#I’m so grumpy for no reason and I’m SO BORED but I can’t get myself to do the things I need to do so it’s all piling on

[earlgrey-aziraphale]

personal post in the tags! just a vent scroll on

[dix0nspretty]

Knives, Bikes, and Stitches, Oh My!

Summary: Daryl is working on his motorcycle and you watch. Too bad you can't keep your focus.

Daryl Dixon x F!Reader, 1.3k words

Era: Prison (again) because he's just so yummy...

TW: Mention of blood and stitches. Maybe chronic horniness?

Y'all loved my first story and I hope this one whets your appetites just as well! I have no idea how motorcycles or vehicles of literally any kind work, so please feel free to educate me in the comments.

You put the fear of God in Daryl every time he sees you with a knife.

It’s not that you can’t use one. On the contrary, you’re a force to be reckoned with when you’re fighting. Sometimes all that can be seen of you in a fight is the shine of blood-tinged metal as you slash and stab at whatever is attacking with your twin blades. No, your knives are comfortable and at home in your grip. Maybe too comfortable.

“How many times I got to tell ya to stop eatin’ off yer damn knife?” Daryl’s rough accent sounds out in the empty courtyard. His head is bowed low as he works on his bike, not looking up as he speaks.

I’m perched on the tabletop of one of the prison’s picnic tables eating a can of peaches. Daryl, for some reason unknown to me, had elected to start taking his bike apart and putting it back together and I followed along to watch the process. I don’t know shit about vehicles, much less motorcycles, but I like spending time with the grumpy man.

“It’s fine, I’m not gonna cut myself.” I tell him as I tilt my head down to drag a slice of peach off the blade. Daryl’s eyes don’t move from the work in front of him, but I can feel him watching me. I pull the chunk into my mouth and lick the blade clean of the sticky juice.

“Told ya to cut it out.” I’m eating the canned fruit haphazardly, not paying any attention to how close I am to the edge. Daryl shakes his head. He knows it’s a matter of time before I cut my lip or tongue.

At his repeated command, I roll my eyes but pull away from the edge of my knife. I set the can of peaches down and watch him. His brown hair is getting longer now and it’s sliding down into his eyes, shielding most of his face from my watchful gaze.

“What are you doing, anyways?” I ask. I scoot myself closer to the edge of the table and peer down over his shoulder. He has one of his tools in his hand and some pieces of metal I can’t identify. It is roughly the size of my fist and cylindrical. Whatever it is, it looks important.

Daryl glances over his shoulder, feeling my curious eyes looking down. He huffs and continues his task. “Workin’.”

“No shit. Working on what?” I’m playing with my knife in my fingers, absentmindedly twisting and flipping it. Daryl looks up at me through his hair, squinting one eye against the sunlight. My breath catches in my throat, and I try to play it cool.

“Do ya really want to know or are ya jus’ bored?” He asks in his gruff voice. I don’t answer for a second. He looks so pretty. Get a grip, Y/N, I think to myself.

“Really want to know. Come on, I don’t know anything about bikes. Teach me something.” Daryl squints at me for several seconds longer and I’m convinced he’s going to send me inside to bother someone else, but he slowly starts talking.

“’M cleanin’ the carburetor.” He tilts his hand up to show me the same piece I was looking at earlier. “It’s startin’ to get clogged.”

“Oooookay. What’s that do?”

“It keeps the engine runnin’ smooth, basically. Don’t keep it clear and that can fuck up the bike, make it stall or overheat. Gotta take it apart and clean it every few months.”

Daryl lets me watch over his shoulder as he points out different parts of the carburetor and how to clean them. After a few minutes, his gruff voice starts to fade out and my mind begins to wander.

He just looks so good. His hands are greasy and dirty from all of his work today and his biceps are sweaty from the Georgia heat. He’s wearing one of his simple black shirts that already fit him so well and the sweat is only making him look more delicious. I’m watching his hands work over the small brass jets when I feel burning heat in my palm and look down.

I’d been messing with my knife the entire time and cut myself. I instinctively let go of the blade and it hits the concrete with a harsh clang. Daryl’s head lifts at the noise and he spins around right as I rush to tuck both hands behind my back. I look like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar and I’m trying to hide the chocolatey evidence. Except this time, it’s blood.

Daryl’s eyes run over me for a second, then flick down to my knife as it sits on the dirty floor. He slowly bends down and picks it up. “Y/N.” He starts, a low warning in his tone.

“It’s fine! I’m fine, I just dropped it.” My voice rambles out. There’s a high, nervous note to it and I’m hoping to God he doesn’t notice.

He raises an eyebrow. “If yer fine, why’s the knife got fresh blood on it?” Fuck.

“Uhhhhh.” I look around the courtyard, trying to find an excuse. I, naturally, see nothing. “Magic?”

Daryl huffs and crosses his arms. “Let me see your hands.”

I wince. I don’t want to get in trouble, but I can feel the blood dripping off my hand, and it stings. The longer I hold off showing him the angrier he’ll get.

“Y/N. Hand, now.” Daryl’s voice leaves no room for arguments.

“Jus’, don’t be mad?” I ask. He says nothing and I sigh, then slowly move my hands back in front of me. The blood is quickly evident on my skin.

“God damn it, girl. Why can’t ya ever listen to me?” Despite his rough tone, his hands are gentle as he takes my wrist and tilts my hand, inspecting the damage. I risk a glance at my hand. There’s a slash across my entire palm and more blood than there should be. It’s going to need stitches.

“Ya need stitches.” Told you.

 Daryl looks up from my hand but doesn’t let go of my wrist. His eyes lock with mine and he gives me a warm look. There’s exasperation and concern and I don’t know what to do with it. He takes a surprisingly clean rag from his pocket and ties it around my bleeding palm, firmly but not enough to hurt.

I can’t help but be surprised by just how gentle he’s being with me. I was expecting a pop in the side of the head and a banishment to Hershel’s cell. I look up at him through my lashes, waiting for my verbal lashing. After almost a minute, I realize there is none.

“Does this mean I gotta go in now?” I try to keep the potential disappointment from my voice and don’t entirely succeed.

“Yeah, yer going to go get those stitches. Ya weren’t listenin’ anyways.” He grumbles at me. “The hell were you doin’?”

I look away from him. I do not want to explain that I was too busy being horny over him to notice that I gouged my palm open. I risk a glance at him and I’m caught by those ocean-blue eyes.

“I was watching your hands…”

Daryl pauses, then snorts. “Maybe instead of watchin’ my hands ya should’ve been watching yours. Go get your damn stitches and I’ll show ya somethin’ else.”

[luckbealincoln]

HIiii I absolutely love BKS! I have been here since day 1 and have fallen in love with it more and more. May I request 62 & 253 please? Basically possessive Din with some degradation

A Little Attention

pairing : din djarin x f!reader

word count : 2.3k

summary : the mandalorian returns from a hunt rather stressed, you know just how to help him out

warnings, etc : smut, established relationship, din djarin consent king, porn with a mere spoonful of plot, dom/sub, dom!din, sub!reader, safe words, sort of pet play??, din calls reader puppy, choking, degradation, humiliation, but also praise, rough rough rough sex, p in v sex, unprotected sex, spanking, use of a belt, makeshift leash, creampie

a/n : i am so so sorry it's taking me so long to get through requests lmao i'm gonna set myself a reasonably goal of one per week and try and stick with that. i hope you enjoy!! this is uhhhh maybe the rowdiest fic i've written so far but also like i loved this request and i had so much fun writing this <3 now it's time for me to sleep so i hope y'all enjoy and have a good night!!

He’s in a mood when he comes back with the bounty. 

He’s always in a mood when it takes more than a week. If the bounties alive they don’t make it known, they aren’t moving when he throws them into the carbonite. Walking in silence as he closes the doors to the Crest before storming off towards the ladder to the cockpit. He doesn’t acknowledge you in the slightest as he stomps right past you.  

You know Grogu’s in his pod up there napping, thankfully Mando notices and quiets his stomping as you feel the ships engine kick on almost immediately, the familiar hum fills the hull as you continue your knitting. 

If he wants to be grumpy, you’ll let him be grumpy. 

When he returns he still doesn’t address you as he slams his weapons down, he doesn’t clean any of his blasters as he hangs them up. He carelessly tosses the several belts he wears to the floor. Once he seems satisfied with his little tantrum he looks down to where you’re sitting on the ground. You continue your work on the sweater you’re making for the little green monster. 

“How long has he been asleep?” He snaps at you which obviously has you frowning. That’s the first thing he says after eight moons apart?

“I missed you too.” You mumble before setting your needles into the basket where you keep your yarns. 

“Don’t do that, I hate it when you do that.”

“So you're the only one who’s allowed to be angry?” You start to stand, leaning against the wall of the ship as you glare at him. 

“I had a long week.” He sounds strained but you have no problem pushing his buttons. You know exactly what to do to get out of this mood. He needs to let off some steam. And he won’t do it unless you get him riled up, it’s just how this goes, once he gets all his pent up aggression out he’ll be back to the Mandalorian you know and love. Although you certainly don’t mind dealing with this side of him for now. 

