#And I find reading my own shit to lack any of the fun others imagines/fics does

[neon-lights-stardust-nights]

My favorite thing is people who talk in the tags about the reader's sex instead of plainly tagging the type of sex happening. That is 100% very helpful to people who do not want to read that. You clogging up the search results is very fun, and I hope you have a wonderful day absolutely free of vats of lego bricks. /sarcasm

[becca-e-barnes]

Take Care of Everything

This is my first ever fic for a writing challenge omg I’m so excited! Huge congratulations to @balenciagabucky for hitting 3K followers!! That’s such a huge milestone and thank you for organising such a fun challenge! So excited to read the rest of the submissions 💗 @dulceslibrary

Pairing: Personal Assistant! Bucky Barnes x Lawyer! Reader

Word Count: 3.5k maybe?

Summary: There’s only one thing in your life that your PA doesn’t take care of

Warnings: Smut, praise kink, pet names, protected sex (go me for writing something safe sex for a change), court mention, lil fluff, mile high club

Minors, do not interact.

“Un-fucking-believable.” You couldn’t stop the roaring boil of the blood in your veins, storming out of the court room with your long black gown billowing behind you. Being one of the top barristers in the country brought it’s fair share of high profile cases but this one had got on every last nerve in your body and you were out of patience.

The case itself wasn’t the problem. The issues were straightforward enough and applying law to fact, at the most basic level, your client had done nothing wrong. It should have been essentially cut and dry. The problem was the opposing council and the lack of intervention from the judge.

The prosecution had torn your witness to shreds. You had tried to warn the poor woman beforehand, as you did with every client, but on the stand, she had just crumbled under such an intense and downright ignorant line of questioning.

It shouldn’t have even been allowed in the first place. The judge should have stepped in and clipped the opposing council’s wings but the damage was already done and now you would have to pick the pieces up when court resumed on Monday.

“How did it go?” Your personal assistant must have been leaning outside the courtroom door for who knows how long, his suit somehow as neat and pristine as always, despite the fact it was the end of the day.

“Fucking dreadful, Terry was an asshole to Andrea and she lost it. Should’ve known he’d pull shit like that, he’s always a cunt on Friday evenings.” You practically spat the words out, heels clicking on the floor as you made your way down the marble hall to collect your things and begin to put an end to this miserable week.

Part of you almost wanted to laugh at how Bucky had developed the skill of being able to keep up with your pace without even having to look up from his blackberry. That only came from years of practice.

“Terry loves playing with fire. Fuck him. If anyone can put him in his place on Monday, it’s you.” Bucky still hadn’t taken a second to pull his nose up from his phone, his steps landing in perfect time with yours until you reached the chamber at the end of the hall, throwing the heavy wooden door open in front of you. Bucky filtered in behind you of course, closing the door behind him before slipping his phone neatly into his pocket.

“Thought your doctor warned you about your blood pressure? You gotta calm down.” Bucky’s face showed he was genuinely concerned, his eyebrows knitted together in disdain but there was nothing new there. He had worked for you for years now and truth be told, he was damn good at his job, not to mention the fact he was the closest thing to a friend your busy schedule allowed you to have.

“I’ll calm down when I’m dead. We need to get to the airport if we’re going to make that flight for the convention.” You pulled your wig off, setting it neatly into the little wooden closet before removing your gown, hanging it up alongside the other worn ones from earlier in the week so they could all be dry cleaned and back in the closet for Monday.

“It’s a private jet honey, it can’t leave without you.” Bucky laughed softly, knowing you were worked up and hoping a little joke would ease the tension.

You had to admit, you were so thankful for Bucky. He was devoting the prime of his life to making sure you had everything you needed, your life only felt so seamless because Bucky made it that way. He didn’t just manage your calendar and fetch you coffee like any other PA, he lived and breathed you. He went everywhere with you, crashing in your spare room at least three nights a week because you had both worked yourselves to exhaustion. He never missed anything. He had a solution for every problem, nothing was too big for him to tackle and given the chance, you two could absolutely take over the world one day. You confided in him, and he in you, getting to know every tiny detail of his life in the past few years, right down to that fact that neither of you had seen your family or been on a date in months. Hell, he’d went as far as buying you a packet of batteries one Monday after a particularly long and stressful court hearing.

“Here, got you these.” He had smiled mischievously as he handed them over to you, chuckling a little at your confused expression. “For your vibrator. Looks like it’s gonna be a long week.” You took them gratefully, joking with him that you really would need them, tucking them into your handbag and damn were they appreciated. The following morning he had asked how you had got on and you could only laugh. You didn’t tell him how thoughts of him had come into your head right as you had gotten close. Similarly, you didn’t tell him how painfully intense your orgasm had been when you imagined him on the bed with you, watching you come apart against the plastic toy. You could just picture his hungry gaze, watching how your body gushed as you released, nipples pebbled from arousal and your lips parted, a single whimper of his name escaping you as you rode out your high.

No, that was a little secret you would keep to yourself. He didn’t need to know your dirtiest fantasies. He was an employee. An employee that often arrived at your bedroom door shirtless and smirking, holding a stack of freshly made pancakes on the mornings he stayed over at yours but an employee nonetheless.

—————————

The cab ride to the airport would have been silent if it hadn’t been for the gentle tapping of your thumbs and Bucky’s racing over your respective phone screens. You had at least two dozen emails left to reply to and your eyelids were beginning to get heavy, the body heat radiating from Bucky in the cab’s back seat making you drowsy. You took a second, squeezing your eyes shut to force away the tiredness before going back to typing relentlessly.

The trip to the airport was short, Bucky had competed the preflight checkin so you essentially stepped straight onto the plane, taking a seat by the window, with Bucky taking the one opposite you. Takeoff was smooth as always, your phones picked back up as soon as it was safe to do so. But with the glowing screen came a fresh wave of drowsiness, your eyelids threatening to close of their own accord.

“Shit, Buck did you pack my -“

“Glasses? Left side of your bag, under the tissues.” Bucky finished your sentence for you, not looking up from his phone.

“And my -“

“Eye drops? In your makeup bag.” There it was again. What surprised you most was that Bucky didn’t even need to see you to work out exactly what was wrong.

“Do you really just take care of everything?” You huffed out a little laugh, digging through your bag, finding both your glasses and eye drops exactly where he told you they would be.

“Everything but you.” He chuckled, finally setting his phone down.

“What do you mean ‘everything but me’? All you ever do is take care of me. You organise my shopping and dry cleaning for god’s sake.” The whole notion of Bucky doing anything but taking care of you was just insane because you sure as hell didn’t have time to do any of those things for yourself. That’s what you hired him for after all.

“I didn’t mean like that. I meant like really take care of you. You’re so damn up tight.” You knew by the little chuckle that accompanied his words that he meant it affectionately but it still made you slightly defensive.

“I’m not up tight.” You protested. Normally you would’ve let harmless comments like that slide but the combination of your shitty day and the fact you were so sleepy made it impossible to not seek out conflict. This was the life you were used to after all. A life of treating almost everyone you came across adversarially. It was second nature to you at this point, inside and outside the courtroom.

“Come on, you seem to forget I am your calendar. You think I don’t know you haven’t gotten any in months? You should get laid, that’s all I’m sayin’. Wouldn’t kill you to have an orgasm every once in a while.” The words roll off his tongue like it’s nothing and truth be told, if you were in better form, this would have been a perfectly normal conversation between the two of you. Neither of you were particularly shy when it came to talking about your hookups.

You hated how right he was. You hated that you hadn’t been touched in months and Bucky knew that. You hated that most days, you were too exhausted to bother tending to your own needs. And you hated the warmth spreading through your body at the thought of Bucky finally taking care of you.

“Don’t know Buck, an orgasm might actually kill me with my high blood pressure.” You needed this conversation to turn more light hearted and you needed it fast, before your head became so clouded with need that Bucky picked up on it.

“I mean, I handle everything else for you. Wouldn’t even mind if that became part of my remit.” You almost couldn’t believe how carefree and nonchalant this whole conversation seemed, Bucky hoping you missed how he cock twitched in his trousers. Of course you didn’t. You missed nothing.

“If what became part of your remit?” You quizzed firmly, trying not to give anything away but knowing your eyes had gone big and doe-like, entirely of their own accord. This was a dream come true.

“You. Actually taking care of you. However you need.” His stare was intense, watching you keenly to determine whether he had horrendously overstepped and was about to get fired.

“Why would you even want to?” Your voice carried every single ounce of confusion you were feeling, staring Bucky down with an intensity that mirrored his own in that moment.

“You’re far too smart to act dumb.” He replied softly, knowing it was all or nothing now. If he was getting fired, he might as well be honest. His head tilted downwards, drawing your attention to the bulge growing in his suit trousers. Years worth of need and longing bubbling over all at once.

“If you want this, tell me. If not, that’s fine. But it doesn’t need to be anything romantic. Can be just sex. Whatever you want.” He was doing his very best to stay calm, his brain finally catching up with his mouth and considering that he was now in way too deep to just apologise and about to get his ass handed to him at thousands of feet in the air by one of the best legal minds in the world.

You’d never wanted anything more in your life. It was almost like Bucky was dangling himself in front of you. A piece of meat before a lion that could be snatched away at any second. You weren’t going to give him the chance, professionalism be damned. You were out of your seat and onto his lap in a flash, your pencil skirt hiked up to allow you to bracket his legs in your own.

“Are you sure about this?” Your quizzed softly, giving him one last chance to back out before you lost all self control.

“Do I feel like I’m not sure?” His voice was almost a choked whisper, his hands landing on your hips to press you down against his stiff cock.

You’d never seen him like this before. Horny and needy and losing himself in the feeling of you on top of him after years of fantasies. He had tried to curb the fantasies but his body didn’t allow him to. You were all he could think of on those lonely nights, a hand wrapped around his cock, groans and whimpers escaping until he came over his hand, a cry of your name pulled from his lips. He thought you would never know. And now here he was, the woman of his dreams perched in his lap, asking to be taken care of. Even the filthiest parts of his brain couldn’t have come up with this.

He could never have dreamt how you moved forward so tentatively, your lips hardly even touching his. He was used to seeing you confident, in control, the calmest person under pressure and yet here you were, unsure of yourself for the first time, he imagined, in your life. You both kept your eyes open for a little while, your lips sliding together gently, getting a feel for one another, up until your teeth sank into the plush skin of his bottom lip and an actual groan left him, his eyelids fluttering shut. The sound could’ve made you quiver with need. It was so alarmingly sexy, knowing your huge, sexy PA could be taken apart with the smallest touches. Suddenly, this seemed to be as much, if not more, for Bucky’s benefit than your own.

“Thought this was for me, hm?” Somehow your condescending court voice was pushing him over the edge. You felt one of his hands come up, tangling in your hair while the other wrapped around your waist, pulling your core flush with his clothed cock. He kissed you with a burning intensity that made your head swim and your pussy throb, loving how he was taking control but still hurtling further into a breathless, needy state.

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve thought about this. Didn’t think we’d be joining the mile high club.” He huffed out a little light laugh, using his grip on your waist to help you roll your hips over his growing erection.

“Couldn’t have been thinking about this for as long as I have.” You smiled softly, letting out a little gasp as his cock nudged you just right through your panties that you were sure had been soaked through already. His eyes went wide at your admission, his dick twitching deliciously underneath you.

“Fuck, that’s the hottest thing I’ve ever heard.” He whispered, making you laugh at how eager he was.

“I won’t be able to wait until we’re off this plane Bucky. You gonna fuck me right here?” You teased him softly, your faces so close, your tiny hands running down his pristine shirt, toying with the buttons. When you began to graze his chest gently with your nails, it was like a switch flipped inside Bucky. He thrust up against you with a growl loving the yelp you let out, one hand now squeezing your ass, the other massaging your breasts through your blouse.

“Gonna fuck all the stress out of you. Gonna have you leavin’ this plane leakin’ and cockdrunk.” Somehow you didn’t even doubt his words and you had to admit, it did sound quite appealing to give up the control for a while, just letting Bucky take over.

“Gimme all you’ve got Barnes. Gotta make it worth my while or this is gonna be the last time you get the chance.” You couldn’t help but tease him before instantly realising that might have been a mistake, his lips burning hot as they worked against your own, needy, insistent and as always, eager to please.

His mouth was relentless to the point that you found yourself practically dry humping his cock, your hands laced in his hair while his untucked your blouse from your skirt, greedily holding onto any skin he could reach. He tasted of peppermint and coffee, smelt like the expensive aftershave you were so fond of and felt like a man who’s only purpose in life was to make you cum until it hurt.

“Need you. ‘Nside me. Now.” You managed somehow to pant the words out between the fervent slide of his lips over yours, his tongue dipping in to taste you, never wanting this to end.

The feeling of your much smaller hands landing on his belt buckle made him look down but he could’ve cum then and there at the sight that met him. The front of his suit pants were slick with your mess, proof that he wasn’t just dreaming and you really were needing this just as badly as he was.

“You’re so fuckin’ ready for it aren’t you? Look at the mess you’ve made. Why didn’t we do this years ago?” He was groaning, shifting in his seat to help you get his trousers and boxers down. You couldn’t help how you gasped a little at the sheer size of him, his cock thick and long, the head slick with precum, proud veins running up his shaft. He looked Godly. Two firm pumps was all it took to have his head thrown back against the plush leather seat, cursing and bucking against your hand, aching for more.

“I’m sorry Buck, I can’t wait any longer.” You panted, his lips attached to your neck now, kissing, licking and sucking all his frustration into your skin. If there was a time for foreplay, that wasn’t it. Neither of you had the patience right now.

“Thank God, needa feel this pretty pussy.” He all but whispered as you lined him up at your soaking entrance.

“Shit Bucky, you got a condom?” You asked anxiously, stilling yourself at the last second.

“My bag, zip compartment at the front.” He replied quietly and sure enough, that’s exactly where you found a packet. Tearing the wrapper off, you slid it down his length earning another groan from the huge man who was practically shaking beneath you.

“You think of everything.” You giggled, finally beginning to slowly sink yourself down onto him. Your laugh quickly turned into a breathy moan, your breath mingling with Bucky’s and you noticed how he made a very similar noise. You pressed yourself down slowly, your body having to adjust to the stretch.

“So tight, fuck. Shit, never felt a tighter pussy in my life.” He whispered when you were finally seated on top of him. He pulled your skirt out of the way to appreciate just how connected your bodies were in that moment. His cock just seemed to fit perfectly, so snug you could’ve cried as you began to slowly work your hips against his.

“Oh my god Bucky you’re huge.” You should’ve been embarrassed by how high and needy your whine came out but right then and there, you didn’t care.

“It’s all yours sweetheart. Gonna fuck you so good you never need another cock again. Gonna ruin anyone else for you - fuck.” Under normal circumstances you would’ve chastised him for being so overconfident but feeling how his cock nudged your sweet spot perfectly, you thought he might actually be right.

“Gotta fuck you angel, can’t just sit here anymore, ‘s driving me crazy.” He just couldn’t keep himself still any longer, lust burning behind his eyes in a way you had never seen in him before. You lifted yourself up slowly, feeling his length slipping from you, your walls fighting to pull him deeper until you sank back down, taking the whole length at once. The strangled cry that left Bucky was incredible. You repeated your gentle rise and fall, setting a decent pace. Every sharp fall of your hips tore a needy gasp from both of you, the sweetest spot inside you throbbing from the almost constant onslaught. It was everything you craved. Bucky was grasping at every curve of your body, lost in the feeling of your soft skin and the grip of your silky walls and the smell of your shampoo as you rode him, building speed as your pleasure built in your lower belly. The wet sounds escaping where your bodies were joined was nothing short of obscene, only fuelling Bucky to meet each of your thrusts with his own.

“Oh my god, I -oh oh- I can’t, can’t take it Bucky please.” You groaned, manicured fingernails digging into his chest.

“I got you honey. ‘s okay. Gonna take such good care of you when we get to the hotel. Just want you to cum once for me now, okay? Take the edge off. You feel so good wrapped round me. You know what else I can feel? Your pretty pussy is leakin’. Feel you drippin’ down over my balls. Never felt anything so hot in my ‘ntire life.” His fingers fell to your clit, rubbing neatly as if he had been trained to do nothing else. You were on cloud nine, your high so close but not quite there yet.

“Bucky, gonna cum. Oh fuck!” You whined, your orgasm hitting you like a train. You came with a loud cry, eyes squeezed shut, rocking against him more than fucking so his cock stayed buried inside you.

“Shit, how did you get even fuckin’ tighter. ‘M so close.” He whispered against your neck, broken and needy. Your high had all but subsided, aftershocks still pleasantly coursing through you as you went back to letting your hips rise and fall so Bucky could finish. It only took four more well timed thrusts before he was cumming with a shout, pulling you flush against him as his balls emptied into the condom.

You were both spent and sweaty but more satisfied than you could remember being in months, your chest pressed to his as you both came down, craving a little extra affection. Bucky held you for a good few minutes until you felt his cock softening, knowing he really should get cleaned up. You let him slip from you, pulling your skirt down to take your original seat across from him again.

“Gimme a second.” He whispered, kissing your forehead before making his way to the little bathroom, returning a few minutes later looking just as put together as ever, apart from his telltale grin.

“Jesus, we should do that more often.” You smiled quietly when he returned, letting him settle in the chair beside you this time, the dividing arm rest pushed out of the way so you could cuddle as much as possible given the limited space.

“I can’t stop now honey. That pussy is addictive.” He smiled, happy to see you leaning so comfortably up against him but even happier when he heard your soft little snores.

Taglist:

@harrysthiccthighss @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123 @justatirednightowl @littlecanadianlani @babebr @sebsbrokentoe @badgirlwolfy

[thefanficmonster]

Just Another One

Sequel to: ‘A Little Bit Of Honesty’

Corpse Husband x Actress!Reader (Female)

Warnings: Angst, Heartbreak, Mention of bad past relationships, Swearing

Genre: Angst, Romance, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: They keep proving each other right in the most wrong ways possible. They each want to be guarded even if that means the other will be hurt. Maybe that’s what they want - to hurt one another because they’ve already hurt each other once before.

Requested by the lovely readers who enjoyed the previous fic ‘A Little Bit Of Honesty’. Sorry for the large time gap between the posting of the two fics but I still hope you guys will take the time to read it and if so I hope you enjoy it! Love you all with all my heart, Vy ❤

When you go out of your way to avoid leaving the house your options of entertainment are severely limited and you can’t blame anyone or anything but yourself for it. Today, I wouldn’t have gone out of my apartment even if I was one of those people who frequent the outdoors seeing as how the sky is trying to flood the Earth with all this nonstop rain. It does set a mood for a perfect night in but when you spend all your nights in doing the same thing over and over again, the atmosphere is practically meaningless. And so I ‘ve decided to resort to channel surfing as though I’ll find something interesting on TV that I haven’t yet seen on one of my social media timelines.

I pass several cooking channels on my journey, making a mental note of their individual numbers in case I don’t stumble across anything capable of better distracting me from my boredom and loneliness that’s slowly starting to creep in. I pass by a few movie channels showing teenage romcoms as if to celebrate the start of summer so you can imagine how quickly I moved on from those. Then come the celebrity channels which can often get a laugh out of me because of how pathetic and unbelievably ridiculous they are. And so, I stick around one where there’s a broadcast on a movie showing that’s happening tonight in LA. Oddly enough, despite my anxiety, going to a movie showing has always been on my list of things I’d want to do. This can be considered living vicariously or rubbing salt into the wound that I’ll probably never go because my anxiety and fear of being recognized is too severe. Either way I stick around to watch it.

And man do I regret it now looking at several different angels of a couple of actors entering the venue where they are to be photographed and asked questions by the mob of paparazzi that’s gathered due to the massive event. That in and of itself doesn’t sound - and really isn’t - so bad. However, it’s important to note that the actress in this duo is Y/N. Y/N L/N. My Y/N....shit, sorry, I mean my FRIEND Y/N, her arm linked with whatever-the-fuck-his-name-is who is holding an umbrella above the both of them, shielding them from the downpour of rain that is also taking place in LA apparently.

“The two were seen entering the venue earlier this evening, looking particularly cozy in each other’s presence if I do say so myself. The rain probably worked nicely in their favor.“ The first reporter says, her teasing tone of voice sending chills of anger down my spine as I glare at the screen, hands balled in fists, jaw clenched - all my body’s instinctive reactions to what is being shown to me. I know I technically have no right to behave or feel this way, in fact I should be fucking happy for Y/N and her successful career and the progress in her love life. But damn it how can I?! I was so damn close to kissing this girl! I was so fucking close to falling in another trap, tripping and landing in the embrace of another liar and user, another girl who switches partners more often than shoes. How could I’ve been so reckless to get so close to her even platonically? How did we become close enough for me to 1) show her my face; 2) start inviting her over to my apartment regularly; and how didn’t I notice the kind of messed up person she was all that time.

She was all sweet and flirting and shit a week or so ago and now she’s doing the exact same thing with him! The cameras are capturing them perfectly: every laugh, every exchange of a knowing look or nod, ever smack to his arm when he tells a joke. But what bothers me most is the many times he’s wrapped his arm around her to pull her closer. Not just for pictures, but just because the fucker felt like it! And Y/N doesn’t seem to mind it at all. 

“They have been the talk of the town recently, so while they could just be adding fuel to the fire, they could also have been caught by the flame and ‘caught feelings’ as they say. Regardless these two are a view we’d like to see more often.“ The other reporter says and that’s the final straw.

In one swift motion I turn the TV off and throw the remote across the room. It hits the wall and falls to the ground in several pieces, broken by the force of the impact. Just like I am broken by the force of the impact of these news. I don’t know which is worse: the fact that I fell for her and almost let her know it; the fact that she’s just another member of the club I don’t want anywhere near my life; or the fact that I can’t believe it.

Yeah that’s right - one foolish part of me refuses to believe that’s she’d do such a thing. I think that’s the same part which is still in awe of her so you can bet I ignore that part the majority of the time.

She is just another one. Not the one. Having been hurt before doesn’t mean she won’t hurt me or anyone else she’s gonna be with. Hurt people hurt people.

And damn has she hurt me, probably without knowing a damn thing. How selfish can you be, Y/N? How selfish can you really get? And how much am I going to allow you to hurt me?

                                                             *  *  *

“Thank you so much, Andrew. I would’ve died on the spot of anxiety if I was on my own.“ I say to my best friend who is currently sitting next to me on a park bench, in a tux, eating a cheeseburger. I too am still in my gown and am also gorging on a cheeseburger of my own.

“Don’t mention it. Us anxious people need to stick together.“ He bumps his shoulder against mine, stealing a small genuine smile from me, “Plus I couldn’t not come with you. You know how much I like a good rumor.“

I scoff, “Of course you do, but then again there was no need to add to what the media has already made a whole-ass ship out of.” I roll my eyes and take another bite. My appetite hasn’t been in its best condition so I’m only eating this under Andrew’s orders. I have no idea how people can ship us romantically, he’s the definition of an older - and very bossy - brother to me. I wish I could tell each and every single one of those girls who hate me because I’ve ‘stolen their man’ that I’d most likely be their sister in law rather than man snatcher, seeing as how my relationship with Andrew is so sibling-like.

That’s because we’re too alike, no one gets that. People play the ‘opposites attract’ car more often than I consider rational. But  then again when they see a couple like Andrew and I - who are basically the same person in different bodies - they suddenly think we’re super compatible. Trust me, we’re not. And everyone who’s been on set with us will tell you the same.

“What can I say...“ he shrugs, smirking at me, “I like the fun. I bet Becca doesn’t though.“

I can’t help but huff. Andrew is the only one I’ve ever openly expressed my frustrations with Rebecca to. He was super helpful on the subject, seeing as how he can relate - many partners of his have tried to use him, some of which even succeeded. He’s more than qualified to school me on the topic but it turned more into sharing bad experiences. One of which was that instance back at Corpse’s apartment.

“And neither does Corpse I suppose.“ As though he’s read my mind, he pokes the hurt spot, pouring salt in the wound causing me to visibly cringe as though the pain was physical - because it was, I felt it in my chest and in my gut, a sharp stab of guilt and regret. 

Why did I let it come to that? Why did I let us get so close? How did I not think of the consequences?

“I don’t care if he does or doesn’t.“ My hand automatically reaches for the pocket of the jeans I’m not even wearing in search of a cigarette. Not that I’d be able to light one even if I had them on me - Andrew would smack it out of my hand before I could even take a single puff.

He has the audacity to laugh, “You’re such a bad liar, Y/N.”

That’s all he needs to say really - that’s enough to make me feel seen and understood. Though that’s not always a good thing. I often times wish he couldn’t read me so well. Better said: I wish I didn’t let myself be so readable, you know. I’m just glad he’s the one who sees me because if it were anyone else they’d use this vulnerability of mine against me. I’m well aware that it’s a weakness, a really inconvenient one, but damn it I can’t get rid of it. I feel like I’ll be less human if I lose it. Everyone’s allowed to be vulnerable, some just are lucky enough to choose who they’ll be vulnerable around. I’m lucky enough to to have a choice, not so lucky in the people I choose to trust. Guess that’s not a luck thing, it’s just my inability to decipher whether a person is worth all the pain and torture of coming clean to them or not. So far many people have burnt me but two stick out in particular - Becca and Corpse. Corpse especially, which is the odd thing considering he hasn’t even wronged me in any way. At least not yet.

“Your phone’s vibrating.“ Andrew says, pulling me out of my overflowing head when he hands me my phone which I handed to him because of my dress’ lack of pockets.

“Thanks.“ I mutter through a sigh as I take it from him, checking the notification I’ve gotten.

My stomach drops: it’s a message from Corpse.

“Hey I saw you are in LA but we have a stream tomorrow, will you still be participating?“

Before I can reply, he sends me another message.

“I know you’re probably very busy but we get the most viewership on the streams when you’re in them so....“

I’ve probably been staring at my phone screen for longer than I thought since Andrew felt the need to make sure I was still breathing: “Hey, you ok? You look terribly pale.” I can barely hear him let alone reply. I can’t hear my own thoughts to know what to reply to him. “Y/N, you’re scaring me.”

I’m scaring myself too, Andrew. I’m scared too. I’m scared of how broken my picker has become. I almost kissed this guy! I almost entrusted all my thoughts, hopes, wishes and goals to him! What the fuck was I thinking?! Well, at least I know what he was thinking about - viewership. Likes, subs, views, publicity. The more eyes on the stream the better for him and everyone else. I genuinely want to applaud him, no one has been so direct about using me before. I was in a relationship with Becca for almost a year before I accidentally found out what she had been doing the whole time. No one’s ever smacked me in the face with this much honesty. It’s bittersweet really.

I want to laugh, I want to cry, slap myself across the face, slap him...I want to do so much, but all I can do now is sit in silence and think of how I could be so stupid.

He’s just another one, how did I not see that? How do I never see it until it’s too late? Why is one part of me still screaming: ‘He didn’t mean it like that!’

AND WHY THE FUCK DO I WANT TO BELIEVE IT?

