacho's eyes left her own and skimmed up her legs, over the lace panties he knew he'd be dreaming about for weeks, and onto the skin of her stomach, greedily drinking in the sight. Sarah's eyes blazed and she snapped her fingers at him, her frown deepening. "Hey, I don't want you going to jail! Especially not for me."

"Sarah -"

She pulled her legs out of his lap, missing the pleasant warmth of his hands the moment she did. "No, Nacho. My answer is no. I don't want you going down there. I just want to... forget. Move on."

Nacho sighed and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees and his head bowed. He brought his thumbs up to pinch the bridge of his nose, frustration clear on his face. Sarah could see the muscle in his jaw tick before he spoke. "Alright."

"Thank you," Sarah said, her voice quiet. She leaned up to match his position and threaded her arm through his own. She leaned her head against his shoulder while her fingers toyed with the leather bracelet on his wrist.

Nacho let out a deep breath and then turned his head to her again. "Did you give my offer any thought?"

"A little," Sarah admitted softly. "Are you sure your Dad wouldn't mind?"

Nacho gave her a small smile. "Of course not."

"Does he know that you're even offering a job on his behalf?" Sarah asked. "I wouldn't want to cause him any trouble."

Nacho pulled her with him as he leaned back against the cushion. Sarah chuckled lightly, but leaned into him, resting her head on his chest and wrapping her one arm around his waist. Her legs found their way over his and he lay one hand just above her knee while the other wandered over her side and under the hem of her shirt, his fingers splaying out across her hip, careful of the bruises he so desperately wanted to avenge. "He welcomes the help."

"And you're positive he isn't going to be blindsided by this?" Sarah pushed. "I don't -"

Nacho leaned down and captured her lips in a quick kiss. "Trust me."

"I do," Sarah smiled, their faces still only inches apart.

Nacho pecked her lips again and said, "Good."

"I was wondering," Sarah started after a while, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth. "Not that I'm rushing you or whoever, or anything like that, but... have you heard anything about my car?"

"Only a little," Nacho admitted, then he remembered something that one of the guy's had said to him. "Speaking of your car, did you have any leaks that you knew about?"

Sarah shook her head. "No... but, I wouldn't really have noticed unless it was kinda obvious. Why?"

"Your radiator was cracked," he told her. "It hadn't been for long, because it would've overheated before now, but," he blinked, taking her features in, "...you ever seen anyone around your car?"

"W-What do you mean?" Sarah asked, reeling back at the insinuation. "You have to be more specific."

Nacho sighed. "Have you ever seen anyone suspicious around your car?"

"No," Sarah said quickly. "Why? Do you - do you think what happened was deliberate?"

"We're thinking so, yeah." Nacho nodded. "Did that bastard ever go near your car at work?"

"No, never," Sarah assured him. "I always parked near the road in front of the diner... I would've seen if he did."

"Okay." Nacho stared into her eyes. "Does he know where you live?"

Sarah paled, her heart thudding wildly in her chest. "No, I don't think so."

"I'm going to get another lock for your door. Extra protection," Nacho said in an attempt to reassure her. "Just to put us at ease, yeah?"

Sarah nodded, her eyes beginning to water. "Yeah."

"Hey," Nacho said quietly. "It's alright. I won't let anything happen to you."

Sarah sniffed and nodded again. "I know."

Nacho rubbed her back, his hand big and burning, the heat of it seeping through her shirt and straight into her bones.

Nacho saw the anxiety that threatened to overtake her again, and decided to change the subject. "Let's go out to eat."

"Are you hungry?" Sarah sniffed, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. She started to get up, but Nacho grabbed her wrist gently. "Nacho, I can make you something if you're hung-"

Nacho shook his head lightly, his lips pulled back in a small smile. "No, no. I want to take you out."

"Take me out?" Sarah repeated quietly. "Out as in... a date?"

"Yeah," Nacho raised a scarred eyebrow, but his smile only stretched farther. Sarah thought it might have been the only time she'd ever seen him smile - a real smile with teeth and everything. "A date."

Heat bloomed across Sarah's face, the redness bringing her freckles to life, and she laughed, the sound airy and smooth. Nacho forgot how much he loved her laugh - genuine and uncaring. She covered her cheeks with her fingers, the suddenness of his request rendering her speechless.

Nacho snorted a laugh and tugged her hands away, scolding her gently. "Don't hide from me. You look cute when you're blushing."

Sarah chuckled and shook her head, her face a tinge more red than before. "You're ridiculous."

"What do you say?" He asked her again, his eyes sincere. "Do you want to go on a date me?"

"Yes," Sarah nodded, her face still flushed. "I'd love to go on a date with you."

Nacho pulled her in, pressing a kiss to her forehead before he leaned down and done the same with her lips. He lingered there for a moment before he pulled away. "I'm going to go back to my apartment to take a shower. I'll pick you up say... eight o'clock?"

Sarah smiled. "Eight sounds perfect."

"Okay," Nacho said back. "I'll see you then."

A few hours later Sarah stood in front of her mirror, her makeup smokey and her hair curled just so. She tightened the towel around her and sighed, going over every outfit she had in her head. The blue dress was too frumpy, a gift from her sister a few years back, and the red one was too cutesy for a date, she thought, mentally cringing at the image of her in the frilly skirt with little white flowers sitting next to what she could only imagine Nacho would show up in.

He liked to look nice most days - would it be the same on a date or would he be even more dressed up than usual? What if she was over-dressed and looked like a fool next to him?

Sarah groaned and plopped herself on her bed, her hands picking at the end of a curl nervously. Her knee bounced, her nervousness personified, but then, like something out of a fairy tale - real life magic - she remembered the dress she wore to her sister's graduation.

She dashed to the closet and swung the doors open wide, her hands making quick work of going through the racks. She shoved and pulled at every article of clothing she owned until finally she saw it, hanging by its lonesome at the back of her closet. Gingerly she pulled it off the rack and sniffed it - she didn't want to risk smelling like mildew - and smiled when the smell of her detergent met her nose. She quickly pulled on her best pair of matching underwear - black lace - and pulled the dress on over top. She spritzed a few sprays of her favorite fragrance onto her, inhaling the vanilla that now perfumed her bedroom.

Staring into the mirror, her painted lips stretched into a wide smile. She turned sideways, pulling at the bottom a bit, and smoothed out all the wrinkles. She had to admit, as shallow as she thought she might sound, she looked nicer than she had in as long as she could remember.

She pulled on a pair of black heeled booties and threw a layered necklace on just as a knock sounded on her door.

With a long, deep breath to calm herself she walked to the door and opened it.

"Wow," Nacho said, his eyes raking over her from her head to her feet. She noticed how his gaze lingered on the heels, and how he tugged his lip into his mouth at the mere sight of them, before he tore his eyes away from them and held the bundle of flowers out to her. "You look... wow."

Sarah blushed again, but took the flowers all the same. "How did you know I like lilies?"

Nacho shrugged. "I didn't take you for a roses type of girl."

Sarah hummed and filled a vase with water, gently arranging the flowers on her kitchen counter. "They're beautiful, Nacho. Thank you."

"They don't have anything on you," Nacho said with a grin. "You look amazing."

Sarah gave him a slow twirl. "You think so?"

"My eyes won't be the only ones glued to you tonight," Nacho promised, his voice thick. "I might have to take a baseball bat in with me. Beat all the other guys away from you."

Sarah laughed, the same beautiful one as before, and Nacho's chest puffed with pride. He was the one to pull that sound from her. "Alright, Casanova, let's get going."

"After you," Nacho gestured, shutting the door and locking it behind them.

The restaurant he took her to was more upscale than any she'd ever been to. There were waiters in tuxes, carrying trays of food still sizzling on the plates. She'd already downed a glass or two of wine - enough to loosen her tongue and actions - and found herself laughing when Nacho commented on how beautiful she looked every time the chance arose.

"Look," he nodded subtly toward a woman leering in their direction. "Even the women here are checking you out."

Sarah cackled loudly, and a few heads turned in their direction. Sarah ducked her head a bit, but the sound still flowed past her lips. "More like she's upset because I'm here with the most handsome guy in the place."

Nacho shook his head, his eyes crinkling in the corners. "That wine's kicking in, huh?"

"Something like that," Sarah admitted with a grin. "This is the best night I've had in a really long time."

Nacho nodded, his eyes trained on her. "Yeah. Me too."

"I like you, Nacho. I really, really like you," Sarah told him softly. "I've gotta be honest, it kinda scares me."

"What's there to be scared of?" Nacho asked. "I wouldn't ever hurt you."

Sarah raised her glass to him and took another sip of wine. "I know, but... I've never had the best luck when it comes to relationships."

"Well," Nacho said lightly, mimicking her action with the glass, he raised his to her. "Here's to me being the one to break that streak."

Sarah smiled and leaned across the table. Nacho got the hint and closed the gap, pressing his lips to hers.

Some of the other patrons rolled their eyes, and some didn't even notice.

The man in the farthest corner, baseball cap pulled down over his eyes, noticed, and he seethed with anger. He threw some cash down onto the table and stalked out of the establishment. The walk to his car was a short one, and when he got inside he found himself staring through the window at the happy couple.

His eyes blazed when he saw him take Sarah's hand into his own.

The man tore off his cap and ran his hand through his dark, curly hair in a fit of pure rage. He started the car and peeled out of the parking lot, tires screeching.

#nacho varga #ignacio varga #nacho varga x oc #ignacio varga x oc #ignacio varga fanfiction #nacho varga fanfiction #better call saul #better call saul fanfiction

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shekissesturians · 4 years

Text

~Sun Showers~ Mirio x Fem!Reader/Oc (Chapter 2)

~ Yeeeeeee Chapter Twoooooo!!! <3 In which Mirio and Yua have a tiny adventure. ~

Chapter 2 - 4,964 word count - Ao3

Chapter 1

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

~ ♥ ~ ♥ ~ ♥ ~ ❀ ~ ♥ ~ ♥ ~ ♥ ~ ❀ ~ ♥ ~ ♥ ~ ♥ ~

Today felt like a good day.

As the world flickered by through the car window, Yua couldn’t help but take notice of the excitement that was beginning to bundle up within her chest. Her thoughts were traveling to a certain blond man she was about to meet up with for their second painting session.

She truly couldn’t have asked for a better person to work with.

A small smile twitched at the corners of her lips as she remembered Mirio stuffing his face with more sushi than she thought was humanly possible. It was like she had been watching a black hole engulf worlds, one after another… after another… after another! He certainly was getting his money's worth out of her- but she did tell him he could order whatever he wanted.

A small giggle rose up in her throat, she definitely needed to remember to rein him in this evening. Yua knew it would be hard though, Mirio was so nice and kind. He had looked so happy eating!

… She really wanted to see him looking so pleased again.

“We’re here miss.”

Yua blinked, snapping out of her thoughts at the sound of her driver’s voice. They indeed were parked in front of her high school. A few students walking by stared curiously at the parked vehicle, leading Yua to believe they must have been parked there for a few minutes before she was even aware they had stopped.

“O-Oh! Thank you Sato!” She stuttered out, realizing how strange she must’ve looked staring into space.

“No problem miss.” The older man chuckled as Yua fumbled her two bags of belongings into her arms. They were both backpacks, so he wasn’t sure why she wasn’t just wearing one over her shoulders... but it wasn’t his place to question,

“Shall I pick you up at the school same as last night?”

“Yes please.” Yua nodded graciously as she finally managed her way out of the vehicle with all her belongings in her arms, “ Thank you!”

She pushed the car door shut with her hip, sending Sato a farewell smile before he drove off.

Now that the mysterious black car was no longer a mystery, most of the students around her didn’t care to observe the scene any longer. Yua tilted her head down into the bulk of bags she was carrying as she turned and walked into the campus. The few students that lingered watched her closely. All of them flashing faces of confusion at her presence, mumbling between one another at who she could be and why she was wearing the same uniform as them.

Yua couldn't blame their curiosity, but it didn't make her feel any less uncomfortable with being stared at. Their gazes and mutters made her want to shink into a ball and roll away. It was upsetting to her how few students at school she actually knew. Yua had wanted to attend normal class hours like everyone else, but it just wasn’t possible with her quirk. As her parents and the school put it, she was too “unstable”.

That word made her want to vomit.

Quickly, Yua tried to distract her mind away from the negative emotions she could feel bubbling up. She needed to shift her thoughts to something more pleasant- ... like dinner!

Where could she take Mirio tonight!?

She wanted it to be someplace different… someplace with bigger portions.

A smile tugged at her lips as she walked up to classroom B32a.

... As soon as she opened the door it faded.

Three faces of fellow female students looked over to her, faces she did know. Faces that were currently surrounding her painting area.

“Well, hey there stranger.” One of the three girls, the one Yua knew as Chiho, greeted. The girl's hands sat on her hips, flexing with tension. Chiho was smiling, but there was nothing friendly in her gesture.

Yua tucked her head down further into the bags she was carrying so her bangs would cover her eyes. The less emotion they could see on her face the better.

“Hello.” She greeted, debating for a moment on where to set her things since the three of them hovered around her art station much like a pack of lions near a kill.

Yua settled on a vacant nearby table a reasonable distance away.

“Oi, Yua.” Sabina, the red-haired of the three, called out- “ I know you weren’t here when the assignment was announced, but we are supposed to use models.” Her arms crossed over her chest as she waited for Yua to respond.

Yua furrowed her brow in confusion, “I do have a model.” She finally answered after a beat of thought.

Her painting wasn’t near finished, but they should be able to clearly see the figure painted on the canvas.

Sabina let out a scoff as the other two girls giggled, “A live model.” She held up her finger in correction.

“I do have a live model.” Yua retorted softly.

Both Chiho and their third companion, Ayo, silenced their giggling. They glance to one another in confusion before looking over to Sabina.