“So did I. You act like watching the kid isn’t hard. He gets bored after just a few days stuck on the ship and then he starts throwing things around with the magic and it’s all a mess.” You cross your arms as you continue frowning at him. He’s already clenching and unclenching his fist. Good. 

“I didn’t say-.” 

“And then you come back and you act like I’m not even here, like I’m nothing more than a pet to you, to look after when you feel like it and ignore otherwise.” You go to push past you but a gloved hand shoves you back against the ship's wall by the throat. All the air is shoved out of your lungs and his grip loosens the second you’re pinned in place. 

There it is. 

“Color?” His voice has softened around the edges just the tiniest bit. 

You can’t help but grin at him. 

“Green.” The moment you say it his grip tightens again. Your hands come up to claw at his wrist a bit as you gasp. He moves closer until your nose is poking against Beskar. 

“Is this what you wanted? Are you so desperate for my attention that you have to act like a brat the second I return? Maybe you are my pet, you’d probably like it if I kept you as a pet, wouldn’t you?” You’re having a hard time focusing on his words as your vision starts to get blurry around the edges, the natural panic caused by lack of oxygen taking over as you claw more desperately at his wrist. When he releases you, you slump to the floor, he doesn’t give you more than a few seconds to catch your breath before you watch his gloves hit the ground next to you and his fingers tangle themselves in your hair, yanking, your face flushes. “I expect an answer.” 

Fuck, what was the question? Kriff you can’t focus on much as you nod, hoping that’s the answer he wants but you feel another sharp tug. 

“Words.” He forces you to stare up at him. 

“Fuck, yes, sorry.” He seems pleased enough as he drops you back to the floor. 

“Tell me your colors, pet.” He picks up one of his belts, one without any attachments, holding the brown leather strap in his hands. You sit on your ankles as you watch him fold it in half, smacking it against his palm gently before turning back to face you. 

Stars, that tone. When he wants to be in charge there’s no arguing with that deadly serious tone. That’s the sharp tongue of a killer. 

“Green means good, yellow means slow, red means stop.” He drags the bend of the belt across your jaw before withdrawing it so quickly you flinch.

“Good. Now, on all fours, like a good puppy.” His voice remains dominant but now there’s a hint of mockery as you obey. Getting on your hands and knees in front of him. He drags the belt across the length of your dress ridiculously slowly, by the time he reaches your ass you're trembling. 

He crouches down next to you. 

“Scared puppy?” There’s no concern in his tone as he says it. 

Not at all. 

If anything you’re shaking in anticipation of what’s to come. And you won’t give him the satisfaction of a yes. 

“No.” You make sure he sees your smirk but any smugness in your expression is lost when he swings the belt down, a loud snap echos through the hull as it hits your rear. You lurch forward. mouth opening in a silent scream. 

He hums. Happy with your reaction as his free hand reaches down to lift your skirt up, bunching the fabric up on your hips so he can admire the faint red mark already blooming on your ass. 

“How many do you think you’ve earned, pet?” He traces the mark with his fingertips and you instinctively crawl forward a little bit, he grabs the meat of your ass, squeezing, his nails leaving little crescents in your skin. “Stay still. Don’t make me put you on a leash.” 

That certainly isn’t as much of a threat as he makes it seem. 

He of course realizes exactly what you're thinking and his hand slips under the fabric of your underwear, his digits slide through the pool of wetness forming and he laughs as he pulls them away to hold them in front of your face. 

“Is that what you want? A leash?” He brings his fingers to your lips in silent instruction for you to clean them, which you do. Tasting yourself as you lick them clean. “Well, pets don’t just get treats. You have to earn it.” You do your best not to flinch as you feel the belt rest against the skin of your thighs. “How about ten? You take the belt ten times and I'll put you on a leash?” 

It’s a humiliating deal. 

You both know that. 

But the first hit felt so good. And you crave more of the sting that lingers afterwards.

Besides, you’ve let him do worse to you and he’s let you do worse to him and you’ve always enjoyed it so you nod. He removes his fingers from your mouth and ruffles your hair. 

“Good girl.” 

It’s all worth it to hear those words. 

He kneels next to you, one hand on your chest to keep you from falling forward, the other raises the belt again. You hear the crack before you feel the sting. A small yelp leaving your mouth. He gives you no recovery time as he brings it down again. Alternating between the backs of your thighs and your ass.

After seven he’s holding you up with his free hand. Tears stream down your face and you’ve completely soaked through your panties. He sets the belt down and rubs the welts that are forming, trying to soothe a bit of the pain as you whimper. 

“Color?” He asks as he continues to rub circles against your swollen skin. 

“Green.” You murmur as you drop your head so you're staring at the floor. 

“Good girl.” You hear him pick the belt up again and he’s quick with it, he’s never been one to prolong this sort of thing longer than necessary. He brings the belt down three more times in quick succession, one slap on each thigh and one on your ass. You whine, your back arching slightly as your torso drops to the floor. 

As you wipe away the tears falling down your face he begins to gently wrap the belt around your neck, notching it like a collar around your throat so it doesn’t choke you unless he pulls on it. He moves to kneel between your legs as he pulls the belt to bring you back up on your hands. His free hand pulls your panties down to your knees as he kneads the flesh of your ass. Helping to ease the pain that demands your attention. 

“Color?” He asks one more time as you sniffle, composing yourself. 

You certainly haven’t come this far not to get fucked. 

“Green.” When you say it he gently pats your ass. 

“You’ve been such a good girl. Such an obedient little pet. Do you want my mouth or my cock?” He continues kneading your ass and you answer immediately, you’re too worked up to not have him inside you right now. 

“Cock, please.” His hand leaves your rear and you hear the zippers of his flight suit followed by the head of his cock swiping through your folds. 

You’re practically drooling in anticipation but you never feel the stretch, instead he tugs on the belt, you choke a bit and lean back instinctively, impaling yourself on his length. You groan as he sinks just the tip into your dripping cunt. 

“Come on. Take it all on your own like a good little pet.” He growls out and you know exactly what he wants. He’s presented this as a reward but you know he expects you to take it yourself. 

Which you happily do. 

Thankfully he lets you take your time. His hand grips the makeshift leash but he doesn’t rush you as you push your hips back against his. Whining as you rock back and forth, without any prep and over a week without him you aren’t anywhere near ready for him. But his gasps and whispered praises are enough to urge you on as you slowly fuck yourself on his cock. 

“Such a good girl. Kriff. Good girl, taking her reward, look so pretty on my cock, does that feel good?” Even through his groans he manages to sound condescending. 

“S’good Mando.” Your hips stutter all the back, fully taking him with a yelp and he finally tugs on the leash again. 

“What do you say?” He pulls you back completely so you’re flush against his chest, he drops the belt and wraps his arms around your torso to hold you against him. Pushing himself deeper into you. 

“T-thank you.” 

“Good girl. Take your reward.” You can hear his shit eating grin but you eagerly comply, starting to rock yourself up and down against him. His hand trails down your stomach pressing against you roughly, like he’s trying to feel himself inside of you. 

It’s harder in this position but you still manage to ride him, the hand on your stomach moves down to find your clit, there’s nothing gentle about his motions, he’s trying to force your climax out of you as quickly as possible. His fingers draw angry circles over the pearl between your legs making you keen. 

Your thrusts are weak, you’re barely getting an inch off of him as you squirm in his arms. But he must be just as pent up as you are because you recognize the grunts behind the helmet, he’s already close, his own hips starting to rut up into you. 

“Come on, cum on my cock, show me how good you can be for me.” He groans, pinching your clit sending a jolt through your entire body. Everything tenses up as you clamp down on him, your vision goes dark for a moment as your cunt strangles his cock. The only thing keeping you upright is his hands and after a few messy thrusts you feel him finish inside you. 

He holds you against him for a little while, at least until you catch your breath. He hisses as he pulls out of you before his hands find the belt, releasing the clasp and tossing it aside, quickly lifting you up into his arms. 

“Thank you.” He mumbles as he pulls your panties back up your hips. Walking you towards the sleeping cubby. 

“For what?” You rest your head on his chest as he sits you down on the edge of your shared sleeping mattress. 

“For doing that. I’m not an idiot, I know that was for my benefit.” His hands run through your hair, combing through the tangles that he put there. You grin at him.

“Well it’s not entirely for your benefit, you’re in a better mood thanks to me so everyone’s happy.” He hums in response, carefully laying you down onto the bed. 

“I’m gonna go check on the kid, make sure we didn’t wake him.” He stands and you pull a blanket up over you, exhausted. Before he leaves he gives your leg a loving squeeze. “Next time you can put the leash on me if I act like that.” He laughs and you hear him climbing the rungs of the ladder. 

He sounded like he was joking but you can’t help but smile. 

Maybe next time you will.

[notastraykid]

∞Pairing:  non-idol!Changbin x fem!reader

∞Genre: hopefully fluff?

∞Warnings: None. May be a little boring? Idk.