@maat-the-prescriptive  @simonsbluee  @save-the-sky  @itsminniekat  @hacker-ghost  @bi-andready-tocry  @imtiredaffff  @jazzkaurtheglorious  @hereforbeebo  @fandomgirl17  @chrysanthykios  @maehemscorpyus  @loraleiix  @letsloveimagines  @annshit  @i-cant-choose-a-username-help  @enigmaticmaze  @divine-artemis  @waterlilypat  @idontknowwhatthisisfam  @evi-ka  @classyandfabulous00  @redperson58  @lilysdaydreams @solowheein  @mythicalamphitrite  @axen-gers  @luckygirl144  @nj01  @buddyemily   @the-albino-lioness  @stardream14  @gdhdkfnn  @nomadicgypsyy  @preciousskye  @fluffysuicideunicornsworld  @o-kaelin  @manacharlotte  @awkward-youtube-trash  @lolalee24  @bonky-beerns  @meme-lord-and-savior-sebastian  @strawbrinkofdeath  @teenloves  @tams0527  @browneyespinkhair  @starstruckllamapuppy  @daisychains012  @y0ulooked  @tinytacosuitcaseflap @supernatural-is-my-only-life  @jula-pauline  @melodykitty  @just-that-bi-girl  @crazybutconfidentaf  @lowellshade @alphakees  @bellero  @weallneednamjesus  @starryhanji  @boiled-onionrings  @husherstan  @fockingwhore  @melaningoddessthings  @prettypastelpetals  @haleypearce  @godwhyamiawkward  @y-napotat  @daisychainyoonmin  @little-miss-rebel3  @free-wheelin-bi-sexual  @redmoon261 @darkacademic2  @wiseflamingoqueen  @into-the-end  @namikhai-i  @nastiablr  @thelittleplantlover  @mirktuan  @dont-hyuck @jjk-bunny  @vintagegothlover  @easygoingtheatre  @itsrandombooklover  @miiaivi  @emmybaybee  @befourgolden  @jjk-is-my-shit  @eternalteaaars  @spacebadgerx  @princesslunalight  @acequinn14  @samm48  @misselsbells06 @simp-lykawa  @fo-love  @marishimomura-blog  @therealglenncoco  @cinnamonbun332  @killtherandomness  @sanshinexxxsan  @fee-btheweeb  @press-lay  @cathleenpotgieter16  @jazzydoesstuff  @moonlxghtbay  @forestrain2000  @hyunjinhugs  @blood-of-fandoms  @lovellylies  @ukiyolixx  @simpforhpcharacters  @chrisdylan17  @parkerjisung  @pedernille  @theodonyous  @wineandionysus  @malfoystilinskii05  @morbid-x  @coryisagee  @jessewa26  @scoobydooluver97 @mindintheskies365  @raeanneinwonderland  @indecisive-empanada  @gluttonypalace  @loriane2503  @btsiguess-kpop  @khaoticbunny  @lucidlycactus  @smiithys  @rottenroyalebooks  @kpopgirlbtssvt  @fangirl-tc27  @fr0z3n-1  @notmesimpingfortechno  @shotarosleftpinky  @kunoi-chan  @idk-whats-wrong-with-me  @yikeroonie  @goldenstarofthunderclan  @poetry-and-tea  @ama-do-writing-stuff  @wishbonewolf  @emeraldxhope  @t0xick1tty  @kusuinko  @speakyourselfloveyourself  @sophia902103  @lo-manburg  @classsykittykat  @dmgama  @depressedpuppythatneedscoffee  @btsiguess-kpop  @akaashi-baby  @gun-jong-simp  @geschichtenfee  @yerapotato-wp  @browneyedgirl365  @thysagclub  @sparklycloudnight  @helloatomicshadow  @queentorresstuff @vtte @val-gal  @lucy-bunny17  @aaliyahh0  @katluckybear  @boyleanti  @straybids  @franchesca-791  @cosmicstorm19  @averyisbackinthetrashcan  @aomi-nabi  @xlanawriter  @allensimpsforcorpse  @sunnyrae-cessh  @ladykxxx08  @meowiemari  @renupf  @booklover76  @sra-verissimo

[wwjzww]

Just a thought…or a rant. Whatever.

So, I know there are dramione fic authors who have their own Draco (and sometimes their own Hermione), as in fancast Draco which is obviously totally fine. It is a freedom anyway to choose whoever as your Draco Malfoy. No need to stick with the original actor.

Which brings me to my next point. The original actor, Tom Felton.

Now I also know that a lot of dramione authors/shippers don’t see Tom as Draco anymore; also totally fine.

But then there’s a group just straight up hating and saying shit about him. If you disagree with him and hating him, I think, well you do you. If/When he does something disappointing, you can comment on it and not liking his actions/words or lack of thereof. Again, you do you. You can dislike any celebrity and move on with your life but unfortunately you are not moving on with your life. You are always giggling with your friends just to make fun of his appearance and I know that Buzzfeed (was it buzzfeed) article about “ageing like fine wine” had this bunch of dhr shippers on cloud nine because they can use this article to laugh about his appearance now.

These people put “TW” before mentioning his name and dropping their two cents which most of the time are just saying mean things mainly about how he looks now.

Even when all he does is talk about Harry Potter (like hey, I’d be talking about it too if I was on the films having to bleach my hair for years), and interacts with his fans etc. But some dhr shippers somehow find time to say something about him.

I know you live your life depending on internet validation since your friends on the internet laugh along to the mean things said about Tom and it definitely makes your day because yes, internet validation and all.

But honestly, life is actually easy. You can ignore Tom’s existence, block his social medias, mute his name or whatever. You can stop talking about how you hate him. Everyone gets it. Do you spend the same amount of time hating other celebs or do you only focus on him?

Sounds like a closeted fan to me. 🤷🏻‍♀️🤷🏻‍♀️

I’m saying this as someone who also has a few numbers of celebs/artists that I don’t like or hate but I don’t focus my energy on that. Perhaps if I was 20, I would have. 🤧🤨

And I’m saying this as someone who enjoys all different Draco Malfoy casts out there even if I cannot imagine them going all death eater shit hahaha.

Till next time.

** EDIT **

I also cannot with those just randomly tweeting “I wonder if he (Tom) reads my fanfic. I hope not. Keep my fics away from him” or something like “I know Tom Felton reads fanfics” etc like man knows about drarry and drapple, he probably had stumbled into dramione fics especially if he is tagged on instagram etc and so he knows dhr fics exist.

If you don’t like him knowing your fanfics exist, it doesn’t mean you should always use your free time to say things about him. The same as you saying means things, again, about his appearance when you talk about Draco fanarts. Yes the fanarts are all awesome and yes, the fanarts don’t look like him but still, why you gotta say things to him?

Obviously Tom is on your mind all the time 🤧

[theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin]

First, I just want to say that I love reading your rants/head cannons/opinions. I find them VERY entertaining and true. Now, I read your opinions on James, Sirius, Harry, Ron, and Hermione. I want to know what you think of Draco and Neville. I honestly think that Draco is an asshole, but I want to know exactly what you think. P.S. Can't wait for the next chapter of "When Harry Met Tom"

Well, at the very least, I’m glad I’m entertaining.

Now for Draco and Neville, interesting choices actually, I don’t usually spend much thought on those two. Never the less, let’s dive in and see what we find.

Draco Malfoy

There’s a lot of varying opinion on Draco Malfoy. In my long tenure of stalking the internet, fanfiction, and even more fanfiction I’ve found that in many cases he ceases to actually be a character but instead becomes this unholy agglomeration of tropes people like.

Seriously, Draco Malfoy isn’t even a person anymore. He’s leather pants.

What’s interesting to me is that it’s not even always the same tropes. Well, you tend to see the same ones bandied about, but it’s not even like characters like Tom Riddle or Hermione Granger where I can usually narrow it down to a few very precise characterizations you see everywhere. Draco’s all over the place.

You have bad boy Draco who’s varying levels of actually being bad boy so that we can use him instead of a young Tom Riddle. This is generally in stories where an author wants an antihero or else villain love interest, they like the Draco or bad boy aesthetic, but Tom Riddle is too spicy for Yog Sothoth. So Draco reminds us he’s evil a lot, he usually betrays our main love interest in a dramatic yet inevitable moment, but he’s not the purest of evil. He leaves the puppy beside the well and watches as Tom drowns it for him. Despite this the story will often pretend that Draco’s the most evil of evil to raise the stakes.

You have non-problematic Draco who suddenly was never a Death Eater, or perhaps his family was always filled with spies for the Order of the Phoenix, who only pretended to hate muggleborns and really has been on the good side this whole time! Alternately, Draco was on the bad side, but within two seconds of the fic he’s switched sides and we’re told it’s cool now because Draco understands. 

You have Sexy McLeatherPantsFace Draco who never left My Immortal but authors will claim, should you ask, that bisexual overly emotional Draco’s characterization is nothing like My Immortal’s and how dare you imply such things you swine! Really, his pervasive existence is why My Immortal is such a great satire. 

The list goes on but basically Draco’s whatever people need or want him to be to an absurd degree and it always makes me laugh. Oh Draco, what have they done to you? Are you even in there anymore?

Right, where do I land on Draco? Honestly, he’s a bit like Ron in that he has severe character flaws but he’s not goddamn insane like Harry or Hermione.

Mostly though, I just don’t take him seriously.

Throughout the book series he’s an ass, he’s that rich, elitist, entitled jackass that we all have run into at some point or another. He’s the kid who legitimately thinks ‘my father will hear about this’ is a threat and constantly abuses his relationship with Severus Snape just to show how cool he is ‘he practically makes Snape dish out punishment to Harry and Ron needlessly, and Snape is such a sad ridiculous man he actually goes along with it and panders to this brat’. 

Draco’s the kind of ridiculous fucking person who pretended to not have the use of his arm for months just so he could get Hagrid fired. When, honestly, Lucius still could have gotten Hagrid fired probably without Draco’s very non-compelling evidence. (Now, that said, I do believe Hagrid never should have had the job/should have been fired, but that’s a different story). And then, when he realized not having an arm kind of sucked, he was miraculously healed. 

Harry takes Draco and his rivalry very seriously because he’s also an adolescent, lacks perspective, and just isn’t that bright but Draco is fucking ridiculous and half the time he’s embarrassing himself. I mean, the guy buys his position onto the Slytherin team with an absurd amount of money, and he still loses matches to the Gryffindor team. Draco should never be living that down.

So, basically, I never at any point take Draco seriously. He’s just a kid with a big mouth who grew up in a very racist household and never has any idea what he’s talking about ever. He’s not inherently evil, not particularly good either, he’s just a kid who’s more obnoxious than your usual brand of kid.

I never imagined him particularly good looking (I believe his features are described as pinched or something), I never really saw the appeal in either making him more evil than he was or else redeeming him, he’s kind of the comic relief we all needed in our lives but is really there to keep the filler plot going to give Harry and the gang time to stew on the bigger Hogwarts mysteries. Without Draco what would we even do for hundreds of pages?

When it comes to book six he starts getting a little interesting in that his life completely falls apart but I think many fics paint him as far more self aware than he was. He knows his family is in deep trouble but I don’t think he realizes they’re being punished. I don’t think he realizes that Tom setting up camp in Casa Malfoy is a direct response to a) his failure with the diary b) his failure with the prophecy. Well, he might, but I imagine Lucius or Naricssa had to point it out to him. More, I think he genuinely believes he is meant to succeed in the task of assassinating Dumbledore.

He never realizes that Voldemort fully expects him to fail, that this task is just to essentially torture Draco for months, and when Draco does fail Voldemort will then murder him in front of Lucius saying, “AND THAT’S WHY WE DON’T SELL TOM RIDDLE’S THINGS!” This I think is evident in Draco accepting Bellatrix’s help, but not Snape, legitimately thinking that he has to achieve this on his own and that the Dark Lord has given him this Very Important Task (TM). 

Basically, Draco’s a kid over his head and doesn’t even realize he’s in over his head. More, I think even in book seven he still believes in the dark lord’s cause. It’s all become this weird madhouse but we don’t ever really see him come to grips that this is madness. It’s hard to tell because we’re from Harry’s perspective, but Draco never really seems all that unwilling of a Death Eater. Instead he’s very proud to have become one and sure, Hogwarts got a little weird, but that’s okay! 

In other words, I don’t think Draco ever really had that redemption arc people thought he did or hoped he would. Harry just saves his life, Narcissa is forever grateful to Harry, and then Draco continues to shuffle along in life perhaps in a daze wondering what even happened.

TL;DR Draco’s just a guy.

Neville Longbottom

Oh man, poor Neville, why is he even friends with the gang when they treat him like such garbage all the time? Neville’s kind of like the friend who’s sort of friends with this one social group but they constantly forget him except when it’s convenient to them. 

Not just forget him but brush him off, make fun of him, and barely speak with him.

Neville has no friends and it’s really just sad that he’s stuck with these people. 

As for Neville himself, he seems nice, that’s really all I have on him. We don’t see too much of him, his life is garbage from beginning to end (his relatives throw him out a goddamn window), he’s treated like trash by everyone and no one respects him but he still seems nice.

Not particularly interesting, but a nice enough kid who doesn’t deserve to be treated like shit all the time. That said, I guess somebody’s got to be Gryffindor comic relief and plot convenience, so it’s time for Neville to forget the passwords yet again and be left out all night because portraits suck.

[annethepancake]

Sherlock rant

I recently rewatched BBC Sherlock for Rupert Graves, and aside from the lack of Lestrade appreciation I have a lot of problems with this series. Here are my thoughts:

1. It was all a blur

My second first impression of the show: I don't remember anything but the characters. And some characters I just blatantly forgot, like Mary. And I loved Mary on my second watch! I really forgot that at one point John actually got married and I don't even remember when I watched the show for the first time. I can still recall most of HIMYM's events and I hated that series.

2. It’s overall not a detective/crime show

Watching Sherlock for the second time, I mostly turned off my brain and just let it play in the background because (1) there's hardly anything for me to solve with the characters, most clues are taken by Sherlock off-screen anyway (especially after season 2), (2) they focus way too much on the quirks of the characters that make it almost like a sitcom that got dragged on for way too long. A crime/detective show shouldn't allow me to turn off my brain.

3. The characters just kinda fall flat

Exploring the depth of human emotions is not a bad approach to a modernized version of anything, I’m not trying to pretend I’m better than someone who gets sentimental over fictional character (if you know my blog at all, you know I am not), but at least write good characters. Sherlock is hardly a multi-faceted person; in fact, he’s kinda like the Wattpad teen fic main character sometimes. He physically fights off some terrorists with a machete to save the damsel in distress? He gets high off his tits but still got everything right all the time? John is just kinda there for most of the cases. Jim is a poorly written antagonist. Irene is a lesbian but gets the hot for our main character, surprise surprise. The only interesting characters to me are the ones who act like normal people: Molly, Greg and Mary. They are the multi-faceted characters, ones who I can actually relate to without feeling inferior to them in any way. Write characters like them, stop trying to be smart about it and stop writing Wattpad fanfictions for Sir Conan Doyle’s original works.

I get that they try to make Sherlock more like a human with emotions, making him quirky and arrogant, then make him quirky and more likable. It’s hardly a convincing character development though. He’s given over-powered deduction skills, so edgy, so high and mighty all the time. When he is finally written as vulnerable, turns out he has plans for that too. I would love to see him get it wrong once and maybe get humbled by that mistake, but getting Mary shot and killed is hardly even his fault, he is only doing his job. And killing off Mary is overall a bad idea anyway.

4. They treated the fandom like shit

I was absolutely disgusted at the start of season 3 when the showrunners just straight up shat on their fans. I wasn't there with the fandom during the wait between season 2 and 3, but I believe it was a pretty long wait (2 years, I could barely wait 2 years for my comfort series, and they have like 10 episodes per season), and they were presented with the first actual mystery of the series: How did Sherlock survive the fall? After years of waiting and having fun theorizing, they were met with a mockumentary about them, starring the most hated character of the protagonist and the fans. Those are the people who actually cared about the show for god's sake. The fact that the showrunners treated fans like crap and there's still an active fandom for the show appalled me.

Now not only The Empty Hearse bugs me, but the entire show does as well.

Allow me to digress.

Doki Doki Literature Club is a great example of audience engagement done right (Sorry for using this example I’m not actually that invested in the other franchises). After the success of the first game, the story provoked so many fans into solving the mysteries of the characters, some of them went really, really far. And that’s because of the actual mysteries that the development team took effort to plant into the plot. There is actual pay-off for painstakingly following the clues; as far as I know, only two (2!) people in the world have come close to solving the mystery of the first game (or they actually did). The game developers value their fans and their intelligence enough to have planted those clues where they did, and it’s a genuine exchange between the fans and the creators. Now even though you haven’t actually played the game, when you hear of the name and you’re only kinda familiar with gaming (like me), you’ll probably know what it is. What started as a mere open-source game by an indie developer became a sensation which left millions of fans begging for more.

Looking back at Sherlock, there are tons of logical flaws for a self-proclaimed crime series, virtually no clues for the audience to solve crimes along with their favorite detective, and when there was actually a mystery (Sherlock jumped off the building), they plainly showed him alive and well minutes later. Do we really need to see things spelled on screen to know what’s going on? Are we supposed to accept that Sherlock Holmes is an all-knowing future-predicting genius now too? Not a great sign of respecting the audience there.

So far, the only thing left that’s interesting about this series is the characters’ dynamic. Which brings me to the next criticism I have for the show.

5. The plague that infested mainstream media

Why is there still an active fandom? Queerbaiting and targeted marketing.

Community marketing is proven to be one of the best marketing methods there is, if not the best, to lengthen the lifespan of a product or service. The way they do that for shows and films and video games is usually by planting seeds of possible lores and history inside the content. Look at Harry Potter or Lord of the Rings, they are franchises that ran for multiple years with a ton of history and world building that provokes fans’ imagination.

Sherlock - well, Sherlock has sexually ambiguous men.

Sherlock has a formula for success. It was an adaptation of the most iconic detective novel in the world, funded by one of the biggest TV networks in the UK and possibly the world (don’t quote me on this). Making this series means you can appeal to such a wide group of audience even before airing. Adding in the quirky smart men who live together, you’ve basically guaranteed a prime-time show with millions of loyal fans all over the world.

Fans are not stupid, and queer people don't just find queerness everywhere they go. They know a gay subtext when they see one. Sherlock came back from the literal death for John, pretty gay if you ask me.

This show is very much not just about some guys being dudes solving crimes, they have relationship that’s deeper than friendship, and definitely not platonic. They deliberately wrote a sexually ambiguous Sherlock Holmes from the get-go - literally from the very first episode, then capitalized off of the targeted demographic, never a pay-off for their anticipation. Martin Freeman said in interviews that he could recognize Sherlock fans, them being generally women from 16 - 25. No shit Sherlock, this show targets them and capitalizes off of them, being quirky and gay as hell, of course the fanbase is generally 16 - 25 and female.

Sherlock queerbaited the fandom for years for the sake of marketing and there’s never a pay-off, nor was there any recognition to the community, and to add to all that bigotry, queercoding pretty much all of the villains? Why was a show aired in the 2010′s allowed to do this? Why did Mark Gatiss, an openly gay man, a writer of the show, allow this to happen? Why are millions of fans all over the world allowing all this to go on?!

6. Conclusion

Now I haven’t read the books yet, so I’m not at all qualified to criticize the adaptation quality of the TV series; I’m just talking about the TV series on its own. Despite my criticism, I think the first two seasons did quite okay. There are quite a few nice cases there, I like The Blind Banker and The Hound of Baskerville. They did those well because the focus was on the cases themselves, and the connection between John and Sherlock was only in the background. I, like many other fans, like to figure things out on my own, to read between the lines, and to not have things spelled out for me. With the next seasons bombarded with Sherlock and John bonding it seriously felt like mere fan service for me and even though I wasn’t there when the show was on, I still felt like I was robbed and my interest in the show was abused.

Sherlock is undoubtedly super influential in pop culture even now. It has to have done something right to be in that spot (capitalizing off loyal fans?). I’m not writing this rant to change someone’s mind about the series, by all means, I’m still gonna love the hell out of Gavin Lestrade, and absolutely lose my mind over Mary Watson. So do take my words with a grain of salt, I’m just disappointed that one of the most influential shows there is is just short of my expectations.

[pluviophile-imagines]

Could I ask what your sexuality headcanons are? I love comparing mine with other peoples’!

Ok second half of this; this is just like. non-students who i Actually have thought about HJBAFV not at all a comprehensive list. Again disclaimer i write all these chars as bi in my fics, also i am bi myself so the vast majority are also bi, and also leaving a lot of these vague so u can imagine ur favorite ship or urself or w/ever

ok lets start this off with Aizawa. I think....... hes another one who's rlly unlabelled, doesnt super care to think it through and define it, but calls himself gay bc his interest in women is very, very rare and it's just way easier to say than explain all that. Definitely do buy into the idea that he had a crush on Oboro in hs but i do NOT buy into the easermic agenda sorry. Definitely not someone who goes looking for dates, but doesn't say no if someone asks him and hes interested (also im not gonna give her a whole section but i saw a hc a while back that the Ms. Joke stuff is literally that shes a lesbian and hes gay and shes fucking with him and i love that so much i just wanted to put it out there)

on the topic of the erasermic agenda: Hizashi's pan and knew it before HS, had a sudden & intense crush on Aizawa for the first month they knew each other and then immediately got over it in favor of a similar sudden, intense, and then immediately fading crush on Midnight. Hizashi and Aizawa r just rlly good friends imo; maybe they messed around for a bit in their twenties but it never went anywhere serious. He dates around a lot, not even necessarily to settle down just to have some fun

Midnight is aro/ace but does get in qprs & gravitates towards women wrt that. Most people dont read vigilantes but theres a woman in that, Kazuho, who i imagine she's been in a long-term qpr with; her relationship with aizawa and hizashi leans a little more towards a qpr than a normal friendship, too, but it's not rlly defined that way

All Might is married to justice queer but v much not interested in relationships. He and that one guy from the first movie are ABSOLUTELY exes and i won't hear otherwise; it's the only relationship he's ever had, and they broke up bc he had to go back to japan. He was heartbroken but did eventually get over him; his lack of romance afterwards is from genuine disinterest and not being hung up on his past. I can see him finding someone else in his later years, after he's retired. Definitely feels like he's not worthy of it tho

Hawks is bi but unfortunately didn't get to figure that out until like Now in the timeline...... if youll let my dabihawks history shine through i think dabi was the reason JHBASFGJHB he was basically brainwashed by the commission to become a hero so he didnt have time to Figure That Shit Out; he knew he was into women bc that was easy & what the commission expected from him but then he started this undercover assignment and met dabi and realized Oh...... Fuck. Hawks is hard tbh, bc i think between the control that the commission has over him and his own convictions as a hero he doesn't pursue any romance (tho he does get crushes or find people attractive) and most of his flings are done to keep up his prettyboy act, not out of genuine interest in being a fuckboy. Can't imagine him having a relationship until well after canon but I do see him being interested eventually

Onto the villains, Shigaraki is unlabelled but probably would call himself queer if asked. Definitely admires women more but isn't very interested in romance; AFO actively encourages him to pursue the things interested in so imo if he were he'd talk abt it more lmfao. I kinda see him as demi as well, not the type to fall immediately but requiring a friendship beforehand; tho unlike Bakugo as i said in my last post I dont think it happens suddenly but rather slowly. Y'all know im a big fan of shigaraki being absolutely whipped for his s/o so i do thing hes a big piner, tho he's also pretty bold and unashamed of his affections. I'm a big fan of him falling for a member of the league or a civilian; definitely can't see him falling for a hero unless the hero was already halfway to turning sides already. I think he's also attracted to intelligence and someone who pushes him to think more abt his ideology...... maybe im just projecting at this point JSHDFBVAJKSHD but my point is that the gender of his partner is definitely the least of what he considers/notices

Dabi is bi and, here's my bold take, demisexual; not interested in sex unless its with someone he loves. Absolutely doesn't even think abt romance for most of the years where he's on his own. He's got revenge to plan. By the time he joins the league that hasn't changed much, and he's demi so he's not interested in sleeping around, plus he rlly denies any attachment to people at all. As I said in that other ask tho I do rlly like the idea of him with Magne, so I think they have a fling for a bit before her death :( it's one of the things that leads him to isolate himself further, unfortunately, even from Jin and the other League members with whom his relationships aren't romantic. I can see him dating someone post-canon bc i think hes gonna be redeemed lol. It could be someone he knew before but they probably didnt date again bc he was v guarded; i think magne was rlly the only person he dated

Magne is pan and heres the kicker: I think shes t4t, which led to a little moment just before she and dabi got together where he was like "she wouldnt be into me :/" but she was into him anyway so all was good. She got around in her circles, mostly casual stuff tho she yearned for something more serious.

Spinner's bi & trends towards women but does occasionally get things for men and they're almost always intense. He thought he was straight for a while even once he joined the league and then suddenly got a crush on Shigaraki (around the time of MVA) and realized otherwise LMFAO he's definitely a hopeless romantic type, the whole mutant prejudice thing makes it rlly hard for him and i can see him being rlly happy with another mutant-type; i feel like as he matures he starts to gravitate towards them

Toga is canonically pan to my understanding, iirc her interest in Uraraka and Deku is the same (and romantic) in canon tho i might be wrong. Poor girl just needs therapy. I like the idea of the two of them becoming her friends over her being involved with them but i totally can get behind her having a thing with Uraraka (and maybe Tsu) at some point post-canon (presuming she gets redeemed), tho I think a qpr between the two/three of them would be longer lasting. And again presuming she gets therapy i can see her settling down with someone, gender irrelevant

Jin is unlabelled bc he hasn't much thought abt it, definitely had a thing for dabi and for hawks which does make me sad on both counts. I think he likes women slightly more abstractly/aesthetically and gets crushes more on men,. The dabi thing fades as they get closer and start to view each other as brothers. In his later years he doesn't rlly care about romance, I think he enjoys the experience of crushing but doesnt like dating people; his found family in the League is far more important to him. But i can see him falling head-over-heels for someone quite suddenly and having a bit of a whirlwind romance. Also someone for whom gender isn't much of a factor

Mr Compress is also queer and also hasn't rlly thought abt it. Definitely leans more towards women; he's like 30 but i like to think he also goes for older partners, 10 or 15 years his senior KJBADSJFHB idk he just has that Vibe with the way he calls himself an old man etc. A lot of the league i cant see sleeping or dating around much, i feel like they prioritize each other, but I do think mr compress gets around more than the others. i can see him having a bit of a fuckbuddy who he catches feelings for

Kurogiri is fun; as Oboro I do think Aizawa's crush was reciprocated, tho he wasn't around long enough for them to act on it :( he's bi, tho kurogiri isn't supposed to have personal interests. I like to imagine the brainwashing isnt as good as AFO wants it to be tho so I like the idea of him falling for someone anyway. I also like the idea of the heroes managing to undo the nomufication and I 100% can see him, aizawa, and someone else (someone he was involved with as Kurogiri) ending up in a triad as a result of aizawa and the third partner helping him through the aftermath of all that shit

Lady Nagant is a manga-only minor character but im in love with her so imma talk abt it. Shes bi and leans VERY heavily towards women, probably spent years questioning whether she was rlly bi or a lesbian before finally having a fling with a guy that she genuinely enjoyed. Has only ever been in long-term relationships with women and I v much think she has a gf at home who stayed even when she was arrested 🥺

Finally imma talk abt Natsuo bc i love that boy. He's one of the few unmarried chars with a love interest and he canonically has a gf. I do see him as IDing straight in canon ngl, but the kind of straight where he might actually be bi but his preference leans so heavily towards women and he grew up in a bad home so he just doesnt rlly think abt it bc hes v happy with women anyway. In shiganatsu thoughts shigaraki is the first man he has a thing for; i rlly can see the two of them in a triad with a woman specifically, who helps the two of them find each other and is the one who initiates bc its definitely a weird situation for natsuo

[frangipansi]

Hi! If your inbox is open, I'd like to request a scenario with all (or any) of the demon brothers, + undatables reacting to a blind MC? Like, none of them expected to have a blind human and Devildom and they have to revamp everything to make it as safe for MC as possible. Can be she/her or they/them pronouns for MC. Bonus points if MC is extremely talkative and won't shut up lmao. Thank you!