“Why are you lying Yua?” Sabina's eyes narrowed.

“I’m not lying...” Yua’s own jaw stiffened. She could barely believe what she was being accused of!

“So… you are going to look me in the eyes and tell me that this-” Sabina turned and roughly pointed towards Yua’s painting, “- guy came into this room and modeled for you?”

“… Yes.” Yua spoke carefully, trying to keep her emotions under control. She was becoming upset. The last thing she wanted to do was to lose control of her quirk in front of the three of them.

Sabina paused for a beat, “Then you won’t mind if we wait and see? You did come in to paint some more… correct?”

“That’s fine…. Can I start setting up?” Yua turned to her bags. She scooped them up, hiding her face back into their bundle.

“Oh, of course.”

Sabina, Chiho, and Ayo walked away from the station finally granting Yua access to her space.

“Please understand,” Ayo spoke from where she had taken a seat on a nearby stool, “It just wouldn’t be fair if you weren’t following the same guidelines.” Her hands fiddled with her long black hair, twisting it into braids while she waited.

Yua remained quiet as she set her bags down in front of her easel. As long as she didn’t respond then maybe things would be fine. Emotions were building in her throat, Yua was sure if she spoke it would be like breaking a damn.

She wasn’t sure if the other girls had felt it yet, but the air was becoming moist with a slight drop in temperature. If she could keep things that way then maybe they would be none the wiser.

“You already get so many privileges.” Ayo continued.

“- Like being able to study from home, and only coming in a few hours a week.” Chiho finished her friend’s thought. She had pulled up a stool as well, leaving Sabina to be the only one left standing. Her arms were still crossed as she stared down the classroom door.

“This is a final.” Sabina spoke up, “If you get leniency on this then we should too. It’s hard enough to find a model as it is, let alone get their schedule to line up with yours.”

Yua turned her back to them as she squatted down and began unzipping her bags. She didn’t want to look at them. She already could feel their eyes boring into her back. A quick glance at the clock showed that Mirio was late arriving to the time they had agreed on last night.

Knots were beginning to form in her stomach.

Where was he?!?

“Especially if Yua is over here making up fantasy men!” Chiho laughed, “ Ugh, I got stuck with such a ragged wench.”

“You mean that regular model for the illustration class?” Ayo chimed in, still braiding away at her hair.

“Yeah, I’m trying to make her look less frumpy but it’s hard. I just have to focus on my handle of lights and darks at this point.”

“I thought it looked good though!” Ayo playfully swatted at her companion, “The baroque style lighting really helps.”

Their conversation continued to bounce back and forth as the time slowly ticked by. Yua was beginning to feel sick. Mirio couldn’t have bailed on her could he? Suddenly her thoughts turned more towards fear- what if something had happened to him? He did say he would be coming from his internship.

“Well!?” Sabina’s voice captured the attention of the entire room.

Yua jumped at the sudden shrill. She finally mustered up the courage to turned around only to see Sabina glaring at her with a venomous gaze.

“Where is he, Yua?” The sharp tone of her voice spit, “I knew you were a lier. Just a spoiled little b-”

“It’s okay!” The door to the classroom was suddenly thrown open, “ I am here!!” Mirio stumbled in out of breath, “…now!” He painted, holding a smile on his face while his chest heaved.

He froze when he noticed three other girls in addition to Yua staring at him with wide eyes. Mirio looked between Yua and the other girls as he gave himself a moment to catch his breath,

“Oh Ueno, are these your friends?” He straightened his posture, “Hi, I’m Toogata Mirio.” He waved only to see the red head’s face twist into an expression of disgust.

“Arrgh!!” Sabina snapped. A loud crash echoed through the room as she kicked over a stool, sending it crashing into a nearby easel.

Mirio, whose hand was still frozen in mid-wave, quickly sidestepped out of the girl's way as she stomped past him.

“I hope you brought an umbrella.” She addressed him under her breath.

“Wait, Sabina!” Chiho jumped up along with Ayo. The two girls ran after their friend nearly running over Mirio in the process. The door slammed behind them as they exited the room.

Yua stood frozen at the scene that had just played out in front of her. She quickly bit down on both of her lips, clenching her hands into fists as she dug her fingernails into her palms. The emotions were bubbling at her throat, she couldn't let them bubble. She had to stay in control.

For a brief moment, Mirio narrowed his eyes. Upon his entrance, he hadn’t been oblivious to the grey clouds floating around the ceiling of the classroom. He had felt the humidity thicken when he entered as well… now he knew why.

“Well!” He turned towards Yua with a new smile plastered onto his face, “They’re not very pleasant are they?”

From the look of intense concentration on Yua’s face, Mirio could clearly tell she was fighting a wave of emotions.

“What a shame, and it’s such a nice day out!” He exclaimed walking over to her. His expression truly brightened when he came into view of her painting, “Wow!” He stopped next to her, “There is more detail on here than the last time I saw it!”

Yua swallowed as Mirio leaned in front of her, taking in every brushstroke.

“Yes,” She breathed deeply, easing herself back into speaking, “... I’ve been working on the background.”

What used to be just a dark space behind his figure was now meticulously painted to look like brick coming out from the shadows.

Mirio couldn’t get over how real it looked.

“Okay so… you’re going to make me look as awesome as this brick wall right?” He looked over to her, “Cus I am feeling a bit upstaged here.”

Yua's whole body seemed to relax as a gentle smile touched her lips, “ Don’t worry,” She breathed, “you won’t be upstaged.”

Mirio straightened his postured to look down at her with a grin, “Phew!” He dramatically wiped his brow with the back of his hand,

“Sorry I’m late, I got tied up… not literally,” Mirio quickly clarified, “cus you know…” He verbally made a * whoop * sound effect as he phased his hand through the painting, “But I ran all the way here! No stopping!”

Yua giggle softly just before his grin fell,

“Well, there was this one moment…” He rubbed the back of his head coyly as he remembered a missing detail, “… but it was just because I hadn’t been able to eat any lunch, so it was just a brief TINY second- but then it was a full sprint all the way here!” His smile returned, “I promise!”

“You’re fine.” Yua smiled up at him with great appreciation for all his efforts, “I’m glad you are okay.”

Mirio paused at her words, “You were worried about me?”

“Of course.” Yua shifted to holding her hands behind her back, “Aren’t you fighting bad guys and such?”

Mirio had to blink away from her gaze and turn his attention back to the painting. All of a sudden it felt as though they were standing much too close. He took a giant step to the side before walking over to the pedestal where he knew she wanted him,

“Ah yeah… I mean sometimes-" He began," but it’s nothing serious!… I mean sometimes it’s serious- but not all the time! You don’t need to worry though! - I mean, of course I appreciate it but-”

Yua watched Mirio ramble on with a soft smile on her lips.

There was absolutely no way he couldn't have noticed the dark clouds looming near the ceiling when he entered the classroom. But he didn’t say a word about them. Not even a facial expression of surprise or acknowledgment. Yua couldn’t help but appreciate him for that.

Toogata Mirio made her feel… normal.

“So same position as before right?” Mirio permeated out of his clothes with a step, allowing them to fall into a pile behind him.

This time Yua wasn’t phased by his permeation antics at all.

“Mmhmm.” She nodded, walking over to the light switch to turn off the main lights, and activate her staged lighting.

The next few hours went by rather quickly. They chatted here and there, but for the most part, Yua was intently focused on getting the next layer of oil paint she needed down. She only had Mirio for one more session before the project’s due date, so it was important she worked as quickly and efficiently as possible.

There were so many contours to his figure, Yua had to admit that he was awfully fun to paint. The way the light coming from the right shown onto his lats and triceps were really going to help make the painting pop! When he wasn’t there she could add in other colors to heighten the mood of the piece, but for now, she was focused on making sure she accurately captured the highlights and shadows of his skin.

“How is your knee feeling?” Yua spoke out to Mirio while she finished applying a stoke of paint to his quad.

“Eh, it’s getting sore…” He wiggled it around a bit as though to truly assess his condition.

“We can finish here then.” Yua took a step back from the canvas, making sure she didn’t need to add anything else tonight.

“Are you sure? I’m sure I’d be fine a bit longer.” Mirio straightened his back from his hunched over position.

“No, no, I’m at a great stopping place.” Yua leaned over to where he could see her and flashed him a smile.

Mirio nodded, taking a deep stretch as he stood. Truth be told his legs were beginning to cramp a bit so he was thankful she got everything she needed.

He stepped off of the pedestal and over to his clothes while he watched Yua fiddle more with the painting. After he finished putting his clothes back on, he studied her for a bit longer before walking over.

Though her eyes weren’t any vibrant color like green or blue, he still found himself drawn to them. The grey hue of her irises reminded him of a storm- but not a destructive storm. They were a calm storm, the kind of rainstorm that would lull you to sleep at night. Those, he decided, were Yua’s eyes.

They were fervid but peaceful.

Yua didn’t even shift at his presence as he peeked around the canvas to see how things had progressed. Her entire focus was solely on the painting.

Mirio let out an admiring whistle toward the art piece, finally managing capturing her attention much to his pleasure,

“This looks amazing…” He mused, there was a lot more detail on his figure now. His painted skin no longer looked rough and blocked out as it had before. Now the skin was smooth and blended, even looking soft to the touch, “That really can’t be me can it? You’ve embellished!”

Yua’s jaw dropped at his playful accusation, “I didn’t embellish, Toogata!” She lightheartedly placed her hands on her hips, “ You just need to stand in good lighting more often.”

“Apparently!” Mirio laughed. He left her side to walk across the room to turn the main light back on while she began to clean up her work area, “Can I help you with anything?”

“Ah…” Yua paused for a moment, “Could you pack the paint up for me, into the purple bag?”

“Sure can do!” Mirio threw her thumbs up. He squatted down next to where she stood and unzipped the lavender bag. Paint tubes were dropped haphazardly on the floor around her feet, seemly scattered without rhyme or reason. The task of putting them away was going to be more involved than he thought. He carefully picked up the tubes and lids around her trying to match them to their rightful mate before setting them into the bag.

“So what are you in the mood for tonight?” Yua looked down at him as she began to dry her brushes off on rag.

“That is a good question…” Mirio hummed to himself, “Oh! How about barbecue!? I passed by a really nice smelling place on my patrol! Seriously, the smells were wafting.”

“Ooo, wafting barbecue sounds good.” Yua smiled as she crouched down next to him to place her handful of brushes into her other light blue backpack.

“Right? Aaand… are you ready for the best part!?” He waited until he had Yua’s full attention, “It’s all you can eat!”

“Are you sure that’s going to be enough?” Yua responded with a half quirked smile.

“Wha- hey!” Mirio laughed, taken aback by her sudden sassiness, “I am a growing boy I’ll have you know!”

“Whatever you say, Toogata.” Yua stood up, slinging her backpack over her shoulder with a grin.

Mirio followed her up with a smile, “Hey... I can carry that for you if you want. If it’s anything like this one,” He slipped the other bag over his shoulder, “I’m sure it’s heavy.”

“Are you sure?” Yua tilted her head to the side in question.

“Absoposilutely!” Mirio held out his hand, “Plus the restaurant is a bit of a walk from here.”

“Okay, thank you.” Yua handed over the backpack.

As soon as she released it into Mirio’s hand he practically fell over, straining to lift it as though it was the heaviest thing in the world.

“Oh god, Ueno, do you have a city in this thing!?” He continued to pretend to be overpowered by her backpack,

“It’s not that heavy!” She laughed while he continued to milk the joke for all its worth, “ Come on, let’s go.”

Mirio was so engulfed in the theatrics of his own antics he didn’t even realize she had left his side till he heard the classroom door open.

“Toogata…” Yua called back, holding the door open for him. She sighed with a lopsided grin, watching him still pretend he couldn’t lift the bag off the floor.

At her voice Mirio quickly flung the backpack over his shoulder and ran after her, “C-Coming!” He called running straight through the door in an attempt to make up for the time he had just spend goofing off.

Yua flashed him a smile as she followed him out, “What is the barbecue place called?”

“Oh!” Mirio flexed his right arm before punching forward into the air, the motion giving Yua enough time to catch up to him, “Subarashii Bābekyū! So you know it’s gotta be legit.” He grinned.

“I would hope so.” Yua mused as they continued, walking side by side through the schools’ courtyard and towards the street.

There were a few other students still on campus, most having stayed after to finish working on art projects. None of them were any that Yua knew.

Her attention trailed over to an area designated for the sculpture students. It was a covered area in the courtyard that held a kiln along with an area for metalworking. The ground around it was covered in ash and plaster from some recent project.

“- Well," Mirio continued on, " I heard pro-hero Fatgum frequents there, so you know it must live up to its namesake!” Oh he couldn’t wait. The place had smelled like heaven when he had passed it earlier. His stomach was already grumbling at the thought of it- that was until he realized he was still walking on ahead with Yua no longer present at his side.

Quickly, he looked around himself, “Ueno?” He turned around finally spotting her kneeling over by a pile of plaster covered bricks under the nearby wooden pavilion he had just passed.

Had something happened?

Did she trip?

Mirio scolded himself for not paying better attention as he jogged back over to her side, “Ueno, is everything okay?”

She was looking down at something.

Mirio knelt next to her to try and get a better view of what she was staring at.

“It’s a bee.” Yua softly answered as though her voice would blow it away.

Sure enough, lying on the ground covered in a dust of plaster, was a small honey bee.

“Is it alive?” Mirio mimicked her hushed tone. He instantly fell into studying the insect as intently as her. Truthfully, he wasn’t even sure how she had seen it!

Apparently, Yua was much more observant than him...

Just then the bee wobbled on the ground, failing to move under the weight of the white plaster stuck onto its exoskeleton.