∞Synopsis: You’re cold and can’t sleep. Changbin is your human heater.

∞Word Count: Just over 1000? Totally not proof-read.

I haven’t written in a looo--oong ass time so please, don’t be too harsh on me. ><; also, does anyone know why I couldn't post this via the website and only via the app?

You slowly shuffled along the dark corridor with a frown on your face, wrapped up in one of your fluffy bed blanket. Your pink fleece pyjamas bottoms almost tripped you up as you walked; you weren’t the tallest of people. It was late, it was freezing cold and you could not warm up at all. This made you a very grumpy individual.

You got to your housemates bedroom door and frowned as you went to knock. The not-so-obvious sound of Changbin enjoying his sleep filtered through to your ears. Of course, he would be able to sleep through one of the coldest nights this winter had offered your city.

A little shiver went through your body as you gently knocked on his door and waited and tried to rub your cold, goose pimpled arms under the blanket. The snoring stopped. You heard a click, and the bottom of the door was dimly illuminated.

“Wa’is it? Its…” a pause, “3.45am!” Changbin declared in a whine. You opened the door a little and found your best friend with one eye closed and the other squinting at his phone, before looking up to you. “You okay?”

“I’m freezing. I can’t sleep. I could cry! Do you have any more blankets?” You pouted as you stood in his doorway.

Changbin grunted. “No. C’mere.” He shifted back to the other side of his bed and threw back the duvet. He gestured for you to come forward and lay down. You grinned to yourself. Whenever you found yourself cold or just needing comfort, a shoulder to cry on or just someone create mischief with, Changbin was always your port of call.

You had known him for years, meeting through mutual friends in your first year of university. There was an instant connection, with your friends staying that you were each other’s perfect missing piece. You didn’t really believe in soulmates, platonic or other, but this was an easy friendship and you knew you couldn’t be without your ‘Binnie-Boy’. He made you happy.

Now of course, you weren’t blind. You appreciated the visuals of your best friend. Who wouldn’t? He ate very well, spent a lot of time at the gym and looked after himself. He always said that his beauty was a refection of how well he treats people and how he is true to himself. The smile Changbin has had always made your heart do a little flutter but with a smile like his, even the most heartless person would giggle and blush if he flashed you his pearly whites.

There had been times, occasions where you think maybe, perhaps, possibly… there was a two-way crush. Cute moments, little touches, and glances… the odd flirty comments… but nothing ever came of it. You always pushed it to the back of your mind and got on with life, happily living in your little friendship bubble with Changbin.

With a little happy shuffle towards his bed, you dropped the blanket you had around you and lay down in front of Changbin, turning so you were facing away. You clicked the little switch on his bedside lamp, pulled the duvet over then pulled his arms around your waist. Changbin sighed and flexed his hands and fingers on top of yours before squeezing you closer to him.

One thing about Changbin was he was like a human heater, which was the real reason you had waddled along to his room rather than putting more layers on. You knew you weren’t going to get another blanket. He knew you weren’t really asking for another blanket. You needed your Binnie-Boy.

“Yah you’re like a block of ice. I think I’ve just dropped a few degrees myself!” Changbin did a little wiggle, shaking you both. You giggled as you settled back into his chest. “It’s not even that cold. You’re just being dramatic.”

“If that was the case, then why are my feet like this?” You shifted a little and put your feet under his own. A smug little grin crossed your face as he yelped and tensed for a moment. “See! I’m like an iceberg. An arctic blast. A snowman. A-” “-nnoying.” Changbin finished for you, a high-pitched laugh left his mouth as he relaxed back into you. He kept your feet wrapped with his own, however.

Changbin quickly rubbed his hands over yours to try and create friction for heat. “You’re lucky I love you. No one else would be able to put up with your ice-cube toes and your ice lolly fingers.” You elbowed him in defence, and he again let out a high pitched giggle.

You were glad it was dark as you felt heat rise into your cheeks. You wanted to be warm but didn’t expect a flush from them three words. Yeah, you were best friends but there was a difference between ‘Love ya!’ and ‘I love you.’, right? Were you reading into it again? Thinking it meant something more? You were too tired and still too cold to think more.

The chuckling died down. The only sound was the duet of deep breaths from the two of you. It was on a matter of minutes before sleep claimed its victims.

“Hmm…” you hesitated a little, Changbin shifted ever so slightly, returning the same sound in a manner of question.

“One day, Binnie-Boy, you’ll have a girlfriend and this here,” you squeezed his forearms which were still wrapped around your middle, “…will be no more.” You did a little laugh but there was no real humour in the statement.

You didn’t really like that thought. Changbin cuddling up to someone else.

Changbin was your warmth, your instant happiness, your light when everything was dark, he was your safe space.

It was only a matter of time he found someone worthy, really. He deserved someone to make him happy. His own light in any darkness he would encounter. His own heat in the cold.

If you were being honest with yourself, you would realise you felt selfish and you didn’t really want to share, but when the time came… You were sure you could give these moments up.

Changbin gently rubbed his cheek against the soft fleecey part of your covered shoulder and lightly sighed.

“Only one way to fix that,” He muttered into your ear, his voice sounding more and more drowsy as sleep was returning. “You’ll have to finally realise that you should be my girlfriend.”

You had never felt so warm.

[roaringup]

Post-Yom Kippur, things to work on this year:

Awareness, communication of awareness. Say if I am too cold or hot, or in pain, and change it, instead of being oblivious or silent and then likely expressing the discomfort in suboptimal ways like being grumpy.

Notice and respect when I am too high or tired to do an activity or continue getting high; a few bad things have happened this year because I was too high and my memory, proprioception, or ability to read others was impaired.

Fewer descents into despair, insecurity and envy. This is difficult for others as well as me because it affects my behavior. Get off the “slide” altogether or if I can’t, find something to hold on to.

Less automatic submissiveness and deference. I am allowed to have preferences and desires. The fact that they are often not strong doesn’t mean it is fine to ignore them or fair to others to hide them. I don’t keep myself safe by not asking for things or asking very deferentially; it used to be true in important ways, but now it makes both me and other people less safe.

Also, just because someone refuses something, disagrees about something or is bored by something doesn’t mean that I have harmed them or that they will never want to interact again until I do something entertaining/nice enough. Acting or thinking as if I believed that is true is not helpful.

I am allowed to disagree with things and argue, even emphatically. I do not need to act like someone is automatically right or reasonable just because they are upset or emphatic, either in general or with me.

Contacting friends. I am both allowed to have friends and responsible for participating in friendships.

It is certainly not useful to operate from this deep unspoken baseline sense that people would usually rather not interact with me and that I am being most respectful and ethical by not subjecting them to me. Keeping this attitude around is false and unkind to myself, and it means that I am treating people worse when I do get lonely and want company or attention, if those interactions are tinged with guilt or desperation or oh-please-but-I’ve-been-so-good entitlement. It also means I’m enjoying my own company less purely when I’m by myself if I’m framing being alone as a way to prevent bad things rather than a good thing.

[angel-with-paper-wings]

11. what’s something neat you’ve learned while doing research for something you were writing? also, how much do you worry about doing research in general?

17. what is your favorite line you’ve ever written?

18. what is your most and least favorite part of writing?

54. what’s a common writing tip that you almost always follow?

70. are you very critical of your own writing? how much do you find yourself editing (either during the writing or after the fact)?

11. I will do research into a certain thing mostly just to make sure it’s inclusion in my story isn’t anachronistic. Other than that, I mostly check Google when I am writing about a specific place (ex: the Paris Opera House, Paris in general, Perros-Guirec) so that I can describe the settings of my stories as accurately as I can. Other things I have learned about are operas, late 19th century fashion, and I recently went down a Wikipedia rabbit hole about the events and people that made up the Persian government during the time where Erik would have been in Persia (literally for no reason other than I was really bored). 😅

One thing that might interest you in particular: there is a very-real train station in Paris called Gare du Montparnasse, which is even mentioned in the POTO novel as the train station Raoul used to travel to Perros-Guirec. I saw that while rereading, and immediately thought of you! 😂

17. Oh man, I have quite a few! One that immediately comes to mind is from the first chapter of LAYNLB, and what I think sums up that fic in the best way possible:

“The sound of her sobs echoed through the silence, carrying through the thin walls to the hollow space beyond. Her voice and all its sorrow was heard, but not by an angel. That night, while the rest of Paris celebrated, two souls broken by the world wept together.”

Another one that I’m proud of isn’t really a line, but it’s a transition from one scene to another. It’s from chapter 12 of LAYNLB:

“The violinist rested his hand over his beloved daughter’s hair as she sobbed, silently praying for Heaven to have mercy on her, and to send someone who could help her where he had failed.

The Phantom was in a dark mood. Well, darker than usual.”

I just love the transition from Christine’s father asking God for someone nice and patient and responsible to care for his daughter, and then we immediately see how his prayer has been answered in the form of our grumpy, scrungly, stubborn sewer goblin. 🤣

18. My favorite part of writing is when I get to write a scene that I can see so clearly in my head, and I know exactly what the characters should say/do. This happens at least once every chapter, and while it doesn’t last long, it makes for an easy time to write.