OKAY! So, finally got this one out. I’m sooo sorry for the wait, but I wanted to try and do this right, not just some Daredevil nonsense, but I didn’t want to make the mistake of a ‘helpless blind MC’ either; because they’re not helpless.

I am also lucky enough to have a regular customer at my work that happens to be blind and she has been very happy to give me a helping hand to make this ask more real. She’s such a delight and her guide dog is beautiful and I could ramble on with our interactions, like one time she scolded us for moving the fixtures because she had just memorized the layout of the store then told her guide “you’ll earn that pay check today!”

SO! With her in mind, more so from her younger days that she reminisced with me; I have decided to work this piece around this customer’s condition specifically so I’m not just pulling shit out my arse.

To give you an idea, this MC suffers from Retinitis pigmentosa; their symptoms being tunnel vision and night blindness. So while they are legally blind, they can somewhat see. They use a cane when going out, use their hands and/or cane when inside a place knew to them – that happens to be in poor light (Devildom) – until they have the layout in their mind and move more confidently.

~

This also took a while because I couldn’t get a fic/scenario to work cohesively and hc was just not working either! But I’ve hopefully gotten it now, and I do hope you like it. I’ve also placed this under the cut because I’ve waffled on here.

Diavolo:

Interested. Anyone within the Devildom without eyesight, are generally the souls of the damned who aren’t permitted to move freely. Heck, he’s removed some of their eyes himself.

He wants to know instantly if there is anything he needs to change and improve to make sure MC’s stay is not only comfortable but enjoyable.

Absolutely loves how open MC is. He’s amazed at the resilience of humans; delighted to hear MC say how capable they are, though he does insist on one of the brother’s remaining her escort for the duration of their stay. Capable or not, he is well aware of how demons would use MC’s lack of sight to their advantage.

Really wants to ask how amplified their other senses are; disappointed to know most things depicted in movies are – for the most part – an over exaggeration.

Organises a tablet for them with all RAD textbooks uploaded so they have that ability to zoom in so they are able to read the text at their own comfort. Other systems such as braille, text to talk etc are also implemented if that is something MC prefers to learn by.

Lucifer:

Considers Cerberus as a guide dog? Impossible, the human would be eaten alive. Perhaps another smaller hellhound? Goodness no, they’d still be eaten.

Asks MC about their condition –on behalf of Lord Diavolo of course – so he is aware of anything that may help their stay in the Devildom.

Very pleased to see how receptive MC is, very talkative and informative about her condition; he’s surprised to learn the varying levels of visual impairment. Consults Diavolo on brighter lighting to improve her movements around RAD and already planning on improvements within his own home.

During MC’s first few nights in Lamentation, Lucifer appears on edge; always keeping an eye when they’re moving about on their own. Enjoys watching how they learn to memorize layouts, quietly telling themselves how many steps it takes from one room to another, touching hallway objects.

Ready to run to their side that one time MC walked into the wall; turning into the kitchen a little too soon; until he hear them chuckle to themselves and ran their hand along the wall until they found the doorway and walked through it. No damage done. He’s learning to leave them be, understanding that he doesn’t need to dote on them.

Mammon:

MC is blind? Ooh yeah! The things that boy could swipe to make some quick Grimm, and right under their nose. It was gonna be too easy!! Completely stunned when they still catch him out. “How’d ya know it was me?!”

Watches them narrow their eyes as if trying to spot him before coming up beside him and close the drawer he was just rummaging through. The nerve this human has to threaten The Great Mammon by saying they’ll use their cane to whack him.

Surprised at MC’s explanation on how they knew it was him. They recognised his scent; not only did he have his favourite cologne – which he didn’t think he wore that much of – they noted how he had a metallic smell, like the kind you get when touching coin constantly.

Likes to watch MC move around their room; at first using their hand to remember the layout and then moving as if they saw as well as he did. Considered rearranging things to see what would happen.

Okay, so MC isn’t helpless… but, other demons don’t know that. Considers using MC as bait; distract idiots so he can rob them and sell their things for a little Grimm. “I, The Mammon, am a genius!” “No, Mammon.”

Levi:

Couldn’t even imagine being in their position; all that manga he couldn’t read, anime they couldn’t watch… never knowing what Ruri-Chan looks like!!! Gasp! No way. Poor MC!

Really confused when he sees them one day, curled up on a chair in the common room, wearing a pair of glasses and a book in hand. Wanders over and looks over their shoulder before questioning what was going on; nodding when they told him that with reading glasses and preferably larger font, they could indulge in many a storybook.

As their relationship blossoms, he has a dedicated reading nook in his room for the two of them, including a lamp to brighten the area to help improve what sight they have. Likes that they’re happy to listen to him read to them his TSL series. He thinks about writing to the publishers for the next editions to have larger fonts; that way he could buy MC a set of their own.

He likes to sit and watch them bring things close to their face to inspect them better; his figurines which they – to his relief – handle with great care, or his manga comics to see which characters he’s fawning over.

He secretly loves that MC likes to chill by his fish tank wall. Why? They state that while there’s too much distortion for them to actually make anything out, they enjoy the ambient colouring and light; the two eventually just listen to music together like that as a means to relax.

Satan:

Of course he is utterly curious about MC’s condition and is glad to see how open they are to talking about it. He’ll look things up himself in his own time but nothing like hearing it from someone’s own experience.

Asks if those romance and crime novels are accurate; “so, do you touch people’s faces so you know what they look like?” finds it interesting that for the most part, this doesn’t happen; but it makes sense, he wouldn’t be too thrilled by someone he barely knows putting their hands onto him.

Writes down notes that he considers most important from the board during lessons and offers them to MC should they need them for their studies.

Another one who likes watching MC learn their way around Lamentation, like how they touch cupboard handles until they find the one they need while grumbling about how crappy the lights are.

Shared appreciation for just lying on the ground whenever a cat is near them, all responsibility out the window as number one priority is giving adorable little hellcats their undivided attention. Loves that MC is willing to con Lucifer into believing a cat makes a wonderful guide animal.

Asmo:

Oh poor MC, unable to see just how beautiful he is… Oh, they can kinda see? If he gets real close? Oh he can definitely do that! Bummed that MC promptly puts in some boundaries but once their relationship develops they do enjoy the closeness with him.

Learns – albeit slowly – that his looks aren’t going to win MC over, and instead begins to better understand the value of personality and getting to know a person. Should MC like Asmo, it’s because of who he is and not for all the fluffing he does with his looks.

Whenever he happens to be the brother escorting MC, just know he’ll always detour to the main hub; treating the two of them to manicures and pedicures, facials, all that fun stuff.

When shopping, he loves how MC feels the fabric of things he grabs for them and has an even bigger appreciation for how things feel on him. Absolutely enjoys offering explanations whenever MC would ask about colour or cuts if they can’t make them out should the lighting be too poor for them.

Will starting looking around for ‘fashionable’ canes. Yes, he knows it’s about practicality and he’s not going to take that away from MC, but what’s wrong with wanting to match their cane with that gorgeous outfit he’s picked out from them?

Beel:

Having no experience with a visually impaired human, he’ll ask MC if he should carry them places; it’s no big deal, they looked pretty light after all. Apologises if they happen to get a bit defensive so keeps close while they walk together, worried they may walk into or trip over something.

He’ll be curious about whether or not other senses are heightened due to the loss of another and is lowkey disappointed that they wouldn’t be able to hear someone in the kitchen stealing his food when they’re somewhere else in the house.

He loves cooking with them; the tastes of what he creates seem to be more balanced and they’re more than happy to sneak him a few snacks while Lucifer is occupied elsewhere. They’ll fool around, tasting things to see who can pick up more notes.

Things turn into a game between the two of them; if he spots MC in a room he’ll sneak up and try and get to them before they realise he’s there. “Too heavy on your feet,” or “you were giggling,” is something he hears a lot when trying.

Though MC can’t really see while he’s training or playing a game, he really appreciates that there still there to cheer him on; he’s taken to wearing a bright headband in hopes that they’ll be able to spot him out a bit better. They don’t half the heart to tell him they still can’t find him.

Belphie:

In the beginning, he’ll use MC’s lack of sight to their advantage; sly and manipulative to lure them in. Watches how they react to his voice, how their eyes or head move in the direction he’s in, learning how they work their other senses.

Tensions between the two would be tight after that moment and he’ll feel tremendous guilt for what he did to them; keeps himself at a distance, afraid they’ll recoil if they sense he’s too close and understands if they would.

Amazed that they find it in them to forgive him and help mend bonds between him and his brothers, and will spend whatever time he’s able building up trust with MC; whether that’s being their escort around Devildom or just being there for company.

He loves – when trust is established – that MC is just happy to lay with him while he star gazes and talks about what he sees, trying to paint a picture for them while they huddle up together in a fluffy blanket, sharing his cow print pillow.

Simeon/Luke:

They’re angels; their job is to look over and protect humans. So they are already well aware of how capable MC would be – Simeon more so than Luke since he’s younger and more interested in Michael – but they will still offer their assistance should MC need it.

They’re also the sort to take notes down during class that MC may not be able to see on the board; but they’ll ask before assuming.

Simeon has taken to writing a little bigger if it’s something he’d like MC’s opinion on his work; the two forming a bond through fiction and history. The two can be found losing track of time and just talking about any given thing.

Luke enjoys cooking with MC; asking them what they think of the taste of something he creates and asks how he can make it better. He’d love to be able to wow Michael upon his return to the Celestial Realm and MC will always critique his work rather than sugarcoat like Simeon would or just outright scare him like demons would. With a little push from MC, he takes lessons from Barbatos.

Solomon:

Quite unphased; he’s dealt with various impairments before seeing as he is still human despite being a very powerful sorcerer. He doesn’t offer assistance but will give it should MC ask him for help.

He has many a spell in his books that could quite possibly cure or ease symptoms of various impairments and is very tempted to bring this information to MC; but decides on holding back until he can figure out how to approach the subject. He’ll ask them how they feel about their situation and go from there.

Would also offer heightening other senses should MC want them; even temporarily if they’re just a little curious. “Let’s see what’s so crash hot about being Daredevil!” “My thoughts exactly MC.”

[letsperaltiago]

as long as you're with me it's always the time of the year

🌟 HAPPY 6TH OF DECEMBER: DOOR ONE 🌟

Welcome to door one of four! 

Behind my Christmas calendar’s first door is a... pre-relationship Peraltiago Christmas oneshot! ♥️ And I bet you have this series overall “theme” figured out now 😙If not then I guess you’ll have to tune back in in another six days! Until then I hope you can enjoy this first fic in the Christmas calendar/oneshot series!

Summary: The only thing Jake likes about the holidays is the Nine-Nine's annual Christmas party. This year, perhaps, he will come to prefer Amy's misfortune and company. Takes place somewhere between S02 E09: The Roadtrip and S2 E011:The stakeout.

Rating: G  Words: 6k

Read on AO3 here

🎁⬇️OPEN DOOR ONE HERE ⬇️🎁

The smell of pine trees, cinnamon and every other Christmas spice imaginable hangs over the precinct when Jake walks in on his day off. Normally he’d never set a foot near work on one of his holy days off, but today is the precinct’s annual Christmas party, and that he of course isn’t stupid enough to miss. Who would want to miss out on happenings like Boyle bringing some unknown Christmas-snack no one would ever want; drunk-Amy making an appearance; Gina hustling secret Santa gifts from young beat cops? Not Jake, that’s for sure.

This year’s party is being held on the third floor, the Special Victims Unit’s floor, and the second the elevator doors open before him Jake is met by the loud buzz made up of Christmas music, and people talking and laughing. Colors are everywhere; from the different, ugly shirts and Christmas sweaters people are wearing to the familiar, cliché Christmas decorations which have probably been reused for the past twenty Christmas parties. It’s horribly perfect, Jake thinks. Perhaps he hates the holidays, yes, but he does love the messy parties they bring along.  

“Jakey! Welcome!”

The detective has just barely stepped out of the elevator, onto festive grounds, when Charles appears right before him, holding two mugs of what appears to be some hot liquid. Jake is by no means very religious although he still prays to higher powers that said hot liquid is not that mulled Norwegian fish-wine his friend brought last year. Charles hands over one of the mugs and Jake is seriously afraid to look or, potentially even more hazardous, breathe in the toasty steam rising from it.

“Hey, bud. What’s that?”

“Mulled wine!” Charles takes a sip of his own mug meanwhile Jake can’t stop eyeing him, suspiciously so, because if there is one thing Jake doesn’t trust his best friend with then it’s primarily and definitely anything food and drink-related.

“Actual mulled wine or fish-wine?”

There is no getting around the fact that Charles is obviously hurt by the lack of trust his best friend is showing, when the little man’s face falls deadpan. “It happened once , Jake. One time.”

They start walking towards the briefing room, one much bigger than the one on their floor, where the life of the party is.

“I threw up for two days straight after last time - just saying, bud!”

Jake dares to smell the beverage and it does actually smell like actual mulled wine, so he hesitantly takes a sip, just in case it turns out he’s been betrayed. Alas the flavor tells him the liquid is indeed normal mulled wine, which makes this yet another cracked case for Peralta.

Inside the briefing room that is crowded with people, both some he knows and a lot that he doesn’t, a Christmas tree and all kinds of snacks and drinks, it’s hard to tell who is from what department and honestly? Jake doesn’t care. As long as people seem to be a good time and are willing to laugh at his hilarious charms then he’s down to clown. Or down to Santa - whatever Christmas-saying is more suitable.

“Has Gina scored herself some gifts yet? And how many drinks is Santiago at?”

Jake awaits an answer while his friend pours himself some more of the warm wine, and puts the time to good use by removing his leather jacket before hanging it on a random chair nearby. The party will be hot, literally, he figures.

“Hmm, last time I saw Gina she was up to two already…”

“Noice,” Jake nods in approval, mentally noting to check in with his friend later. This has to be the year she beats her record of eights gifts in one evening.

“... And Amy was up to one.”

“Not good enough.”

“We’ve only been here for an hour, Jake.”

Jake pauses. With the winter sun setting so early, he thought he’d missed out on hours of partying when in reality Boyle is right: it’s just barely 6.30 and he’s missed out on so little.

“Fair. I’ll give her that. Where is she anyway?”

Boyle turns just in time to see his friend scouting the room in hopes of finding his partner.

“Someone’s eager to hang out with Amy.” Just as his facial expression, rocking cocking eyebrows and a knowing smirk, Charles’ voice is laced with teasing tones. It’s no secret that Jake commiting to his feelings and acting on them, especially now that both him and Amy are single (and totally into each other, if you ask Charles) is at the top of the older detective’s wishlist - no matter how creepy it is.

“Shut up. I have a girlfriend.” Images of Sophia flash before him, the face she made when he promised her he didn’t like Amy anymore, and deep down Jake feels guilty. The feeling is quickly pushed aside though; he’s done nothing wrong and will do nothing wrong. He’s with Sophia - not Amy. “I just need to laugh at someone and Amy just so happens to be the perfect candidate.”

“Just like she’s perfect in every other way?”

“Boyle!” Jake lightly punches his friend on the arm and it almost causes Charles to spill the hot beverage. Just barely, he manages to restore the liquids balance and keep it in the cup.

“Hey! You almost made me drop my glühwein !” Leave it to Charles to pronounce the foreign word perfectly , and leave it to Jake to, as per usual, roll his eyes at it.

“Anyways, are you going to tell me where Amy is or not?”

The two friends stand back, facing the crowd in an attempt to comb through it, however everyone’s outfits seem so alike - ugly and colourful - and so it quickly hits them just how pointless the mission is.

“I don’t know about know, but last time I saw her she was by the women’s bathroom talking to Rosa. Haven’t seen her since.”

“Hm, okay,” Jake mumbles. “I’ll be right back. I just wanna say hi.”

“Sure you do.”

Quickly decoding the way his words are drenched in a certain teasing tone, Jake doesn’t even need to look at his friend to know there’s a knowing smirk plastered across his face. There’s no doubt: it’s easier for him to just walk away without looking back - so he does.

Boyle is a fool if he thinks he’s got a thing for Amy - that ship has long sailed. In the past, yes, he did have feelings for Amy… But that was before. Before Teddy and Sophia; before realising they were better off as friends; before, before, before. Sure, he’d felt something flare up inside of him that night at the inn with Teddy and Sophia when it was suddenly revealed that Amy used to like him, perhaps still did? He’ll admit that. However that entire trip was crazy, all kinds of emotions on display, and anything that said and/or happened there should be taken with a pinch of salt. Yes, he used to like Amy, ‘used to’ being the keyphrase. Now he was happy with Sophia and couldn't possibly have feelings for Amy. At least not romantic feelings, no. Friendly feelings, the sensation of being happy when around her? Sure. Now, months after said roadtrip to hell, things were back to normal: they were partners and friends, without any weirdness or doubt about the fact. That was it and the way it would stay, no matter what anyone said - especially Charles.

Suddenly he spots her, across the room in a corner with a cup in hand, talking to someone on the phone. The iconic red cup causes a smile to grow on Jake’s face as he is granted an early Christmas wish: drunk-Amy is going to make an appearance tonight. He appreciates all sides of Amy, although drunk-Amy is extra fun - especially ever since Gina let him in on the Santiago-drunkenness scale.

It takes her a second to pick up on his approach, but the second she sees him he receives a smile in return. Her hair is loose and shiny as alway. For tonight’s occasion it has a silvery head band holding it in place. To no one’s surprise, even less Jake’s, she’s wearing what he recognizes as her famous Santiago-dress pants. Although the blazer and usually colored shit has been replaced with a neatly ironed white shirt. The silver headband along with the white shirt? Of course Amy would go for an angel-look instead of a tacky red Santa or a green elf like many of their colleagues. Then again: white does look good really good on her, Jake admits to himself, and if it wasn’t for the fact that Charles’ words were stuck on repeat in his mind then maybe he would’ve told her. A nice, friendly compliment like… “You look pretty” or whatever other nice, not inappropriate thing he could say. It’s easier to say nothing at all, he figures.

The crowd around him is loud but he can hear her talking as he closes in on her. He waves to her and she half-mindedly waves back clearly focused on the conversation she’s in the midst of.

“Okay, yeah…”

He stops next to her and sips on his drink while she finishes up.

“We’ll go meet Santa on Sunday then… Yeah, I’ll meet you there. Bye.”

Although he hates to admit it, Jake is happy to see her hang up. It means she can switch her attention to him.

“Tinder date?” He asks.

She looks up, from putting her phone away, with what Jake considers the iconic ‘ you’re an idiot’-grimace, as a consequence reminding him of the one thing he has a hard time admitting - even to himself: she looks really cute doing just that and he likes that he’s the one person that can bring it out of her.

“Ha. Ha.” Her fake laugh is drier than the failed Christmas cookies she brought last year. “What do you think I do on Tinder-dates?”

“Meet Santa - apparently.”

It’s clear as day that the young man takes immense pleasure in the easygoing banter, the special kind he can only have with Amy, and even though his mouth says and shows one thing then his shining eyes definitely don’t agree. Infatuation is the word although he would never dare to call himself out on it. That was Charles’ job, but luckily no one, to Jake’s advantage, would ever believe the always way too excited little man.

“I can’t believe how funny you are, Peralta,” Amy retorts, voice stuck in the same still flat tone that tries to make believe she isn’t very amused and delighted by the fact that Jake located her just to tease her. It’s a special kind of attention, one she at times has dreaded but with time slowly and surely has come to like - a lot. Even though she pretends not to.

“I can’t believe you go on Tinder-dates, Santiago.”

“I never said I did? You did.” She crosses her arms and raises an eyebrow in objection.

“Right, right… Forgot you used to have feelings for me, which means you must’ve cut off all dating in hopes of me coming around one day.”

In all honesty Jake can’t, for the life of him, figure out why he says what he does sometimes. Although, apparently, there must be somewhat truth to it considering how Amy feels her palms heat up against her cold drink, blood rushing to her face where it quickly takes apparent form as a rosy color tinting the apples of her cheeks. Jake, even though it’s so very tempting, tries not to think any of it. Replaying in his mind is the look of confusion and pain on Amy’s face when it was brought up that Amy used to like him. Perhaps it was true but if bringing it up, in a context that wasn’t just for fun and banter, would cause Amy the same troubled feelings from back at the Maple Drip Inn, then it definitely wasn’t worth bringing up again. He shouldn't have said that. Amy didn’t have feelings for him anymore - chapter closed.

“Sorry. Bad joke.”

“It’s fine.” She tries to chuckle it off but he knows a genuine Amy-laugh and this isn’t it.

“Anyways,” Jake takes another sip of his drink leaving the word hanging in the air for a few seconds, aspiring for a change of subject, in case his partner wants to take advantage. She doesn’t though. His turn, he figures.  “If not a mystery man, then who was it?”

She shakes her head smiling at his persistence. “It was my brother Anthony. Him, Christian and I are taking my nephews and nieces to meet Santa.”

“Wow, all five hundred of them?”

Amy has to laugh at this, a genuine laugh this time, one with no snarky comment because he’s kind of right: her family is huge and she appreciates him taking note of it even though the number is horribly wrong.

“Almost… Just the ten of them.”

A shared chuckle between the two settles a nice and comfortable atmosphere around the two; one where the rest of the room disappears into the background and it’s just the two of them laughing and poking at each other as if there’s no half-awkward and delicate taboo to dance around.

Sadly the moment isn’t meant to last for much longer. Jake is halfway into one of his crazy stories, making Amy laugh louder and louder with every sip of her first drink. Out of nowhere, a heavy figure, certainly bigger than Amy’s, comes tumbling into her from the side and it to no one’s surprise results in her drink flying out of her hands, splashing all over her. Amy lets out a whelp, time stands still, everything seems to go silent as everyone around Amy, Jake included, stares in horror at the sudden mess.

Her drink, an unknown clear liquid mixed with melting ice, meets her previously so white and crisp shirt immediately soaking it - there’s no saving it.

“Oh, shit.” The stutter comes from the young man of the hour, someone Jake quickly recognizes at the loud and ruthless - and that’s coming from Jake - beat cop, Officer Miller. Jake finally snaps out of his daze, surprise and disbelief having him thrown completely off track. It’s then he really notices the look of horror on his partner’s half-drenched, very disappointed face, and even though he’s not to blame and it’s barely been ten seconds since the moment of collision, he wishes he’d reacted sooner.

“Oh my gosh,” Amy spits out, the sad remains of her drink plastered to her lower face and clothes.

“Fuck,” Miller adds another stutter to the list of pointless doings, right amidst the act of just standing there completely incapable of anything at all. From his point of view, Jake is witnessing the hopelessness play out before him -  Amy frozen, in shock, and Miller simply staring in disbelief at the consequences of his own acts -  when he suddenly notices how the young officer’s eyes shamelessly wander, from where they were looking at Amy’s face, downwards. Why whould he-

Jake’s eyes trail along, ingeniously, but quickly fly back to where they were looking at the offender - this time with rage in them. Miller’s eyes are still gawking at one specific area on Amy: her torso where her previously nice, white shirt - one Jake can picture Amy spending hours ironing and being excited to wear - is now very much see-through.

“Hey, what the hell, man!”

Jake is by no means a violent person, nevertheless he can’t contain himself. Not when Amy is right before him looking like a lost puppy. He lightly punches the other man’s shoulder.

“What the hell, yourself! Don’t touch me!” Miller, having finally snapped out of his perverted daydream, defends himself and takes a threatening step towards Jake.

“Jake, it’s okay-” Just like all the seminars have taught her, Amy tries to interrupt the escalating conflict; one that’s somehow partly her fault but at the same time not at all. However, feeling very exposed, starting to feel anxious, she doesn’t force anything. Left to do is nothing but to stand back and watch Jake stand his ground - even when the younger but notably taller man steps up to him.

“How about you have some decency and apologize to my partner?”

Jake is enraged, obviously by the drink-incident itself, but mostly by the young officer’s disrespectful reaction that followed suit. On the occasion that he wouldn’t much rather use his energy on listening to and helping Amy then maybe, just maybe, he would’ve engaged further. Inside his head he counts down from ten, still glaring with fiery eyes at Miller, and not moving before he’s reached zero. As if on cue Amy breaks the silence.

“Jake… Let it go. It was an accident.”

She’s too good for her own self, he thinks. Her voice is shaky, not disturbingly so but just enough to get Jake to turn around, and his reasoning is confirmed: his energy and time is better spent helping her, however he can. The crowd around them has once again started buzzing, as if nothing ever happened, and the only thing Jake has eyes for is Amy and the distressing way in which she has her arms crossed before her in an attempt to hide herself. Her body’s posture obviously translates to her facial features, the anxiety starting to show, so of course Jake wastes no time; without further hesitation, he pulls off his iconic blue hoodie and makes sure to help it onto her, shielding her from the rest of the party. Once in a while he throws a glance at her face, and he can tell the very second it hits her that he must’ve seen it too since he knows what’s going on.

“Don’t worry about it. Except for that idiot, no one saw anything. Don’t think about it… Okay?” He reassures her, hopefully putting her mind at ease, and makes sure to catch her eyes before continuing. Hopefully she believes him.  

“Thank you,” she whispers as they stand face to face while Jake makes sure his hoodie is covering her properly. He wants to smile, be the good in her dreadful situation, but still feeling too pissed he can only muster a nod before he wraps a protective arm around her shoulder. “Come with me, Amy. Lets go fix this.” It’s his way of telling her to come with him, that she can trust him and that he’ll take care of it. He can feel her follow him, thus guiding her to the elevator.

❄ ❄ ❄ ❄ ❄ ❄ ❄

Still in a somewhat trance-like state, Amy lets Jake guide her, arm safely around her shoulder and small-talking to keep her calm, down the dimly lit hall of the basement and into the Nine-Nine’s men’s locker room. Her soaked shirt has slowly started soaking through Jake’s hoodie, the wet tips of Amy’s hair dripping onto it as well, and there’s a very good reason Jake has brought her where he has. He doesn’t waste a second and gently sits her down on the bench in the middle of the many lockers.

“Just sit tight, Ames. I’m going to fix this.”

She nods instead of breaking her silence, still feeling somewhat overwhelmed by the embarrassing situation which has unfortunately triggered an anxious part of her that she most of the time can keep in check. Alas this situation was too much, understandably so, and all she has to cling onto is her partner rummaging rather aimlessly through what she hopes is his locker. Must be; the inside of the door is covered in a Die Hard poster, and Amy feels herself smile a bit at the sight. That is so very Jake Peralta. Even more so when, during the intense search, all kinds of random items accidently fall out of the locker. Everything from packs of gum and old receipts to DVDs and lonely socks.

“Aha! Knew I had it in here!”

Jake pulls a chequered item from the depths of his - very messy, Amy can’t help but shudder - locker before turning to her with a wide, proud smile that lets her know: mission accomplished. He puts a red flannel on display for her and his smile never falters. “On top of being clean and warm it’s also red. Very christmassy, Santiago.”

“Have you just… always had that in there?”

“Probably since I transferred here,” Jake chuckles as he throws all the things that fell out during his search for the flannel back into the chaos of the locker. “Red is not my best color, so I just keep it in there in case I need a change of clothes…” he trails off as if he’s considering his next move, then his head whips around to look at her. “... Or, like, in case my best friend is in trouble. Might not be up to Santiago-standards but I promise it isn’t gross or anything.”

Amy can’t fight it as tiny butterflies break free in her stomach at the sight of her caring partner, someone she could potentially see as more but alas she’ll never say out loud, send her that small, mischievous yet shy smile of his. Instead of saying anything, too baffled to say anything coherent, her eyes will secretly sparkle and heart do a double take. A joke can perhaps do the job, she thinks, hating how Jake-like she’s become over the years.