“It is!” Yua gasped. She looked around for a moment searching for a way to pick it up before she decided on gently scooping it up into the palm of her hand.

“Won’t it sting you!?” Mirio watched with fascination as the bee was carefully ushered onto her palm.

“Not if it doesn’t feel threatened…” Yua released a sigh of relief as she successfully picked the small creature up, “ It’s covered in plaster dust.” Her voice rang heavy with concern, “It’s trying to fly but it can’t.”

The bee’s little wings were vibrating as best they could but it’s failed efforts were beginning to slow.

Mirio looked around them for a moment trying to think of something that could help. His sights landed on the patch of grass that lined the center of the school’s courtyard. In an instant, he was back from picking a few blades of grass.

“Maybe you can help brush her off with this?” He held out the grass blades to Yua.

With her free hand, she carefully took a single piece of grass from Mirio and began to lightly brush the honey bee. It jiggled a bit under the touch, but soon no longer making an effort to move.

“It’s not working…” Yua’s voice cracked. She could see the bee was beginning to no longer even try and clean itself, “I think she’s exhausted…”

Mirio scrunched his face in contemplation, there had to be some way they could help... he had to think... “ Oh!" His face brightened, "Maybe food would help! It always helps me!”

“Yes!” Yua turned to him with a hopeful smile, “We need flowers!”

They both looked around briefly at the courtyard for flowers.

There was none.

Mirio thought for a moment before jumping back up to his feet, “The park just down the road has flowers. I remember seeing them on my way here!”

“Really?” Yua’s eyes lit up as she stood. Her palms carefully cupped themselves around the bee, making sure it didn’t crawl away or fall out as she began to follow after Mirio.

“ Yeah, yeah!” He waited for her to catch up, “They are not too far into the park either, we will bee there in no time!”

Mirio glanced over his shoulder to see if Yua had caught his pun. She had and was now shaking her head while she worked to keep up with his quickened pace.

“I promise I’m not pollen your leg.” He couldn’t resist continuing as they hurried across the street. Luckily they reached the intersection just as the crosswalk turned green.

“I don’t want to laugh!” She scolded him sweetly trying to bite back her grin, “I might drop her!”

“Oh, oh! Sorry, sorry!” Mirio quickly waved his hands in apology as they finished crossing the street. Now they had a straight shot to the park.

“It’s alright…” She followed close to his side as they hit a pocket of pedestrian traffic, “... You were really winging those puns weren’t you?”

Laughter spit from Mirio's lips causing him to trip and nearly faceplant on the sidewalk. Yua jogged passed him grinning, breaking free from the crowd while he tried to recover from her underhanded pun,

“I thought we agreed on no more jokes!” He wheezed after her. That pun was the last thing he had expected to hear from her, this newfound sassiness was a very pleasant surprise.

Mirio caught back up to Yua just as she entered the park. Just as he remembered, to the right of the park's entrance there was a small hill dashed with tiny white flowers.

“Over here!” Mirio pointed ahead in case she didn’t see it.

The two hurried over together, Yua dropped to her knees as soon she reached the grass. Removing her cupped hand from over the bee, she picked a few flowers and brought to the weak insect.

“Come on, you can do it…” She mumbled as Mirio joined her side in the grass.

“Is she eating??” He leaned over with equally invested concern.

Yua bit her bottom lip as she focused on trying to get the honey bee to realize what she was presenting it.

After a few failed attempts it finally took.

“Yes!” She cheered as the bee stretched out its proboscis, drinking in the sweet nectar.

“I will go get more flowers!” Mirio jumped up with newly invigorated enthusiasm.

The more the bee drank the more its energy started to return. They both watched as the bee finally stopped eating and began to vibrate its wings while it rubbed its legs around its body. Little by little the plaster dust was beginning to dislodge from the honey bees exoskeleton.

“She’s getting it off!” Mirio beamed as he watched the small bee finally regain its strength. The small insect rubbed its body on the ridges of Yua's palm, further removing more and more dust.

“It tickles.” Yua smiled before turning to him, “Here, hold out your palm.”

Mirio did as she asked and Yua gently coaxed the bee onto his palm.

“I’ve never held a bee before.” He whispered with amusement. Watching the honey bee slowly return to life held an almost magical element to it.

They sat together in silence on the small hill of grass, watching the bee finally remove the last pieces of plaster dust from its body.

Mirio glanced over to Yua who was sitting mere inches away. Her legs crossed while she silently cheered on the insect with all of her attention. Nothing else mattered to her at that moment but the bee... and it made him smile. He had been correct in his first assumptions of her kindness.

The honey bee's life was nothing like a human's. It was fleeting, temporary, and often unseen. It was a life he would have never noticed. He would have gone on his way and enjoyed barbeque without a care in the world, without ever knowing such a small existence was in peril.

Yua caught it though, in the midst of a large courtyard she had not only seen it but acted, as though it was any other life in danger. It made Mirio curious about how else she saw the world... it made him want to know her more.

The soft sound of the honey bee's wings brought Mirio's attention back into his hand. The small insect crawled up to the tip of his finger before flying off into the park.

“There she goes!” He grinned, watching the little bee disappear off into the distance. A raindrop landing on his nose caused Mirio to cross his eyes.

Rain??

He looked up into the sky just as more began to fall as it picked up into a gentle shower. The occurrence was surprising. There was not a dark cloud in the sky, even the sun was still out and only now beginning its slow ascent.... a sun shower?

Mirio was about to comment on the strange occurrence to Yua, but when he looked over he paused. From the corners of her eyes, small tears were trailing down her cheeks.

The sun shower was coming from her.

“Hey," Mirio softly smiled, capturing her attention, "It’s okay.”

He pulled his jacket sleeve over his hand, lifting it up to dab the tears off of her face, “She’s going back to her family now.”

Yua nodded, trying to hold back a small sob, “ I know...I’m just really happy. If I hadn't been looking at the ground I would have never seen her... and maybe no one would have... and then she would still be there exhausted and stuck and….” She began to furiously wipe the tears from her eyes as the light shower of rain continues to fall on them.

From the corner of his eye, Mirio could see those on the pathway near them begin to curiously look around. They were commenting on the shower to themselves, trying to figure out where it has come from and why it only seemed to be in one small part of the park. Some people walking up even paused, stepping in and out of the rain line, completely and utterly confused.

“I’m so sorry," Yua covered her face with her hands, "I didn’t mean to make it rain, I just… you can go if you want-”

“I like it.” Mirio watched Yua looked up at him with surprise, “ It feels nice, a happy shower.” He grinned, “Now even more flowers are going to blossom for even more bees! No bees shall hunger in this park!”

Yua laughed softly at his words as her tears and rain continued to fall.

He smiled. At that moment, sitting in the grass with the rain dripping off the ends of her hair... Yua looked beautiful. While she smiled rain drops blended in with her tears, dancing across her cheeks in a duet of patterns. Mirio was sure he looked like a fool, sitting there, staring at her with a lopsided grin, but she didn't seem to mind in the least, and that was all who mattered.

He just couldn't pull himself to stop watching her, that was until he was hit with an idea.

“Hey, I will be right back.” Mirio shifted up onto his feet, “Don’t go anywhere!” he waved his arms frantically before running off.

Yua nodded watching as he headed off down the park path. She had no idea where he was going but she felt so happy to be there with him. Mirio didn’t mind her tears or the rain. It was refreshing. For the first time, she didn't feel self-conscious or troublesome. Even the grass around her looked perkier under the drizzle of her rain, as though it had been waiting for a refreshing drink.

Little by little Yua’s sun shower lifted, and just as it did Mirio was plopping back down into the grass next to her.

“Look what I found!” He grinned holding out his hands which were occupied with two large containers of yakisoba.

"Where did you get that?" Yua breathed in, it smelled delicious.

"There is a stand in the park." He handed her a container, "I remembered passing by it earlier, it's smells were also wafting."

“It looks so yummy,” Yua happily received her container. She sat it in her lap before breaking apart the chopsticks that came with it, “but didn’t you want barbecue?”

“I think this is better.” He watched her scoop up a large serving of noodles into her mouth, “besides… I don’t really wanna leave the park just yet… how bout you?”

Yua shook her head while she tried to swallow, she had overestimated how much she could fit in her mouth. It had smelled so good though, and she hadn't realized until he handed it to her, but she was so hungry!

Mirio chuckled at Yua's puffed-out cheeks as she tried to finish her overly large bite.

"It's so good!" She finally swallowed, "Dinner was supposed to be on me though..."

"Next time! You're the hero tonight after all!" He grinned before taking a bite of yakisoba himself... it really was good. Mirio quickly scooped an even bigger serving into his mouth after his initial taste. Now he was the one with full cheeks.

"Alright." Yua laughed, watching him happily slurp up noodles, "Next time..."

Next- Chapter 3

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lumi-klovstad-games · 4 years

Text

Simple Gifts

“I hate you.”

Kaya-Sei whispered as she grimaced in the Traveler’s direction from the wreckage of the Old Guardian Tower.

“You took so much from everyone. You may have been trying to help, but it wasn’t worth it. If you hadn’t come here, the Darkness never would have found Earth. The Collapse never would have happened, the Awoken would have never been made... things would have been better. Nothing you brought with you was worth the suffering that followed you. And my sister and I would have been free to live and die on our own terms if you’d never come. I hate this immortality. I hate that I wasn’t asked or given a choice. Most of all, I hate you.”

“It really was just trying to help, sis. That’s what it does. It helps people.” Reena’s sweet voice bubbled through the wreckage of what had been the old courtyard. “It’s no less than either of us try to do every day.”

Kaya-Sei turned, and in what was by now a very rare occurrence, removed her helmet in front of a Guardian. Of course, it wasn’t just any Guardian. It was her twin sister.

“Keyword: try.”

Reena sighed.

“Try is all anyone can do anymore.” she said, wandering the ruins of the shattered courtyard, examining bits and pieces of a past neither could go back to, including the scorched husk of the tree that had given her a place to read and keep an eye on things at the same time. “I’ll never get used to seeing this place ruined like this. Red Legion really did a number on this place.”

“You say that every time we come here, Reen.”

“And it’ll always be true.”

“Remember the poetry competitions we had here?”

“Remember Cayde’s submissions?”

Kaya-Sei laughed a genuinely heartfelt laugh for the first time in a time too long to really consider.

“Those attempts at verse that turned into hilarious rambles about whatever was on his robotic hamster brain at the moment? Unforgettable.”

“And Ikora’s overly pretentious and hypercalculated sonnets?”

Kaya-Sei smiled. When she wanted it to be, it was like it all happened yesterday. That, of course, was part of the problem.

“I miss those, Reen. I like the freedom Mara gives me, but the Reef is just a little short on poetry slams.”

“You could visit the new Tower more often, Kai. I heard Zavala finally offered to bury the hatchet after you saved his neck in that bunker in the EDZ.”

Kaya-Sei paused, and looked up at the sky, which had clouded over and was beginning to give the first drops of rain.

“I’ll give it some more thought. It’s just not the same without Cayde there.”

“Saint wishes you were around more. I know that much. He says that he really enjoyed that snowball fight and was hoping for a rematch some time.”

“Snowball MASSACRE was more like it.” Kaya-Sei chuckled, “I will confess, I do like Saint.”

“Might even get Saint to strongarm Shaxx into taking part in a poetry slam. I know Drifter wants in on one. Guy’s going stir crazy in the Annex.”

Kaya-Sei paused for a long while. Grimsby, her ghost, floated around the periphery, knowing enough about his relationship with Kaya-Sei to not say anything to her. He knew his opinions, no matter what they were, were violently unwelcome. Unwelcome though they were, Grimsby still had them, many of them in fact. One of them was that Kaya-Sei needed to spend more time around her fellow Guardians, the only people who could truly understand her. After a few seconds that seemed like an eternity to Grimsby’s machine intelligence, Kaya-Sei finally spoke up.

“Okay, Reen, you win. I’ll visit, but only if you can promise to rope Holliday, Jalal, and Lakshmi into your next little poetry slam too.”

“Yeah, Jalal’s win that time really floored me too. You’d never expect a guy that frumpy to have a secret artistic side.”

“I know, right? Just be advised, Petra and I are gonna work HARD on the poem I’ll be bringing.” Kaya-Sei’s face was now full of mischief, and Reena breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Her sister was still underneath all that ‘Queen’s Shadow’ business, after all.

“If it gets you to show up, I’ll overlook that breach of our usual rules.” Reena half-joked. Her face straightened quickly. “Hey, uh, Kai? I got a present for you. Well, not really a present, but, Cayde left a will, and everything.”

“Yeah, I got the Ace.”

“That’s not all he left you.”

Kaya-Sei’s expression turned to confusion as Reena Feng produced a bundle of black cloth. It was badly worn, with red accents. As Kaya-Sei unfurled it, its identity became obvious.

“This is...” she muttered, holding back tears.

“I don’t really understand you Hunters much, but he wanted you to have this. “Any weapon worth using needs some sights to keep it on target”, he said.”

Kaya-Sei sank to her knees, clutching the cloth that had belonged to a Guardian who had been absolutely everything to her.

“Th-thanks Sis. I think I need to be alone for a while.”

“It’s okay Kai. I get it.” Reena leaned over Kaya-Sei and kissed her sister on the forehead, “We’ll meet up later, yeah? And, uh, keep me in the loop about this business with Ana Bray and Rasputin, okay? I’m always ready to help.”

Reena Feng left as quickly as she arrived, leaving Kaya-Sei alone with a silent ghost and her own thoughts.

“Yeah. Okay.” She finally responded to nobody.

She looked to the Traveler and buried her cheek into Cayde’s old cloak, silent tears dripping into the old fibers.

“I guess maybe you did give a few gifts worth having, after all.”