My least favorite part is actually starting. Sometimes I have a really tough time deciding how the beginning of a certain chapter or scene is supposed to start, which is why I normally begin writing scenes that will end up in the middle of a chapter. But, I try to tell myself that not every start has to be groundbreakingly good, it just has to BE.

54. One thing I try to keep in mind is to try not to use the same word over and over again to describe your character’s actions in the same scene. This is usually during a scene with a lot of dialogue, when I pull out the thesaurus and look up all the synonyms for the word “said”. I try to mix it up as much as I can, or if I have to reuse a word I make sure it is far enough away from the previous time I used it so that it sounds new when you read it.

70. I am pretty critical of myself while I am writing, and that’s why it takes me so long to write certain scenes because I just want to get them “RIGHT”. Sometimes I’ll obsess over a single line for several minutes, because I can’t find the “right” words to use. After I finish writing a scene, though, I don’t usually go back and edit it unless I have a new idea to introduce to it. Usually my first draft is my final draft just because I spend so much time on making it the way I like it the first time.

[cattatonically]

The Hitman's Guide to Making Friends and Finding Love - Alice Winters (The Hitman's Guide, book 1)

Synopsis

What happens when a snarky hitman and a by-the-book PI cross paths?

Leland Being a hitman has its perks, but I never thought getting an accidental mooning by an attractive PI while he’s caught on a fence would be one of them. While it’s not exactly love at first sight, he’s captured my interest and won’t let go.

Suddenly, I find myself caught in a game of cat and mouse, determined to attract the attention of Jackson, the PI who should be my enemy. He pretends like he’s not flattered by my flowers and the mentions of my totally-not-fictitious blow-up doll Randy (or was it Dandy?), but I know better. Why else would he be teaming up with me to bring down Hardek, one of the city’s most ruthless criminals?

Jackson Even though the cops are telling me that the hitman is a notorious contract killer, I can’t help but admit that I’m drawn to him. He’s funny, charismatic, and attractive. There’s no way this ridiculous man can be the person the cops are after.

But when Leland ends up at my doorstep injured, I’m faced with a tough choice. It’s my duty to hand him over to law enforcement, but my heart has other plans. I want to keep him. To protect him. To be with him.

Though one question remains: why in the world does the man have so many d*mn guns?

Contains: shenanigans on a swing that you would NOT find at a playground, a car chase that sadly doesn’t have flips or explosions, a horsey ride sans horse, cuddles, an exuberant mutt, a suspicious chief of police, and lots and lots of laughs.

My Thoughts

My first impression of Leland is that he’s completely unhinged in possibly the best way. A killer who takes out the trash, he’s highly skilled, but bored. And that makes him dangerous not only to himself, but to everyone around him. Which is why Jackson is such a good balance for him.

Where Leland is pure chaos, Jackson is pure control. Jackson has his ducks in a row, and he takes his job as a private investigator very seriously. Encountering Leland while on a job throws all of that completely off kilter. And even knowing that Leland is a hitman, he can’t bring himself to turn him in.

Their dynamic is a true delight. It’s a dynamic I’ve become accustomed to with Alice Winters, and I love it so much. Leland is pure chaotic sunshine, and Jackson is just straight up grumpy. They’re drawn to each other, and learn how to navigate the case they’ve found themselves both working on together in the most unhinged way I could possibly ever imagine. And I love it so much. It’s honestly never a dull moment with these two.

As they work together to solve the case, I honestly didn’t see the big twist coming, though I feel like I should have. I was so distracted by Leland and Jackson and their budding romance, I kind of developed a tunnel vision just for them.

In the end, they really did prove to make an incredible team. Even with Jackson coming to terms with Leland’s darker side (look, he has incredible skills, and there’s no reason he shouldn’t use them to their benefit), and Leland learning to live a life outside of the self-described monster he was abused into becoming, I have a feeling their work as private investigators is going to keep everyone they encounter on their toes for a very, very long time.

[c-is-for-circinate]

For a long, large part of my life, being queer in a media landscape--finding queerness in a media landscape--has meant theft.

I'm a Fandom Old, somehow, these days, older than most and younger than some, in that way that's grown associated with grumpy crotchetyness and shotguns on porches and back in my day, we had to wade through our Yahoo Groups mailing lists uphill both ways, boring and irrelevant anecdotes from Back In Those Days when homophobia clearly worked differently than it does now, probably because we weren't trying hard enough. I've seen a lot of stories through the years. I've read a lot of fanfic. (More days than not, for the past twenty years. I've read a lot of fanfic.)

When people my age start groaning and sighing at conversations about representation and queerbaiting, when we roll our eyes and drag all the old war stories out again in the face of AO3 is terrible and Not Good Enough, so often what we say is: you Young Folks Today have no idea how hard, how scary, how limiting it was to be queer anywhere Back In Those Days. Including online, maybe especially online, including in a media landscape that hated us so much more than any one you've ever known. And that is true. Always and everywhere, again and again, it's true, we remember, it's true.

We don't talk so much about the joy of it.

Online fan spaces were my very first queer communities, ever. I was thirteen, I was fourteen, I was fifteen--I was a lonely, over-precocious "gifted kid" two years too young for my grade level in an all-girls' Catholic school in the suburbs--I lived in a world where gay people were a rumor and an insult and a news story about murder. I was straight, of course, obviously, because real people were straight and anyway I was weird enough already--I couldn't be two things strange, couldn't be gay too, but--well, I could read the stories. I could feel things about that. I would have those stories to help me, a few years later, when I knew I couldn't call myself straight any more.

And those stories were theft. There was never any doubt about that. We wrote disclaimers at the top of every fic, with the specter of Anne Rice's lawyers around every corner. We hid in back-corners of the internet, places you could only find through a link from a link from a link on somebody else's recs page, being grateful for the tiny single-fandom archives when you found them, grateful for the webrings where they existed. It was theft, all of it, the stories about characters we did not own, the videotaped episodes on your best friend's VHS player, one single episode pulled off of Limewire over the course of three days.

It was theft, we knew, to even try and find ourselves in these stories to begin with. How many fics did I read in those days about two men who'd always been straight, except for each other, in this one case, when love was stronger than sexual orientation? We stole our characters away from the heterosexual lives they were destined to have. We stole them away from writers and producers and TV networks who work overtime to shower them in Babes of the Week, to pretend that queerness was never even an option. This wasn't given to us. This wasn't meant for us. This wasn't ours to have, ever, ever in the first place. But we took it anyway.

And oh, my friends, it was glorious.

We took it. We stole. And again and again, for years and years and years, we turned that theft into an art. We looked for every opening, every crack in every sidewalk where a little sprout of queerness might grow, and we claimed it for our own and we grew whole gardens. We grew so sly and so skilled with it, learning to spot the hints of oh, this could be slashy in every new show and movie to come our way. Do you see how they left these character dynamics here, unattended on the table? How ripe they are for the pocketing. Here, I'll help you carry them. We'll make off with these so-called straight boys, and we only have to look back if somebody sets out another scene we want for our own.

We were thieves, all of us, and that was fine and that was fair, because to exist as queer in the world was theft to begin with. Stolen time, stolen moments--grand larceny of the institution of marriage, breaking and entering to rob my mother's hopes for grandchildren. Every shoplifted glance at the wrong person in the locker room (and it didn't matter if we never peeked, never dared, they called us out on it anyway). Every character in every fic whose queerness became a crime against this ex-wife, that new love interest. Every time we dared steal ourselves away from the good straight partners we didn't want to date.

And: we built ourselves a den, we thieves, wallpapered in stolen images and filled to the brim with all the words we'd written ourselves. We built ourselves a home, and we filled it with joy. Every vid and art and fic, every ship, every squee. Over and over, every straight boy protagonist who abandoned all womankind for just this one exception with his straight boy protagonist partner found gay orgasms and true love at the end.

Over and over, we said: this isn't ours, this isn't meant to be ours, you did not give this to us--but we are taking it anyway. We will burglarize you for building blocks and build ourselves a palace. These stories and this place in the world is not for us, but we exist, and you can't stop us. It's ours now, full of color and noise, a thousand peoples' ideas mosaic'ed together in celebration. We made this, and it will never be just yours again. You won't ever truly get it back, no matter how many lawyers you send, not completely. We keep what we steal.

.

Things shifted over time, of course. That's good. That's to be celebrated. Nobody should have to steal to survive. It should not be a crime, should not feel like a crime, to find yourself and your space in the world.

There were always content creators who could slip a little wink in when they laid out their wares, oh what's this over here, silly me leaving this unattended where anybody could grab it, of course there might be more over by the side door if you come around the alleyway (but if anybody asks, you didn't get this from ME). We all watched Xena marry Gabrielle, in body language and between the lines. We sat around and traded theories and rumors about whether the people writing Due South knew what they were doing when they sent their buddy cops off into the frozen north alone together at the end of the show, if they'd done it on purpose, if they knew. But over the years, slowly, thankfully, the winks became less sly.