“Best friend? I don’t see Boyle in here.”

“What a silly thing to say, Santiago.” Having stuffed all of his randomness back into the locker, he turns back to look at her. “You know very well that you’re my best friend, too.”

Silence, more intense than their usual comfortable ones, fall over them as their eyes stay in touch. It’s as if someone’s supposed to say something, supposed to confess, but nothing of that nature presents itself. Instead Jake clears his throat.

“Now take your wet shirt off and put this on.” He hands her the flannel and for a second their eyes lock again. She takes it from him and keeps their eyes locked, for just a second too long as if she’s trying to communicate through the stare. A tension, one made of something unspoken, once again connects them. Too bad Jake’s quick to divert the situation by clearing his throat, she think, even though she also knows he’s right.

“Uhm, so yeah… Put that on and I’ll wait outside. There’s another hoodie in my locker, uhm on top, if you’re still cold.”

“T-thanks, Jake.”

A small smile is sent her way before he disappears out into the hall and closes the door, allowing Amy to let out a deep breath. Damn Jake Peralta for being so amazing.

❄ ❄ ❄ ❄ ❄ ❄ ❄

“Tadaaa.”

Jake’s head flies up, from where he was looking down at his phone, to witness a sight he definitely shouldn’t be loving as much as the butterflies in his stomach tell him he certainly does. There’s apparently something about Amy Santiago in his flannel and hoodie that does something to him; sweaty palms, speeding heartbeat and all that jazz.

“How do I look?”

Beautiful. He thinks but doesn’t say it out loud. There’s a teasing glint in his partner’s eyes, one he wants to fall and dive right into so badly, but he’s too aware to give into it. Amy does a pageant twirl and it couldn’t be timed any better, Jake thinks: it’s the perfect occasion for him to throw in a joke and break the spell that he seems to be under.

“Stunning,” he jokes and prays to some higher power that it’s enough to drench them in that never-that-serious, goofy energy they seem to be all about, even after the most serious and intense moments. “Like looking at myself in the mirror.”

She scrunches her nose and smiles, a face she always makes when he says something funny, and Jake doesn’t complain. “Ouch.” She says, pretend-hurt.

“Hey! I’m very handsome, thank you very much…”

“Whatever.” She shakes her head. “Thank you, by the way.”

“Don’t mention it.” He smiles, genuinely as only he can, and Amy wants to thank him for so much more than just tonight. She wants to thank him for always being on her side, always making her feel good in every situation imaginable, even the bad ones, and she wants to thank him for truly being her best friend. That would come off as a very emotionally loaded confession though, so instead she bites her lip.

“Anyways… I think I’m gonna head home. I’m not really feeling like going back there.” She confesses.

All at once the light and cheery Amy, the Amy that jokes and rolls her eyes at him, seems to be switched off and once again replaced by the hesitant Amy he rarely sees. The few times he has witnessed said hesitant and insecure Amy, without hesitation or questions, he feels a somewhat irrational need to help her, take care of the thorn in her side, whatever that might be. Although now, with a girlfriend, one that isn’t Amy, weighing down on his conscience, he isn’t quite sure of how to act. The thought of her sitting at home all alone while he and everyone at the Nine-Nine parties doesn’t fall on fertile ground. No way he’s just letting her walk out.

“I’ll head upstairs with you and grab my coat, say goodbye to the squad, and then I’ll be off before I can embarrass myself again.”

“Ames!”

Barely turned on her heels, Jake is significantly faster and manages to block her way to the elevator. In the depth of his brown eyes Amy, surprised to say the least, can see something unravelling. She’s frozen on the spot where he cut her off.

“Jake?”

“Stay? We can have a fun night without going back up to the party.” He flashes a shy smile that reminds her of the kind she and her brothers always used to flash at their mother whenever they knew they were bargaining for an unreasonable cause. Much like that Jake Peralta is indeed a child disguised as a grown man.  

“Stay?” There’s that stupid cute frown of hers again, he thinks and he actually isn’t quite sure of the answer. Jake had a bad case of blurting out ideas before being fully sure of what said idea fully was, and this was no exception. All he knew was that Amy couldn’t leave to be alone; he couldn’t have her spend the night doing nothing.

“Uh- I… That’s not what I meant.” It kind of actually was, but he can’t force her to stay if she wants to go, which genuinely seems to be her preferred plan. “Let me follow you home - at least.” Nice save, he thinks to himself.

Her frown slowly melts away like snow on a spring day and, if he isn’t completely delusional, Jake can see a small smile rise on her lips instead and his new idea is actually a good one.

“I would lov-” her voice hitches in her throat when she accidently looks right back into her partner's eyes, momentarily thrown off track, but in true Santiago-style she makes a quick comeback. Keeps the feelings abay and packed away like a pro. “That would be nice, Jake. Thank you”.

“Cool cool cool.” Skin against skin can be heard rubbing against each other, an unusual sound, and it confuses Amy for a second until she notices that Jake’s palms are rubbing against each other. A nervous mannerism on his part that has Amy wonder why . Not for too long though. Jake is quick to save himself.  

“Let me go grab our things upstairs. We can meet on the first floor. I’ll tell everyone you feel sick.”

“Thanks, Jake. My coat is-”

“Navy blue, gold buttons and black handbag. Got it.”

So far from a question as could be, a sentence that is more matter of factly than most things Jake says, Amy can only go silent and nod in agreement. The man is very right, after all and she feels fuzzy at how seamlessly it fell from his lips. They enter the elevator in a comfortable silence and after having stepped off on the first floor, Amy can only smile to herself as she sees the elevator doors close between her and what is probably the best partner in the world. Best friend, she corrects herself, reminiscing about Jake’s words from down in the locker room.

❄ ❄ ❄ ❄ ❄ ❄ ❄

Snow crunches under their feet, the white powder covering every street in Brooklyn, and tonight the otherwise hectic city looks abnormally peaceful. Amidst the winter wonderland, two figures make their way through the drizzling snowfall, both imagining that this is the way things, perhaps, could and should be. Alone, together the two of them, in the world.

Turns out that focusing on the story Amy is currently telling is, even though very interesting, very hard when snowflakes caught in her hair makes it look all glittery and pretty. Also soft, he thinks, and he hates that he wonders what it would feel like to run his fingers through it. Maybe as they were snuggled up on their couch, under blankets, as they watched those stupid Christas movies that he knows she loves. This trail of thoughts is a dangerous one, he’s aware. Luckily Amy herself comes to his rescue, her laughter shattering whatever parallel universe his mind was forming. Of course he laughs along even though he can safely say that he doesn’t know what he’s laughing at. Alone the sound of her laugh is enough to make him want to join. She’s contagious like that - in every way imaginable.

“Hey, Jake?”

She stops and him likewise. “Yeah?”

He turns around to catch her looking longingly at the building they’re currently in front of; a nicely decorated little café. “This place has the best cocoa. Wanna get some? My treat - now that you’re missing out on the party because of me.” She looks back at her partner for some kind of approval, shyly tugging her hair behind her ears in the process and there’s no way Jake can say no - even if he wanted to. The light coming from the café creates an aura-like effect around her figure and Jake swears to himself that she’s an actual angel.

“Sounds good. Mostly because you’re paying,” he manages to snap out of his daydream just in time to come off as nonchalant, teasing, and the two enter the warmth of the café. Inside it’s buzzing with families and couples celebrating the season in each other’s company, and Jake briefly wonders if that will ever be him sitting with a toddler in his lap, allowing it to taste its first hot cocoa as him and the mother witness it with wide smiles on their faces? And with who? Sophia, maybe? Or maybe- no. Definitely can’t go there.

“Two hot dark chocolate with marshmallows, please.”

“Dark?” Jake frowns suddenly back in present time where Amy has made it her task to order their drinks.

“Yeah, they have different kinds but the dark is the best. Trust me.”

“With my life.”

They share a smile and to everyone else in that room, or at least the ones that care enough to pay attention, they could be a couple - foolishly into each other. Before they know it they’re back outside in the cold, although they quickly forget as their respective cups of cocoa warms their hands, and soon after reach Amy’s apartment building. It feels like forever since they left the precinct, when actually, Jake notices when he checks his phone, it’s only been about an hour. Darkness does that to his already questionable sense of time.

His deed is done, he knows; Amy is home safe, and he can head back to the precinct and party with a bunch of people he doesn’t really care about. Or at least cares just a bit less about than Amy. Suddenly the urge to party, act like an idiot and get drunk surely doesn’t sound tempting - at all. Maybe it’s the few hours he’s spent hanging out alone with Amy; perhaps it’s the taste of dark hot cocoa stuck on his tongue, the one he’d moaned about “indeed being the best he’d ever had” just minutes ago… He can’t figure it out but something from within the last two hours has him hating the thought of being anywhere else but here with Amy. If he asked her to hang out outside in the snow, he would.

“So... “ Amy breaks the silence. “Thanks for walking me home… And the shirt and hoodie.You’ll have it back, washed and everything, tomorrow. Promise.”

Consistent as always, Jake thinks and smiles with amusement radiating from his eyes. “Yeah, I’m really going to need that back asap. It’s not like I have the exact same outfit, like times ten, at home… Like some cartoon animal.”

She laughs, throwing her head back and Jake feels the snow beneath him melt.

“Good to know.” She straightens back up, arms crossed to keep her warm, even though Jake is certain her smile must radiate enough warmth to keep them both warm.

“No worries.”

Silence swallows them and all there is to be heard is the sound of the forever and always buzzing Brooklyn; cars, people yelling, jingle bells, dogs barking and everything that makes Brooklyn oh so very Brooklyn.

“Sooo…” Amy shuffles on the spot nervously creating small patterns in the before solid snow. “Are headed back to the party? I bet Charles misses you.”

They share a chuckle, both well-knowing she isn’t joking.

“Yeah, I’m sure you’re right but... “ He hesitates to say it, nervously biting his lip as the hands in his pocket’s shuffle around for nothing at all. “I don’t think I’m gonna head back. I’m just gonna head home. Everyone’s probably all buzzed by now and I don’t think I’m up for the challenge of catching up.”

“Oh… I- uhm-”

The shuffling only grows worse and it’s as if the young woman can’t find peace, bit by bit aggravating the guilt she’s suddenly feeling - a guilt he’d never intended her to feel. “Jake, I’m so sorry if you felt like you had to skip the party to follow me home. You should've just stayed behind and had fun with everyone. I would’ve been just fin-”

“Ames.” He gently grabs her by the upper arms, stopping her from spiralling completely. “Shut up.” He makes sure to smile when he says it. “I’ve had way more fun hanging out with you than I would’ve with those bazillion strangers back at the precinct.”

He can feel her shoulders drop, relaxing, before she flashes back a smile. A snowflake lands on the very tip of her nose and Jake smiles even wider. Little does she know why. “First of all: bazillion is not a real number. Second of all: if it was then I don’t think that many people work at our precinct,” she argues with a glimt in her eye that matches the snowflakes on her face.

“How can you know if bazilion is not an actual number? A bazillion might be like.. 85?” He tilts his head in that challenging way he always does when he knows he’s got a point.

Silence.

“You might be one of the Nine-Nine’s best detectives but, my God,I swear sometimes you’re so stupid,” she finishes with an affectionate chuckles.

“No doubt.”

They both laugh it off and it’s so them, they both can’t help but think.

“Anyways… Feel free to say no, but wanna come up? We can finish our cocoas and watch a Christmas movie, maybe?”

There’s nothing he’d rather do. Without a doubt.

“I would like that.”

“Okay then,” she agrees and unlocks the door to her building. “I’m not watching ‘Die Hard’ though.”

“Aw, come on, Ames!” he whines.

“It’s not a Christmas movie and if you try to convince me otherwise, then I will prove you wrong. I have a list of arguments saved on my phone - solely for this very occasion.”

“Challenge accepted!”

They end up watching ‘Home Alone’ instead, huddled up on Amy’s couch with each their blanket and hot cocoa, a friendly distance between them, of course, and if you were to ask them, they both had the best Christmas party-evening. They laugh their way through the movie and each other’s company, no complications in sight, and how they both wish, deep down, that everyday could be like this.

The end. 

❄ ❄ ❄ ❄ ❄ ❄ ❄

[samwrights]

I’m sorry but ukai with a breeding kink😳yes PLEASE

I swear I saw another ask that asked for Ukai with an impreg kink

*ahem* anyways—WOW this one was a doozy but holy shit did I have fun writing it. 11k words you guys. 11. K. It is a lot so grab some cocoa or coffee and a blanket because this is a read. It even has to be split into two parts because I hit the fucking text limit, BUT this also means there is no actual smut in this portion. You can find that here.

If you guys need some ear candy, I recommend the following:

Day N Nite (Crooker’s Remix) by Kid Cudi

Pursuit of Happiness (Extended version with Steve Aoki) by Kid Cudi

Breaking Me by Topic

C’Mon by Ke$ha

Flannel by The Cardboard Swords (it has to be sad somewhere)

Magic in the Hamptons by Social House

Fun fact: Ke$ha was actually the primary inspiration for this fic and for DJ!Ukai. God bless her.

Warnings: language, nicotine and alcohol consumption, implied drug use, implied emotionally abusive relationship, breeding/impreg kink, dirty talk, rough sex, risky sex, road head, slight dub-con, praise, multiple smut scenes, 3rd person POV reader-insert—because the word ‘you’ just didn’t seem to fit.

Without further ado, please enjoy the filthy depths of my brain followed by a relatively happy ending that I’ve titled, “Between the Lines’” :-)

“You’ve been more tired lately, and you’re showing up right when practice starts. Is everything okay?” Was the question that Takeda had asked Ukai Keishin that haunted him for years to come. Sure, he had wanted to gain more independence from his parents, wanted to start being more adult-like and take over the mortgage and the bills so his parents could finally rest. At the age of twenty-six, it seemed like a good idea at the time. With four years passing, however, Keishin was so damn tired, but it wasn’t like he could just stop working.

He was still tending to crops every morning, tending to the shop, coaching for Karasuno, but in the four years time, he had adopted one more job on the weekends—Ukai Keishin was a local nightclub DJ. He’d discovered the job opportunity one fateful night that he was out with his friends from the neighborhood association. To this day, he was still unsure of why he was approached with the job, especially considering he didn’t know the first thing about being a DJ, but the woman who had offered him the position had taught him everything he needed to know.

It turned out that he had a natural affinity for the position, seeing as he was still at it years later under the alias Spira. Ukai kept telling himself that he would quit the gig eventually because there was no way he could continue working four jobs—it was inhuman and the money didn’t even really matter to him. Okay, that last one is a lie; his DJ gig has been a substantial contributor to his savings funds to the point where he was even able to afford a newer, larger, (and slightly) used SUV in full compared to his tiny, old yellow beater. Even his mortgage bills were starting to look less daunting with the current cash flow.

Who needs sleep anyway? Ukai survived and thrived off of nicotine and caffeine anyway. Besides, sleep was the last thing on his mind whenever he set foot into the club. It was impossible to think of anything other than the writhing bodies of sweaty, young adults that were already drunk or high or were practically fucking each other with their clothes on. Perhaps that was part of the reason Keishin felt the need to quit this job—he was envious. Envious of the fact that he never got to indulge in his youth like these kids did; he started working and helping his family out right away after college. Sure, he went out here and there, but these twenty-something-year-olds were living their best life, while he was thirty and catering to their whims.

To say he was a bit bitter would be an understatement.

Bitterness aside, however, it did him good to see the youth enjoying exactly that—their youth. They got to do as they pleased between exams and becoming functioning members of society and, while he was jealous, Ukai was proud to be able to contribute to their pleasure.

He’d arrived to the club early, as he often did, to try to grab a drink before he was due for stage time. Ukai was thankful the bartenders knew him enough that he didn’t have to verbally order considering the music was too loud to hear him in the first place. A rum and coke manifests itself in a small, plastic cup that the blonde raises in thanks before weaving and bobbing around the various partygoers. For the most part, he’s successful in dodging the flailing bodies as he mutely notes the very upbeat remix of some female pop artist playing.

But only remotely successful as Keishin attempts to salvage his drink from spilling as he raises it over his head as one of the partygoers is pushed into him. “Hey, careful!” He snaps toward the younger, [hair color]ed woman. She only looks half-offended by the scolding, but otherwise unperturbed. If anything, the dominating expression on her face was confusion.

“Coach Ukai?” He’s surprised to hear both his given name and his title, let alone coming from a club patron, as they all knew him as Spira. Recognition slips his mind entirely—he’s never met this girl in any way that he can remember. Certainly, he would never forget crossing paths with this beauty, even if she was dressed in a similarly juvenile fashion to the other ravers. Tight crop top tee cinched together by a knot at the midriff, with army green high-waisted shorts attempting to cover the bare skin, face painted with makeup, glitter, and sweat; even underneath the garb, she brought forth no recollection. “Uh, d-do you remember me?” It’s a challenge to hear over the music, but she presses forward close enough that her lips are right in Keishin’s ear.

“Can’t say that I do,” he yells right back into hers.

“Karasuno class of twenty-twelve, I was Sugawara’s girlfriend.” Oh.

Oh.

Now he remembered, vaguely, but he doesn’t ever remember her looking like this. The last four years had been incredibly kind to her, in more ways than one. Back in her Karasuno days, [name] had always looked pleasant, for lack of better term. But there was always a lifeless, matted, dull glaze to her eyes that screamed she was searching for something more. While it was still somewhat present, there was a substantial joyous air around her. It looked good on her. However, as much as Ukai wanted to stay and admire, he had to go get set up for the evening. Or rather, that was the excuse he used when he said he would catch her after the show. “[name], did you know who that was?” The woman in question gives a nod, confused at the sudden star struck gawks that her friends held.

“Uh, yeah? My ex-boyfriend’s volleyball coach?”

“No dude, that was the DJ, Spira.”

“What?”

Being the closing act meant a lot of different things to Ukai Keishin. On the negative spectrum, it meant he was going to have to tend to crops as soon as he finished cleaning up his set. That also meant he wasn’t going to get to go to bed until nearly eight in the morning after his shift at the farm. Yet, for him, the positives greatly outweighed the negatives. For Keishin, watching the audience lose themselves in euphoria, albeit probably a drug-induced one, just hit different for him. It was a sense of satisfaction that only came from a select few activities, with coaching volleyball being the other major contributor. There was just something about the way the crowd was overwhelmed and screaming the second underground remixes of old Kid Cudi tracks with his own twists overtook the speakers that granted Keishin a sense of enlightenment.

For him, being a DJ allowed an audience to flow and vibe with the journey of his life and all its constant up and down motions while under the guise of anonymity. As Spira, Ukai opened up the complexity and conflicting feelings of his inner mind and brought it to fruition through his mixes. He felt that in his soul, he’d done his art of storytelling justice. The audience felt it. Hell, his mom at home probably felt it. Perhaps it was one of the main reasons this dingy, hole-in-the-wall club kept asking him to come back every weekend.

His mind wanders further as he clutches an electronic cigarette in his hand, mixing beats on the turntable while taking hits of nicotine in between. He wonders if the girl he had ran into just a few minutes prior had been frequenting here as often as he had. Then, thinking back to what little information she supplied earlier, Ukai’s mind drifts off to the former third-year setter from when he first started coaching. Sugawara was a nice boy with a firm, almost parental, hand that walked dangerously along the lines of being a partner and being a control freak. When it came to his relationship, things had to go his way. And while his girlfriend that came to every tournament was much more outspoken yet easy going, she was opinionated and didn’t shy from confrontation.

Now that the coach had given it more thought, it was a wonder that one tolerated the other at any point in time. If anything, Ukai imagines the two of them would typically be at each other’s throats. From the few times he had interacted with her, she was always more free spirited and couldn’t be weighed down by any one else’s opinion, but seeing her now was different—she was in her element in the dingy, dark club with the glitter on her cheekbones refracting light off of her face. There was laughter and true, unabashed joy on her face. She had a light of her own—like she was ray of sunshine in the center of a storm.

Three hours past midnight when the club closed was always Keishin’s sign to leave, regardless of the countless attempts to attend the after party he’d been invited to. He had to go to work, after all. Sure, a part of him had always been a little green with envy at all the DJs that got to hook up with club patrons after, but after being at this gig for a few years, he figured that the right girl for him would eventually come to him if he continued working on himself. After all, he didn’t want to just have a string of one night stands with a bunch of fresh adults that could barely function after the small drop of Malibu rum—he was too old for that.

“Uh, coach?” [name] felt strange calling him that, but she didn’t feel familiar enough with him to address him otherwise. He was halfway in his car, the blonde ready to leave for the weekend to go back to his regular day-to-day work. “You coming to the after party?” [name] asks when Keishin only looks at her in question, cigarette hanging betwixt his dry lips.

“No, I actually have to go to work right now.”

“Oh,” she doesn’t mean to express her disappointment, but it slips anyway, “guess I’ll catch you later then?”

“Uh, yeah.” A tight lipped hybrid of a pained grin and grimace crosses her wet, gloss covered lips. Without another word, Ukai closes his car door, a little more brusquely than he intended to, before backing out and leaving the young woman to her own devices. His mind wanders once again with him humming absentmindedly to the soft acoustic punk playing over the car radio. His eyes are focused on the passing greenery, the cars that are weaving and bobbing off the freeway—hell he even noticed the way the tendrils of the sun are just barely starting to peak over the horizon because it reminded him of her. A thought he banishes immediately because he feels creepy for even thinking that.

Yet no matter how much scenery flitted through his honey eyes, his mind keeps traveling back to one thing, or rather one person, only.

Goddammit.

On Monday’s practice, Ukai Keishin’s mind is flooding and drowning in memories of his first year as the volleyball club’s coach. It was as if his mind was coercing him to attempt to reach out to the girl that plagued his mind for the last forty-eight hours or so. Though, he had no way of contacting her. Instead, with every step along the wooden floors, he can remember the way she would walk Suga to practice, almost physically seeing her standing in the doorway to kiss the third-year setter goodbye. As if he could see her sitting underneath the third window from the left, quietly doing homework and exchanging small talk and airy laughter with Kiyoko and Daichi. As if he could see the same sunny smile she gave in the audience from Saturday night at the club between the lines of the woodwork in the floorboards.

It was a repeating pattern day in and day out that was beginning to make Ukai question his sanity.

“Hey, man,” his assistant coach and fellow Karasuno alumni, Tsukishima Akiteru, places a hand on his shoulder and looks at him in worry. “Are you okay? You’ve been out of it all week.” In what world did a week translate into three days, the older blonde coach didn’t know.

“I’m fine, just tired,” Keishin all but bites back. He didn’t want to admit his conscious had been running rampant with thoughts of a girl he’d briefly met at a club. It felt almost as disturbing and perverted as it sounded in his mind.

“The team’s worried about you. Why don’t you take an early weekend and get some rest? We’ll see you back on Monday, yeah?” Normally, Ukai would have vehemently refused. However, his circumstances were far from normal and he was gracious for an assistant coach he trusted wholeheartedly to do the work that needed to be done. And so, Ukai heeded Akiteru’s advice and went home before practice even began on Thursday afternoon.

It was slightly disorienting for him to go home and nap, but he was incredibly thankful for the gift. Waking up just before he was technically supposed to start his shift at the shop, Keishin jumps into a cold shower to bring him to life before heading downstairs. A bellowing yawn passes his lips through his teeth as he starts his evening. Maybe his team was right—he really did need a break. Thankfully, he knew that the second the doors to the Sakanoshita were locked, he was done for the evening and wouldn’t need to reawaken until three the following morning. Just a few more hours until then, he thought.

With it being a slower evening as well, Ukai was able to kick his feet up on the counter as he always did, pull open the newspaper from earlier in the morning and casually flip through. Briefly, he considers giving up one of his four jobs because this was something he missed doing. But consideration aside, he was far too in love with the cash flow and the thought of paying off his mortgage to entertain the thought for long. Maybe one day, he would finally sell the Sakanoshita store or quit helping on the farm—

“You still work here?” Huh. Her voice sounds different when it isn’t drowning under the speakers of a nightclub.

“I do own this place, you know.” Ukai snarks at the woman who’d been consuming his brain for the last week. She looks different without glitter reflecting off of her unreal cheekbones or the heavy layers of foundation and eyeshadow. Even more than before, Keishin definitely recognized [name] now. “What are you doing here anyway?”

“Shopping,” she snorts as if it were the most obvious thing, “why else would I be at a store?”

“Dunno, maybe you’re just here to see me.” Ukai responds without skipping a beat, turning the page of the paper to play into his guise that he wasn’t the slightest bit surprised at [name]’s presence.

“Uh...actually...” her voice is quiet, prompting the coach to quirk a brow and fold up the paper he was now pretending to read. It wasn’t like he could focus on anything right now outside of the woman standing before him, spearated only by a thin counter. Without talking again, his brown eyes lock with hers, silently goading for her to continue speaking. “I-I just...I don’t know. It was just really weird to see you at the club and then to find out that you’re Spira on top of that. I haven’t seen anyone from Karasuno since I graduated and—“

“Woah, kid, breathe.” Ukai interrupts her before she can continue spewing word vomit at a hundred miles an hour. “So what if I’m Spira? Though, you better not tell anyone that. My stage name is a secret between us, alright?” For a moment she’s quiet, gears turning in her head. The secrecy didn’t make sense to her because, if anything, he should be proud of the fact that he’s rather well known in the underground electronica scene. Or at least, she was in his stead, because [name] would have been proud of Ukai regardless of whatever occupation he held.

She supposed it came with the territory of having an unrequited crush on the coach years ago, that continued well beyond high school and even university, back when she was still dating Sugawara Koushi. It was the reason she had even bothered to come sit in on his practices and partially the reason she would come to his tournaments and matches. Not that she didn’t want to be supportive of her then-boyfriend—it would have been a fight had she not—but seeing the hot older coach was definitely a bonus in her book. “But why?” She offers, not wanting conversation to end despite her not having actually bought anything.

“If the school ever caught wind of me doing that, I could lose my position as the coach. Some shit about Karasuno’s image or whatever.” [name] gives a small nod, fidgeting subconsciously, as an attempt to shake her nerves and anxiety, by sifting through various candy bars that were in front of her before grabbing her favorite. Without a second thought, she peels the wrapper before placing the candy between her lips, the puffy pink skin greatly contrasting the chocolate coating. “Ya gonna pay for that, kid?” Ukai irks, his honey brown eyes steeling over in irritation. The nickname she’s given hits the final nail on the coffin and seals away [name]’s trepidation. Instead, her own sass comes out to join the fun.

“Nah,” she hums playfully, the chocolate-covered wafer cookie crunching between her teeth. “Quit calling me kid, coach. I’m a lady,” the irony isn’t lost on either of them as she speaks with her mouth full.

“Still a kid, kid. And quit calling me coach, I’m not your damn coach.” The familiar, grumpy attitude of his brings [name] back to the Ukai she knew back in high school. In a mix of nostalgia, warmth washes over her as the haughty tone in his voice sent shivers down her spine like it did a few years back.

“Sure thing, coach,” she teases again before tossing the wrapper of the stolen candy bar into the nearest bin. “You’re at the club tomorrow, right?” The question adds a bit of context and confirmation to Ukai—it seems she knew when Spira was performing, meaning she must have been a patron for a decent amount of time. Part of him wonders how she never realized who he was before, another part wonders how he’s never noticed her considering she could make all traffic stop if she stood in the middle of a freeway. At least, that’s what looking at her did to his heart.

“Yeah?”