Grimsby wasn’t certain, but he thought maybe, just maybe, his Guardian was still smiling into those old clothes.

18 notes · View notes

emeraldwaves · 4 years

Text

Title: What Happens at Frat Parties Chapter 4 Pairing: Huwumi Rating: E Word Count: 3,004 Read on Ao3 Summary:

For Hawks, getting the girl has always been easy. He’s popular, attractive and part of the frat house that throws the best parties. When Dabi’s sister shows up one night, Hawks realizes not everything comes as easy to him as he thought. And while Fuyumi thinks Hawks isn’t her type, as time goes on, she finds his advances harder to resist. Maybe there’s more to him than she realizes.

Fic under the cut!

Hawks assumed he'd been insufferable all week.

"Dude you've been insufferable all fuckin' week," Dabi snorted, lighting a blunt.

Confirmed.

"I swear to fuck if you ruin this party, I'm going to murder you," Dabi continued, yanking on a large floatie to put in the pool, presumably for himself.

"What could I possibly do to ruin it for you when all you're going to do is float around and smoke?"

"You'll find a way," Dabi said, narrowing his eyes. "I know you've been moping about my sister rejecting you all week, which, disgusting, but if I have to hear you sad sigh one more time, I'm going to rip out your damn vocal chords."

"You know I can still sigh even without a voice-"

"Shut it. Just find someone to fuck tonight so your dickbrain can be satisfied."

Hawks opened his mouth, about to protest but Dabi continued. "And don't you dare fuck my sister."

"I'm not! She wants nothing to do with me!" he retorted quickly.

"Good. Ew. There are plenty of other fish in the sea or girls about to be in our pool. Pick someone else," Dabi said, taking a long hit on his blunt.

"I don't know. Maybe I should stop," Hawks said, grabbing a drink and sitting at the edge of the pool. Music thumped in the background, something upbeat Mirio had picked. He dipped his feet in the water, swinging his legs back and forth. In just a few moments, the pool would be filled with plenty of beautiful girls dressed in the most perfect bathing suits, droplets of water rolling down their skin, wet hair clinging to their cheeks. It was ideal, more than ideal.

And yet...

"Stop what? Fucking women? Yeah right. Maybe when I stop smoking," Dabi said, flopping onto the floatie. "It's the summer, not existential crisis hour."

He hopped into the pool, shivering when the water floated around his chest, leaning against the edge of the pool. "I know," he muttered.

"Look here, guyliner," Dabi said, sitting up enough to look at Hawks.

"Guyliner?" Hawks snorted, tiling his head.

"Yeah," Dabi said and gestured wildly to his own eye, right at the corner. "You always got that shit on your face."

"My... eyes just look like this," Hawks said, rolling them.

"What?" Dabi blinked. "Okay. Anyway, I'm not gonna help you get your mojo back or anything. So have a few more beers and find some cute girl and you'll forget all about this week and my sister. Which is still disgusting by the way."

"I guess I should let the magic of summer and alcohol do its stuff," Hawks sighed, draping his body over the edge of the pool.

"Exactly."

"You're a horrible friend, you know that?" Hawks snorted.

"Yup. Thank you!" Dabi smirked, puffing out a large ring of smoke.

Hawks didn't know why he cared so much about what had transpired between him and Fuyumi. She was pretty, sure, but it wasn't like he hadn't been with other pretty girls. Maybe it was the fact that it had been ages since he'd been rejected by someone. He sighed, running his wet fingers through his blond hair, taking a long swig of the beer.

Voices echoed from their front lawn, groups of people starting to walk up to the house. Mirio and Tensei were by the entrance of the gate, greeting the guests like it was some sort of formal event.

Hawks waved, nodding as friends walked into the yard, a few immediately rushing into the pool.

"Hey! Don't ruin my shit!" Dabi said, attempting to keep his balance in the floatie, holding his smoking blunt high above the water.

Dabi was right. Not that Hawks would ever say that out loud, but he needed to not think about stupid shit. He had no reason to be attached to Todoroki Fuyumi. She rejected him, which meant he could move on to someone else. Easy peasy.

Or it would've been if Todoroki Fuyumi wasn't walking into their backyard right now looking like an absolute goddess.

Her white and red hair was partially covered by a straw sunhat, her pale skin glistening in the sunlight. A soft white ribbon was tied around the hat, draping over the side. Her legs were covered by a pink wrap, tied around her curvy hips, covering the lower half of her white suit with red polka dots. It was a one piece, covering the entirety of her body, but it scooped low, her cleavage barely covered by the bow tied in the front. She looked good. Stunning even... especially in this compared to the rather... frumpy outfits he had seen her in before this.

His jaw dropped, his mouth open. He was lucky his damn drool stayed in his mouth.

"I know that look," Dabi snorted. "Glad it only took one beer for you to get over your damn self and- ...what the fuck."

Hawks could only assume Dabi's gaze had fallen upon the very person he couldn't take his eyes off of.

"Why the hell is Fuyumi here?!"

Because Hawks had finally gone to hell for being a shit and this was his torture.

"Stop staring at her, creep!" Dabi growled, flicking the side of Hawks head.

"Ow!? I wasn't!"

A blatant lie.

It hurt more to tear his eyes away from her than it did to stare. It sucked that she was way hotter than he'd originally guessed.

"I swear to fuck if I catch you again I'll rip your dick off. And don't talk to her because she's coming over here."

Indeed she was. Hawks rolled his eyes, taking a long swig of his beer. He wasn't going to purposefully talk to her, especially since every time he did something went wrong. No. He'd already made his decision to find someone else for the night...

But her hips...

The way the bathing suit sat snug on her curves. It was killing him and his dick that Dabi would rip off if he knew the dirty thoughts rushing through Hawks' mind.

"Oi! 'Yumi! What the hell are you doing here?" Dabi groaned, letting his head fall back into the water as he stared at her.

"Touya..." she sighed. "I'm not-"

"Dabi."

She clicked her tongue.

"Touya-"

"Fuyumi. You're the smart one of the two of us. How hard is it to remember what to call me?"

She rolled her eyes, folding her arms over her chest, which only made Hawks flick his gaze back down to the water.

Don't look at her chest. Don't look at her chest. Don't look at her chest.

If he chanted it hard enough he probably wouldn't do it. Probably.

"Oh, it's got nothing to do with memory," she huffed out. "I just don't want to call you that stupid name."

"Stupid? It's better than Touya."

Hawks didn't really know Dabi's hang up about his name and he didn't bother to ask; he knew he wouldn't get a serious answer.

"Anyway," Fuyumi said, ignoring the question. "I'm not here for you-"

"Oh fuck, please tell me you're not here for Hawks."

"Huh-" Hawks blinked, and shot his head up, staring straight at Fuyumi. Her cheeks were heated as she glanced between both of the boys.

Hope; a cruel emotion, flickered in his chest.

"What?!" Quickly she shook her head. "I'm not here for him either! Nejire wanted to see Mirio and Tamaki so she asked me to come with her."

"Oh, carry on then," Dabi said, flicking his hand as he pulled his head up and took a long drag on the blunt still smoking in his mouth.

Fuyumi rolled her eyes. "Glad to have your permission," she said, turning from both of them.

"Hope you, uh, have fun," Hawks said, waving his hand one time. She glanced back towards him, nodding awkwardly before turning back to head to where Nejire was.

He loved looking and sounding like a total moron.

Watching her walk away, he gulped down the rest of his beer and slammed the bottle down on the side of the pool.

He needed 20 more of those to make this night better.

Even in a one piece, Fuyumi felt exposed. She hated the summer, she much preferred to be bundled up in sweaters and jeans, comfortable for the winter. Today, the heat was practically unbearable, and the last thing she wanted to do was swim in the pool where her brother and his idiotic friends were hanging out.

"'Yumi, you look like you're dying," Nejire teased, gently nudging her friend.

"It's just a little hot," she said, gently adjusting her hat.

"I know the solution to that," Nejire hummed. "We should grab drinks!"

"Just some water for me-"

"No, no... no no no!" Nejire squeaked, hooking her arm through Fuyumi's. "We're going to make you a real drink!"

"Neji!" she said, stumbling forward with the girl as they made their way over to the bar.

Fuyumi wasn't much of a drinker. Meaning she drank never. When she did, it was usually a disaster.

The last thing this party needed was a disaster.

"Girl, you need to allow yourself to have fun. I'll make you a drink and you'll feel refreshed in no time," she said, grabbing a few of the bottles on the table.

"I didn't realize 'refreshed' and 'drunk' were synonyms now," Fuyumi teased, trying to watch what Nejire was doing as she dumped ice into two drinks.

"Having one drink to take the edge off is not going to get you drunk."

Oh how wrong she was.

They were joined by Mirio and Tamaki, though Tamaki had yet to say anything, and Fuyumi found she preferred to let Nejire and Mirio do most of the talking. For now, she focused on the drink. It was nice in a way, the cup keeping her hands cold at the very least. And though the liquid was sharp when it rolled down her throat, it was surprisingly refreshing, sending a cool feeling throughout her body.

At some point, Nejire refilled the drink when she refilled her own, laughing with Mirio about some final exam they both were certain they aced.

By the end of the strange green colored drink, Fuyumi was feeling far more 'refreshed' than she expected. Her skin tingled, a slight buzz tickling through her veins and she could feel her heartbeat throbbing against her forehead. Somehow the sun felt even hotter now and Fuyumi was done avoiding the pool.

"Uh, Yumi? Where are you going?" Nejire said, the moment Fuyumi took a step away from her.

"It's still too hot, I'm going swimming."

"Are you sure about that?" Nejire asked.

"Mhm," she said, untying the wrap around her waist as she tossed it to the side. "Can't take it anymore." She placed her hat on the ground with the pink wrap, leaving them by Nejire as she walked to the water and stepped into it.

She sighed as the cool water floated over her, immediately cooling her body. She sighed happily, running her hand over the top of the water.

"I'm surprised you decided to come back over here."

Gasping, Fuyumi jerked her head up, looking directly into the golden eyes of Hawks, a smirk pulled across his lips. Aviator sunglasses shimmered in the sunlight atop his head, his bare chest dripping with the water from the pool.

He really was too handsome for his own good.

At least, that's what Fuyumi was certain other girls thought. Not her. He was average. Nothing special.

Even though her eyes trailed up and down his body against her will.

"I was hot," she said finally, as if it registered to her brain that she needed to answer him.

"Heh..." he chuckled and she rolled her eyes, leaning against the edge of the pool.

"Don't," she said. "I don't need your fake flattery."

"Fake?" he sighed, moving to the edge of the pool. He folded his arms over the edge and smirked at her. "Who said anything about fake?"

"I know your type. I know what you do to get girls out of this pool and into your bed." She clicked her tongue and flicked water at his face. It was a bit blunt, but the alcohol had removed her filter. "I just want to cool off," she whined, pushing away from the edge, she dunked herself completely under the water. Coming back up, she smoothed her hands over her hair, slicking it back.

"Look," Hawks sighed, rubbing his forehead. "I'll leave you alone okay. I promise I was just going to say the suit was cute, nothing weird."

She glanced down at the red polka dots. "This? Cute?"

"Yeah, it looks good on you," he said casually.

Was this how he won all the girls over? Simple-minded compliments to girls who didn't always feel good about themselves.

Well, Fuyumi wasn't going to fall for it. Not anymore than she already kinda, maybe, sort of, was. She cleared her throat. "Well, thanks."

"Yeah, I gotta... get out of here anyway. Your brother will kill me if he sees me talking to you," Hawks said, snorting as he began to walk by her.

"What? Did he say that?"

"Yup. Multiple times. Threatened to rip my dick off too and I'm not about to let that happen."

Fuyumi wrinkled her nose. A disgusting image quite frankly. "Are you really... scared of my brother?"

"Scared!?!" He immediately turned around, coughing a bit, as though a bug had flown into his mouth. "I'm not scared. I just don't feel like listening to him bitch about shit. Shigaraki bitches enough for all of us.

"Plus," he continued. "You've made it pretty damn clear you're not interested. I'm not gonna harass you. I have more tact than that." He almost looked sad as he said all that, his golden eyes flickering against the sun.

"Oh," she said softly. "I see." Why did she sort of share the sentiment?

"You don’t have to look sad about that,” he smirked. "I’ll make sure to ask you for one date from time to time."

He really was handsome.

Her heart continued to throb against her forehead and for a moment her stomach dropped as she imagined what it would be like to kiss him. Her eyes trailed down to his lips, which were pursed tight against his teeth as if he was deep in thought. She had heard so many rumors from Nejire and others; about what a good kisser he was and for a moment she let her mind wander.

Him pushing her against the edge of the pool, hands cupping her jaw, thumb caressing her cheek while he slotted their lips together-

"Yup. Anyway, do you want anything?" he asked, shaking her from her daze.

"Uh? Anything?"

Like a kiss? Or even better, an actual conversation? She thought he was about to leave her alone.

He raised his eyebrow when he realized she was clearly confused. He spoke again, "To drink?" he asked.

Oh no, she was good when it came to alcohol. Already she was starting to wonder if this was a pool or a whirlpool.

What the hell had been in the drinks Nejire had poured for her?

She quickly shook her head and floated away from the stairs. The faster she got away from him the better. She was certain it was the alcohol clouding her brain because she never would've ever considered thinking about kissing Hawks. And now... it was all her brain could focus on.

If only she could just try it once and be disgusted by it so she could get it out of her system.

No.

That was just what he wanted her to do. He was probably praying to some sex god that she would come to him and beg him to take her. Well, she certainly would show him.

"Fuyumi, are you okay?" Hawks asked, floating after her in the pool. His fingers cut through the water, leaning against the edge.

"No! I will not sleep with you!"

"Huh?" Hawks stood, or, floated rather, in front of her, blinking once and then again.