A teenage boy put his hand on another teenage boy's hand and said, you move me, and they kissed on network TV, in a prime-time show, on FOX, and the world didn't burn down. Here and there, where they wanted to, where they could without getting caught by their bosses and managers, content creators stopped subtly nudging people around the back door and started saying, "Here. This is on offer here too, on purpose. You get to have this, too."

And of course, of course that came with a whole host of problems too. Slide around to the back door but you didn't get this from me turned into it's an item on our special menu, totally legit, you've just got to ask because the boss throws a fit if we put it out front. Shopkeepers and content creators started advertising on the sly, come buy your fix here!, hiding the fine print that says you still have to take what you've purchased home and rebuild it with your semi-legal IKEA hacks. Maybe they'll consider listing that Destiel or Sterek as a full-service menu item next year. Is that Crowley/Aziraphale the real thing or is it lite?

And those problems are real and the conversations are worth having, and it's absolutely fair to be frustrated that you can't find the ship you want on sale in anything like your color and size in a vast media landscape packed full of discount hetships and fast-fashion m/f. It's fair to be angry. It's fair to be frustrated. Queerbait is a word that exists for a reason.

There's a part of me that hurts, though, every time the topic comes up. It's a confusing, bad-mannered part of me, but it's still very real. And it's not because I'm fawning for crumbs, trying to be the Good, Non-Threatening Gay. It's not that I'm scared and traumatized by the thought of what might happen if we dare raise our voices and ask for attention. (Well. Not mostly. I'll always remember being quiet and scared and fifteen, but it's been a long two decades since then. I know how to ask for a hell of a lot more now.)

It's because I remember that cozy, plush-wallpapered den of joyful thieves. I remember you keep what you steal.

Every single time--every time--when a story I love sets a couple of characters out on a low, unguarded table, perfectly placed to be pilfered on the sly and taken home and smushed together like a couple of dolls, my very first thought is always, always joy. Always, that instinct says, yay! Says, this is ours now. As soon as I go home and crawl into that pillow-fort den, my instincts say, I will surely find people already at work combing through spoils and finding new ways to combine them, new ways to make them our own. I know there's fic for that. I've already seen fic for that, and I wasn't really interested last time, but the new store display's got my brain churning, and I can't wait to see what the crew back at the hideout does with this.

Every time, that's where my brain goes. And oh, when I realize the display's put out on purpose, that somebody snuck in a legitimate special menu item, when the proprietor gives me the nod and wink and says, you don't have to come around the side, I know it's not much but here--there is so much joy and relief and hope in me from that! Oh, what we can make with these beautiful building blocks. Oh what a story we can craft from the pieces. Oh, the things we can cobble together. Look at that, this one's a little skimpy on parts but we can supplement it, this one's got a whole outline we can fill in however we want. This one technically comes semi-preassembled, and that's boring as shit and a pain to take back apart, but that's fine, we'll manage. We're artists and thieves. I bet someone's pulling out the AU saw to cut it to pieces already.

And then I get back to our den, which has moved addresses a dozen times over the years and mostly hangs out on Tumblr now (and the roof leaks and the landlord's sketchy as fuck but at least they don't charge rent, and we've made worse places our own). And I show up, ready for joy--ready for a dozen other people who saw that low-hanging fruit on that unguarded table, who got the nod and wink about the special menu item, who're ready to get so excited about this newest haul. Did you see what we picked up? The theft was so easy, practically begging to be stolen. The last owner was an idiot with no idea what to do with it. The last owner knew exactly what it could become, bless their heart, under a craftsman with more time on their hands, so they looked away on purpose at just the right time to let me take it home. I show up every time ready for our space, the place that fed me on joy and self-confidence when I was fifteen and starving. The place that taught me, yes, we are thieves, because it is RIGHT to take what we need, and the beautiful things we create are their own justification. We are thieves, and that's wonderful, because nothing is handed to us and that means we get to build our own palaces. We get to keep everything we steal.

I go home, and even knowing the world is different, my instincts and heart are waiting for that. And I walk in the door, and I look at my dash, and I glance over at twitter, and--

And people are angry, again. Angry at the slim pickings from the hidden special menu. So, so tired and angry, at once again having to steal.

And they're right to be! Sometimes (often, maybe) I think they're angry at the wrong people--more angry with the shopkeeper who offers the bite-sized sampler platter of side characters or sneaks their queer content in on the special menu than the ones who don't include it at all. But it's not wrong to be mad that Disney's once again advertising their First Gay Character only to find out it's a tiny sprinkle of a one-line extra on an otherwise straight sundae. It's not wrong to be furious at the world because you've spent your whole life needing to be a thief to survive. It's far from wrong. I'm angry about it too.

But this was my den of thieves, my chop shop, my makerspace. Growing up in fandom, I learned to pick the locks on stories and crack the safes of subtext at the very same time I learned to create. They were the same thing, the same art. We are thieves, my heart says, we are thieves, and that's what makes us better than the people we steal from. We deconstruct every time we create. We build better things out of the pieces.

And people are angry that the pre-fab materials are too hard to find, the pickings too slim, the items on sale too limited? Yes, of course they are, of course they should be--but my heart. Oh, my heart. Every single time, just a little bit, it breaks.

Of course the stories are terrible (they have always been terrible). Of course they are, but we are thieves. We steal the best parts and cobble them back together and what we make is better than it was before. The craftsman's eye that cases a story for weak points, for blank spaces, for anywhere we can fit a crowbar and pry apart this casing--that's skill and art and joy. Of course we shouldn't have to, of course we shouldn't have to, but I still love it. I still want it, crave it. I still thrill every time I see it, a story with hairline cracks that we can work open with clever hands to let the queer in.

That used to be cause for celebration, around here. I ask him to go back to the ruins of Aeor with me, two men together alone on an expedition in the frozen north, it feels like a gift. And I understand why some people take it as an insult. I understand not good enough. I understand how something can feel like a few drops of water to someone dying of thirst, like a slap in the face. If it was so easy to sneak it hidden onto the special menu, to place it on the unguarded side table for someone else to run off to, why not let it sit out front and center in the first place? I know it's frustrating. It should be. We should fight. We should always fight. I know why.

But my heart, oh, my heart. My heart only knows what it's been taught. My heart sees, this thing right here, the proprietor left it there for you with a nod and a wink because they Get It. It's not put together yet, but it's better that way anyway. It's so full of pieces to pull apart and reassemble. I bet they've got a whole mosaic wall going up at home already. We can bring it home and make it OURS, more than it was ever theirs, forget half of what it came from and grow a new garden in what remains.

And I go home to find anger, and my heart breaks instead.

[shurisneakers]

harmless (iv)

Summary: Bucky volunteers to go stop a small time villain, but nothing can prepare him for what exactly he has to deal with. (Bucky x villain!reader, drabble series)

Warnings: cursing, guns, mention of war, frustrated bucky, dramatic reader

Word count: 1.5k

A/N: good evening i’ve never been to any of the places i mention in this series so dont come @ me

if you have any ideas for future inventions/evil plans, lemme know! i might actually end up using them 

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous Part || Series Masterlist

He spends the weekend doing nothing. It’s supposed to be relaxing. He finds it nauseatingly boring.

“No mini mission this week?” Steve asks him from across the couch. 

They’re supposed to be catching up on Star Wars but two prequels in and Bucky could feel himself lose his sanity. Anyone could present him with a random assortment of alphabets, call it a Star Wars species and he would have no reason not to believe them.

It’s not like he doesn’t like space. It’s just that he’s had enough of it and everything and everyone who came from it for the foreseeable future.

“No. Someone else is taking care of it.”

“Didn’t you volunteer for this?”

“I pulled myself out of the case.”

“I thought you were having fun.” 

Bucky’s head slowly turns to look at him. “Why would you think that?”

“I don’t know,” Steve shrugged. “Looked like you were.”

Well, he wasn’t. He likes it here at home, glued to the TV. Popcorn beside him, sweatpants on. Refreshing, calming, slow, mundane, and Jesus Christ, so fucking boring-

His spiralling is interrupted by the dinging of the elevator to the common floor. No one was allowed up there unless it was extremely urgent. Guests were barely allowed into the Tower as it was. 

It reveals the receptionist from downstairs, Marie. She’s always a little reserved, a little shy. But Bucky had seen her chew and spit out trespassers or anyone who dared to get on her nerve. He adores her.

“Hey, Marie,” Steve says while Bucky sends her a friendly wave in greeting. “What’s wrong?”

“There’s a hostage situation downtown,” she informs them. 

“Okay...” Steve drawls, waiting for a reason why this was an Avengers level threat.

“They’ve asked for Mr. Barnes by name.” She makes a mention towards him.

Bucky sits up straight. Bits of popcorn fall off his chest. 

“What?”

“They said, and I quote-” she looks down at her notepad. “‘Tell that grumpy motherfucker that I’m waiting for him and that he’s not getting out of this so easily because we have come too far.’ End quote. They’ve also told me to include a kissing emoji. And a skull.”