“Maybe this time, you’ll join us at the after party.” Without another word, [name] pushes herself away from the counter she’d been leaning on while talking to the blonde man. With Akiteru giving him the weekend off, he actually entertained the thought of attending this time. Even if her invitation was rather blasé and indirect, he didn’t see the opportunity of him attending one presenting itself any time soon. He may be old, by his own standard, but there was a unknown allure to the thought of showing up to a wild party with a woman that was so adamant of his attendance.

Or rather, adamant in his mind. Whether she actually wanted his company remained to be seen, but the curiosity was gnawing at him, and was something he would have to unearth sooner rather than later.

Having an entire night, or a day’s worth, of rest was a rather disorienting, yet pleasant feeling for Ukai. After tending to crops and returning home in the early hours of the morning, the blonde coach was able to catch a solid nine hours of sleep before his shift at the Sakanoshita store with another chance to nap before he needed to head to the club. Despite knowing he had the ability to do so before another restless night, his mind felt the need to keep him awake and alert. Even after showering and styling his blonde tresses into their usual mane—mundane acts that usually came to him automatically—he was hyper aware of the slightest unruly flyaways.

Ukai Keishin was nervous.

He didn’t know what to wear or if there was a dress code or if anything he typically wore would be deemed worthy of an after party. A part of him wanted to leave it alone and let him sport his usual white track pants and tight, maroon muscle tank, but that part of him immediately drowns in the ocean of his anxiety. Another string in his brain prompted him to dress up just a little bit to help him look the part—it had nothing to do with impressing a certain club patron, no—he tried to convince himself. A miserable attempt, but still one nonetheless.

Eventually, he settled on crisp, dark-washed jeans that hugged his muscular legs without being suffocating, paired with a vibrant, crimson muscle tee that hugged his biceps all the same. Ukai still felt a little out of place in the attire, as he often had back when he first assumed the alias Spira, but headed out the door of his apartment before his conscious could dispute it.

He was early again, even more so than normal. Desperate for a drink to calm his nerves and replace his blood with liquid courage, Ukai worms his way around to the bar, signaling the attendant for his usual. Rum and coke in hand, the DJ stands off to the side, hiding like a wallflower, while he studied the sweaty, dancing bodies. Did he know why he was looking for her—no. Maybe partially to tell her she owed him for the candy bar, maybe to tell her he was joining in on the after party this time around.

Maybe to just see her.

Keishin banishes the last thought with a shake of his head before skulking off to the attached patio to smoke. Pulling a cigarette from his pack and a lighter from his pocket, the flame torches the end of the filter at the same time the blonde inhales. Forcefully pushing the smoke out past his lips, Ukai takes a hearty sip of his drink until it’s nearly gone. He was going to need something stronger tonight.

“Is it that time already?” The older man’s head snaps to the voice that had been haunting him subconsciously.

Part of him wishes he didn’t look.

As if to play into her question, [name] checks the large, rose gold watch on her right wrist—an incredibly stark contrast to her outfit for the evening. Maybe it was a hunch when Ukai felt that he had been underdressed, as if his intuition knew that she was going to be dressed to the nines in a black skater dress. Even with a modest neckline, the lace cut out detailing on the sides of the dress accentuated her curves impeccably, playing well with the volume of the skirt, while the open back she was sporting dipped dangerously low.

It took everything in Ukai to not throw every milliliter of restraint and inhibition out the window and fuck her right then and there.

Taking a lengthy drag of his cigarette to hold himself back, Keishin inhales deeply, the smoke billowing past his lips emerging densely and grey in color. “I’m a little early—needed an extra drink today.” The man manages to choke out, downing whatever is left in his little plastic cup for added emphasis.

“Need another?” [name] chirps politely; almost too politely as if to deliberately dispute the salacious thoughts flooding the coaches mind.

“I can get—“

“I owe you anyway,” she reminds him, alluding to the candy bar she had eaten without paying for from the previous night. “Pick your poison.”

“Double rum and coke.” He concedes. [name]’s lips twitch upward slightly at the corner before she plucks the empty cup from Ukai’s hand. He doesn’t miss the way the shellac on her nails grazes against his skin, leaving the whispers of contact to run warm. Immediately, the blonde man uses the nearly dead cigarette between his teeth to light a fresh one—heaven or hell knows he needed the nicotine right now.

Given the silence, Keishin takes the opportunity to absorb his surroundings. From the general direction that [name] initially came from, she wasn’t around any of her friends or really anyone that he knew. That was good at least; there wasn’t anybody else that knew of his presence. [name] returns, two clear plastic cups in her hands and surrenders the darker of the two to the man awaiting. “Hold mine for a sec?” Without thinking, Keishin holds his cigarette between his left index and middle fingers, his drink in the same hand, while taking hers. To his surprise, she pulls out her own pack of menthols and a torch lighter, setting the leaves ablaze before taking her obvious vodka cranberry back.

“You took up smoking?” The older of the two asks in surprise, noting the way her lipstick leaves the slightest bit of residue along the brown filter. [name] gives a shrug.

“Surprised you didn’t notice it sooner, coach. I’ve been smoking since second year.” Ukai gives a roll of his eyes at the use of this strange pet name he’s been dubbed by her. But he thinks about it, thinks about how Suga must have felt probably knowing that she did. Thinks how it just added to this strange, sassy yet happy, wild and free exterior she now had. And [name] notices instantly the very same look Ukai had in his face when he was trying to strategize, trying to figure out a way to navigate a conversation with his team about becoming better—she knows what’s coming next. “Yeah, yeah, I know I should quit or whatever. Suga lost that argument a long time ago.”

“Can’t really tell you what to do when I’m just as guilty.” Ukai gives a laugh—one that is embedded with bitterness and envy at the mention of the third-year setter—yet is just as vivacious as he is. A sound entirely different than she’d ever heard leave his lungs before. She likes it.

After finishing his smoke, Keishin gulps down a hefty swig of his drink before patting [name] on the shoulder before announcing his departure. “I’ll see you inside,” the girl, woman, calls out thoughtfully as she gives a small wave with her cigarette filter between her fingers. Ukai doesn’t verbalize the same sentiment. He doesn’t want to slip up and admit he’ll be looking for her.

But it’s painfully obvious that he is when he takes over the booth. Unable to hide the fact that with every chance that he looks into the audience, he’s searching for that black skater dress that hugs her all too perfectly, [hair color] locks swaying as she moves in the crowd. Ukai can’t hide it at all—not behind the turn table or new remixes meant to get the crowd moving.

He can’t hide the urgency he feels to find her outside in the crisp evening air, smoking on the back patio of the club after his set. [name] is talking and laughing with her friends while thin grey smoke billows from her open mouth before her eyes land on him. Some of her friends take notice to the tension and their shared gazes, some of them whispering his alias in excitement. But [name] just smiles knowingly, if not a little cocky, because she can see that urgency, that desperation, that Ukai was trying to hide. “Wait, [name], do you know Spira?” A bystander asked. Clearly, they weren’t present the last time this was brought up.

“Yeah, I may have met him once or twice,” the woman in question snickers as she strides over closer and closer to the aforementioned DJ.

“Cute,” Ukai sneers teasingly at her jab before instinctively reaching for the half-gone cigarette she pulls to her stained lips. At first, she thought he was going to put it out, considering their little conversation from a few hours ago. Instead, the volleyball coach puts the filter to his own lips, noting the damp fabric probably from her freshly applied lipgloss, and takes a drag. It tasted like watermelons and mint.

“Cheeky,” [name] returns, plucking her cancer stick back from the blonde man. While her friends are still behind her murmuring about the familiarity between the two of them, Keishin and [name] are lost in their own little world. “So since your set is over, and considering you’re still here, I’m assuming you’re joining me for the after party? Or do you have to go to work again?”

“I told them I’d be out of town this weekend,” Ukai tries to play it off as nonchalantly as he could, ties to swallow it down his nerves with rum and nicotine. It proves rather difficult considering the coy smile on [name]’s face is wearing and cracking through his resolve rather quickly. But at least, to him, he could confirm his mind was not playing tricks on him and [name] was just as adamant about his attendance as he initially thought. Even more so with her next statement.

“Cool. Your car or mine?” It took him a minute to process her words even—lust thickening and constricting the flow to his brain at the vague question. Ukai was getting far too ahead of himself, but goddammit how could he focus when the fabric of her skirt hit her mid-thigh and framed her like a Venetian goddess—“I don’t mind driving there.” She adds to coax him away from his silence.

“Nah, I got it. We’ll take mine.”

“Lead the way,” [name] chimes sweetly as she wraps an arm around the coach’s forearm. The physical touch is everything he’s been fantasizing about for the last few days—hellfire and brimstone and sunlight and goddammit why did he wear jeans that were only getting tighter and tighter?

Ukai opens the passenger door to his SUV, supporting the woman as she clambered in cautiously so as not to stumble from her heels. Getting settled in, the coach surrenders his unlocked phone to allow her the entirety of his music library. The irony of the DJ surrendering DJ rights to the passenger was not lost on either of them. Much to his surprise, [name] put on soft acoustic punk as he usually did on his way home from the club. The kind of softness one would turn on to accompany the fragile pitter-patter of rain against the windshield. “Cardboard Swords?” Ukai asks in surprise, more than familiar with the band.

“Flannel is a favorite of mine. I’m kind of surprised it’s in your library.” She adds after she begins directing him to this evening’s party location. From the corner of his eyes, he can see the way her full lips are moving along each word with expertise. He sees the way her [eye color] orbs soften slightly and he can tell this song hits home for her.

She’ll never say why—she’ll never tell him this was the song that helped her move on from Sugawara Koushi while restoring her inner peace.

But Keishin is no fool. He can tell that this is physically hurting her—crushing her soul into the leather seat of his car and, instinctually, he wraps a large hand around hers that’s resting in her lap. “I came out tonight to have fun with you, so don’t you go getting sad on me.” He means each word with innocent intent, yet he cannot ignore the almost hidden, salacious drip to each syllable and neither can she. How could she when his touch sent volts of electricity through her skin?

“Right, right,” she says in a conceding tone, switching the audio to something much more upbeat and a little flirty. “Why did you agree to go out tonight?” If Ukai had an answer, then it died on his lips as he let go of [name]’s hand to reach for another cigarette. The process of lighting the tube, inhaling, and exhaling bought him an extra minute to come up with an excuse; her doing the same giving him another thirty seconds.

“I don’t know.” It’s a blatant lie—a lie that [name] believes all too easily—but Ukai can’t bring himself to admit the truth. He can’t admit out loud that she’s the only thing that’s been on his mind all week or that he jumped at the opportunity, created one even, to be able to have a one-on-one moment with her. Keishin can’t admit that he can tell there are intricate webs spun in her mind and that all he wants to do is untangle them one by one.

And he certainly can’t tell her that even the mere sight of her sends his brain into overdrive and all he wants to do is repeatedly fill her over and over with his seed until she is entirely his, inside and out in mind, body, and soul. There was no way in the nine circles of hell that Ukai Keishin was going to admit to his sinful thoughts.

“It’s just up here.” [name] points with gaunt fingers, cigarette between them as her voice is half choked from inhaling her own smoke. Mirroring the man’s actions earlier, she indulged in her own nicotine habit to quell the budding disappointment from Ukai’s lackluster response. They drove up a slight winding hill and as the trees pass by, the itch for her truth and her history was gnawing at him. He wanted to know why this rambunctious party girl invited him all week to these elusive after parties. Why Flannel ate away at her insides like it did his. Why did her and Sugawara breakup?

But he decides against it for the moment.

“Where are we?” Ukai asks. There’s cars all lining the sides of the road of varying worth—he felt even more out of place than normal with his older SUV, even if it was an upgrade for him, considering the large number of luxury vehicles.

“Bevelle’s house.” [name] says simply, pointing to an empty space in the streets as she throws the butt of her cigarette into the road. The casual way she name drops the owner of the club makes him gawk, catching flies in his mouth had there been any at the hour. With a satisfied, cheesy grin, she hops out of her seat and walks in the grass to meet Ukai on the other side as he clambers out of the vehicle as well. In familiarity, she grips into his forearm once again as they walk towards the forest mansion.

Keishin wasn’t sure what to expect when the two of them walked in, but a home full of people screaming his pseudonym and her name was not on that list. Younger hordes had surrounded [name], greeting her warmly and telling her how glad they were to see her again for the evening. Others were approaching Ukai, telling them how rare and a momentous occasion that the infamous artist Spira was amongst their midst.

“Glad to see you could join us, Spira.” His boss and club owner, Bevelle, approaches the mismatched couple. Bevelle was an alias used by the middle aged woman, her real name unknown to those that didn’t know her know her, and was once upon a time her stage name. While she had chosen a quiet location in the Miyagi prefecture, Bevelle was quite known in the underground scene. Granted, Ukai didn’t know any of that when he’d taken the job. If anything, it was all thanks to her that he was able to learn for his own success as well as granting him the opportunity to learn in the first place. “Good to see you too, trouble.” Bevelle affectionately goes to muss at [name]’s hair, to which she only replies with a cheeky grin.

“How do you know Bevelle?” Ukai presses his lips towards the ear of the woman still hanging onto him as she expertly leads the way to the kitchen. The car ride left her feeling slightly uncomfortable, ashamed even though she would never admit to that, and she knew she definitely needed a drink after it. Part of her was heavily rebuking herself for trying to pry into his mind by asking why he came along, even more so when she put on the one song that shattered her heart every time she heard it. It just excited her that he had it in his library, that he even knew who The Cardboard Swords were, and that he enjoyed the same obscure taste in music as much as she did.

“She’s a close family friend!” The chirp that [name] gives isn’t entirely convincing, like she isn’t telling the truth. Regardless, Ukai washes down his doubt with the beer he was handed, figuring she probably had her reasons. And as soon as the plastic is in each of their hands, [name] downs the contents immediately, hoping to drown out the nerves ebbing from her stomach with vodka. She should have been ecstatic—her old high school crush, her unrequited crush, was here with her, drinking side by side but she can’t help but feel the tension between them—sexual or otherwise.

Just as the two of them down their second round, a piercing voice cuts through the thicket of the masses, calling out her name and capturing her attention. “It’s your song! Come on!” A shrug and a smile crosses [name]’s features as she’s all but dragged away to a different part of the mansion. Much to his surprise, she grabbed onto Keishin to drag him along as well.

The two of them are presented with a myriad of sweaty, rolling bodies—much more gone than Ukai had ever seen at the club itself. It was oddly...sensual, if it could be called that, to see the fluid movements between party goers. Sensual, intimate, strange—all of them could be used interchangeably at this moment.

[name] is dancing with another woman, mouthing all of the words to the current pop song while bobbing and jumping around excitedly before her eyes lock on his. She’s in her element now. All sunshine and smiles like Ukai had seen from on occasion from years ago or most recently at the club, but they’re directed at him for once as she pulls him closer onto the dance floor. The taunting beats and repetitive call of “come on” and the way [name] loosely wraps her arms around his neck as she dances brings Ukai to the realization that this was the end of the line.

The end of the line, because Keishin can’t hold himself back anymore.

Not with the way her hips are grinding against is and she’s laughing warmly and heartily at his slight discomfort and her teeth are glittering off the lights in the dark room like stars in the night sky. Not with the way her head is thrown back and her dress drops low enough to flaunt the expanse of bare skin of her neck and collar bones that are just begging him to sink his teeth in. Not with the way her [eye color]ed orbs are locked with his as she sings along with the music, oddly enough alluding to some form of confession of her feelings.

He can’t fucking take it anymore.

The large hands he has on her hips move just under her arms to hoist her up, [name] instinctively wrapping her legs around his waist to keep her balance. Their eyes are locked, honed in on each other with the rest of the party melting into the background. With her deepest, most wild high school fantasy driving her actions, she grins. “Hi,” is all she says before Ukai cranes his neck back to cover her lips with his.

His kiss is everything she imagined it would be after years of pining. The smell and taste of smoke and wood floods her senses as his tongue laps at the watermelon lip gloss on her bottom lip before seeking refuge within her mouth. His hands, now wrapped around her thighs give intermittent squeezes, either to keep them grounded in reality or just because he needs something to clutch at—she’s unsure of which. In response, her manicured fingernails tangle into his messy blonde locks. Their kiss pours out their desperation, laying it all out on the table for the both of them to see clear as day.

The only thing that prompts them to break apart is the ending of the song.

“You wanna get out of here?” Ukai asks as he tenderly puts [name] back on the ground. As if he weren’t just making out with her moments ago, the motion is delicate and gingerly and almost loving.

“Not yet,” there’s a knowing, smug lilt in her voice as she turns on her heel and throw herself back into the throng of party people. Or rather, attempts. While she’s attempting to flee, Keishin snatches her wrist, pulling her closer until their chests are flush against each other.

“Nuh uh,” the blonde man tuts, “you’ve been asking me to join you at a party all week, now here I am. The hell makes you think you’re leaving my side tonight?” [name]’s grin only grows wider.

“I’ve waited for years for this opportunity, coach, so if you think I’m not gonna have fun with it, you’re dead wrong.” The word ‘years’ constricts the man’s heart—forces his pupils to blow into dilation with her modest, yet blunt confession.

“Years?”

“Years,” she repeats, “ever since that first practice you stumbled into the Karasuno gym as the temporary coach. Why do you think I came to every single exhibition match and tournament? Or came to study and do homework while you guys had practice?” This girl was grinding at every steel line of self-control that was left in Ukai’s body because every word spilling past her lips added an additional ten volts to the sexual tension between them.

“We’re leaving.” He bites out despite the delicate tone. Wrapping his hand around hers once again, Keishin tugs her along time dodge the party goers that threw the two of them curious glances, wondering why they were quick to leave shortly after their arrival. Just to tease him further, [name] almost wants to offer a rebuttal and tell him that they should stay longer and enjoy the show. However, she knows she’s done enough waiting and if he was taking her home, she wasn’t going to argue.

While urgency and desperation was their game, Keishin didn’t cut corners when it came to presenting himself as a gentleman as he helped [name] back into the car. Hormones be damned—he was still going to help a lady into the passengers seat. “You never did tell me why you finally agreed to come out tonight.” She says quietly, as if the two of them hadn’t been making out and dry humping a few minutes prior. “And it’s clearly not because you knew I had a crush on you all throughout third year—“

“Don’t act like you’re the only one with feelings in this.” Ukai grits out, speeding much faster back home than he did on the way to Bevelle’s house. Paying that no mind, [name]’s ears perk up at his own wayward confession. When she asked for clarity, a rumbling groan shakes his chest as he patted down his pockets in search for his nicotine sticks. “I didn’t recognize you the first night at the club because you look different now. Happiness looks good on you.”

“Happiness?” She echos confusedly, turning to face Ukai fully after lighting her own cigarette.

“You used to always look content back then—just barely content and nothing more. And I can’t stop thinking back to those days because you’re this ball of sunshine, kid, and I can’t stop wondering what the hell Suga did to you to dim your shine that badly. I haven’t stopped thinking about you all week.”

[name] is quiet for a moment at his own rendition, his own version, of a confession and she’s stunned. And she can’t tell if she wants to cry or kiss him because this is not that way she ever fantasized this conversation going. It was going better than she dreamed. Better, because the words that Ukai is saying adds an entirely new layer to his amped up personality—he wasn’t just the sexy volleyball coach that she used to pine over. He was a person with deep rooted feelings for justice in the sense of wanting to understand how someone could inflict damage to the innocent and he wanted to rectify said injustices. He wanted to know how someone like Suga could try to dampen her sunlight instead of allowing her to thrive and bloom.

She wants to kiss him, she decides, but since he’s driving, she settles for placing a chaste one on the corner of his mouth. “Serves you right,” she jokes when she pulls away, “it’s been a long four years for me. It’s your turn to suffer.”

“Trust me, this car ride is torture enough.”

[ next ]

[that-good-trash]

I’m Not Okay- Chapter 5. The final chapter Midoriya x reader/ Bakugou x reader

Izuku Midoriya x reader/ Katsuki Bakugou x reader

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Summary: You have struggled with mental health your whole life so why can’t you seem to get it under control. Will you be able to keep the same mask even though two of your classmates have seen under it?

Warnings: Depression, Mentions of suicide/ Attempt at suicide, Self-harm, Angst, Anxiety,

Word count: 8,582

Comment: Omg this is finally the end! I’m so sad, its bittersweet:’( . I’m sorry that its so long I decided to add both boys endings in the same chapter, I also apologize for any grammar mistakes and if any of it seems rushed. Thank all of you for reading this series and I hope to start another one soon. [I am working on the second part too my Dabi fic]. Thank everyone who has been here from the beginning and any new readers. You all make this fun and enjoyable. 

you matter and any issues you have are valid!

After you were taken to the hospital everyone wanted to hear what would happen to you. Classmates surrounded and bombarded Bakugou and Midoriya as they were escorted back into the dorm building. Mr. Aizawa couldn’t stay to watch the students since he had to go deal with the aftermath of your attempt. There were legal and security issues with how easy it was for you to have jumped off the school building. The students were supposed to be in bed but how could they go to bed when you were laying in a hospital bed alone after feeling so desperate for a way out that you jumped off a building. They had many questions, concerns, and comments about how they didn’t know this had been happening with you.

Midoriya rubbed the back of his neck, exhaustion evident in his eyes. Bakugou growled and shoved passed the ‘annoying extras’, trying to get to the elevator. He wasn’t blaming any of them and yet when he looked at them, he couldn’t help but think they should have tried harder. Had you heard his thoughts you would have slapped him across the back of his head. Midoriya smiled sadly at his friends while following after Bakugou to the elevator. “Sorry guys, it’s late and I’m tired.”

He wished he had all the answers to give but he didn’t. You weren’t necessarily talkative about your issues so he really didn’t know much of what was going on with you. He just knew he wanted to be there for you. Even before this he had always watched you with gleaming eyes, you were a beacon of strength and hope to him. Bakugou would never admit to sharing things in common with his childhood friend but he did. He also would find himself watching you, how hard you pushed yourself. He would watch you train later than everyone else, your clothing covered in sweat and legs throbbing. He had caught that broken look in your eyes a few times wondering where it could be coming from. You would always roll your eye at his asshole comments and demands. You weren’t afraid to stand up to him, you’d even beat him once during a sparring match. You were strong to him and he couldn’t help but wonder how someone so strong crumbles so fast. He wasn’t a stranger to anxiety and guilt, just like Midoriya wasn’t a stranger to regret and depression. They both had some kind of idea, a sliver, of what pain you might be going through. Truly it was tragic to know that you had been dealing with this longer than it seemed to outwardly manifest itself to them. Battling bad guys was one thing, fighting internal demons was worse because you couldn’t ask for help or call for back up. It was you against the girl in the mirror, against the whispers in your ears.

“Is she gonna be okay?” Uraraka was the one who spoke, having made her way to the front of the crowd. Midoriya couldn’t help looking at her with slight disappointment. He didn’t blame her but he did feel like she was in the wrong for what she had done. Bakugou on the other hand didn’t find Uraraka innocent. He hadn’t been able to confront her due to having to find and help you. Bakugou let the elevator open his fist clenching at his sides. Midoriya walked into the elevator turning toward Bakugou with a raised brow. He was confused before his eyes widened in realization. He rushed forward as Bakugou’s hand ignited. He turned and thrust his open palm directly at the gravity girl. “KACCHAN DON’T!”

Everyone who wasn’t frozen from shock rushed to try and stop the attack. Uraraka closed her eyes and waited for the hit. It never happened. No one had to stop him because he stopped himself. He scoffed looking at her with distain as he shoved his hands into his dirty tattered pockets.

“You aren’t even worth it.” Bakugou walked into the still open elevator door his shoulder brushing a confused but relieved Midoriya. He stepped back into the elevator looking at Bakugou who was burning holes into the ground. He looked up as the door started closing. “I blame you, she doesn’t.”

Simple words with such strength and meaning behind them. They were meant to replace his fist, to leave her having to suffer internally like you had been doing for most of your life.

The chatter commenced once again between the classmates; two different hands squeezed Uraraka’s shoulder. She didn’t think she deserved comfort right now and a few different people would agree with her. Though she knew that Bakugou was right. No matter who looked at her like she was a villain, you’d forgive her. You’d never blame her, just smile and say it was your own fault. The truth was honestly more heartbreaking and Uraraka wished she hadn’t said or did what she had. While she stood in regretful silence, your two saviors were standing in the elevator. It was quiet, other than the dull hum it gave. Midoriya walked out when it stopped at his floor.

“Night Kacchan.” He had spoken so lightly that Bakugou almost didn’t catch it. Midoriya didn’t look back or wait for a reply, he just walked away. Bakugou grabbed the door forcing it to reopen. “HEY, nerd.”

Midoriya slowly turned back toward Bakugou, both their eyes were bloodshot and held weariness. He expected to be told off since that’s how these things usually go.

“We saved her. We’re fucking heroes, right? So why does it feel like we didn’t do shit. Why does it feel like she’s still on that roof? I’m so fucking tired and yet I don’t want to sleep because she is laying is some fucking hospital unconscious because she jumped off a building. Why, why couldn’t she just reply on us.” Midoriya recognized the breaking in Bakugou’s voice. Except this time, he felt something similar. He too felt like you weren’t safe, like you’d just do it again when you found out that you hadn’t succeeded. He closed his eyes wondering what you felt alone on that rooftop. Had you waited for someone to save you? He had been in a similar situation back in middle school. He could hear everyone’s discouraging words, and Bakugou’s ‘suggestion’ play in his head. He could feel the cold breeze that he felt like he was back to the day he stood on a rooftop wondering if he could be a hero in his next life. He didn’t do it for so many reasons, the main one being his will to live. He wanted to live, he had some much yearning to show the world that he could do it, he could be a hero. He had something that you lacked. Midoriya opened his eyes and looked directly into the crimson orbs across the hallway. “We didn’t save her, we caught her. She probably didn’t want to inconvenience us. She thinks she’s the problem so of course she didn’t want to burden us. We wont ever know how she feels, all we can do is hope she still wants us involved in her life. We can only hope she wants to try living it again.”

Bakugou stared at Midoriya, really stared. He knew exactly what the boy had been thinking about when his eyes were closed. Bakugou had thought briefly about it as well. He thought Midoriya was thinking about when he had told the green haired boy to basically kill himself. He had no clue about the attempt. He felt a pang of regret again, as he grew, he thought a lot about how shitty he had been in the past. Hell, he couldn’t completely hate Uraraka because he had been in her situation to an extent. Bakugou couldn’t imagine how his life would have gone had Midoriya had jumped. Now he had to face the past along with the present to try and make a plan for the future, your future.

“I’m gonna protect her.” Bakugou’s declaration caused Midoriya to smile. He nodded his head lifting up his fist with determination in his own eyes. “That makes two of us.”

Bakugou would have usually snapped at the forest haired boy from copying him but he didn’t. Instead he returned Midoriya’s smile with a smirk. He let the door close heading up to his own room. Midoriya walked into his dark dorm room. He sighed against the door before sliding down it letting everything hit him. Tears rushed down his cheeks, this hurt more than any broken bone. He couldn’t get the image of you hurdling toward the ground out of his head. He covered his face with his arms before burying it into his pulled-up knees. His sobs were silent, and he suffered the way he imagined you had. He tried to picture the happy you. The one with fire in her eyes, the one that always got back up no matter what knocked her down. He wanted your eyes to be red from laughing yourself to tears, he wanted you to be tired from training and not from thinking your existence was exhausting. He wanted to tell you that he loved you and that he’d be there through this, but he can’t tell you that now. You needed to rest and so did he, if only his mind would let him.