Good, she totally threw him off. Victory.

But then she realized when she actually said. She froze, swallowing as she felt the heat rise up to her cheeks. Had she really just said that?! He hadn't even asked, even though she was certain he just assumed which was dumb of him but saying that was not very smart of her either. She tried not to groan or roll her eyes as her mind stumbled into a panic.

Why was he staring at her? Did he think that was what she had been thinking about this whole time!?

"I promise..." Hawks began, finally regaining some form of speech. "I wouldn't do anything you didn't want. I'm not that much of a jerk," he said and for a moment she sensed a hint of sadness laced in his tone. She probably could've read it better if he wasn't starting to spin in front of her.

"You just seem a little... drunk," he admitted. "I was worried-"

Worried? She highly doubted that.

"What? No? I'm fine! I'm not Touya... oh... excuse me, Dabi!" she huffed.

"You don't drink often, do you?" he teased softly, leaning in towards her.

Oh gosh, he really was handsome.

"No," she said, holding the word out for far longer than normal. "I didn't drink much today."

"No, I meant in general-"

"I just need to find Nejire and I'll be fine," she sighed, pushing herself towards the stairs.

"Okay, just be careful-"

She clicked her tongue cutting him off. "I don't need to be careful, I'm perfectly fine." She pushed herself out of the pool, stumbling forward when she realized her body felt a bit heavier now she was standing on land.

But Fuyumi didn't need Hawks' help; not at all.

#huwumi #hawks #takami keigo #todoroki fuyumi #bnha #boku no hero academia #what happens at frat parties

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sternerstufftoys · 4 years

Text

He had to split

It is the year 1987... ...Vikings invade England once again, cunningly disguising their longships as IKEA shops... ...With unemployment at a mere 3 million people, Margaret Thatcher sweeps to election victory in a grateful nation. Apparently... And in The Transformers, what's better than one robot? Two robots! And what's not quite as good as that? Well...

I think the Duocons today are a bit hard done by. They're often seen as the G1 line beginning to run out of ideas, to try any gimmick at least once and see what sticks. Like Pretenders, like Clones, like Action Masters, it didn't seem to matter if the idea was good, Hasbro would try it out anyway. So you get Battletrap, he of the no-arms, no-charms society, and today's offering Flywheels. Or indeed, Skytread if you want a more appropriate name.

But I think this is slightly unfair. Only slightly you understand, because the G1 Duocon toys really were a bit shite. But there is a logic behind them. Transformers had always had a strong parent-appeal by being good value for money. You're not buying separate cars and robots, you're buying two in one and saving a bit of cash. So getting three in one has an even greater appeal, obviously. Doesn't matter that Flywheels was demonstrably worse than Blitzwing had been, and came with the added danger of potentially losing half of it and gimping the toy forever more (brrr... sorry, Thunderwing flashbacks). But you get a tank (sort of), a jet (an ugly one, but still) and by slamming the two together they flip and flop into a kind of frumpy robot fella.

I actually quite like the colours on Flywheels/Skytread. I did back in the 80s as well. Burgundy and brown weren't exactly common colours, so it was good to see the Decepticons leaving their comfort zone of blue, black and purple once in a while. In his Siege toy Skytread keeps this going, and improves on his former self by actually bothering to colour the jet canopy in, something embarrassingly absent in '87. The automorphing is absent, but this is probably for the best. 1-step changers can be plenty of fun, don't get me wrong, but most of the pleasure for kids with transformers is knowing how to Rubik's-cube them into different shapes, and feeling pleased to have master the skill. And as a robot Skytread looks pretty great, with a suspiciously well-shaped torso that gives uncomfortable clues that the vehicle modes might be a little compromised. Still, for the time being he's quite a looker, and keeps his feet hilariously big, and yet still not as oversized clown-shoes as his G1 self, which basically just left the entire front of the tank and assumed kids would be okay imagining them as feet.

So yeah, it all falls down a little in alt modes. The jet is functional enough, but the classic cheat of just bundling up robot mode garbage under the rest of the jet is on full display. The smaller size of the jet just makes it all the more noticeable that nothing was going to be done to hide the robot chunks. Proportionally it's all reminiscent of Sky Lynx, but at least he could jettison all that extra crap when he wanted.

The tank should be better, but has an even bigger problem. The transformation simply doesn't work properly. The panels for the back of the vehicle just refuse to close and tab in properly, and while this isn't exactly the end of the world, it's frustrating in just how close the engineering came only to miss the target at the end. Plus the gun never feels very secure in there.

Flywheels didn't get a whole lot of appearances in fiction, but he did make them count. IDW had him dying horribly, leaving just his massive feet behind, but Marvel had him storming in to save the day alongside Trypticon. They were fighting robot zombies. Comics, as I believe I've mentioned, are rad. It's one of those long-running story arcs that really allowed the characters room to breathe, and putting Flywheels in a lead role instead of more bankable names like Starscreams or Soundwaves just helps give the feel of a bigger, more intricate universe. Plus, you know, giant robot dinosaurs fighting zombies. Rad.

So yeah, I've got a weakness for Skytread. He'll never be a favourite, but he has heft to him. He's Trypticon's buddy, he's an independent operator, he's a rubbish tank and a rubbish jet and somehow a really fun robot. He's... uh... brown. So there's that.

#transformers #maccadam #toy review #flywheels #skytread #siege #best bots of 1987

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storiesofwildfire · 5 years

Text

@tarthsoath said: "I hope its not presumptuous to offer." There is an awkward stiffness to her back as Brienne offers the bundle of clothing once more. Their travels were long, yes, but she did try to make them comfortable for her companion and of late Loki was tugging and pawing at her dresses. Wincing just so at the title of my lady. Now she may not know much about... other tastes but serving Renley had thought her a few things. There was no shame in it. "Mens clothing. I thought you may be more comfortable."

♔—- Loki had been gifted with many abilities that her brethren did not possess. They never judged her for it, never treated her poorly for it, but they did envy her. None of them would admit it, of course. No one ever wanted to admit to pinning after what they could not have, even those who were not human or... were no longer human. For most of them, they stood above the rest, a superior set of beings that thrived off of what others could not and had more claim to the lands than anyone else.

They did, however, seek to use her gifts. It was why she’d been sent south of the Wall because she was the only one who could. In a way, that still alienated her. They made her feel special, important, perhaps the most important of them all thanks to the gifts that she held over them, but it only served to push her away. After all, she was hundreds, perhaps even thousands of miles away from home, and she had very little in the way of companionship from her home. After a while, it felt like she had no family and she would only be welcomed home if she proved herself useful after running South.

Perhaps that was why Loki felt less and less inclined to return? For years, she roamed and wandered, focused on why she’d left the North in the first place, but as of late, it was easier and easier to find herself... distracted.

One of those distractions happened to be her current traveling companion. Brienne was... lovely, though every time that thought occurred to her, she wondered what she meant by that. Was she lovely to look at? Lovely to spend time with? Lovely to talk to? In truth, it was the entire package. Brienne paid a special sort of attention to her. Their relationship seemed more complicated than it appeared on the surface. To an outsider looking in, Brienne was charged with Loki’s protection and Loki traveled with her for her own good. Loki also had a habit of twitching towards mischievous tendencies, just to keep things interesting. Traveling day in and day out on horseback could be painstakingly boring and Brienne, unfortunately—or fortunately, depending on how one wanted to look at it—was responsible for curbing Loki’s worst impulses and making sure she stayed out of trouble.

Brienne had only ever known Loki as she presented herself now, but the truth was, one of those special abilities that her kind did not typically develop happened to be shapeshifting. She’d taken so many forms since she left the North, she almost forgot what she was supposed to look like, or rather, what she originally looked like.

The more she shifted, though, the more fluid she felt in her own body. Natural and freeing in a way that most things weren’t. She could be whatever she wanted to be and practicing restraint on that was a challenge. After she fell in with Renly and Margaery’s lot, though, she didn’t have the luxury to shift whenever she pleased. Margaery took a special liking to her, one that could have been easily compromised should she reveal her real nature. She hoped, once she got away from Margaery, she’d had a bit more freedom to do as she pleased, but Brienne was almost always within eyeshot.

And traveling...

It became cumbersome in the ridiculous outfits she was expected to wear. Even travel wear designed for women was just so impractical and uncomfortable. She hadn’t noticed the rising irritation, the constant pulling at restricting collars, and the fumbling with frumpy skirts that constantly threatened to have her tripping into the mud and made riding a horse properly a chore in and of itself.

Brienne noticed, though. So much so that as they rode into town to stop for a few days, Brienne wandered off to run “a few errands,” she claimed. Odd, Loki thought. Usually, Loki went with her to pick up food and supplies for their travels. Brienne put value in her needs and her input, so Loki found it odd that she waited in the inn for Brienne’s return.

At least it gave her some time to wash and rest without someone else in her personal space. Not that she actually minded Brienne’s company. In fact, she rather enjoyed it. Even the somewhat annoyed-yet-affectionate sigh that left the woman’s lips when she had to intervene on one of Loki’s schemes. Attentive and concerned, Brienne seemed invested in her, not because of what she could do for her, but because she cared for her. A feeling Loki wasn’t at all used to, but one that she craved and loved all the same.

By the time Brienne came back to their modest room, Loki had a fire going and did her best to dry her hair, which hung around her shoulders in damp tresses. A robe hung around her frame, a gift from Margaery that Loki actually carried with her and used on a regular basis. She just couldn’t stand the thought of pulling one of those tedious dresses back on, not just yet...

So, when Brienne stepped through the door with a bag in hand, Loki glanced up from the fire and smiled. “Glad to see you made it back okay, not that I ever doubted you would.” There was no room for doubt when Brienne was easily one of the most talented warriors she’d ever seen. “Though I have to wonder why you didn’t ask me along. Growing tired of keeping after me? It’s all right, I won’t be offended, I—”

She paused when Brienne murmured something about possibly being presumptuous. Loki’s focus shifted fully to her and the bag that she offered. Men’s clothing, she explained, and Loki blinked in surprise. Brienne might have been observant and wanted to look out for her, but she didn’t expect her to sort out Loki’s issues without ever even speaking on it.

Reaching out, she took the bag in her hands and pulled it open to take a look at the contents inside. Relief flooded her eyes, but only for a moment.

“How... How could you have possibly known?” she asked. “I mean, I never said anything to you about—” Well, it was difficult to explain. Hell, Loki didn’t even understand it herself most of the time. She was what she was and what she was happened to be difficult to define. She could accept that. Explaining it to other people, though? Gods, that was the hard part.

“I have no idea how you sorted this out but thank you. I—I really needed this.”

#ask Loki #answered prayers #tarthsoath #c; brienne #( au verse ; game of thrones ) you are all southerners to me #( ship ; tarthsoath ) in a world without meaning you give me one to believe in #( ship ) loki x brienne #( long response ) if it were easy everyone would do it

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tirasiantrouper · 5 years

Text

Soon

Soon.

Whoever came up with the word soon? It was timeless, yet used to give some measure of time. The very word now grated on Sarah's nerves as she had drawn on clothes and boots. She had 'borrowed' one of Merrick's sweaters. It was big and bulky enough to make Sarah look a bit frumpy. To help her blend in a bit. She had opted to not paint on her usual eye-catching shade of ruby red lipstick. Whatever she could do to not draw attention to herself. As she stumbled and bumbled about the docks of Freehold, she'd ask here and there on if people had seen anything out of sorts.

Uncomfortable.

That was another word she cursed. She hated that it was accurate for her. She felt uncomfortable, exposed, standing out on the docks, trying to get some form of heading on where to begin looking for Merrick and Graham. After some time she had at least figured out which direction the nearest tavern was in. That would be a good place to check, she reasoned. And yet...

Taverns in Freehold were more like lamplights.

There was one, or more, for every street corner -- often stacked one upon the other. The nearest tavern to their particular dockhead was a rather boring affair named the ‘Colorful Carnation’. True to its name, the sign which swung in the sea-breeze was carved into the shape of a blooming flower. Outside stood a great-many manner of men and women, all seaside sorts who were drinking and smoking, even at the afternoon hour.

To misfortune perhaps, none appeared to be a gargantuan foreman nor finely-tailored director. The great expanse of the patrons visible were all rough-and-tumble, salty sorts who looked inquiring for a place to spend their voyage’s pay.

Sarah had her eyes peeled, looking for both of them, but mostly looking for Merrick as she was sure to notice him in a crowd before Graham. Something about his size, she figured, would make him stand out. She made her way towards the gathered group, trying to peer through the crowd of them to see what the kerfuffle was. All the while, cursing and grumbling under her breath. It had been hours. Merrick knew she gave them two.

Kerfuffles were many and a-plenty, it seemed.

“Oooh -- ooh, I see what yer’ game is boy! You really gonna go ahead and try to swap-a-swindle on me? No, no -- no no. Come on, you really wanna have me chewin’ up your backside from here to fuckin’ Tel Abim? Gimme the doubloons, swabbie.”

“Okay -- I can see you are upset. I feel your energy, and I am putting good energy back. But … the thing is … these are my doubloons. See, you did bet them against my hand -- and now, see, I’ve won that hand. So under all the laws of Gods, Fortune and Men, these are my doubloons.”

There appeared to be a rather profound argument on the outer deck of the Colorful Carnation regarding a particular hand of cards. A brutish, thick-jawed sailor bearing a red-dyed tricorne was arguing his loss of wealth with a svelte, rather dapper -- and handsome, by some measure -- one-eyed man with a gilded eyepatch.

Freehold. It never changed.

As attractive as one might have been, those weren't her men. Therefore they weren't hers to mind about. Especially given she was certain at least one of them was unscrupulous in their sea-faring ways. Even if the argument reminded her of a certain illusionist. That reminder only served to make her frown, remembering why she was there.