Steve and he look at each other.

“Well?” Steve prods. 

Bucky sighs and gets up to go get ready.

The entrance of Chuck E. Cheese is more crowded than he’d ever seen. He wasn’t even sure he’d seen people in the store before. If there were, they probably only came up till his waist. 

There are a few journalists, a few policemen standing together outside. Whispers of confusion and curiosity reigned free. 

Bucky gently pushes his way to the front. He gets a nod from a police officer who opens the door for him after a quick briefing. 

The place is darker than it usually would be. A trademark, it seemed. The blinds are drawn shut and most of the light is coming through whatever sneaks in through the crack. 

“Hey, Barnes.” Your voice is muffled by a mask that looks suspiciously like it was made out of classroom craft supplies.

There’s a person in a loose chokehold in your hand with a gun pressed against his head. Once again it looks straight out of a cartoon, purple with round disks lining its barrel. 

“What’s all this now?” He gestures around monotonously. 

“A hostage situation. Didn’t you get the memo?”

“Got that part down, genius,” he bites back. “But why?”

“Fucker kept harassing me when I was walkin’ down the street.” 

The guy’s helpless gaze met Bucky. 

“Catcalling me, stalking me.” You tighten the grip you have on him. “Call me darlin’ one more time, you son of a bitch. I dare you.”

He wasn’t impressed with his pleading eyes. He kinda felt like he deserved it. 

“Why’d you do it here?” The bright colours were starting to give him a heading. “And where are the staff?”

“It’s symbolic, Bucky,” you emphasise, “He deserves to be among other rat bastards.”

Of course.

“The staff?” he asks again. 

“Gave them thirty bucks and told them to leave. I’m not a monster.”

“Right.” He doesn’t bother refuting you. “Why’d you call me here?”

“Dunno.” You shrug. “Thought it’d be fun. You having fun yet?”

You shake the guy you’re holding. He gives a small whimper. 

Bucky doesn’t want to stop you. He had chugged enough Respect Juice in his lifetime to know that this guy probably deserved a threat or two.

Hell, he’d even help but you were more than capable of handling this on your own.

“Listen,” he sighed. “As much as I’m sure he deserves it, this is technically illegal and I’m required to stop you.”

“Sorry sarge, I thought you weren’t interested in playing this stupid game with me,” you mock, voice dropping to imitate him.

“I’m not.” It wasn’t entirely true. One Saturday with Jar Jar Binks had convinced him otherwise.

“Okay, so before you leave, do me a favour and call Hawkeye. I hear he looks mighty fine when he’s annoyed.”

His face involuntarily scrunched up. You were going to replace him with Clint? Clint?

He probably took it more as an insult than he should have.

“I’m not doing that.” Bless his foul mouthed friend, but he was a little shit who was too sarcastic for his own good. At least twice a week he’d say something stupid to Bucky and then take out his hearing aids when he tried to argue back. 

“You’re leavin’ me with no options here,” you groaned, using your thumb to flip a switch. The gun looks like it powered up, lights along the side turning red.

If he let you have this, it’d be a bad look for the Avengers.

New York man dies in Chuck E. Cheese lone hostage situation, unable to be saved by same superhero who tried to fight Thanos with a machine gun.

“Tell ya what,” he says instead, “If you kill him, there won’t even be a slight chance that you’ll see me again.”

Your grip on the gun falters.

“If I let him go...”

“I might consider coming back next week.” He’s trying to spin it, make it look like he’s the one with the upper hand here. “But you gotta let him go.”

You search his face for any signs of dishonesty.

“Let him go or you’ll never see me again.” It sounds too much like Clint’s arguments with his dog who brought a live squirrel into the house. 

“Fine,” you relent, a glint in your eye. “but say goodbye to this fuckface.”

Before Bucky can open his mouth to shout in protest, you pull the trigger. The man clenches his eyes shut, face red.

He expects blood to be splatter across his face.

Nothing happens.

A barrage of bubbles floats into the room.

“I meant it literally,” you say, pushing him off you. “Say goodbye. He’s leaving.”

The man stumbles to the ground and Bucky doesn’t make any attempt to catch him. He scrambles to his knees, picking himself up and scurrying out the door to a hoard of reporters.

The door shuts behind him with the chime of a bell.

“You’re annoying,” Bucky states, giving a small sigh.

“I’m well aware of that.” You pull off the mask, wiping the sweat off your brow.

“Where is the agent assigned to your case?” 

“Dunno. Last I saw he was crying on the driveway of my lair. I just figured he’d pick himself up later so I left him there.”

Bucky’s nose twitches. 

“You weren’t actually going to kill him, were you.” He shrugs with his shoulder towards the door. It wasn’t a question, more a statement. He knew you wouldn’t. 

“I could have.”

“But you weren’t going to,” he repeats. 

“No,” you admit. “I wasn’t. But I’m glad to see you showed up.”

“You held someone hostage as leverage.”

“No, no. I held someone hostage and then asked to see you. They were completely unrelated.”

“You’re evil.”

“You jumped to conclusions,” you point out. “Would you like a trampoline next time? Maybe a pogo stick, you clown?”

He has a very real gun in his holster. His very real metal death arm aches to use it. 

“No one else agreed to come,” he deflects. 

“We both know that’s a lie. You were going to come back anyway.” You stuff the bubble gun back into the bag. “I’m deliciously irresistible.”

“I beg to differ.”

“Then beg.” You give him a smirk and he rolls his eyes. “Don’t worry, you win this round, sarge.”

He doesn’t say anything. He watches you remove your heist gear, revealing normal civilian clothes underneath.

You walk casually to the kitchen, intending to leave through the back door.

“But I can’t say I lost either.” You send him a wink before swiftly pushing open the door and leaving him behind.

He only watches you leave.

It doesn’t hit him until a few seconds later that he let a criminal out of his hands when there were several policemen and journalists outside.

He entertains the idea of chasing you down and handing you over. 

It takes him only a few seconds to decide that if they wanted you, they’d have to try themselves.

Next part 

[keanureevesisbae]

oblivious - c.3

Summary: When Ivy wants to wind down after a long day at work, the dear captain knocks on her door with a favor.

Captain Syverson x Ivy Sullivan

Wordcount: 1.5k

Warning: None

Masterlist // Oblivious masterlist // Previous Chapter //

‘Fucking finally,’ I groan as I sit on the couch, ‘a little down time.’

Normally I love it at work, but today was draining. The women in my yoga class kept on giggling while I was being serious and on top of that, there was a group of men in the gym, who kept ogling me. Almost as if it were karma, one nearly broke his nose and one of his limps, when he slipped on the treadmill and rolled off with a pretty quick speed.

Let’s just say I pretended not to see that and have my male coworker fix this.

I grab the bowl of chips, when someone knocks on my door. Seriously? Talk about bad timing. I just wanted to chill. If it is someone who wants to sell me something, I’m roundhouse kicking them off my property.

I push myself up from the couch, when the knocking becomes more impatient. ‘Have some patience!’ I yell, before opening the door.

Much to my surprise, it’s Sy. Uncle Sy had made quite the impression on me. While initially I wanted to despise him, deep down I felt a little bit sorry for him. Not only was he not born to be a caregiver, he also is so grumpy and irritable, he involuntarily makes the girls despise him.

And that is kinda sad, because he is sort of trying.

‘Sy, what a lovely surprise. What do you need? Someone to yell at? Be a second mom to your nieces?’ I ask him. ‘Because I think you got that all covered with your eldest niece.’

He glares at me, probably murdering me in his head. ‘I truly need your help, so I’m just gonna ignore that.’

I lean in the doorway. ‘Enlighten me then. What’s up?’

‘I have this thing from work,’ he says. ‘I have to go there, but I can’t leave the girls alone. I don’t know how long I’ll be out, but I’m hoping to be home by ten. It’s just, I can’t take them with me.’

I nod. ‘And?’

He groans, visibly hating me for not making this easy for him. ‘And I hoped you could sit for tonight. Just make sure they eat dinner, they are in bed and don’t die.’

‘Don’t die?’ I ask. ’Sy, who do you think I am?’

He cocks an eyebrow. ‘A little birdie told me you ignored a man who rolled off the treadmill.’

‘If he was gawking at you like some sort of pervert, you would’ve done the same. Don’t pretend to be holier than the damn pope.’

Sy pushes his hands in his pockets. ‘That pervert is a friend of mine. He kinda broke his wrist, hence the reason I’ve got to go to work.’

What a small world, I think to myself. ‘Right,’ I say. ‘Okay, anyways… What do I get for it?’

‘I’ll give you one hundred dollars.’

Gosh, this man is desperate. I chuckle. ‘I was actually kidding and willing to do it for free, because I love those girls, but since you kindly offer me hundred bucks, I’ll take it.’

‘You’re quite insufferable, Ivy.’

‘Lemme grab a sweater.’

☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎

With Sy going off to this work thing (which had to do with the pervert falling off the treadmill—I now sorta feel a minuscule bit sorry), I am together with the three lovely Syverson girls. They are absolutely adorable and I don’t think I have ever been around so many well behaved girls. I know for sure I wasn’t like this when I was their ages.