Elsewhere, Bakugou was experiencing his own breakdown. He slammed his fist into the dorm door not caring if he breaks it. His knuckles bleed from the abuse. He doesn’t care, instead he punches it again and again until blood flows rapidly, down his hand and onto the floor. “Fuck.” Bakugou grabs a towel and throws it on top the blood staining the carpet. He stomps on it before giving up and laying on his bed. He sees the blood on his knuckles and thinks back to the dry blood on your arm from cutting into before fleeing the building. He hadn’t seen your self-mutilation himself but thinking about it made him sick. He sat up dry heaving into his trash can. How could he have been so stupid? Why the hell hadn’t he invited you that night to play video games? He knew exactly why, because he had seen how excited you had been all day. He was hoping this was what you needed to finally break your isolation. He was rooting for you and in doing so fucked up. He blamed himself for not making you hang out with him instead, which sounded selfish in a way but he meant well. Bakugou wipes the saliva from his lip before looking at his phone. He unlocks it and stares at the picture he has as his background. It has Kaminari and Sero laughing in the background with Mina poking Kirishima’s cheek. The main focus of the photo is you hugging him while he looks pissed as hell. The photo was taken by Momo who he had to ‘threaten’ to delete it, only after sending him a copy. He would never admit it out loud but he loved you. He loved the way you fought back against bullies, how you snapped back when he was an asshole. He enjoyed the far off look you’d get during class, the way you looked out the window with the slightest smile. He could listen to your laugh for hours. He was so fucked. How could he be thinking about loving you when you hated yourself. He just wished you could be happy, could understand how much you mattered not just to him. Bakugou drops his phone onto his side table before falling backward. His head crashes onto his pillows. You were alone right now, or maybe you weren’t. Hopefully your parents were with you, or maybe Mr. Aizawa went to make sure you would be okay. He wished he could have gone with you, that he could comfort you when you wake up. He wanted nothing more than to destroy all your problems and give you some of his strength while you tried to regain your own. Except he knew you were strong; it took strength to jump off a building.  

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The loveliest dream played behind closed eye lids. You were completely unaware of what was going on outside of your brain’s illusions. Unfortunately for you all dreams come to an end and you have to face reality. You were delirious when your dreams melted away and bright light filled your vision. Beeping invaded your ear drums. It smelled like sterilizer. You rubbed your eyes trying to fix your vision. When things were no longer blurry you found yourself looking around a hospital room. Your clothing was folded neatly on a chair along with a few bags and a blanket. Someone had been siting in the chair. There was a chart on the door which was closed. The window was dark and the light that was on only lit up parts of the room. You took in your surroundings feeling your heart race and chest cave in as your lungs failed you. The room was closing in on you as you curling in on yourself. You tugged the heart rate monitor when you wrapped your arms around your knees. Sobs came out with uneven breathes. You were having a panic attack. The door opened and a nurse peaked inside, your monitor was loudly beeping informing medical staff your heart rate spiked. The nurse walked over to the bed worry across her face as she gently put a hand on your shoulder.

“Honey are you okay? Are you in pain? Let me call the doctor.” Before she could leave your side, you spoke through broken hiccups.

“I failed.” The words were tragic really. The nurse knew why you had been there and hearing your words made her realize why you were crying. Regret, but not because you had done it, because you had failed at dying. The nurse covered her mouth as her own tears start falling down. You looked up at her with confusion. Why was she crying. You tried to steady your breathing, before moving your hand over her own. She looked up and saw the concern and care in your eyes. “What’s wrong? Why are you crying? Did I upset you.”

She stared at you like you had grown another head; how could you push away your own suffering to make sure she was okay. A slight laugh escaped her as she gently moved some stray hair away from your eyes.

“You really do have the heart of a hero.” She rubbed your shoulder watching you bite your bottom lip to try and prevent more crying. It didn’t work, you collapsed in a fit of sobs again. You wrapped your arms around your middle begging for this to not be real. Maybe this was your own personal hell. You weren’t a hero; this lady was delusional. She needed to get away from you before you ruined her life as well. You didn’t pay any attention to her getting up. She left the room cautiously. You looked around trying to find anything that could ground you. The only thing you keep thinking about is dying and how it was impossible that you hadn’t. What does this mean? What do you do now? How could you have fucked up this bad? You activate your quirk in the hopes to hurt yourself, one last attempt before the restraint jacket and padded room. Your fingers go to push into your wrist but there is no sting or pain, no blades just skin. You quickly look up knowing exactly what happened, Mr. Aizawa. You felt exposed, like you were nude or had all your dirty laundry in full view. Here was someone you respected, looked up to, having to use his quirk against you. You were like a villain. You couldn’t decipher his look do to his dry eyes. You dug your weaponless fingers into your sides curling into yourself again while crying. Warm rushes of tears crashed down your cheeks and onto the hospital gown. You didn’t care that he was watching you, at this point you were nothing but a bother to him. He didn’t think that, he would never think that about any of his students. Mr. Aizawa blinked stopping his quirk. His hair returned to its place against his scarf around his shoulders. He looked tired but not as tired as you. He would never wish that kind of exhaustion and mental trauma on anyone, especially not a child, which you were. He approached with caution, not like you were a savage animal, more like you were a scared injured one. He slowly squatted down next to your bed looking at the dark circles around your eyes and red across your nose and cheeks. He went to catch a tear but stopped with wide eyes when he heard you mumble. “I’m sorry sir, I caused you trouble.”

The apology was already pushing it, you had nothing to apologize for but the trouble part got him. Had he been so hard on you that you’d think he cared more about the trouble than your health? That hurt him, just like Bakugou and Midoriya. He sighed and shook his head finally allowing himself to catch the tear.

“You are no trouble. I’m here because I want you to get better.” Maybe his words could be taken different in your sensitive state of mind but regardless he meant well. The door opens interrupting your sobs and his attempt at comforting you. The doctor walked in followed by the nurse who cried for you. Her eyes were still red and lightly puffy. She smiled softly at you making your chest hurt. You didn’t deserve her tears or their kindness. The doctor stood in front of your bed waiting for you to look at him. You dared a glance up afraid that he would be disappointed but he was smiling like the nurse.

“Ms. L/n, I’m glad to see you awake. You gave us quite a scare. Would you like to talk about it?” Quite a scare? Really. You weren’t trying to scare anyone; you were trying to disappear from existence. You had scared yourself with an unsuccessful attempt. Now they knew. You wanted to talk but couldn’t get your mouth to open. You sunk your teeth into your lip until it bled. “It’s okay, you don’t have to talk right now. As you can assume you will be here for a while. Your parents are outside the room. I will send them after I have a talk with them about your recovery.”

He left the room and you wanted to run over and push one of the heavy machines in front of it. You couldn’t face them. You couldn’t look into their irritated and disgusted eyes. What if they don’t want you as their daughter anymore. A hand places itself gently on your shoulder before the bed dips from weight being added to it. The nice nurse is sitting next to you. “Don’t worry, they were so distraught when they heard the news. They haven’t left your side till an hour ago. They haven’t stopped crying and begging for you to be okay. Your parent’s love you and I think they aren’t the only ones.”

She smiles at Mr. Aizawa, who rolls his eyes. He knows the nurse is referencing the eighty different calls he’s had to take from crying and concerned students and faculty members. You look between the two adults before overhearing the conversation outside the room. Your parents are arguing something and you here a number and something about keeping you till your better. You knew that he was telling them you were being locked away. You could imagine the white walls with no windows. The cushion floors and pills that would melt your brain. You hadn’t realized you had started hyperventilating again. Mr. Aizawa rubs your back hushing you in a gentle way. The nurse gives you water and as you take it you see it, folded neatly on the chair with your camisole and sweats, Midoriya’s all might hoodie. You sit up, startling the two adults, before reaching out and grabbing the garment. The fabric is worn from plenty of use. It feels cold from sitting under the hospital air conditioner. You hug it to your chest deeply inhaling the pine smell. It was soothing and familiar. You noticed there were a few holes in it and wondered how they got there. You smelled it again curiously after noticing a different scent, a sweeter scent, like caramel like Bakugou. Why did it smell like him? You started feel cold, like you were back on top the roof. You close your eyes feeling your body fall over the edge. You grip the fabric tighter as you try to remember what happened before you fainted. You could hear a voice in your inner conscience. It sounded like Bakugou, he called you an idiot but he was crying. You couldn’t remember but he said it when he caught you, when he held you while plummeting to the ground. You were afraid to know what happened, but you needed to know.

“Mr. Aizawa, what happened. How am I alive?” It was painful to hear you say that. No one should ever have to ask that under these circumstances. He sighed rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“I can’t say exactly what happened because we showed up late. I got a call from Iida, he sounded panicked and I could hear the frantic yelling and crying in the background. He told me that you had hurt yourself after a confrontation with Uraraka and fled the building with bad intentions. I called All Might and the police. Other members of the staff were also informed afterward. I left to find you and found the class waiting for the police. They told me that Bakugou and Midoriya had run off to find you, to stop you.” He stops for a second because recounting the event brought back the sick drop in his stomach and the painful apprehension. You look at your hands that were perfectly still. You were afraid of the truth because you knew you had run off; you did feel guilty for upsetting people and causing such a ruckus. Had you just run off late into the night with no confrontation than things would have worked out, right? That’s when the last sentence finally clicks. You thrust your head up, your eyes staring into the side of your teachers face with curiosity and confusion. “Bakugou and Midoriya? They went after me.”

“They went after you and not only that. They um, they, they saved you. I didn’t see it since I was escorting the emergency vehicles to across the campus. All Might was outside the building. He told me in the darkness you saw fire and green sparks fly out the windows. The colors swirled chasing the same thing, you. Bakugou caught you and from what I was told Midoriya caught the two of you and used his quirk to get you back into the building three floors before the ground. The two boys emerged from the building, Bakugou holding you tightly against his body while Midoriya’s hoodie laid over your unconscious form. They both had a protective air to them, like guard dogs. Bakugou wouldn’t even hand you over to the medical workers and Midoriya, who is usually the understanding one, was defending his classmate’s behavior. They had caught you, they saved you and yet as I looked at them, they looked scared, defeated. They didn’t think they saved you and I guess in a way they are right. Regardless of that though, they tried to stay with you but they weren’t allowed to come with. They are probably still waiting to hear if your okay.” He got up and apologized but he had to take a call. You watched him walk out and you could slightly hear your parent’s voices down the hall. They were drowned out by the machinery beeping behind you. You were left with partial pieces of what had happened after you jumped.

You couldn’t lie to yourself and say that you didn’t believe they cared. You knew they did, you had experienced first hand their kindness and care this last week. Bakugou wasn’t nice to anyone and yet he had a soft spot for you. You were usually oblivious but you saw how he treated you. He made you food, he brought you water, he trained with you, and when you were sad, he let you be sad. He validated you and all your emotions no matter how dumb or fucked up they got. You got to sit on his bed with him during game night while all the boys whined that they never got special treatment. He cussed them out but you had just smiled. When you were around Bakugou no one messed with you and you received no jealous stares or judgement. Midoriya showered you in attention and kindness in his Midoriya way. His shy smiles and flushed cheeks as he’s talk with you about your aspirations and likes. He held onto everything you said and would give you a gift in relation to it. You liked a certain artist and he gave you a cd. You liked a certain animal and you ended up with a plush to cuddle with on your bed, not that you cuddled it or anything. You never had to eat lunch with others staring and whispering about you. The lounge was yours even when he wasn’t there. He always had a wrapped lunch and drink sitting on the table with an origami crane. You kept all of the ones you’d been given and they hung from string above your desk. If you had waited then you could have had a thousand cranes and just wished your depression away. You didn’t really believe that but everyone is allowed their childish dreams. Midoriya walked you to class when Bakugou didn’t. It felt like prison escorts at first but then it felt like friendship. Something you looked forward too. Midoriya gave you an All Might pen he had gotten in an exclusive set. It matched his and you couldn’t give the gift back because he argued against it. The pen was something you used every day leading to your breakdown. More important than physical objects were his quiet understanding and patience toward you. No matter how mad or depressed you got he always smiled, and never left your side. He always told you that you mattered and were amazing. You just wished you could believe the words because he spoke them with such sincerity.  

“Y/n.” You had just been thinking about the boys and hearing someone call your name made your heart skip a beat as you looked up with excitement and yearning. You wouldn’t say you were disappointed but a slight bit of you wanted them to be standing in the doorway instead of the doctor.

“May your parents come in?” You held your breath and almost denied the request but you couldn’t run away again. This was the moment you needed to tell them how tired you were, how you didn’t want to try anymore. You nod and the doctor opens the door wider revealing your parents. You expected stern harsh eyes but instead met gazes with grief stricken weary ones. Oh god had you been wrong about them. They rushed to your side sobbing words of regret and apologies. You couldn’t speak as your throat tightened and tears blurred your vision again. You were starting to replace Midoriya as the class cry baby. You sobbed out apologies of your own but not for attempting to kill yourself. No apologies for being a failure and ruining their lives. They were astonished, how could you think such horrible things about yourself. Had they not loved you enough? Had they not supported you. What did they do wrong? These were selfish questions and they realized watching you crumble into the thin hospital sheet, that this wasn’t about them, it was about you. How could they support you until you loved and supported yourself? That was the better question. You felt arms wrap around you enveloping you into a sandwiched embrace. You felt like a child again for a moment causing your crying to escalate into hysterical sobbing and gurgled words that couldn’t be understood. As they held you crying their own tears they spoke.

“We love you Y/n. We have always loved you and always will. We are sorry if we contributed to this. Please don’t ever hurt yourself. Please don’t leave us.” You couldn’t promise anything right now so instead you basked in the love and warmth they gave you. This was apart of healing, ripping off a bandage. This was a wound that had rotted, grew infected and needed to be reopened if it wanted a chance to try to heal again. You had your parent’s and they were disappointed, they never once insulted or belittled you. They just had love for you. You wished you could tell them that you felt better but you didn’t. When you closed your swollen eyes, you could still feel the cold breeze and see the twinkling stars as you plummeted off the roof. You couldn’t heal until you wanted too. It would be a process but you were willing to wait.

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You slept for a whole day after the visit from your parents. They stayed but left to attend other business knowing you’d be safe in the hospital. Mr. Aizawa watched you for awhile to make sure you didn’t wake up and try to use your quirk again. When you finally woke up the world felt heavy, like you had been laying in drying cement. You reached out for your water and pressed the button to call a nurse. A different nurse came in and you felt intimidated by the unfamiliar person. You played with the sleeves of Midoriya’s hoodie, which you had put on before falling asleep, before asking for some headache medication and the ability to take a shower. The nurse let you know that he had to ask a doctor what you weren’t allowed to do or take. It was a twenty-minute wait but you didn’t mind, it wasn’t like you were going anywhere anytime soon.

“Here is some food and medication. Someone will come in after you eat to get you situated to shower.” The man was gentle and slightly awkward which made you giggle. You thanked him for his help before staring at the gourmet meal. It was cold soba, a side of warm white rice and a bowl of sliced kiwis and mangos. You wanted to shower and that meant eating something. Hell, this meal was better than Midoriya’s cooking so it wasn’t like you couldn’t stomach it. You just didn’t know if you were ready to eat. You were afraid of regretting it, or getting nervous and throwing up. You needed to eat something. A piece of mango slipped into your mouth. You followed it up with a few bites of rice and half the cold soba. It was delicious and the meds really helped after you took them. The attendant that came in to take the tray seemed happy to see most of the food gone. If you were being graded on eating than you were sure you just got a high B which was better than some of your school grades. The best feeling in the world came from feeling hot water against your bare skin. You had to have the nurse in the room with you, you had realized that you were going to be monitored closely seeing as people were anticipating another suicidal breakdown. You didn’t mind the attention, just felt bad for taking staff away from other patients. The nurse had slipped you a floral scented shampoo which excited you. You wanted to smell like anything other than sweat, hospital, and dirt. Once you dried off you slipped the hoodie back over your head. You had your bra taken away incase you tried to hurt yourself with it. The wiring could be removed and used as a blade or you could hang yourself. You didn’t mind as long as you were allowed to have the hoodie. A new pair of undies and sweatpants completed the look. Your parents were going to drop off some clothes later. The doctor mentioned something about transferring you to a different part of the hospital, a recovery center that you’d live at until they figured out a plan for your mental health. You didn’t want to stay but knew if you left, you’d be on the roof again. Better safe then dead.

“You look comfy.” You jump and turn when you hear the familiar voice. Your eyes meet with a pair of green ones.

“MIDORIYA!” You are already rushing off the bed pulling the heart monitor off your finger as you tackle the boy. His arms had already been open waiting for you like they always were. He holds you trying not to think to much about the fact that your wearing his hoodie. You nuzzle your face against his chest sniffing him. He smelt like the real him, he felt like the real him and yet you felt that if you let him go, he’d disappear. You didn’t let go till he pulled away. “I thought I told you to call me Izuku.”

You were excited just a moment ago but when he mentioned his first name you thought about Uraraka. You could see her, an apparition watching with distain. You were afraid to hurt people and that included her. Midoriya noticed the way you changed. He moved forward but was thrusted backward causing him to stumble and almost fall. “Move nerd, your upsetting her.”

Your heart beats wildly as Bakugou walked toward you. You can smell his body wash, and his natural sweet smell. He knew you were upset before he had even entered the room. He knew why you were upset; Mina had explained everything that Uraraka did and said. He knew that’s who you were thinking about. His hand lifted up and you closed your eyes expecting a flick to your forehead but instead a gentle pat. You open your eyes and stare into his crimson ones.

“Forget about her Y/n. She fucking sucks. You don’t have to beat yourself up over someone like her. You are amazing and can do whatever you want, even if that thing is calling this nerd by his first name.” His words were snarling or growled like usual. Instead they were delivered like a pep talk. He wanted you to let go of Uraraka’s words. You bit your lip wanting to listen but found it hard. He notices your hesitation this time smiling, you almost yelp at how gorgeous he looks. “You don’t have to do what people say. You matter and so do your choices.”

Midoriya nods beside Bakugou which causes the angry blonde to hit him. He snaps about finding his own thing to say and not just agreeing with him. You watch the two childhood friends and start laughing. Your laugher brings their attention back to you. You were genuinely laughing and they both smile basking in it. “You guys are such children, stop being mean Katsuki. Izuku means well.”

You are still laughing with your eyes squinted closed while they blush at the casual way you say their names. You look up when the door opens and a nurse is pointing to your finger. Shyly you return to bed clipping the monitor. The boys come closer. Midoriya taking the chair and Bakugou remains standing. There is a dead silence between the three of you. You rub your arm not really knowing what to say. You don’t have to speak since they both speak up, Midoriya first followed by Bakugou.

“Are you mad at us?” Midoriya looks sorrowful at you, like a puppy that didn’t know what it got hit for. You didn’t get a chance to ask why.

“He’s asking if your pissed that we saved you.” Bakugou looks away from you and Midoriya looks down. You finally look at them. Not smell or feel them, no, look at them. Bakugou had sunken in eyes, the dark rings turning into black holes around his eye lids. The white of his eyes match Midoriya’s, red and irritated. He had been crying, they both had. Bakugou’s knuckles had obvious signs of quirk overuse and scratches from hitting something rough. Midoriya’s cheeks seemed hollow, like he hadn’t eaten or hydrated. His hair was messier and not in a casual way, in a neglectful way. They both exhibit pain, trauma, remorse. How could you have done this? How could you prevent it from happening again?

“You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s me, I’m not okay. ” The words slipped out and you didn’t feel bad for saying them. You weren’t okay and they needed to know this wasn’t a fairy tale. They both raised a brow like you had stated an obvious fake. The both responded at the same time.

“No shit.” Bakugou. “And that’s okay.” Midoriya.

Both boys knew you were broken and they thought that was fine. How foreign of a concept to you.

“You guys are okay with this? With me?”

“Are you stupid? No this isn’t okay.” Bakugou’s words were growled. “Kacchan.”

“Shut up, it isn’t okay that you feel like way. You need to get help and that’s what your going to do in this fucking hospital. We are going to be here with you. It okay to be sad and hate yourself but it’s not okay to live that way. You are going to get better. I fucking swear my future as a hero on it.” Bakugou’s words quaked with passion. You started crying and felt Midoriya rub soothing circles on the top of your hand with his thumb. You nodded along with Bakugou and Midoriya followed him up. “You can take all the time that you need, we will be here every step of the way. Even during the bad times and the breakdowns. We will never judge you.”

Sobbing was all you could do while comforting you was what they could do. They promised and they were going to keep their word.

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A month, that was the time frame the hospital gave you. You chose to stay and get help and what made it easier was having Bakugou and Midoriya support you. The month had gone by in strange intervals. You had bad days were you tried to hurt yourself and found sanctuary in the arms of Mr. Aizawa who had to stop you. He was patient and nurturing as well. The first week had more downs then ups. The second week Bakugou made you where his hoodie claiming you were becoming a nerd with Midoriya’s on. The second week also ended with gifts and flowers covering your recovery room. Notes from everyone talking about how much they missed you and tell you what was happening while you were gone. The third week brought you friends. Everyone visited on different days and in different groups. Iida had apologized for his lack of leadership and not helping you. You dismissed his words and gave him a smile and hug. Momo cried and apologized and that seemed to be the cycle. Jirou didn’t cry but she was melancholy. The girls and boys that came and went made you feel so many emotions and so many hugs and tears were given. Kaminari had snot dripping out of his nose as he hugged you. The moment Mina laid her eyes on you the world stopped. You screamed her name and she screamed yours. Kirishima literally had to remove her to leave which upset her. She told you she loved you and to never try to kill yourself again. A smile was given but no promise. Not till you could tell yourself it and believe it. The last person who came was Uraraka. She was almost not allowed in by blonde guard dog but you told him she could. You both sat in silence before she cried. She cried and you did exactly what Bakugou said you would. You forgave her and blamed yourself. She argued but couldn’t win. The gentle honest smile on your face hurt but she returned the smile.

“Let’s start over.” You hugged her goodbye and cried in Bakugou’s arms because the words still lingered and hurt.

The fourth and finally week had you shaking with nervousness. You were going home to your friends, your family. You were free and maybe not cured but you felt good. You could say you were okay and mean it. The pain was there but it was a phantom pain. You had a plan and knew that even if you had episodes and breakdowns that was okay and people were there to help you if you just let them. As you packed your bags and left with Mr. Aizawa you felt nervous and happy. He smiled as you said goodbye to the staff who waved with smiles and tears in their eyes. You had life in yours and that was much more than you had a month ago. The car ride was quiet and as you opened a bag you noticed something sticking out. It was a letter, actually there were two of them. Midoriya’s hand writing on one, Bakugou’s on the other. You were afraid to open them but did it anyway. Midoriya’s said.

[I have something I need to tell you, please meet me in the teacher’s lounge.]

Bakugou’s was similar in context but simply said.

[In front of the main campus building]

You had an idea of what this might lead to and this conflicted you because you loved both of them, however one of them had been there for you like no other. You had loved them even before this. You knew where you needed to go.

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

-MIDORIYA’S ENDING -

You had placed your bags back into your room and left for the exit before anyone could take your time. You almost collided with someone outside as your rushed out. The person gasped and you apologized reaching for the letter that slipped from your hands. The person picked it up first and read it. You felt true fear overtake you as you stared at Uraraka. She read the note and you wanted to cry and run but instead you gently held your hand out for it. She did something you hadn’t expected, she smiled. Her eyes held no jealousy or ill-intent.

“Uraraka, I”

“Don’t keep him waiting.” You both made eye contact and you had to rub your eyes to keep from crying. You both changed for the better and this proved she tried and not running away or giving up proved you were trying too. You left her in the doorway rushing off to find him. You saw Bakugou near the building he told you to meet him and you waved. He waved back realizing you were running past. He sighed before sadly smirking. “I’ll always be here for you even though you chose him.”

You couldn’t hear the words but you knew they were true. He wouldn’t hold this against you because this was what made you happy. This was something you wanted and chased after. The door to the lounge got closer and closer until you were breathing heavily outside of it. Your legs were wobbly and you felt light headed. You gripped the knob tight and opened the door. Midoriya was sitting in his usual spot. You both made eye contact and his cheeks, which were already red, grew deeper. You tried to steady your breathing and calm your chest but failed. You sat down across from him and felt for a second like you were back to the second time you had run. Well no more running. You put the letter on the table. He was quiet and for a second you thought maybe you were wrong. That’s when he stiffly stood up and bent forward in a bow.

“Y/n! I have been watching you since we starting attending UA together. I have always found you fascinating and strong. I always thought nothing could bring you down but I was wrong. You were much stronger than any hero I have researched. You fought, protected, trained, learned, and so much more all while hurting and fighting yourself. I think you are the bravest most amazing person ever and I don’t ever want to lose you or let go of you.” There was so much to unpack and he was talking so fast with no muttering. You were blushing and trying to think of an argument about being strong but knew it would be pointless. Midoriya was building up to saying the words and you didn’t know if your heart could handle running here and a confession.  

“Y/n L/n, I love you and I understand if you can’t love me right now but.” You had called his name a few times as tears filled your eyes. He wasn’t listening so you moved across the table, lifted his head and kissed him. He was shocked but relieved. His arms moved around your middle pulling you closer which caused you to fall completely over the coffee table and into his arms. You both laughed before you pushed you face into his chest holding onto him tightly.

“I love you too Izuku Midoriya. I might mess up but please bear with me.”

This wasn’t a fairy tale ending, it was life. You had gotten the boy but you were still struggling. There was no miracle cure, no prince charming’s kiss to make the pain go away. Just two guys trying to help you help yourself. For this exact moment you were okay and that was okay.

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

-BAKUGOU’S ENDING-

The moment your bags hit the floor of your room you ran to the elevator. You were nervous but thrilled. You wanted to over think but stopped yourself. You hushed the bad words with confident ones. The elevator ding freed you and your legs moved forward right into Mina who was going to go see you. The two of you hugged and she spun you around. The letter slipped from your grasp and you quickly reached for it but she was faster. You watched her read the simple location and waited for the mocking or teasing. Instead she placed the paper back in your hand and winked. “You don’t wanna keep him waiting do you.”

You could have cried at her support but didn’t have time. How long had he been waiting? Was he still there? Worrying was pointless because as you ran path lit up by the evening sky you saw him. He was leaning against the building looking up. You slowed your pace and followed his gaze. There was nothing there but as your approached, still watching the sky, you realized this was the same building you jumped from. One hell of a spot to meet. You felt fear build up but stop when Bakugou spoke.

“When I caught you in my arms, I couldn’t use my quirk to get us back into the building. My first thought hadn’t been to call out to Deku but to protect you. I held you close and braced for impact. In that moment I wasn’t a hero. I was me and you were the most important person in my life and I needed you to live. I needed to see your stupid smile and hear your laugh. I wanted you to call out my name from across the school yard while all these stupid fucking extras stared confused because they don’t understand us. I couldn’t lose you, and I can’t lose you.” His attention had been up but was now focused only on you. Your heart stopped beating, or maybe it was beating too fast. Right now, you couldn’t tell. You could tell that you were crying. That he was crying. He aggressively wiped the tears away. “God, I don’t think you understand how I feel about you. I’ve been in love with you the moment I watched you suck at throwing that ball our first day. I had been so angry and couldn’t understand why you laughed and smiled even though you ‘lost’. I understood later when you told the shitty girls that throwing that ball meant you were one step closer to being a hero, to saving lives. You were, are what heroes should be, should thrive to be. You want to save people even when your suffering. You’d die for anyone even someone who hurts you. It’s stupid and reckless and it you. You are my hero more than I am yours. You never hurt anyone while you hurt. You never blamed others. I did all of those things and take out my regret on people. I want to be a little more like you but I also want to help you see that you can love yourself. I know it isn’t easy and hell it might take years but I’ll be here for every one of them.”