Onto the next tavern! Slinking away as best she could, to avoid the crowd and the fight going on behind her, Sarah tugged her-- well, Merrick's-- sweater closer around herself.

The great expanse of Freehold’s ramshackle streets was vast.

There were no shortage of taverns, sea-side spitting houses, ‘breweries’, and pubs. Perhaps a few square feet of the entirety of Freehold was not built for the express intention of putting liquor into the bloodstreams of sailing sorts. It was that kind of a town.

With no defining marks, and a far -- far -- too big garment wrapped around her, Sarah did not poke out. Amongst the peoples of Freehold, cause for ‘catcalling’ was as broad as physiology could abide. Men, women, and all else got the side-eye and a hoot-and-holler from various sorts. The afternoon as it was did not hold so ripe a contest of maritime debauchery as surely would come about by nightfall. Fortuitous, as it were.

Beyond the din of many sailors cavorting, arguing, and fist-fighting with one another -- there came a sound. It was small, given the surrounding cries and yells, but it seemed to be coming from deeper down a corner alleyway.

“-- in good faith. And now? Look, look what you’ve done. -- Ah! Ah, no. No. That was all you, Cal. Do not try to assuage you and your boys embarrassment on account of my behavior. I was nothing but genial until they drew.”

That was a sense of familiarity. The voice and the confident attitude, and the 'genial' nature of it all.

Sarah crept closer, and turned to lean about at the end of the alleyway, within hearing distance, but around the corner so as to not be seen. She did her best to make it look like she was just another Freehold Free-person lingering about, wasting time outside of the building. She felt around inside of Merrick's pockets, trying to find something that could resemble a smoke. Not that she knew the foreman to smoke, but it would have been useful. Even just the gesture of searching for a smoke to discover she had 'forgotten' it elsewhere would do to any passerbys while she eavesdropped.

To her chagrin, there was no ‘smoke’. There was, however, a ringlet of measuring spoons. They still held the gentle dust of cinnamon from the last tray of muffins Merrick had baked at the estate. Indeed, there was also a bundled up tea-towel which retained the scent of whatever blend he had mixed together to help ease Graham’s hangovers. Curious man, their foreman.

Down the alleyway, there were a variety of peculiar shopfronts. Most were empty in the afternoon -- unsavory sorts, perhaps. But the end of the alleyway was a tavern. Or something approximating a tavern. There was a bar, and grog behind it, so -- tavern.

But in the briny expanse of ‘street’ ahead of that tavern, stood a man in quite a lovely charcoal suit. It was somewhat marred by apparent physicality. There was an imprint of dust on the rear, where a hand had apparently tried to take hold of him. He grasped a cane in his left hand, tip pointed downward at an angle befitting a fencing saber rather than a walking appendage. Five men lay prone around him.

A sixth man, quite unfortunate, was being held by his ankle by a mammoth of a man standing beside the well-tailored gentleman. He was stumbling over his words, bumbling and making some plea which amounted to, ’please, please-please put me down!’

Past the commotion, stood another man. Less well-dressed, but wearing the same sense of quiet confidence as the cane-wielder.

Sarah had to duck her head to hide her smirk as she heard something along the lines of someone pleading to be put down. She knew without looking-- that was Merrick's doing. Still, she listened, trying to gauge the rest of the scenario and whether or not she was needed or could even be of use. At least, she reasoned, it didn't sound as if either of them were harmed. Yet.

No one -- bar the five men unconscious, and the one held aloft -- appeared harmed.

“Now … is there a particular reason you decided to throw your goons at me, Cal? Or have you simply gotten so incredibly doughy in your old age that you rely on these upstart young gentleman to protect you from similarly ancient friends?” A quirk of a smile ate through the tone of Graham’s voice, loud enough to still be heard down the alley. He had lungs.

The man opposite him, ‘Cal’ apparently, spoke in a harsher tone. His voice was marred with the rasp common to habitual smokers. But in a handsome fashion, as if he had a long go at some back-room lounge singing. Not an untoward tone, all considered.

“Forgive me, Ellingham. When a ghost decides to come haunting on a sunny afternoon, you have to be sure its real -- you understand. My dearest apologies,” the man brought his hands up, fingers pinched together and wiggling in sincerity. “What can I do for you .. ?”

“Unfortunately my cause for visitation comes in two words, Cal. ‘Ignacio Mordrey’.”

That seemed to quirk the man’s brow.

“Oh. And here I thought I’d have a nice afternoon, enjoy a nap, slay a half-snifter of brandy. Alright -- come in. And I hope if that is your young man down the street, that you did not teach him to be so unsubtle.” From down the alleyway, ‘Cal’ threw a glance toward Sarah.

Young man?! Sarah had to bite on her tongue to keep from vocalizing that offense. Perhaps it was compliment that her attempt to be frumpy had succeeded so well.

Still-- young man?!

‘Thump!’

The man whom Merrick had been holding in precarious aeriality fell to earth. He scampered away quite quickly, seemingly afeared of the enormous man who once grasped him. At the mention of ‘young man’, the foreman peeked over to see -- Sarah.

A little frown colored his face, creasing them as he observed her. A mutter escaped, “.. Are’b that m’sweater? … “

Graham was not so unsubtle, merely casting a momentary glance over one shoulder. He beheld Sarah easily, well-accustomed to the glint of her eyes and the swell of her lips. As he came back around to look at ‘Cal’, he rolled his eyes.

“... Yes, unfortunately that is my young man. A ward of an old colleague, you understand. Have to take care of him. I promise he will not be a burden in your home. -- Please, lead on. You were just about to tell me about the recent state of affairs with the ‘Devil Ignacio’ .. ?”

As he spoke, Graham came forward with his cane finally utilized for its genuine purpose, rather than bludgeoning poor young men. ‘Cal’ and Graham went ahead and entered the tiny tavern at the end of the street, with Merrick hanging back and waving at Sarah.

“Young MAN?” Sarah mouthed to Merrick, her face scrunched up in offense.

@thegreatgrahamellingham

#The Tirasian Entourage

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raefill · 6 years

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I uploaded a new chapter of my todobaku yesterday~ Please check it out if that’s your thing!

You know where to find me

The disposition of a hero is independent by necessity. Being able to stand on your own, without support, as a pillar for others, is what being a hero is all about. He would never insult Bakugou by coddling him, and Bakugou holds the same respect for Todoroki. They both always have been and always will be self-reliant. Which... leaves them at an impasse.

The air between them holds a different kind of feeling, but other than that, very little has changed. It’s been almost three weeks since Todoroki let Bakugou pin him to his futon and blow his mind. Long enough that Todoroki’s cheeks no longer get hot at the thought of it. The intensity of their scenting and the quiet of the night all mixed into something that lowered their inhibitions. Significantly. He doesn’t regret a second of it, even craves it again, but the thought of initiating it is... nerve-wracking.

He’d woken up in Bakugou’s arms to find the blond watching him, eyes still half lidded and heavy with sleep. It should’ve been unsettling, especially with Bakugou’s face so carefully blank. Instead, he had felt an odd sense of safety.

Bakugou had not hung around for long after that. While Todoroki’s weekend was set to be jammed with studying and a few sparring practices in the afternoons, Bakugou was spending the two days on an internship in the city. A patrol schedule means keeping odd hours, which is why Bakugou had left Todoroki’s bed at just gone five in the morning.

Although not without nosing into the gland underneath Todoroki’s jaw first, giving it a few approving, long, hard, licks. To receive that kind of affection in a non-sexual situation, well, he can only compare it to the feeling of taking the first sip of a warm drink on a cold day. The warmth that emanates from somewhere deep in your core, with a promise of more heat with every sip.

It’d been hard to resist.

But Bakugou had to leave and Todoroki had fallen back asleep, leaving the entire incident feeling like a hazy dream. Bakugou had been so busy that they hadn’t seen each other again until class on Tuesday, because Todoroki took Monday out for his own internship.

Since then they had gone almost entirely back to normal. Although Bakugou would sit closer to him as they ate their breakfast, picking things from Todoroki’s plate with his chopsticks when he thought Todoroki wasn’t looking, eyes glinting with mischief. In class, Bakugou would occasionally drift over to his desk and drop a small snack into Todoroki’s hands. But the biggest change was in their occasional study sessions. Todoroki made his way to Bakugou’s room to go over their calculus homework after an intense shift on his internship with Endeavor. He’d been half asleep after ten minutes and found himself being bundled into Bakugou’s bed.

A half hour nap later he was woken with the promise of a cup of tea and a swift brush of Bakugou’s fingers through his hair. He'd been quieter than usual, eyes locked onto Todoroki instead of their homework. He wasn’t sure what it was that magnetised Bakugou that day but he keeps catching glimpses of it since. Whenever Bakugou is about to get up to bring him a snack, whenever Bakugou is plotting how to get a rise out of Todoroki at breakfast, whenever they’re sparring in class...

Todoroki ponders all of this from underneath Bakugou’s sheets. He’s embarrassed to admit that he snuck in here for a nap surrounded by Bakugou’s scent. But it had been Bakugou who had left the key to his balcony door on Todoroki’s desk. He’s certain he’s welcome.

It feels a little odd, nonetheless, to be surrounded by Bakugou and his life without Bakugou also being present.

Maybe he’d stayed a little longer than necessary and completed an assignment at Bakugou’s desk after he’d woken up... and then gotten back into bed. It’s not like anyone will ever know. Bakugou isn’t due back from his patrol for another couple of hours, so even he won’t find out. Anyway, it's Sunday, he's allowed to take it easy. On that note, Todoroki rolls over in the bright light of the midday sun and shoves his face into the pillow.

His body registers the remnant of pheromones in the same way it does Bakugou’s body. Pleasant tingles run their way down his spine, effectively turning him into goo. It stirs something in his core that, as much as he’s tempted, he thinks might be a step too far. But that doesn’t stop him from stretching out, languid and happy as a cat plopped on top of a heat pad.

The hazy relaxation and his assumption that Bakugou won’t be back for some time are the reason he remains unbothered at the sound of the elevator’s arrival on this floor. Then the door is unlocked, flung open, and slammed shut with a resounding bang in such quick succession he's not fast enough to respond.

He shoots up, shock throwing him for a loop as he sees Bakugou launch his bag across the room.

Only when it’s clattered violently against the wall does Bakugou notice Todoroki is clutching his sheets like a startled damsel. Todoroki sees the realisation of it, the violent rage etched lines in Bakugou's scowl easing into little more than a surprised frown. They stare at each other like that for what feels like a lifetime, but then whatever is bothering Bakugou hits him again.

He drops into a crouch, squeezing his eyes closed and fisting his hands into his hair so tightly that Todoroki involuntarily launches himself out of bed.

He kneels in front of Bakugou, closing his fingers around his wrists and stroking encouragingly at his glands with his thumbs. Bakugou is shaking, violently enough that he can feel it against his palms.

Todoroki isn’t stupid. For Bakugou to be home so early, to be so riled up, means something went wrong on his patrol.

“Come on,” he murmurs, “don’t hurt yourself.”

When Bakugou doesn’t let up his grip, Todoroki sets to work uncurling his fingers one by one. It takes longer than he expects, having to rub and massage Bakugou’s knuckles until he decides to cooperate.

Bakugou’s skin is rough, unsurprising given his quirk. They’re also broad, with thick fingers and sturdy knuckles. Todoroki takes his time to observe them as he brings them into his lap, Bakugou giving in and dropping onto his ass with a thud. He thinks that Bakugou will probably be arthritic when he’s older if all of the stress fractures from creating massive explosions are already starting to show their effect in the slightly crooked nature of his joints.

Although, his nails are neatly trimmed, clean of dirt, and he can tell that his skin has seen some hand cream in the past few days. It warms something in him to think of Bakugou taking meticulous care of his greatest tool and weapon.

“What’re you smiling about?” Bakugou asks, voice low and anger seemingly evaporated. He’s looking at Todoroki with that magnetism again, studying every corner of his expression with the same focus he’s seen Bakugou use on equations.

Todoroki can’t find it in himself to be embarrassed, even though he knows he probably should be right now. Not only was he just rolling around in Bakugou’s scent but now he’s mooning over Bakugou’s hands while he has some kind of emotional crisis. He swallows back his apprehension.

“Do you moisturise?”

Bakugou snatches his hands back with a huff.

Todoroki wonders if he’s annoyed him, but Bakugou gets up and picks his bag up off the floor, settling it in its rightful place. When Bakugou starts stripping out of his shirt Todoroki perches on the end of Bakugou’s bed and tries to avert his eyes.

Really, he thinks its key that he made the effort not to look, even if he failed. In his defence, it’s very difficult not to look when your mate has replaced his shirt for a tank top and his pants with- well- nothing. Todoroki fiddles with a string that’s come loose of his long, plaid, pajama pants, combined with a simple white tshirt, thats been stretched out in all the wrong places. He feels a little out of his depth.

Especially when Bakugou is so effortlessly sexy, even in plain clothes. Whether because the clothes are tight or Bakugou just fills them out perfectly. It makes Todoroki feel frumpy, somehow.

Which ticks him off because never once in his life has he cared what he looked like in his clothes before this very moment. Of course, Bakugou manages to break him out of that train of thought as he strides over in his very tight, grey, boxers. Todoroki has never been so mesmerised by the movement of a bulge before and he squeezes his eyes shut for a moment to clear the haze and wait for the swooping sensation in his stomach to pass.

It’s only when Bakugou throws his sheets back that Todoroki realises he must have been riling up a scent storm in there. Bakugou’s nostrils flare, entire body going so still he could be mistaken for one of those erotic Greek statues.

“What were you-” Bakugou grinds out, although he doesn’t lift his eyes from the bed. Todoroki feels as though he might break out into a cold sweat.