When I ask Erin how much homework she’s got, she’s at it straight away, while Aurora is playing patiently with Clover and I actually get to have my little down time after all.

I’m relaxing in this very boring house, which has no personality whatsoever. Where are the pictures, the drawings the younger girls made and the millions of giveaways that tell everyone three young girls are living here?

We ordered and shared two pizzas, because we were all too lazy to cook and besides, the only thing we could make, was pasta with pesto. The girls told me they had that this entire week and were sick of it.

Poor Sy, he is probably a terrible cook as well.

I put Clover and Aurora to bed. Clover is already deep asleep by the time I place her in her little bed and I close the door of her room, before I go to Aurora’s bedroom.

‘Ivy,’ the middle girl says with a smile, as I sit on her bed. She’s tucked underneath the thin blanket, her hair in two braids, because she really wanted me to do that.

‘Yes, darling, what’s up?’

She places her hand on mine. ‘Are you gonna stay?’

I frown a little. ‘Stay?’ I ask. ‘What do you mean? Like now?’

She shakes her head. ‘No, forever.’

Oh no, leave it to this girl to ask this question. Whatever I answer, it will break her heart, now or eventually. I let out a sigh. ‘I’m gonna stay as long as I can.’

‘But why can’t that be forever?’

‘Because I can’t promise those things. I can’t look into the future, know what it’s gonna hold. But I can promise you this: as long as I can, I’ll be right here.’ I give her a kiss on her forehead and she smiles. ‘Goodnight, angel.’

‘Goodnight, Ivy.’

I close the door behind me and walk back to the living room, to see Erin sitting on the couch. From the looks of it, she’s waiting for me. ‘What’s up, kid?’

‘Nothing,’ she says.

‘No, no, no, I know that look,’ I say. I tilt my head, taking in her entire face. ‘You’re in love.’

Her eyes widen. ‘How did you know?’

‘I know a look of love when I see one,’ I chuckle teasingly. ‘Besides, you had it written all over you with that shit eating grin on your face, the way you kept giggling when you looked at your phone.’

She blushes. ‘Ivy, have you ever been in love?’

I shake my head. ‘No, not really. I mean, I liked guys from time to time, but I never really fell in love.’

‘Have you ever been in a relationship?’

‘I’m not the relationship type of girl,’ I say, as I plop on the couch. ‘Tell me all about this mystery person who you have a crush on.’

‘Well,’ Erin says, ‘he’s this boy in my class. His name is Teddy and he is really cute. He sometimes gives me some of his lunch, especially on days where uncle Sy forgets.’

Oh, look at that. The preteen has a better love life than I have. ‘Oh, honey, if he gives you his lunch, it’s serious.’

‘You think?’

‘Duh, men and food? They’re almost like Siamese twins. I remember when I was younger, guys would never let me have some of their lunch. This is a sweet kid. I like it.’ I lean back in the couch cushions and say: ‘But let’s be serious now, aren’t you a bit too young to be in love?’

She shrugs. ‘Why wouldn’t I be in love?’

An excellent question. ‘I don’t know, maybe I’m just projecting myself onto you, which isn’t really fair to you. I just want you to know that no matter what happens, you’re more than a relationship or a girlfriend. You are Erin Syverson, who doesn’t need a boyfriend, because she’s one bad bitch. Oh crap, I shouldn’t say bitch in front of you. Sorry, honey.’

Erin chuckles. ‘It’s okay? You really think so?’

‘Yeah, I do. Just remember that the one person you need to make sure is happy and healthy is you.’

She wraps her arms around my shoulders. ‘You’re the best, Ivy.’

‘I know,’ I laugh. ‘Okay, now show me a picture of Teddy. I wanna see what he looks like.’

☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎

After Erin is in securely in her bed, her schoolbag ready for tomorrow, Sy’s truck comes up the driveway. With a grumpy expression, he walks inside and hangs up his jacket on the coatrack. ‘Ah honey, you’re home,’ I say in a sarcastic tone.

‘Very funny.’

‘I’m hilarious, you just lack a sense of humor.’ I push myself up from the couch and grab my sweater. ‘Well,’ I say, ‘I’ll just go.’

‘Fine.’

‘And the hundred bucks, please?’ I hold up my hand. ‘Cough it up.’

He reaches in his back pocket and holds a hundred dollar bill. ‘Here.’

I actually didn’t expect him to actually give it to me. ‘Thank you so much,’ I say. ‘Well, everything is all set and done for tomorrow, so you and the girls can get ready in a blink of an eye.’

Sy groans. ‘You’re making it very hard to not like you.’

I laugh. ‘Of course I do, because I’m a ray of sunshine. See you later, Cappie.’

He nearly chokes on his spit. ‘Cappie?’ he repeats, disgust dripped all over the word.

‘I took the liberty to snoop through some of your stuff and found your military things. Turns out uncle Sy used to be Captain Syverson. Very impressive if I may say so.’

‘If you call me Cappie again, I swear—’

‘You won’t kill me, because I am a very reliable babysitter and your nieces love me. Goodbye Cappie.’

☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎

Oblivious taglist: @diegos-butt // @oddsnendsfanfics // @crazybutconfidentaf // @chaiwithchrisevans // @thelastsock // @angelcavill66 // @eldarwen333 // @abschaffer2 // @shewritesinthethirdperson // @thereisa8ella // @funfickgirl22 // @offtheclockcilantro // @liecastillo @heather-c-m // @its--fandom--darling // @coldmuffinbanditshoe // @lyrarodriguez // @islacharlotte // @calwitch // @pterodactylterrace

[not-me-simping-for-blasty]

Bakugou reacting to his S/O or crush going up to him and saying “Hey, can your hold this for a moment?” Their hand clenched so he can’t see what they are holding. He like “okay?” And they just, hold his hand.

omg this is so cute for bakugou with an s/o ahaha,, ooo n i literally couldn’t help myself so here’s a lil fic !!! hope u enjoy @annepamgkrth !! :))))

-//-

Bakugou was prickly.

He was prickly and difficult, a coiled mess of nerves wound up tighter than anyone you’d ever met. Trying to get him to relent was like playing mind games, and, if he wanted to play, then you’d play.

That day he had been even more petulant than usual- brushing you off at every turn and then huffing and puffing until you'd try again. You knew he missed you, could see it in his eyes, but you also knew full well that he’d never let himself admit that. He was stubborn to a fault. A very large fault.

“C’mon, aren’t you tired of being grumpy yet?” You huff in frustration, once more trying to grab his hand. He brushes you off- again. “Really, I already said I’m sorry! So can’t you just forgive me already?”

“No. Fuck no. Deal with the consequences, nerd.”

“You’re being dramatic.”

He stares back at you blankly, flexing his arm where it's stretched across the back of the couch. He'd been taunting you for the better part of ten minutes now, teasing you with a warm spot next to him that looked so incredibly inviting. Then, because he was apparently hell bent on being a dick, Bakugou would quickly trap his arm to his side. He'd clamp up and shut down when you so much as even moved to get closer. He was being difficult. Unnecessarily difficult- and he knew it too. You could see that clear as day from the self-satisfied smirk across his face.

"Bakugou, it's a show!"

"A fuckin' good show. Our show." He grumbles right back at you. "Don't get all pissy at me- you're the one who decided to be a bitch about this."

"What was I supposed to do? Turn it off just because you fell asleep?"

"Yes."

"No! No, I actually wasn't gonna do that! We said we'd watch one episode a night, and I kept up my end! It's not my fault that you fall asleep at 8:30 PM like a grandpa!" You huff, mild exasperation coloring your voice. "Chill out, it's only 45 minutes, grumpy. It won't take long to catch up. C'mon, I'll even sit with you right now while you watch it."

"No thanks."

"You're impossible."

"You're a traitor."

He spits the insult with too much satisfaction. It's suspicious and suddenly you know exactly what this is. He, historically, spent all his time looking for any and all reasons to go ahead and be an asshole. Apparently this is one of those times, and he's not really upset, he's just bored and acting on a convenient excuse.

"Fine. Guess I'll leave then-" You say, standing up and backing away from the couch. "Since you're obviously so incredibly cut up about it."

You see the same fight you always do then- that weird expression flicker when he just barely stops himself from asking you to come back. You can see it in the twitching of his fingers, the way the muscles in his arm flex. He's so close to folding- to bending to your will. He just needs a little push. Luckily, you've been saving a certain card up your sleeve for a while.

You fall back into the kitchen, scheming while you make a glass of water. Stalling for a few minutes, you bide your time, twiddling your thumbs until you hear Bakugou loudly huff in the living room. Peaking around the corner, you watch him grab for the remote, switching on the TV with a glare in your direction. You give it another few minutes more, and then you make your way out, glass of water in hand.

Upon entering, you find Bakugou finally watching the episode he was so upset about- albeit, with a very childish scowl across his face. He hardly even acknowledges you as you walk in, doesn't even glance away from the TV when you stand next to him.