Bakugou was a mean, aggressive, and narcissistic person, at least that’s what people sold him as. You never bought it because you knew what profiling people did. You knew what life was like in that box and you didn’t want either of you in it. You hadn’t realized he loved you all that time and yet you could say he was dumb because it took your crumbling mental state for him to realize you might like him back. You looked at him and moved forward till your arms were around him. That sweet caramel smell filled your nostrils and he felt like home. A million thoughts moved around in your head but you pushed them down. The bad thoughts were still there but you didn’t have to deal with them alone, and now you understood that.

“I love you Bakugou, I have loved you for so long and I never could say it but now. Now I don’t have to be afraid because when I’m sad you are there.” Bakugou laughed and held you closer. His lips pecked yours once then again and again until you whined and he gave you a real kiss. His lips were hot and soft against your cooler healing ones.

“You can be sad when I’m not around. You don’t have to be okay. Not right now, in time.”

“Bakugou, why did you pick this spot to confess.” Bakugou let you go and pointed upward. You followed his gaze and heard his words.

“Because one day I’m going to bring you back here and you are going to stand on the roof and scream from the top of your lungs that you did it, that you are okay.”

He caught you before you could collapse as sobs escaped. He showered you in kisses because he knew you needed to feel this way to get better. He would hold you while you cried because this was just a stop on the way to that future, he wanted for you. He wasn’t here to save you. You could do that yourself. He was here because he loved you.  

[lordeasriel]

Do you have a take on what Phillip and Vera’s daemons would be? Or any of the other guests’ for that matter?

Hehehe yes I do, I've been waiting for this question for so long lmao I'm working on a new fic that is ATTWN written by the Agatha Christie of Lyra's world so I had to come up with daemons for all of them.

I'll start in reverse order, from Vera to Marston, since you asked about her first anon.

For Vera, I was torn between a brownish/greyish owl and a marmoset. I really can't imagine any other Vera than Maeve Dermody, and because appearance is important when thinking about Daemons (because daemons lend something of their animal form to the human, ie 'a serpent daemon usually has a human with a serpentine vibes' this was said by Philman in an interview), I think an owl would have suited her. She has big eyes, that are always darting around; she's often immobile, observing her surroundings. However, I think that a marmoset suits her better because Vera has a Hannah Relf quality to her (another marmoset daemon, in case you haven't read the HDM books). It's that silent attitude, keeping to herself, wary of her surroundings and while she seems weak and fragile, Vera is not afraid to act or reacts extremely if the situation calls for it. She is also very shrewd, and I chose the marmoset for her because there is something so appealing to see Vera, big eyes and shrewd attitude behind a mask of silly girl, with a daemon clinging to her neck, observing the room, tiny and silent, but just as clever as she is.

For Lombard, and this one was a no brainer, he has a panther. Show! Lombard would have a black panther, because it suits Aidan Turner's looks; for the book, it would still be a panther type, but a spotted leopard one. Book! Lombard is more earthy than Show! Lombard, hence his daemon having a lighter, more brown palette. As for the reason, there wasn't a lot of thinking when I chose this; in the book, Lombard is described many times like a panther: dangerous, lithe, moving quietly about the house. Everyone in the house feels this vibe and they know he is dangerous, and he sees them as prey (because one of them is the killer and he is just waiting to catch them). I think for a man like him, having a big, dangerous daemon, is very suitable. There is also something of Asriel in him, both in the show and book, so it's fitting they have the same/similar type of daemon.

For Blore, I knew it had to be a type of dog. Everything about Blore screams "barks more than it bites", and while he can be assertive and take control, he always defers to people if they say the right thing to him. Book! Blore would have a boring, but bigger dog, I imagine; he is described as a big man, and he has a very thuggish attitude. Maybe a German Shepherd. Show! Blore is more sleek and clever, less thuggish more alert and paranoid, but also more in control. He dresses nice, is rather vain specially towards his skills, so I gave him a black poodle, a small one though. Blore, although assertive, always is overwhelmed by Armstrong and Lombard, both men that have a bigger presence and willpower than he does.

For Armstrong, I was torn between weasel and a badger, and I think the badger suits him better. It's tempting to go weasel and say he was oh cunning and sleek, but I don't think that's true. While Show! Armstrong loses his shit fairly quickly, even in distress he maintains some control (like when he insists to take care of Mrs Rogers despite Rogers saying she was alright; or when they are all dancing and he is staring at Vera and Lombard, suspicious, trying to steady himself). The Badger fits him better: grounded, stable creatures but also very vicious if they have to be; if my doctor had a badger daemon I would feel safe, I think. Examples of badger daemons in the books I think it's Malcolm's mom, who is incredibly down-to-earth and assertive, which represents Book! Armstrong better, I'll be honest, but I can see Toby Stephens with a badger daemon as Armstrong as well. His character is a man with a sense of belonging, and he perceives his surroundings very well. In the book, Armstrong is more cool headed (for the show, him and Vera have their attitudes swapped, which I like but it's fair to mention here as well) and more in control of his motions. He moves around everyone and doesn't start dissent like in the show, which I think makes sense for his daemon. He doesn't fight unless he has too.

For Wargrave, and this was fun, but I was torn between a butterfly and a chameleon, and I ultimately decided for the butterfly because I thought the chameleon was too on the nose with his twist. This is for both show and book, and if there are changes it's probably just in colours and patterns. In the book, Wargrave is often described as someone with a reptile smile, hence why I chose the chameleon at first, but I think he is still a fragile man at his core. Butterflies are synonym of beauty and change; they tend to be associated with evolution and growth, and that's Wargrave's story I think. He is a man who spent his life working in law, seeing dozens and dozens of criminals come and go and die: he was known for having a high death rate, so I imagine he dealt with heinous crimes the most (I don't know for sure but I don't think they hanged people for stealing or whatever in the early 20th century, but take this with a pinch of salt lmao). Then one day Wargrave meets this Edward Seton, a total sadist (and a serial killer in the show) and he realised things about himself that he didn't know before. In the show, he has a line about Seton having a legacy of terror to be remembered, while he and everyone else would be forgotten and I think that's very much what the butterfly represents for Wargrave. When he finds out he is sick, he finds growth in pursuing his true passion, which was murder. The butterfly is also a very fragile daemon, and because of that she doesn't reflect his true physique (despite sick he is nowhere near as frail as he appears to be), and her beauty helps lure the trust of people, make him seem trustworthy (Vera on the show, Armstrong in the book). Just to add, he is also separated from her, and this is how he manages to fake his death well. (i was saving this twist for the fic but I might never finish it lmao)

For Miss Brent, this one had me thinking a lot. Like, a lot. I was torn between a toucan and a spider, and I ultimately decided to go for the toucan, mostly because I think it suits her better. Spiders are often associated with storytellers and creative people and Emily Brent is far from creative. She is judgemental, conservative, vain and nasty towards anyone she considers unworthy. In the show, she has an attitude towards the General, she likes him well and they don't quite explain why, but I think it's because he is from her generation - and social status - and she respects him for it. The same goes for Wargrave and Armstrong, but towards Armstrong she just respects his status, not his age. She sort of sees him as "still young but on the right path". She absolutely resents Lombard - as she does in the book, probably for the same reason: he is pretty much a living hands to mouth kind of guy and he is immoral according to her - and she doesn't think highly of Blore either, also because of social status. Anyway, I can do a separate post about this, but I chose the toucan because they are beautiful birds, a little menacing, and they have a bit of a bitchy attitude. No deeper thought to that to be fair lmao. Toucans make me think "vain" and I love this concept because Miss Brent loathes women who wear make up or show off, but I think this Is clearly a façade on her part, because she is also vain, in her own way.

For Rogers, I was torn between a big, posh dog and a fox. Now, this one is tough because we fall into that "good servants have dog daemons" rule, which I think it's too simplistic to define a person's nature. I'm more inclined towards the posh dog, mostly because I think that helps Rogers fit in with a crowd that isn't his; and sure, he is a cunning man (like a fox daemon would evoke) but I think a dog like a Dobermann suits Rogers best, in the book at least. A fox would suit show! Rogers better, but the dog suits him too physically (tall, slender, mean looking), so I'm sticking with the dog.

For the General, I think a hawk. A bird of prey. He was a soldier and he was fucking shrewd to send a man to die in such an inconspicuous way. Birds of prey Daemons have very passionate humans - Ma Costa, Tony Costa, Anthony Hassall, as well as Bud Schlesinger and Marcel Delamare with their owls - but while owls are tame and introvert, hawks tend to be extreme and out there, lashing out and being menacing with ease. This was a natural choice for me, although I also considered eagles for him later, but changed my mind. (On my notes I wrote "def not an owl" lmao)

For Mrs Rogers, I think a mouse would suit her, and I know this is painfully obvious, but that's the vibe she gives me. A small person, being coerced and oppressed by a petty tyrant, and she just lets things steer her by, absolutely not in control of her life. I also gave her a same sex type of daemon, because she just has that uncanny aura, I don't know how to explain it; I can see that affecting her life since childhood, and steering her towards a man like Rogers, who would take advantage of her loneliness. Same sex daemons are rare and the example we had was in someone extremely sensitive, and I feel that in Mrs Rogers.

And lastly, Tony Marston, and this one I had too many options, but I opted for a Margay, who was suggested to me in fact. It's a feline daemon, very slick and lithe but also very ethereal looking, which I think suits Marston: handsome but lacking substance (not lacking so much substance in the show tho lmao get it? cause he did cocaine? a substance? Haha please don't unfollow me). Frankly, because he dies first I didn't give this too much thought, but I knew it had to be a wild daemon, quick and lithe.

Honorable mention to Fred Narracott and his seagull daemon. Thanks for asking this anon, I had a blast!

[sunflowerstache]

Falling

What do you do when the person you pictured your entire life with, suddenly seems to have fallen out of love with you?

Word Count: 2.4k A/N: This is a piece for the wonderfully amazing beautiful @hsogolden​ Fine Line Fic Challenge! Thank you so much for putting this together Bri, it’s been so fun to read different interpretations of the songs! This one shot takes place in my Another World universe (you can find the fit here!) And this will be part 1/2 So I promise there will be a continuation of this hahaha but yeah I hope you enjoy and I can’t wait to hear your thoughts!

~~~

When you’re in the thick of it, surrounded by people chanting your name and screaming back the emotions you’d spent hours - months even - trying to perfectly articulate, making a name for yourself seems like the most important part of life. When you’re standing on a stage, in front of thousands of people who spend their hard earned money just to hear your deepest thoughts and watch you pretend to know how to dance, it awakens something inside you, makes you feel like you were born to entertain. That all the sleepless nights crying over failed attempts and constant rejections were finally worth it once you got to watch your art touch the lives of others. You hear children all over the world talk about it; aspiring to be famous when they grew up. Especially in today’s world where at the click of a button, the lives of any celebrity was at your fingertips.

But when you finally decide to take that plunge and reach for the stars, no one warns you quiet enough of the darkness fame holds. Because sure, people all over the world hold your art close to their hearts and you get awards and your fans love every part of you, but they also criticize, put down, and invade your entire life. No longer are you able to be a person who interests and hobbies; instead, you must fit into whatever size box the world has built for you. You can’t say certain things, wear certain clothes, or be seen with certain people. Because that’s how you end up on the cover of People Magazine with the whole world questioning your personal life.

The photo angirly stared up at you from the coffee table, nearly burning a whole in the side of your face while you avidly tried to avoid looking at it any longer. His familiar glazed over eyes, eyes that you had been on the receiving end of dozens of times, had taken up tracing the patterns of someone else’s cheeks, his fingers learning the curves of her back while they climbed into the dark car. Long gone were the perfectly manicured curls you had given him in the shared bathroom of your home, and instead in their place, the locks you had grown to love over the years, were flowing every which way, from her hands no doubt. If you were in a cartoon, the miniscule moment in time, captured and frozen, would have broken the short table as soon as you placed it down, the weight behind the click of a camera.

“Seems like not even their History together could keep ex 1D members turned lovers Harry Styles and Y/N L/N together. Harry was spotted outside ‘San Vicente Bungalows’ with a mystery woman… who wasn’t his longtime girlfriend and mother of their child, Isabella age 3. Trouble in paradise?”

These were the moments you wished someone had warned you about all those years ago when deciding this was the career path you wanted. You wished someone had sat you down and prepared you for the heartbreak of seeing your personal life being exploited for a quick buck. Sure, you had seen it happen to countless celebrities, but when it’s not happening to you, it doesn’t seem like a real thing that hurts the parties involved. Because if the rumors were true, then they ruin a relationship, and if they aren’t true, then those involved have to overcome the public scrutinizing their decision to stay together.

And Harry had never given you a reason to think this would happen. From the moment you met him, it wasn’t hard to see just how wonderful of a man he was. The morals he lives by and the levels of kindness he tries to spread to everyone he comes in contact with. He was more than anything you ever thought you’d end up with, and the best father to your daughter that even your wildest dreams couldn’t conjure up. But sometimes, things happen, and you can’t control them.

You thought you had prepared enough, but the second the front door opened, the feeling in your fingertips began to fade away. Every word you had strung together in your mind to help you calmly talk your boyfriend, had fizzled into nothing, and you were left with nothing but panic. This had never happened to the two of you before, and figuring out how to navigate this conversation without coming off as accusatory was nearing impossible.

“Hey baby! Sorry, I know I know I said I’d be back like an hour ago, but God, you wouldn’t believe the traffic right now! I stopped by that bakery to make it up to you though, you know, the one with the deluxe muffin things you both love?”

Not once, in all four years of your relationship, had the sound of Harry’s voice made a shiver run up your back in anything less than a pleasurable way. But sitting on the sofa while listening to him move around your kitchen, it only made you want to be sick - and you didn’t know if it was because you truly believed what was in front of you, or because you were so nervous to ask about it.

“Where’s B anyway? Usually runs right up when I open the door.” he laughed.

“With Steph.”

“Oh shit, yeah today was their Universal day, right? Surprised we haven’t gotten any videos yet.”

“Hmm.”

You knew it was only a matter of time before he started questioning your responses. Typically when he got home, both you and Bella wouldn’t leave him alone, hounding him with kisses and remarks about your day to try and make him jealous of what he missed out on. So, you sitting and not giving him much of anything was bound to raise some suspicions.

“You alright, love? Quiet today.”

“Yeah.”

“You sure? Just sound like you’re a little down. We can stay in tonight, just cuddle and watch-”

It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know why his words got cut off. The coffee table was in his direct line of view as he made his way into the living room and you’d left the magazine right on top of everything, in perfect eyesight of anyone entering the room. He’d come from a day at the studio with Kid, clad in one of his usual recording getups; loose blue jeans and a colorful sweater. His hair was just getting to a point that you dearly missed, the curls just beginning to cover the tips of his ears and a light stubble growing on the very end of his chin. A true look for a recording rock and roll artist. And you wanted to smile at how cozy he looked, to curl up next to him and love on him while you had the house to yourselves, but when you looked at him, you could only picture her.

“Y/N….”

“Did you sleep with her?”

You never meant for the conversation to start like that. You wanted to ease into it and remind him that you love and trust him, but the little part inside of you, the part of the girl who had been so hurt in past relationships and worried everything perfect you currently had would soon come crumbling down, thought otherwise. The words left your lips so quickly you didn’t even have time to second guess them. But it was almost like he wasn’t surprised by your questions at all. Instead, his shoulders sagged and his attention left you and focused on the floor while he walked to sit in front of you.

But he didn’t respond.

He didn’t even look up from his lap. He just fiddled with his fingers, intertwined and resting on his knees, knees that were brushing up against your own due to the close proximity of your bodies. The lack of eye contact was enough to lead you in the direction you never thought you’d have to think about.

“Harry. Did you sleep with her?” long gone was your quiet question, instead the loud sob of a plea left your lips.

“I - I don’t know.”

Never in a million years did you ever expect to have heard those words fall from Harry’s mouth. He was someone you trusted with every bone in your body and was the only person you could ever imagine a true future with. The person you looked forward to telling all about your day, who you would rather soak in a bath with than go to red carpets or galas. He was your person, yet here he was, demolishing every ounce of confidence you had in your relationship.

“...you don’t….know?”

“I - no.” he sighed, finally looking up at your eyes. “I was out with the guys and we had a lot to drink, we thought we finished the album, and were celebrating. I just - I didn’t stop when I knew I should have and - and I don’t remember the rest of the night.”

“When was this?”

“Beginning of the summer. After we got here from London.”

Rage replaced any former sadness when you heard his words. “That was three weeks ago Harry!”

“I know.” he was acting like a sad puppy with his tail between his legs. If it were any other circumstance, you’d be trying to comfort him and make the painful sadness in his voice go away, but you could only focus on how angry you were at him.

“Three weeks! What, were you just not going to ever tell me? Just pretend it didn’t happen and let me go on thinking everything was fucking fine and dandy?” he’d never seen you this angry, and being on the receiving end of it was sure to be disturbing, but how else were you supposed to act after hearing the love of you life potentially slept with someone else?

“No! No, obviously I wasn’t going to keep it from you but -”

“Obviously nothing, Harry! I had to find out that you slept with someone on a bloody magazine cover!”

“I didn’t sleep with her!”

“You don’t know if you slept with her! There’s a huge difference, Harry!”

How someone could even begin to rationalize what he potentially did was beyond you. You couldn’t fathom spending so long with someone and throwing it all away because of one night out with your friends. How you could disregard not only someone you claimed to love, but also the precious little girl that was created out of the love you shared.

“Five years, Harry. We’ve been together for five years, did that mean nothing to you? Did all the time we spent together mean nothing? The things we’ve seen together and secrets we shar-” you hadn’t cried so hard in a long time, but there was no use trying to bottle it all in. He deserved to see what his choice had done to you, and by the way his head was being cradled in his hands, you knew it was hitting him.

“Maybe that’s just it! We’ve been together since we were eighteen, Y/N! Maybe I’m fucking bored!”

When you woke up that morning, the thought of having to deal with the tabloids wasn’t something you even remotely thought would happen, but you could get through it, you always did. For years, they tore you and the band down, picked apart every decision you ever made and spread blatant lies, but you always got through it. You could get through it because you knew everything was a lie and you had the people you cared about most on your side.

This time, you didn’t even have that.

How were you supposed to combat the media and their hateful words, when the person in question was basically admitting they had fallen out of love with you. That every minute of the last five years meant nothing because they were now bored. Over all the intimate moments you shared and words you can’t take back. That pretty much signified the end, and there was nothing you could do about it.

The shock of what he said must have come crashing down on him, because instantly, he was trying to move closer to you, to grab your hands and make you look at his pleading eyes.

“No! No no no no, listen to me, Y/N, that wasn’t -”

But you couldn’t listen anymore. You’d had your heartbroken more times in the last twenty minutes than you had in years, and you couldn’t handle anymore. It was a feeling you had promised yourself a long time ago that you wouldn’t put yourself through again, and even if the person before you was the man you had given your entire heart and soul to, you wouldn’t wait around for him to feel the same thing.

So, you pushed his hands away.

You pushed away all of his own emotions, all of his pleading for you to come back and listen to him, and you walked away. If being in the public eye for so long had taught it anything, it was that you deserved more than what was given to you at times. Just because everyone around the world seemed to think they had a say in your life choices, doesn’t mean you should disregard what you know is best for yourself. And standing here, listening to the man you loved more than anything, say that he may have fallen out of love with you, wasn’t the best for you.

“Baby please, I’m sorry! You know I didn’t mean that.” the tears on his face were apparent even without turning around, the thickness of his voice doing enough explanation on its own.

“Do I, Harry?” you whispered, turning around so bleary eyes could meet. “Because I thought I knew everything about you, but I never thought we’d end up here.”

Without saying a word, you wiped your cheeks and made the decision to put yourself first. If you stayed any longer, more words that couldn’t be taken back would be said, only burying you deeper and deeper in a whole neither of you wanted to be a part of. You’d never been one for walking away when things got tough, because letting things fester always made it worse. However, this was something you needed time away from.

And there was no one to blame but Harry and his wandering hands

[horansqueen]

Vote For My Next Story

I'll try to keep this short. YOU&ME has ended, and it was a big part of the last few years of my life (along with AM Conversations). It'll probably always be my favorite and best story but that doesnt mean i want to stop writing.

please, know that the oneshots ideas are independent from the story ideas, meaning that i can write a story AND oneshots at the same time so let me know if youre interested!

(click on the read more to read the 10 synopsis of the story ideas I’d like to write)

AM Conversations & YOU&ME ideas:

-oneshots ideas for what happened after the story, before the story, or even in-between chapters in the story. you can send me ANY idea that you would want to read between Liv and Niall or other characters.

-oneshots ideas for any "what if" you can think of (i.e. what if one of them didnt love the other, what if they hadnt seen each other at the bakery, what if Liv had dated Louis, etc)

NEW STORY IDEAS:

NOTES: 

all the ideas are AU. 

 #2 #8 and #9 will include a few of the 1D boys. 

despite the title, #4 is a Niall fic

titles may change

                                   VOTE HERE!!!!

you can also vote by messaging me.

in the form, theres a place for comments but you dont have to leave any

you also dont have to leave your name or anything

thank you if you vote, it means a lot to me!

ill keep this open for a while, until i get enough votes :)

1- UNPREDICTABLE

They haven't seen each other since high school and they hadn't missed each other at all. In fact, they never really could stand each other. Her, a bit of a rebel, listening to punk music, searching for trouble whenever she could... and him, the good boy, popular and loved by everyone, who could rarely be seen without his guitar. It's been a few years already but not many things had changed and they still didn't have anything in common... except one thing. Both of them aspired to become famous with their music. With a twist of fate, they end up in each other's lives again and if they can put aside their resentment for one another, maybe they could bring something incredibly precious to each other. But nothing has ever been uncertain.

This is the story of two opposite persons who share a burning passion that may slowly bring them closer... or make the hatred they already feel for each other even more intense.

2- D.N.A. (daddies now available)

The test was positive. I was pregnant. The problem was, I didn’t know who the father was. It could be my ex boyfriend Liam, his best friend Niall or my best friend Louis. Or maybe it could be that boy I randomly had sex with, Harry... I had no idea and I was not going to find out soon.¸

All I knew was I had to tell four boys that there was a possibility for them to be a daddy in less than a year. Can you just imagine their reaction?

Contrary to all expectations, they accepted their fates.. somehow. And no matter who his daddy was, “little human” was going to get a lot of attention from a lot of men. Exactly like me.

This is my pregnancy story. And it was just the beginning of a long journey.

3- MEANT TO BE

When they first met, Louis was all *MAIN GIRL* ever wanted. However, a decade later the high school sweethearts had change and she felt like most of the sparkles she once had were now gone. Then she met Niall and it clicked instantly and intensely and since then, they’ve been seeing each other in secret, lying to their whole entourage about the nature of their relationship. Feelings started to grow, things started to change, and maybe, just maybe, it’s meant to be. Or maybe not.

A tale of broken hearts, unforgettable love and many… way too many lies.

4- LIVING WITH LOUIS TOMLINSON

Call me Queen Catastrophe. I lost my job, my boyfriend, my best girl friend and my apartment on the same day. Just a little friday afternoon like all the others, right?

Thank god, my best friend Louis was there to save the day. Nothing unusual. I was supposed to crash at his apartment for one night and then walk on my pride and go back to my parents to admit how much of a failure I really am.

However, Louis had other plans : he wanted me to move in with him. That’s when my story really starts. Mutual feelings, drunken sex, grocery shopping, fights that end up with porcelain thrown around the kitchen (I’m an intense person, I know) but most of all, his best guy friend stealing his (our, now) couch at least 5 nights a week.

I despise Niall Horan with all my heart. Him and his stupid charm, his flirty smile and his hands that always ended up in places they shouldn’t. He was threatening to come between Louis and I. He was slowly taking more space in our apartment… and in my heart.

Fuck, I hate Niall Horan with a passion.

5- FOR YOUR LOVE

After months of trying to get pregnant, Niall and his long-time girlfriend found out she was sterile. The news obviously shook their relationship and sparked a few arguments but after a long discussion, they found only one solution : hire a surrogate mother. As days go by, Niall's relationship gets harder and harder to save, and his connection with the surrogate mother of his child becomes tighter. Soon, he gets caught in feelings he can't explain and definitely can't understand. But life is not as easy as just following your feelings.

A story of unsettling feelings, confusing relationships, a deep and strong connection but mostly, decisions impossible to make. Can this really end well?

6- DATING FOR DUMMIES

*MAIN GIRL* has tried blind dates, dating apps, and speed dating to find her soulmate with no good result. Niall has tried pretty much the same without much more success. With all the bizarre, creepy and incompatible persons they meet, they're so close to give up on love until they meet each other through a friend. After a bottle of wine and a long discussion, they start thinking that maybe they were the problem, and that they're too dumb for dating. That's when they decide to make a list of what they individually want and need on a first date and finally decide to try it together. Unfortunately, things rarely go as planned and they will both realize that feelings can't be controlled.

When all else fails, the solution will always be to follow your heart.

7- THE BREAK-UP PLAN

*MAIN GIRL* and Niall's relationship had started when they had barely entered their teenager years. Now, over 10 years later, they feel like something is missing. They didn't know anything else besides each other and it had to change. They still planned on spending forever together but their lack of experiences and mistakes seemed to be an obstacle between them.

They agreed on  break that was not really a break. for six whole months, they would be able to do whatever they wanted to do with whoever they wanted to. Going to parties, leaving for a whole weekend with friends without giving any news, dating and even screwing whoever they wanted, nothing was out of reach.

They only had one rule : honesty. Every friday night, they'd meet and spend the whole night together, talking, making out or just cuddling until they'd fall asleep, to make sure their love was preserved.

Unfortunately, things rarely go as planned and seeing the person you love the most in the world be happy without you is something almost impossible to accept.

A story about angry tears, painful jealousy, sweet sweet revenge and realizing who your real soulmate is. Watch out, it's gonna hurt.

8- HOT MESS

*MAIN GIRL* has always been a bit of a rebel who didn't really care about much. She just enjoyed life the way she wanted to and never really paid attention to anything else. If she wanted something, she did everything she could to get it, no matter who she'd hurt in the process. After a few years away from her hometown, family and friends, she finally comes back to realize that a lot of things have changed. Jumping in her twin brother Liam's life without being invited, she's about to make a mess of everything he had made so much effort to build by flirting with every single one of his friends without any shame. She's not looking for a relationship, she's just looking to have some fun and break a few hearts... but perhaps, she's about to make a mess of her own heart.

Sometimes, you play the game and some other very rare times, the game plays you.

9- 15 Complicated Rules

I have no idea how I got into this mess but somehow, I ended up with 4 different fuck buddies. I thought I was going crazy until I made a strict schedule of the days and time I would see them, and wrote down a few rules I had to respect myself. A useful guide to manege my 4 fuck friends. Monday for my ex boyfriend, tuesday for my co-worker, wednesday for my old best friend and thursday for a family friend. It could work, right?

I've never been much of an organised person but I honestly thought I could make this work. Everything went as planned for a few months until I broke one rule after the other. That's when I knew I was in deep shit. These are my 15 complicated rules to have fuck buddies. And this is the story of my downfall and the incredible mess I put myself into. After all, rule 15 was 'Never Fall In Love' and I guess that's something I couldn't control, even if I wanted to.

10- DISCONNECTED

When *MAIN GIRL* switches college to finally follow her dreams, she was ready to face anything and everything that would come her way. After all, she had been through so much already, right? The problem was, she didn't expect to be stuck in a room with someone who gets on her last nerves because of a paperwork mistake. Despite trying to find an other place to live or spend her time talking to the administration, she had to face the fact that this situation wouldn't change for a few months. Niall knew how to piss her off and he clearly abused that superpower, doing anything and everything he can to annoy the most pretentious and stuck-up person he had ever met. Perhaps fate is having a good laugh, because they seem to get stuck together way more often than not, but it's not until they let down their defense that they will see who the other really is... if that ever happens.

Apparently, some people are in your life to teach you something and make you grow. Perhaps, if you take the time to listen to them and open up to them, your karmic soulmate can turn into your twin flame... or not.

11- NEW ANGEL

When *MAIN GIRL 1* breaks up with Niall, he takes it harder than he thought he would, realizing in the process all the feelings he had for her. After a few weeks locked by himself in his room, his friends take him out on a crazy night and he decides he needs someone else, if only to get over the girl he loves. That’s when he meets *MAIN GIRL 2* and bring her back home.  However, on the next morning, he realizes he doesn't want her to leave, and that despite the feelings he has for *main girl 1*, he could definitely develop something with *main girl 2*. Everything is going amazingly well for a few weeks until what Niall never thought would happen actually happens : *main girl 1* calls him to tell him she regrets leaving him. Now confused and stressed, Niall is going to have to make a choice between the girl he thought he'd spend his life with, and a girl he just met that makes his heart race. And he's going to get help on his journey from someone he would never have thought of.

A story about making choices, creating connections, messy hearts and confusing emotions.

(i have many ideas for this one but i dont want to give everything away!)

[slightlyrebelliouswriter23]

We’re All Mad Here | Jurdan College AU

Summary: It’s all for show, I tell myself. To see if I can make him flinch. It’s just a game of Russian Roulette, after all. Harmless, as long as I am the one with the gun.

Rating: T/M

CW: Very mild cursing. Zero explicit content but there is a fun little tease. It’s all very soft focus, though. Also, at the end, a brief flashback of Jude’s backstory in this fic which might be triggering for some. I’ve marked the start of her trigger with a ~~~ in case you want to avoid.

Part I    |    Part III    |    WAMH Masterlist    |    AO3    |    Fic Masterlist

Part II- Simmer

Unfortunately Attractive Dude leads me around the counter like he owns the place. If a stranger leading me into a back room is not alarming enough, the mirthful bound in his step makes me all the more suspicious.

I glare very hard at the back of his head and hope he feels it.

“Liliver,” the man says to the white-haired barista as we pass behind her, “Another hot chocolate and one large caramel cappuccino, extra shot, to-go. And make it snappy, we’ve got places to be.”

Liliver throws a sneer over her shoulder. “I’d make it much snappier if you said the magic words.”

“Oh, Liliver. Magic isn’t real,” he croons, “And we both know I’m above begging.”

Liliver looks like she’s considering punching him in the face. If it came down to it, I know I’m not above begging for that. Or cheering. Or joining in.

“Whip?” the man says.

I blink. It takes me a second to realise he’s speaking to me. “Huh?”

A wicked smirk settles on his mouth. “Do you want whip?”

I scrunch my nose.

“No whip,” he says to Liliver, backing toward a set of silver doors in the corner.

“Who puts whipped cream on their cappuccino?” I mutter.

“Weirdos, that’s who,” Liliver tells me. “Off his rocker, this one. Be careful around him.” I give her a conspiratorial smile. I decide I like Liliver.

I decide I hate Unfortunately Attractive Dude when, for reasons entirely uncertain to me, he gives me a shit-eating grin and ducks through the swinging silver doors. Against my better judgement, I follow.

Suddenly, I’m in a small kitchen where everything from the countertops to the large fridge in the corner is made of stainless steel. The air is cold and damp, like a clammy hand. An unsettling combination of wet rags and baking bread permeates the air.

The man busies himself, pulling various items down from shelves and out of cabinets.

“Are we… allowed to be back here?” I ask. He knows the barista, that much is apparent. But surely that doesn’t excuse customers from wandering back on a whim to use the kitchens as their own personal laundromat.

“One never needs permission to be anywhere if one never asks and is never perceived,” he muses. I shoot him an incredulous look and he laughs. “I work here.”

“In that?” I jut my chin at the man’s outfit. His jacket alone is garish. Paired with all the prim and tailored rest, it seems more like something strutting down a high-end runway than any work attire I’ve ever seen.

“No, of course not in this,” he scoffs. “Come sit.” He pats the metal countertop next to the sink before continuing his search, a flurry of black and red.

“Why?” I don’t try to hide my scepticism. Better he knows I am wary of him still than try to be accommodating and find myself axe-murdered.

“Because after I’m done with your shirt,” he says, pausing to look at me, “I need to make sure you’re not hurt.”

How poetic, I think, then narrow my eyes. I mislike the idea of this strange man inspecting an injury conveniently located on my cleavage.

“I told you,” I say, sliding my backpack off my shoulders and setting it on the floor, “I’m fine.” But when I peel out of my coat, a sharp pang shoots across my chest. I cannot help the wince that escapes.

Clearly not fine.

An arch of one dark brow tells me the man agrees with my unspoken thought. His oil-slick eyes rake over me once more, assessing. My traitorous heart does a little leap.

He pulls one shoulder into a half-shrug. “Company policy. Sorry.” His rings clang against the metal as he pats the counter again.

My teeth grit against the sound. “A likely story,” I grumble, though I am not sure he hears me. Already continuing his disassembly of the kitchen cabinets, the man does not respond.

I clamber up onto the counter with no amount of haste and sit begrudgingly amongst his collection of searched-for items: Dish soap, white wine vinegar, rubbing alcohol, a sponge, a large metal mixing bowl. He adds a first-aid kit to the growing horde.

I watch as he removes his many rings from moon pale fingers. They’re long and nimble, and I find myself wondering if he sews, as well. Or perhaps he’s a skilled pianist.

Warmth spreads across my cheeks. Then again, it’s probably a bad idea to think too much on his hands.

He flicks a handle of the faucet and tests the steady stream rushing out. Satisfied, he holds the mixing bowl under the tap.

“It’s my day off,” he tells me while the bowl fills.

“Fascinating.”

“It’s why I’m not in uniform.”

“You’re telling me you chose to wear this?” I wave a hand at his ensemble.

The man turns the faucet off, frowning. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” He places the bowl of warm water on the counter next to me.

“Your coat looks like a bathrobe.”

“I beg your pardon?” He presses a hand to his chest in mock offence. “This jacket happens to be a masterful work of art by a very coveted designer.”

I roll my eyes. He sounds like the most pretentious kind of asshole. If I hadn’t already decided whether to like him or hate him, this would’ve given substantial weight to the latter.

“Yeah, well, it looks like something an old rich dude would wear,” I say. “Probably while having a post-bath cigar and reading the obituary section of the newspaper.”

“Personally, I much prefer the comic section, post-bath,” he mutters, squeezing a dollop of dish soap into the bowl.

Somehow, I can imagine that. This odd man in a bath full of bubbles and oils that smell like the forest, getting out only when his hands go pruny to read the Sunday comics. Then I very much want to un-imagine that.

I shake my head. I need coffee. Now.

“Lucky for you,” the man says, ripping me from my internal spiral into damnation, “You get the privilege of wearing the old dude bathrobe. Give me your shirt.”

He shrugs out of the jacket and holds it out for me, his free hand waiting expectantly for a swap. Those coal-black eyes sparkle with a dare. It’s then that I realise: They are waiting expectantly, too.

As if he anticipates I will blush and ask him to turn around so I can change in some modicum of privacy. Like a good girl. As if he expects I’m the type of woman who is accustomed to gentlemanly behaviour from men.

Little does he know, I don’t much care for chivalry—and I am most certainly not good. If he does not want to give me the courtesy of privacy, then I will not ask it of him.

It is an effort to swallow my pride. With slow hands, I pull my blouse from the waistband of my skirt. I hold his gaze steady, out of spite.

Surprise steals across his face. It is there and then gone, brief as a breeze, and the only thing he yields.

As my fingers graze the top button, a little thrill runs through me. I must be mad for doing this. Between the interview jitters, my state of panic, and a desperate lack of caffeine, I must have completely lost my mind.

Or more likely, there was already something very wrong with me, to begin with.

Sensing my hesitation, the man’s mouth furls at the corners like unrolled parchment that reads: You won’t do it, in the looping, self-important scrawl I imagine someone like him must possess. That small smirk, the second dare.

I glare at his mouth. The first button is the hardest, but I clench my jaw and undo it; then the next.  

He tracks my every move from beneath the eaves of his thick lashes. The sight of him so suspended by the strings of my fingers makes my heart rush, and I am struck by a mix of irritation and dizzying lust.

Cool air pebbles the skin on my chest as I work. I take my sweet time about it. This prick wanted a show, so it’s a show I will give him.

My fingers move carefully down the line. Pulling my bottom lip between my teeth, I knit my brows in feigned concentration and pretend that this is nothing.

Even though my heartbeat is a war drum in my chest.

Even though his gaze is heady and my head is spinning with it.

Even though I am very glad this task does not require me to speak.

This is nothing. This is nothing but three more buttons. His breath hitches as my shirt falls open further. I am a matchstick under his flint-like gaze.

My cheeks blaze. I think about how every bit of this is his fault. I think about how I hate him and his annoying charm for tricking me into coming back here. About his paramour eyes, his satyr’s smile—I think I hate those things most.

Such ire grounds me.

I pop the final button, slip my shirt off one shoulder, then the other. The pale blue fabric pools at my waist, draping over the crooks of my elbows. A subtle shift and I’m pushing my arms flush against my ribcage, giving him the best view.

It’s all for show, I tell myself, over and over. To see if I can make him flinch. It’s just a game of Russian Roulette, after all. Harmless, as long as I am the one with the gun.

When I meet his eyes again, at last, every second of this humiliation is worth it. The man’s arms have fallen slack at his sides. His precious designer jacket all but forgotten, nearly grazing the floor.

Gone is the taunting smirk. Every sharp edge of him smoothed over by wonderment. Or maybe it is consternation.

Either way, I am plagued by the thought that I should very much like to see him dishevelled.

I should like to see him come undone.

I give a coy smile and bat my lashes mockingly. “Did you get a good enough inspection, doctor?”

To my delight, he swallows audibly. Opens his mouth as if to speak, then snaps it shut.

Maybe he needs a doctor, I think and give a little snort. With a roll of my eyes, I try to beat back the tide of my own desire.

I shove my wadded up shirt into his chest, unceremonious. “You’re drooling,” I tell him, my voice miraculously even. That seems to snap him out of it.

He blinks twice, clearing his throat. “Shouldn’t need more than ice and a bit of aloe,” he says, then takes my shirt in his free hand.

I snatch the jacket from his other and shrug it on. My arms slide easily into the satin-lined sleeves. It’s still warm and smells like him. A forest and something burning. I hate that I notice at all—that whatever odious perfume he’s wearing is something I’ve committed to memory. Most of all, I hate the shiver that roils up my spine because of it.

I fold my arms across my chest and risk a glance at the man.

He’s frowning at the bottle of white wine vinegar in his hands. The way he glares at it, you’d think it had committed some heinous crime. There is a slight tinge of pink on his moon-pale cheeks.

A trifle smile tugs at my lips. It’s good to know I get under his skin as much as he gets under mine.

“So,” I say, flipping my hair out from under the jacket, “How do I look?”

He glances in my direction, face unreadable. An unbothered sweep of his gaze. “Not at all like an old man in a bathrobe,” he says, opening the bottle.

With a flourish, he adds a splash of vinegar to the bowl.

“I should hope not,” I say, raising my arms slightly to examine the jacket. “I think I look like the finest baroque rug Insmire has to offer.”

The laugh that barrels from Unfortunately Attractive Dude is genuine. “I’ll pass your compliments along to the artist.”

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

“Nonetheless,” he says, “I suspect it’s as close to one as anything you usually give.” He reaches for my shirt and dunks it in the water. Immediately, a bit of the stain lifts away, turning the water a cloudy colour.

He’s not wrong, and it irks me. I shift my gaze back to the jacket.

All things considered, I’m shocked at how well it fits. It’s a little long, and the sleeves swallow my hands in a river of red and black fabric. But what I lack in height, I make up for in other things. The man is lean enough to where the rest of his jacket is filled easily by the swell of my breasts, the sweep of my hips.

“I’ll admit,” he says, swishing the contents of the bowl around with his hands, “It suits you. Might even look better on you than it does on me.”

“Really?” I gasp, a teasing thing.

“I said might,” he mumbles, stirring and pointedly not meeting my eyes. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Oh, I most certainly will.”

A small smile plays at the corners of his mouth, but he says nothing and adds dish soap to the bowl.

“You never told me your name,” I blurt. Mostly to fill the silence, but also because my not knowing is starting to get a bit weird.

He furrows his brows as if he’s never been asked the question before. Or he is surprised I even have to ask. Like I said. Self-important.

“I didn’t,” he says, smirking down at the bowl.

I wait. When he does not oblige me, I give him a stern look. “Is that information classified or something?” I ask. “Too personal? Because let me tell you, pal, you’ve seen me in my bra.”

“Yes. And?”

I almost cringe at the reminder. He has probably seen many people in various states of undress. I am no one special.

“And,” I say, pasting a sickly sweet smile on my lips, “I usually like to know the names of people who’ve seen me in my bra.”

“You say that as if it happens often.”

I narrow my eyes, ignoring the blush rising in my cheeks. “And you say that as if you mean to distract me.” He continues to work my shirt around with his hands, dutifully ignoring my glare. “Why won’t you tell me your name?”

“Because,” he says, voice contemplative, “I thought you already knew it.”

“Should I know it?”

He shrugs. “We’re in the same politics lecture. With Dulcamara. You sit in the back row every week.”

“So you’re stalking me.” I’m only half-joking. The other half is starting to get worried that maybe I will end up in tiny little pieces out back if I’m not careful. My eyes flit to the bouquet of knives at the end of the counter.

“No,” he says, adding a squeeze of rubbing alcohol to the mix. “I’m just good with people. And faces.”

While he stirs, I cock my head to the side, trying to dredge up his likeness from the faces in my memory. I’m quite certain if I had ever seen a face like his, I would’ve remembered it.

Though truth be told, Dulcamara’s lectures are the most interesting my department has to offer. I often do not notice the people around me.

“You really don’t know who I am?” He looks at me, brows arched in amusement.

I grit my teeth. “That lecture is one of the busiest ones. And why should I pay attention to the people when the lecture is far more—”

“Gripping?” His grin is a slash of white. “You’d certainly be the first to think so.”

“At least I think for myself,” I snap.

“A good quality to be sure,” he says. “But as driven a person as you are, Jude, I’d have thought you’d be more observant.”

My heart skitters to a halt. It’s one thing to know my face but…

“How do you know my name,” I demand, boring a glare into his skull. “You are stalking me.”

“It’s hardly stalking, darling, if neither of us has any choice in the matter of attending,” he points out. “Besides, it’s really hard to not know your name. Since you answer all of Dulcamara’s questions with such… thoroughness.” Some emotion I can’t quite read, settled so perplexingly between admiration and disdain, feeds his expression as he says this.

I am not entirely sure what to make of it.

But I do know what he’s said is true. I am usually the only voluntary participant in Dulcamara’s lectures. And I suppose if he knows enough about my track record for participation, he probably does go to Royal Greenbriar.

I’m weighing my options when Liliver careens through the door.

“Sorry ‘bout the wait,” she says, making for our counter in the back of the kitchen. She has two steaming cups in her hands, and had I not been sitting so high up, I might’ve dropped to my knees to kiss the ground she walks on.

“Busy out there?” the man-who-has-annoyingly-not-been-named mutters.

“You were at the tail end of the rush,” Liliver says, then frowns. “Though it doesn’t seem like you’re in much of a hurry here.”

She eyes the array of supplies, my shirt in the bowl of now-dirty water, her co-worker’s jacket on my shoulders. She says nothing. Only hands me one of the cups.

“One large caramel cappuccino, extra shot, to-go,” she says, giving me a wink.

I thank her and take a much-needed sip.

Liliver turns to the man. “And one hot chocolate for you, Your Highness.” She makes a mockery of a bow as she hands him his drink.

He scowls but grunts his appreciation, placing the to-go cup on the counter next to him. When he turns back to the bowl, the barista grins wickedly at me. I return it in kind. Yes, I very much like Liliver.

“Any luck with the stain?” she asks the man.

He fishes my blouse out of the bowl. “Don’t see how that’s any of your business, Lil,” he says, then shuffles over a few steps before wringing the fabric over the sink.

“As star employee, anything that happens in my kitchen is my business.” She offers a lewd waggle of her brows.

I take a sip of coffee to hide the blooming heat on my face. I was sure the door had been closed… Then, a small, dreadful thought bubbles to the surface.

Perhaps her coworker has a reputation for luring potential conquests back here. Perhaps he’s done this one-hundred times before, and Liliver has learned the basic machinations of it.

Though it’s doubtful anyone gave a show quite so revealing as mine. Also doubtful he’s had quite that many conquests, even with his considerable beauty. One-hundred is a very high number. Isn’t it?

Still, if I am correct in guessing his design, I vow to make the man pay in more than just coffee and laundering expertise.

“Need I remind you,” Unfortunately Attractive Dude drawls, “It is technically my kitchen always. So I am under no obligation to tell you.”

His kitchen? He’d been modest before, I realise, when he told me he works here.

“Not like you to pull rank,” Liliver huffs, affronted. “What’s got your panties in a knot, Greenbriar? Is it girl troubles? Because if it is—”

But I don’t hear the rest of what she says.