“Sleeping,” he murmurs, feeling his own cheeks warm. Bakugou turns his head to look at him then. There’s a look on his face that asks “you were napping at just gone lunchtime?” He shrugs, sheepish. Bakugou just rolls his eyes, finally relaxing and clambering into bed. He holds the covers up again, raising an eyebrow at Todoroki, who hasn’t moved from his position at the end of the bed.

“Well?” Bakugou snaps. Todoroki makes sure to punch his calf through the covers before he gets up to join Bakugou beneath them. Bakugou only grunts, letting the sheets fall over Todoroki as he lays his head on the pillow, facing Bakugou. “You really did a number on my bed,” Bakugou observes, nose twitching in a way that Todoroki immediately labels as cute.

“Sorry,” Todoroki lies - convincingly.

“It’s okay,” Bakugou’s hand twitches where it rests on the bed between them. Todoroki reaches out, tangling their fingers together. Bakugou’s eyes soften then, watching their joined hands in favour of meeting Todoroki’s gaze. Which Todoroki doesn’t dispute because he thinks it might be easier for Bakugou, like this.

“Are you?” he asks. Bakugou doesn’t flinch, or tense, or otherwise recoil defensively from the question; which has Todoroki riding high at an inconvenient moment again . Instead, he blinks slowly at their joined hands, mouth twisting.

“Yeah,” he says. Todoroki waits. That twist in Bakugou’s mouth signalling he’s got something to say. He can almost see the cogs turning inside Bakugou’s head as he works out how to verbalise his thoughts, and it takes a long time. Long enough that Todoroki has wandered down a completely different train of thought by the time Bakugou speaks. “There was no appropriately equipped hero on scene, the building was about to come down with so much as a nudge,” Bakugou explains, hesitating as though he's tasting the words before he says them. “I couldn’t use my quirk and we ran into a villain while I was evacuating civilians,” Bakugou’s hand goes tight around Todoroki’s. “He had a gun,” Bakugou barely breathes the words.

Todoroki’s blood runs cold.

Guns are so incredibly rare in the area, not just because of gun control, but because most villains have such a massive ego surrounding the power of their quirk that they think they would never need one. “I couldn’t do anything except try to talk him down, which obviously didn’t fucking work,” Bakugou scoffs. Todoroki rubs his thumb into Bakugou’s skin, trying to soothe but hopeless in the face of the magnitude of what Bakugou likely perceived as weakness. “Best Jeanist turned up so- it was fine,” but it almost wasn’t , is what Todoroki hears.

“I’m glad you’re not hurt,” is what he settles on saying. Bakugou looks up at him then, eyes as alive as the smirk taking over his face.

“Nah, just gotta go pitch some ideas to Hatsume,” he boasts. Bakugou is so clever, Todoroki is sure he really does have some ideas for a last resort defensive device to attach to his hero costume. It fills Todoroki with something like excitement, to know that clever Bakugou has chosen him to be his for the foreseeable future. “What’s got you smiling now?” Bakugou teases, poking Todoroki in the ribs with his free hand. Todoroki delivers a swift kick to Bakugou’s shin. “Oi,” Bakugou splutters, “what is it with you destroying my legs today?”

“You’re clever,” Todoroki voices his thought.

“I know you’re dumb as a brick but my brain is in my head, not my legs,” Bakugou’s sentence wobbles as Todoroki dives on top of him in a mock attack. “If you’re trying to sabotage me-”

“Shut up,” Todoroki laughs, pinning Bakugou to the bed with a forearm across his chest. But Bakugou just looks up at him with that magnetised look, again. “Look who’s the half-ass today,” Todoroki quips and then pinches Bakugou’s inner arm, “fight me, big bad alpha.”

“You asked for it,” Bakugou threatens, attempting to roll them over. But Todoroki puts up a strong resistance. They end up on their sides again, scrabbling at each other like children and letting out short bursts of laughter between fake grunts and growls.

“Okay, truce, truce!” Todoroki yells when Bakugou pulls up the edge of his shirt and blows a raspberry into Todoroki’s hip. Bakugou scoffs but relents, uncurling from where he had to duck down to reach Todoroki’s stomach. They would be facing each other if Bakugou bothered to shuffle back up the bed, but Todoroki has a suspicion they’re both enjoying that Bakugou is at a height where Todoroki can run his fingers through his hair.

That, and he’s got a leg slung over Bakugou’s waist.

Bakugou’s hand is tucked into the back of Todoroki’s knee, holding it there even though their play fight is over. It alights something in Todoroki that’s been simmering in him all morning, that he’s beginning to associate with Bakugou’s presence instead of heated moments alone.

So he welcomes it when Bakugou cups his palm around his thigh, stroking up the length of it right up to the crease where thigh becomes ass. At Bakugou’s pause, Todoroki looks down, finding Bakugou looking back at him with a quirked eyebrow.

He lifts his hand to answer Bakugou’s question, stroking the sharp line of his jaw with his fingers and tracing the seam of Bakugou’s lips with his thumb. It’s intimate, and Bakugou doesn’t take it passively, parting his lips and laving at the pad of Todoroki’s thumb.

Arousal lingers between them, both of them hyper-aware of the scent. Bakugou’s is much more prominent in the air than last time, it has Todoroki’s nose twitching. His brain stutters, body slowing to almost a complete stop as he prioritises working out what those pheromones mean. But Bakugou has a knack for distracting him. With his body already responding just to the scent of him, it’s easy for Bakugou to rile him up just by sucking lewdly on his thumb and letting that hand wander to palm at Todoroki’s ass cheek and squeeze.

Dazed, Todoroki lets out an approving little moan before he can realise how ridiculous it sounds. Bakugou’s scent spikes. Todoroki gets a little dizzier.

It’s then that he realises what is happening. To be so easily affected by pheromones that have made no contact with any of his scent glands means Bakugou is coming on towards his first rut. Something bottoms out in Todoroki’s stomach.

They’re going to spend that rut together, that’s part of what being mates means. He’s so affected by Bakugou just like this nevermind when he’s leaking rut pheromones all over the place and horny as a dog. And he’s going to want to- Todoroki stops himself. He buries his, now tomato red, face in the pillow and tries not to imagine Bakugou being- being- inside him- as his fingers now wander closer to his crotch. Bakugou gives Todoroki’s thumb one last suck before pulling away.

“You okay?” Bakugou asks, voice low. Todoroki nods into the pillow. He breathes deep through his mouth so as not to be knocked out with pheromones again, attempting to regulate himself a little and ease the full body blush he can feel hot on his skin. Bakugou’s hand drifts again, fingers hooking into the waistband of his pants and tugging. “Can I take these off?” Todoroki takes his time, emerging from his hiding spot in the pillow when he feels ready.

“Yeah,” he rasps, wondering when his throat closed up. The fabric slips down his thighs between Bakugou’s fingers easily, although it gets a little tangled at his knees. He kicks them off, pushing them away under the covers until they fall out over the edge of the bed. By the time he’s done, Bakugou’s head has appeared on the pillow next to him, eyes studying him again.

Todoroki pushes their bodies together, Bakugou slipping his leg between his and pressing his thigh up against his sex, only the thin cotton of Todoroki’s shorts standing between them. His head swims.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Bakugou frowns, “you’re kind of out of it.” Todoroki scoffs at the gall of it.

“You’re the one leaking rutfuck pheromones everywhere,” the words slur a little. He knows he’s beyond dazed. He doesn’t feel like risking standing up with the way the world is spinning while he’s laid down. Bakugou’s frown gets deeper, worry creeping into his expression.

“It’s not coming for another few weeks yet,” he explains. Todoroki is as lost as Bakugou on this one. He’s got no idea why he’s so drunk on Bakugou’s scent, not that he dislikes it. “Maybe I should go see Recovery Girl,” Bakugou thinks aloud. Todoroki agrees but makes no motion to show it. This wouldn’t be the first time someone just so happened to have strong pheromones, or someone just so happened to be more susceptible, but it never hurts to check.

“We both have to go see her,” Todoroki says instead. He’ll need some shots before he can actually go through any rut cycle with Bakugou and they still haven’t registered each other as mates in a medical capacity.

“We can go later this afternoon,” Bakugou says. Todoroki expects Bakugou to go right back to being handsy. But Bakugou takes his chin between thumb and forefinger, tilting Todoroki’s head back to study his face better. “Your brain turned mulch, huh?”

“Oi,” Todoroki frowns at him. Despite knowing he’s a mess he can’t seem to snap himself out of it, especially with Bakugou distracting him. Worse, he must look just as out of it as he feels. But Bakugou smiles at him, one of those rare little curves that make Todoroki’s tummy flip. Suddenly he doesn’t care anymore, too busy staring dumbstruck at Bakugou to worry about his own expression.

Bakugou nuzzles at his cheek, leaving fleeting kisses across his jaw. Maybe Bakugou isn’t so good with words, Todoroki notices, but he’s somehow mastered affectionate body language. It’s so ridiculously sweet and un-Bakugou that when he finally brings their lips together Todoroki feels like he could cry, emotion swelling and spilling over in a swift rush. He’s never considered himself overly emotional, he hasn’t truly cried in years, and yet somehow Bakugou manages to drag it out of him. Which seems to be a theme, Bakugou pushing him right to the edge and then barreling both of them through whatever wall they’re facing. For better or worse.

And now, all of Todoroki’s hesitation, the space between them, everything has crumbled in the face of Bakugou’s will.

So he kisses him back with fervour. Todoroki making sure he’s the one to push, for once, even while overwhelmed by the purest form of affection in the book. He slides his tongue across Bakugou’s lower lip, relishing in the little hitch in his breathing before taking the chance to nip the same spot, opening his eyes to see the crease between Bakugou’s brows deepen. He takes the opportunity to roll his hips, grinding himself onto Bakugou’s thigh and groaning when Bakugou grips his hip hard enough to bruise.

Bakugou opens his eyes again, pupils dilated and grinning.

“Filthy little thing, don’t stop now.”

He relives the moment he’d frotted himself to orgasm on Bakugou’s thigh over his juice box at lunch the next day. Everything about Bakugou had been effortless, including the way he’d riled Todoroki up into something undoubtedly slutty without breaking a sweat. Recovery Girl had taken blood and hormone samples from the both of them and cleared them of any abnormalities.

Todoroki just has very sensitive scent receptors, apparently.

Although, he’s convinced it’s something to do with the way Bakugou looked wearing only a tank top and underwear. Which is frustrating. Todoroki has never considered himself sexy, nor ever really tried to be. But for Bakugou to be able to keep such a cool head while Todoroki went so glassy-eyed that he was hauled off to the nurse later that day is embarrassing.

He wants to have that sort of affect on Bakugou too.

Todoroki studies Midoriya, who is scribbling notes in a brand new notebook and muttering to himself. Midoriya, who has been mated to Kirishima for a few months now and seems to have a very positive relationship with him. Todoroki squints.

“Izuku,” he says, trying to pull his attention away from those notes. Today, it seems, Midoriya is easily distracted because he finishes the sentence he’s writing and flips his notebook closed.

“Yes?” Todoroki looks into those earnest eyes and glittering smile, studying him carefully. Yes, Kirishima trips over himself whenever Midoriya blinks those big eyes at him. Not that Bakugou will ever be so obviously smitten by anyone. Ever. But his lack of charm may have something to do with it. Maybe that’s the key difference between Todoroki and Midoriya. Todoroki just isn’t cute. Just not very omegan overall, really. For all he knows, that could be the problem. He’s struck by the irony that all his time spent acting like he’s not an omega is backfiring now.

But he’s not ready to give in that easily. Surely there are things he can do to get around his lack of charm. He looks around them, noticing that, as long as they don’t raise their voices, no one should overhear them from over here at their table.

“Do you ever do anything special for Kirishima?” he asks, careful to keep his voice even. Midoriya blinks at him as though this question isn’t awkward as all hell. He fiddles with his pen a little, obviously mulling it over. Although he’s dreading the answer, Todoroki appreciates he has a friend like Midoriya, who will always do his best to advise.

“Well, sometimes I make dinner for the both of us. It’s nice to just spend time together…” and off he goes, rambling out the rest of his thoughts. Not the kind of answer Todoroki wanted, really. He and Bakugou already have their, now oddly romantic, breakfasts down to a fine art. Todoroki sees the misunderstanding clearly but lets Midoriya talk for a minute anyway, allowing him some room to ramble happily before he destroys this innocent conversation. “... uhm, and sometimes when we go to the park together I bring cut up grapes for the ducks, he likes feeding them-”

“I meant sexually,” Todoroki deadpans. Midoriya’s jaw drops. He can practically hear the crickets chirping. Seeing that he's not getting anywhere with that, he tries again. “For example, do you ever- wear anything different?” At that Midoriya closes his mouth, audibly gulping. Just as Todoroki expected, Midoriya thinks about the question, battling through the embarrassment like a true friend.

Although, he is very pink.

“Well, I- I’ve never worn one of those- uhm- sexy costume things,” Midoriya stutters, “but I try to wear nice clothes and, uh, underwear,” he finishes, still glowing. The embarrassment seemingly killing off his long-winded nature.

“What constitutes nice clothes?” Todoroki questions, leaning in as Midoriya’s voice gets smaller.

“I wear those- uh- omega pyjamas, you know, with the really tiny pink shorts,” he admits. Todoroki knows what he’s referring to, they’re often lacy and floral, sometimes not even opaque. “But that’s really a personal preference, you don’t have to wear those just to look nice,” he continues. Todoroki tries to picture what he would look like in pink lace and draws a blank, but he stashes it away in his memory as a last resort.

“I’m not sure I’d suit it,” he thinks aloud. Midoriya hums his agreement.

“You’d look a lot better in white,” he mumbles. Todoroki’s ears burn. He’d never considered what colours might suit him, even when Fuyumi had told him off for wearing colours that clash with his red hair. That might be useful.

“Anything else?” He asks, that he's beginning to feel hopeless showing through if Midoriya's sympathetic smile is anything to go by.

“I don’t know, Shouto-kun, it’s hard to say when it’s not for a specific situation.” Midoriya shrugs.

“Alright-” Todoroki begins.

“Oh no, you’re actually going to tell me,” Midoriya shoves his face into his hands.

“I have a mate now,” Midoriya’s head springs up, eyes wide. “He’s very- aesthetically pleasing and I feel like, since I’m not very physically appealing as an ome- ah, you know- that I should probably wear something nicer than my winter pyjamas.” When Midoriya doesn’t move, or even blink, for a slightly worrying amount of time, Todoroki waves his hand before Midoriya’s face.

The next thing he knows his wrist is caught in Midoriya’s hand and he’s sniffing at Todoroki’s scent gland.

He drops his wrist like it’s burned him.

Which, for a second, Todoroki thinks he has. Until he realises that’s the wrong side of his quirk. Midoriya leans back in his chair, tipping over the back and rubbing the heels of his hands into his eyes.

“Kacchan,” Midoriya breathes. Which only makes Todoroki wonder how close Bakugou and Midoriya really are for Midoriya to be able to recognise Bakugou’s scent on someone else. “You’re asking me what to wear to mate Kacchan,” he elaborates, seemingly to himself. Or at least that’s what Todoroki hopes because he has no appropriate answer.

“If it’s too uncomfortable I could ask Iida what he thinks would be appro-” Midoriya snaps forward again, eyes blazing with new determination.

“You can’t ask an alpha, they’re all tasteless in the end. I won’t let you look like a cheap hooker!” He declares, stabbing a finger in the air at Todoroki’s face. Despite his reaction, and embarrassment, Todoroki finds himself smiling at Midoriya’s determination to elevate Todoroki in all areas of his life. Including his sex life, apparently.

He only hopes he can return the favour. Preferably in some other aspect of Midoriya’s life though.

“What do you suggest?” He prompts, taking another sip of his juice. Midoriya grins, eyes dark, flipping his notebook open again and brandishing his pen like a weapon.

“I’ll write this all down for you and by the time we’re done, you’ll be dynamite.”

Very well aligned with Bakugou's tastes. Todoroki nods his assent.

#todobaku #bakutodo #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #katsuki bakugou #todoroki shouto #platonic tododeku #wrae writes

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fangyanstore · 2 years

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Best sexy sleepwear for women in summer

There’s nothing like a good night’s sleep, and with these sexy sleepwear options, you’ll be getting your beauty rest in style! From flirty negligees to comfortable pajamas, we’ve got everything you need to feel confident and beautiful as you drift off to dreamland. So relax, unwind, and get ready to catch some zzz’s in the best sleepwear around.

As the temperatures start to soar, it’s time to retire those heavy flannels and cozy sweaters and break out the summer sleepwear. But while you might be tempted to just throw on a T-shirt and some shorts, why not add a little bit of sex appeal to your bedtime look?

Summertime is the perfect time to stock up on sexy sleepwear! With the weather getting warmer, there’s no need to bundle up in heavy pajamas. Check out these sexy sleepwear pieces that will keep you cool and comfortable all summer long.

Sexy sleepwear is a must have for any woman’s wardrobe. Not only does it make you feel confident and attractive, but it can also be very comfortable and functional. Looking for the perfect sexy sleepwear for women this summer? Look no further! In this article, we’ll show you some of the best options available right now.

Sexy pajamas are a must-have for any woman who wants to feel confident and sexy while sleep.

So what are you waiting for? Check out our list of the best sexy sleepwear for women and find the perfect outfit to make you feel confident and beautiful.

What should I wear to sleep?

Lying in bed, scrolling through your phone is usually the last thing you want to do before hitting the hay. But what if your pajamas were so cute, you couldn’t resist? Here are six of our favorite sexy sleepwear picks for summer, that will make you want to stay in bed all day.

Summer is a time when the weather is hot and women want to wear sexy sleepwear to bed. There are many different types of sexy sleepwear for women to choose from.

Some women like to wear nightgowns, some women like to wear robes, and some women like to wear pajamas. No matter what type of sexy sleepwear you choose, it is important to feel comfortable and sexy in it.

Here are some of the best types of sexy sleepwear for women in summer:

1. Nightgowns

Nightgowns are a popular type of sexy sleepwear for women in summer. Nightgowns are typically made of thin, lightweight materials such as cotton or silk, which help to keep you cool during the hot summer months.

So why not do it in style? With the right sleepwear, you can feel confident and sexy all day long. Here are our top picks for the sexiest sleepwear of the summer.

2. Sexy lingerie

There’s no better way to feel sexy and confident than by wearing some beautiful lingerie. Choose something that makes you feel comfortable and attractive, and you’ll be sure to feel great all night long.

3. Cute pajamas

Pajamas don’t have to be frumpy and boring! Choose a cute pair with a flattering fit and you’ll look great when you crawl into bed.

4. Sexy robe

A sexy robe is a must-have for any woman’s sleepwear wardrobe.With summer just around the corner, it’s time to start thinking about what you’ll wear to bed. While most people might think that pajamas are just pajamas, there are actually a lot of different styles and materials to choose from. If you’re looking for something that’s both sexy and comfortable, then read on for our recommendations of the best sexy sleepwear for women in summer.

Silk is always a good choice for summertime sleepwear, as it’s light and airy. Plus, silk is known for being very gentle on the skin, making it a good choice for those with sensitive skin. If you’re looking for something that will keep you cool during the hot summer nights, then silk is definitely the fabric to go for. Another great option for summer sleepwear is cotton.

How to be sexy in cheap sleepwear?

Summer is the perfect time to wear sexy sleepwear. It can keep you cool and comfortable while you sleep. It can be hard to find sexy sleepwear that’s also comfortable and cool enough for summertime. we’ll recommend some of the best sexy sleepwear for women that will keep you cool and comfortable all season long.

We’ll start by recommending a few different types of sleepwear that are perfect for summertime. Then, we’ll give you some tips on how to choose the right style and size of sleepwear for your body type. Finally, we’ll show you some of our favorite sexy sleepwear options for summer. Summer is the time to get sexy and show some skin! With the weather warming up, it’s the perfect time to break out your sexiest sleepwear. From lingerie to pajamas, we’ve got you covered with the best styles for summer.

#sleepwear for women #Women's wear #designer clothing #fangyan #muzkin #Best Women's Wear #women dresses #women tops #women pants #women skirts #women coats

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mydisasteracademia · 3 years

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SFW Alphabet: Inko Midoriya

Everyone’s favorite mama! I’m going into this fully aware that as of this date (With up to chapter 308 released), she’s still married and we don’t know (wink wink) who the husband is (WINK WINK). But, well, when has that stopped shippers before? (pointedly looks at ToshInko shippers)

Meh, I can’t judge. Enjoy!

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Much like her son, Inko can be very affectionate to those she loves. Whenever you’re around her, she can usually be seen holding your hand or standing close to your side. She loves hugs and will blush red as a tomato if you happen to pick her up and squeeze. Give this sweet woman all of the hugs, she’s so precious.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Ironically, she’s the Mom Friend. Constantly worrying about your wellbeing, treating you to snacks whenever you look even the slightest bit hungry, bringing you homemade lunches, treating your injuries -- you name it. Your friendship probably started with a chance meeting somewhere, or perhaps you recognized her son from Yuuei and went over excitedly talking about the both of them and how great his mother must be if he turned out to be such a good kid. Both blush in embarrassment, but Inko is happy that her son is so well-received. The two of you end up talking more later, and from then on, as they say, is history.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Oh she is the QUEEN of cuddles. She can be self-conscious of her own appearance and weight, but if you’ll stand it, she loves cuddling up to you. Usually she likes to lean into your side and rest her head on your shoulder, but if you settle her into your lap, she likes to hug you. She’ll protest, but just reassure her and she’ll fold.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Inko has literally been a single mother for the past however many years her husband has been absent; since we’ve literally never seen a glimpse of him, even in passing photos, I’m going to assume she’s been a housewife since Izuku’s birth and a single mother since he was around 4-5. She knows how to cook and clean very well. Considering that she’s already in her 40′s with one child (and we’re going to blissfully pretend she’s divorced/widowed), she’s very reluctant to settle down again, citing her age as a big factor. But if you’re serious enough and if you’ll have her, eventually she’ll cave due to her deep feelings for you too.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

I know you’re expecting me to say she’ll cry here, but she’s proven to have extreme emotional strength. Yes, she will cry -- but you won’t see it. She’ll calmly sit you down and tell you that she’s been thinking of ending your relationship, and ask if you’re okay with it or if you want to work things out. If you both decide to end it, she stresses that she’s alright with remaining friends if you want that too -- and as soon as you leave, she breaks down into tears.

F = Fiancé(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

I’m assuming she married late in her 20′s because she had a successful career before Izuku was born, and again, that she’s divorced/widowed. She’s extremely hesitant to get married again, considering her age and status as a single mother. She doesn’t want to drag anyone down with her personal life and past mistakes, even if she really, really loves you. It causes her a lot of stress and it will take a lot of insistence from you that you want to get married for her to finally set aside her own insecurities and agree.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Inko is such a gentle sweetheart. She’s always so kind to you and it carries over after you get into a relationship. Her touches are soft and so is she, both physically and emotionally. She hates conflict and is inclined to agree with you on a lot of things, but she can be stubborn on certain topics. Mostly, she’s just so happy to have met you and loves you so deeply she can’t stand it. A lot of the time, she acts like a shy, giddy schoolgirl in love again because that’s what you make her feel like.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

She LOVES hugs. If you’re okay with physical touch, she’ll hug you at least a few times a day. It’s more than just touch, it’s reminding you of how much she loves you. If you aren’t used to it/don’t like it, she’s fine with it (she gets hugs from Izuku of course), and she’ll show you affection in other ways, like giving you gifts or homemade cooking.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

It happens sometime maybe a year or so into your friendship. She blurts it out without thinking one day, and then claps a hand over her mouth and blushes bright red. She wants to die of embarrassment right there, because she has no idea if you feel the same.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

She can get fairly jealous of other people taking away your time, but at the same time she’s resigned to it. She genuinely feels like you could do so much better than her and isn’t mad, but gets kinda depressed in private and stress-eats.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Her kisses are feather-light and hesitant. She loves to give you sweet little pecks on your cheek or forehead, and she just melts if you give her a forehead kiss in return. She turns bright red when you kiss her lips, and she starts stuttering and covers her face with her hands.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

You already know she’s one of the Best Moms. She can handle children very well, having brought up eternal-bundle-of-energy Izuku all by herself.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Given that you live together, she gets up first to get ready for the day. Sometimes she wakes you up with breakfast in bed, other times she greets you as you come to the kitchen to help her. The two of you eat breakfast together before truly starting your day.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Once you both are all wound down for the night, she likes to lay in bed with you and talk about your day. This leads to snuggling, with slow kisses and smiles as you both fall asleep.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

She keeps her cards fairly close to her chest most of the time, but as your friendship progresses month after month she reveals fond family memories and talks about her fears, stresses, and hopes and dreams for both her and her son’s futures. Once you start to get serious, she peppers in more intimate tidbits here and there.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

She can be very patient, having brought up Izuku, who was a smol bundle of boundless energy when he was a kid. It takes a lot to get her to snap. If you wanna speedrun it, just talk trash about her son and/or his classmates.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

She remembers a lot about you. If you tell her something, she saves it for later. If she happens to see little things about you, she saves it for later. She doesn’t remember every single little thing, but things like your favorite color, food, scent, animal, your birthday -- she remembers all of those and more.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

The day you told her you loved her for the first time and that you were serious about a relationship together. For so long she’s been alone with just her son, and now here you are, a new face who saw her with all of her faults and setbacks and loves her regardless.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

She’s very protective. She can become quite the mama bear when it comes to those she loves, and she would even stand up to a villain in order to protect you. She appreciates it when you’ve got her back too, however, but not to the point that you consider her a damsel in distress who needs saving 24/7.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

She puts so much effort into everything she does for and with you because she desperately wants you to know that she really does love you. She writes down every anniversary and gives you gifts on every date. She kisses you at least once a day and tells you she loves you.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

She has the tendency to stress-eat whenever she’s anxious or depressed. In recent years she’s tried to lose weight, but she has the unfortuante tendency to worry about everything all the time, and it’s really curbed her efforts and makes her depressed, thus repeating the cycle. She also worries. A lot. If you aren’t patient, it can get a little annoying.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

She’s incredibly self-conscious about how she looks. She knows that when she was young, she was quite attractive (of course she still is, but she doesn’t see it that way), and now that she’s older she doesn’t feel quite as sexy as she used to. She tends to talk herself down a lot as a ‘frumpy old lady’.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

She could live without you, in all honesty. She’s done it with Hisashi, and she can do it again. Granted, it would feel like absolute shit, and she’ll be depressed for quite a while, but she will survive. She has to.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

I absolutely love the thought that Izuku’s friends decide to throw him a surprise birthday party and they track her down to get her help with it, and that’s how she gets to know every one of her son’s new friends (and probably gushes about how thrilled she is to see him so happy these days). (She will literally fight Enji if he dares put a hand on Shouto once she finds out his backstory.)

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

Someone who’s too cynical/mean. As much as she can tolerate Mitsuki’s weird relationship with her son, she doesn’t want to be romantically involved with someone who’s super mean to others, especially not to her. I don’t think she would appreciate a super-tsundere.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

She’s had a regular sleep schedule with Izuku in the house, and even now she tries to keep to that routine.

#sfw alphabet #midoriya inko #inko midoriya

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