~~~A single word and everything becomes slow, slanting. I stare down at the tile floor. The world warps around me, as if held on the end of a bungee cord stretched taut, and I am about to be flung helpless back into the air.

Something in my stomach curdles. It has nothing to do with the coffee.

“Anyway,” Liliver is saying, her voice very far away, “You asked me to remind you if you’re still here that you have a meeting in ten minutes.”

I am still staring at the grout between tiles. At the grit there. The grime. My skin is awash with the slick feeling of it.

“Yes,” the man says in my periphery. “Thank you, Liliver.”

“For the record, I don’t get paid enough for this,” she says, and I have the vague sense she is heading for the door. “The personal assisting. The moods. The general… weirdness.”

His laugh is muffled, awful. Like the thud of marbles on carpet. “I’ll give you a raise, then.”

“It’s the least you could do,” she sings over her shoulder, and she’s out the door again.

Then, we are alone. But I am not here. I am sometime else.

I feel all that black water clapping at my ears as I swam that day. My lungs burning raw with panic and bile and sea salt. The boat, a little orange firefly flickering in the distance, appearing and disappearing with the rise and fall of waves.

The sea is a lady. When she swallows you whole, she does so without a sound. Drowning is always quiet. So is rage, which is an awful lot like drowning. Everything happens beneath, simmering to the surface like so many bubbles. They were certainly one and the same that day.

I think they are one and the same now.

Flame licks my face, static pricks my tongue. My heart thrashes slow in my chest, a kind of silent drowning. My head is swimming just as poorly. ~~~

When I resurface, I am met with only silence and that one word ringing in my ears.

Greenbriar. Greenbriar. Greenbriar.

☽☽☽☽☽

Last Part

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AN: Sorry for the major cliffhanger but the evil author in me had to *cue villainous laughter* 😈 so it’s been an age and a half since I last updated this fic, but here it is! Thank you so much for reading!! Hope you enjoyed :) If you did, please let me know in the comments, reblogs, my ask box/inbox. Even if it’s just a keyboard smash, it genuinely brightens my day to read.

I’ve been busy developing the plot for this one and let me tell you, there is SO MUCH to be revealed, I can hardly contain myself. No promises, but I’m about halfway through writing the next chapter so hopefully it will only take me one single age to post that.

If you’d like to be added to the tag list for all future updates of We’re All Mad Here (or any other Jurdan content I post), let me know via comment/ask/message!! Thanks again for reading! Back to the forest now. 

-em 🖤💫

Title Inspo: Simmer by Hayley Williams

Tag List: @the-mithridatism-of-jude-duarte​ @velarhysismine​ @knifewifejude​ @danieldesario​ @annihliation​ @wickedqueenoffantasy​ @not-tess​ @clockworkgraystairs​

[lavenderek]

So you're saying you don't think "underage" fic is gross. Is that what youre saying?

well, no. yuck. what i’m saying is, what exactly and specifically do we want to happen?

there should not be explicit fic about underage characters, got it. so what age can they not be under? 18? 16? what country’s laws regarding the age of consent do we prioritize? like, i think it’s gross that the age of consent is 16 in some places, but i’m an american, so i would, wouldn’t i? so ok, what if we hedged it a bit and put the age as like, 14? that way it’s not little kids, it’s all teenagers. but no, gross, 14-year-olds are children. fun fact: so are 16-year-olds. they are also children.

what about fic about two teenagers having a consensual encounter? should all romantic or sexual fic have to be about adults only? your answer to this may very well be “yes,” and that’s completely valid. a teenager writing fic might disagree. somebody who’s a big fan of a show that’s about a bunch of teenagers might disagree. should there be an adults-only section on the site? there’s already a “stop, you have to be 18″ box to check before you can access explicit fic, so how do we verify a user’s age? they can just lie about their age and click through anyway. you have to be 18 to make a youtube account and i’ve had one since i was 13. i remember very deliberately choosing a new birth year when it asked for my birthdate.

then you get to slightly greyer areas like large age gaps, or heavy role play between consenting adults. i have absolutely witnessed fic that’s clearly written to be CP, but it’s tagged as age play. so like, for all intents and purposes this is CP, but if you roll in like “hey, this is fucked up,” they can be like, “oh, so you read this picturing actual children, sicko?? you have a problem with two adults doing shit in the bedroom??? how dare you!!! don’t like don’t read!!!”

it’s kind of like on porn sites, how they make like nasty inc*st stuff but call it “stepmom” or whatever, like oh, they’re not actually related! sure, joseph, thanks for covering all your bases

so we can’t ban kinks. or can we? should we limit depictions of serious addictions or domestic abuse too? torture, or even body horror? these are generally accepted to be dark content.

i’m not trying to engage in whataboutism, i’m naming actual, relevant questions about shit that’s disturbing in real life (no offense to kink people who follow codes of consent and conduct) and can be incredibly upsetting to encounter online. shit that i can’t imagine wanting to read, let alone write.

these are the questions that we, you, i, people pro-a*3 and people anti-a*3, are all asking, and not a single one of us can or should answer them unilaterally.

so it’s like, oh, okay, so there should be no oversight at all? should there be no rules? no, obviously, that would be horrible, i don’t trust any of these fuckers to conduct themselves civilly. so there should be some rules, but not too many rules. that’s what we have now, and clearly the way things are now isn’t working because a lot of users are reasonably very upset.

should there be a voting system, and rules are set by a popular vote? should certain words be flagged and you can’t post the fic with that word in it? should there be a thing where when you post a fic, you have to select the ages of each character and that’s listed at the top of the fic? what if they age during the fic? should there be a flagging function, where you report someone for not using sufficient tags? users will find workarounds for all of this. you know they will. so mods will have to be very specific about the rules and introduce, like, a vetting system for it. which is a lot more manpower and a lot more chances for subjective judgments.

all of the above is why it operates on a tagging system instead. i’m gonna be real, i only go on a*3 to read comments on my own shit lmao, and even when i did go on there more often i never went in the tags searching for fic. so is there a blacklist function? is there a flagging function?

if there is a flagging function, maybe they make it so that if the flagged user has violated the rules, their account is suspended and their fic made private for the duration and until they add necessary tags.

cool, a compromise. but uh-oh, it turns out Mod A agrees that this fic is n*ncon, but Mod B thinks it’s just vague, not n*nconsensual, and doesn’t feel comfortable banning the fic. or it turns out User didn’t post anything flaggable, they were reported by somebody who is targeting them for some reason, or by someone who is more stringent about n*ncon than somebody else would be, like, it’s gotta be enthusiastic and verbal consent or else it’s skirting the edges too much.

it’s like, we’ve already witnessed censorship (please take this word usage gently, i know it’s touchy but it’s the word to use here) being a problem here on tumblr with their stupid nipple ban. there’s a double standard regarding whose nipples are explicit and whose are kosher for public consumption. people have to appeal their shit getting flagged and sometimes nothing gets fixed regardless. i’m sure other people are pleased that there’s less of a chance of them accidentally scrolling past a picture of a hard dick at work.

so you get it, this is a problem that’s more complicated than “all of x should be banned and if you post it there’s something wrong with you,” a belief you’re more than entitled to hold but can’t base, like, fanfic legislation off of. you get it you get it.

you get it, but like, what is the fucking deal with those “fandom moms” who go off on soliloquies about the days of old or whatever the fuck whenever this topic comes up? what about the weirdos who are like, “what’s next, banning gay fic????” yeah, if we allow gay marriage you can marry a tree, that’s how it works, thanks tiffany.

but no, the reason they do this is NOT that they think lgbtq content is comparable in any way to CP. the reason they do this is that this exact problem has taken place on every site that has ever hosted fic. and many previous sites did think lgbtq content was comparable to CP. it was categorized as adult content and hidden.

that’s why a*3 exists in the first place. it was to avoid godmodding and absolutism. it’s supposed to be more or less self-governed. i don’t want there to be CP on a*3 any more than you do, but i also don’t trust randos to decide what is and isn’t acceptable content. this topic is not new.

i’m in support of stronger government regulation in real life because it can be argued that certain actions and systems violate human rights. everybody deserves food and shelter, for example. the same can’t be argued in this case because some creep writing CP doesn’t violate my rights. i find it offensive and i don’t think they should be writing it, but my right to click the back button is intact. there is no institution making it impossible or even difficult for me to not read fanfiction. the creep could just as reasonably argue that their right to post what they want is being affected.

why is this response so long? is it because i can’t shut up? yes, but also because this is a complex issue and that’s why nobody has taken significant action on it.

people are also big mad.

i’ve never understood this impulse to see somebody not doing a thing you want them to do and assume it’s out of malice or incompetence, anyway. i don’t know anybody who volunteers for a*3 but it’s my assumption that given the choice to have us all pissed at them, or have us all not pissed at them, they would choose to have us not be pissed at them. it just seems like the reasonable reaction to have. and like, i’d be pretty shocked to part the kimono and find out they’re all CP-loving gargoyles and a*3 actually stands for A lot Of child abus3. that is the reason i have not been like, “fuck a*3.” because what are they supposed to do, you know?

there’s no simple or inarguably morally right solution here. the princess is in another castle. just post fic on tumblr, i guess? make another hosting site that’s exactly like a*3 but romantic characters can only be like, 21?

i actually think the legal age in the US should be raised to 21, not joking. your brain literally and biologically isn’t finished developing at 18. teenagers lack the world experience to make decisions that adults make.

somewhere there is an 18-year-old or a person who moved out and became self sufficient at 18 who hates this sentiment. there’s a teenager in an abusive home who would be intensely demoralized by the prospect of having to remain beholden to these people for three more years.

and there’s a parent who is relieved to know that their kid can’t be preyed on by army recruiters for three more years. there’s a person who got into a car crash with a teenager who misjudged whether or not they could make a turn who’s like, yeah, she could probably have benefited from a few more years.

nothing is as simple as it should be. i agree with you, but i’m not willing to pass blanket judgments with regards to actions that should be taken. and honestly, given how little i actually go on the site, i don’t even have a dog in this fight. so all my opinions on it are moot anyway.

(side note, if you are in an abusive home and you can’t make your own bank account, or if your bank account is monitored by your abusive parents, maybe try venmo? you can get a debit card that pulls directly from your venmo balance. a surprising number of places accept venmo payments, and this way you can save up money in secret.)

anyway uhhhhh seeya