"Hold this for me?" You ask, intentionally clinking the ice cubes in your glass. "Please? I gotta look for my phone."

He looks over at you, suspicion clouding his features. "Set it on the table, dumbass. 'm not your servant."

"No- but you are my very capable boyfriend who is an expert at holding things for me."

"Laying it on thick isn't gonna make it any fuckin' better." He grumbles, eyes still trained on the TV. But he rolls his eyes anyway, that same blind trust overtaking him, as he opens his palm. "Whatever. I'll hold it. Find it quick."

You nod, something sly and conniving crossing your face. You switch the glass into your other hand quickly, snatching his palm up with your cold one before he can recoil back. You're lacing your fingers into his, and Bakugou nearly breaks his neck with the speed he turns to look at you.

"What the fuck- the hell are you doing?" His shoulders go ridgid in mock disgust, lips curled up into a sneer. "Knock it off with the cute shit. It's not gonna fuckin' work."

"Really? But I'm not doing anything."

"You know exactly what you're doing, evil fuckin' witch."

"I'm not doing anything you didn't explicitly consent to. You did say you'd hold it for me."

"I thought you meant your goddamn drink! Not your shitty hand."

"Mhm. That misunderstanding was part of the plan. Pretty smart, right?"

You smile brightly at him, all bright whites and crinkling eyes. He folds then, just like he always does, and can't help himself as he tugs on your hand. You crash against his chest, stumbling, but Bakugou rights you with another scoff and that funny little sneer still firmly in place.

"I hate you." He says.

"No you don't."

"I fuckin' do. You're annoying as hell."

"Fine- guess I should leave then, huh?"

Bakugou just drops his other hand to your waist, gripping slightly in warning. That fire in his eyes is back, bright red flickers just daring you to defy him. That moment once again proves that petulance has always been an especially good look for him.

"No." He says, sly smile just barely curling his lip. "What you should fuckin' do is hand me the goddamn remote. Gotta fuckin' rewind now since you wanted to make such a scene."

"Nah, don't bother. You didn't miss anything important just now- trust me."

That elicits a playful growl from him, and he tugs on the end of your hair lightly in warning. "Don't fuckin' remind me. Now hand me the remote, maybe try making yourself useful for once."

"Mean!"

"Shut up, 'm just kidding, idiot." He mumbles, shyly dropping a kiss to your hair. It's stuttered, a little stiff, much like all the affection he ever showed you, but you begin to think that maybe he missed you more than you even realized. "Say you're sorry again."

"Why?"

"Because I fuckin' said so."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"Fine." You roll your eyes, taking his face softly into your hands. "I am so incredibly sorry I stabbed you in the back. I will never do it again, you absolute baby."

Bakugou curls his lip at that, but you just smile something fond, leaning in for a kiss. He finally lets you, meeting in the middle with the same kind of bruising pressure you'd come to enjoy. You pull back before he's satisfied, and he nearly yanks you back into him. Bracing a hand on his chest for space, fingers splaying over the muscle beneath, you speak.

"You know- if you weren't so difficult earlier, maybe I would've let this continue."

He groans. Loudly. Slumps back into the couch with dramatic flair and practically throws you off his lap into the spot next to him.

"Fuck you. Fuck you." He seethes.

"Hey, don't get upset at me." You say simply. "Just trying to make sure we have enough time to watch that episode you missed."

Then you press the remote into his hand with a smile, and he snatches it from you with an unrivaled flair for the dramatics. Casting his arm over the back of the couch once more, he huffs, tucking you solidly against his side as he rewinds the episode.

You'd won this round- and from the blush on his face, Bakugou knows it too.

[ground-riot-jack]

Number 1 | K. Bakugou |

idk what this is man, an origin story maybe?? idk bakugou is an asshole and reader is a badass

The ratings where in, this is it, the big moment. After years of hard work and dedication, you’re finally about to find out if you made it the number Number 1 Hero Spot. You walk out on the stage with the other Top 5 heroes, one being your long term boyfriend, Bakugou. You’d been dating since highschool and worked at the same agency that he created.

“And for our number 2 Hero, we have...Ground Zero! Number 1... Angel! Thank you heroes for protecting and sacrificing your lives for us!” The announcer practically yelled at the large crowd of people.

You couldn’t believe it. You did it. You were the number 1 hero in all of Japan and your boyfriend was right behind you. The lights of the stage felt like power surging through your body. Your large white wings fluttered in excitement. You took your place at the number one podium and felt warm tears of joy stream down your face, you feel pata on your back and can hear congratulations swirling around but you can barely stand up straight.

Soon someone hands you a microphone, the crowd quieting down.

“Thank you all so much, I will work hard every single day until my body gives up to make sure this great nation is protected. I’ve worked very hard to get here so thank you all for recognizing my hard work and determination. I wanna thank Ground Zero, for being the best partner and for helping me get where I am. It won’t be easy but I will take this number 1 spot and wear it with pride. Thank you, i love you all” You spill out happily, you turn and grab onto Katsuki, hugging him and congratulating him on Number 2. You’d both climbed so high and so quickly since you’re UA days, it’s made you happy that you’ve come so far with the person you love most.

Bakugou however, didn’t look happy. It was extremely rare to see a smile on his face, but at the very least you’d expected his bored face. But now, he looked angry. He looked like he was ready to level the city withy he scowl pressed on his face.

“babe, what’s wrong? you good?” You grab his large bicep, getting him to look at you. His bright red eyes snap to yours and you feel locked in with how much animosity they hold.

“I’m ready to go home” He spits out before turning and walking back to the car you’d both arrived in.

You took a few more pictures with fans before following your grumpy boyfriend. As soon as you sat in the car, you could feel the tension thick in the air.

“Ok seriously babe, what the hell is wrong? We got the top spots, that’s amazing!” You turn towards him as the driver head back to your place.

“It’s nothing” He managed to say through his teeth with his are locked together with how tight he’s clenching his jaw.

“It’s something, you’re getting ready to blow this car up”

“I said it’s nothing, Angel” He speaks, the name oozing in malice and anger. Suddenly it clicked.

“You’re jealous that I got the number one spot while you got number two. jesus christ katsuki, could you be any more pessimistic. Why can’t you just be happy for me that i’ve reached a goal i’ve been trying to get my whole life? Number two is in no way shape or form bad.” You huff and fall back against the seat, you watch Bakugou clench and unclench his fists while staring out the window.

“I have to be number one and be better than All Might” He growls quietly, you knew it was a somewhat sensitive subject, but you couldn’t believe your ears.

“All might? Katsuki, you’re 23 years old, you can’t truly expect to be better than All Might right now? All might wasn’t even this good at this age yet, you’re way ahead of schedule. You can’t be happy for me because you wanna be better at 22 years old than All Might was in his prime? You’re delusional katsuki.”

“I HAVE TO BE NUMBER ONE”

“THATS FINE BUT WHY CANT YOU BE HAPPY THAT TOUR GIRLFRIEND IS NUMBER ONE?”

“BECAUSE IT SHOULD BE ME”

“so you think I don’t deserve this katsuki? You think what? I haven’t worked hard enough? I’m nor strong enough? I’m not good enough? WHAT IS IT KATSUKI? Why don’t I deserve to be number one? Why do you think your were unfairly judged?”

You both stared at each other in silence for a while, anger boiling into the atmosphere. You understood the only thing that drove bakugou in highschool was his need to be number one. You were both adults now, and you were in love with each other. You’d hoped that you’d made a big enough impact on bakugou that your life and love together would be enough of a motivator to be great, the way it was with you.

You felt that car pull into your large home, and immediately jumped out, racing up to your shared bedroom. You got out of your hero costume and into leggings and a tank top. You took off all your makeup and picked the confetti out of your wings. You looked up as Bakugou walked in the room.

“Im not sorry that I’m not settling for number two, I never will and you know it, but i am sorry for yelling at you and the way I acted.” Katsuki grumbled while looking at the floor. Usually, his awkward and hesitant apologies warmed your heart and made you gush at how cute your angry boyfriend was, but now you find yourself staying angry.

“That’s not an apology katsuki. You refuse to be happy for me, even though you promised you would be. You refuse to even acknowledge how much work I put into this to be number one. I am THE youngest Hero to hit number one and you can’t even say good job babe. Instead you get angry and jealous and mean because it wasn’t you. Never mind the fact that you jumped from 10 to 2 which is THE biggest jump anyone’s seen in years bakugou. You won’t even let yourself be happy at what you’ve done, because you’re too busy being jealous” You poke his chest, finally standing in front of him.

“It’s not a bad thing to want to be the best” He crosses his arms, getting defensive.

“Of course not babe, I want you to be the best too. So why don’t you want me to be the best?”

“It’s not that, it’s-“

“It’s what Katsuki?”

“I made a promise to myself-”

“YOU MADE A PROMISE TO ME KATSUKI. You gave me this fucking promise ring and told me that you you’re gonna support me no matter what. That we were gonna work hard to get to where we need to go and we were gonna do it together. You promised me you’d be by my side. That’s the difference between us babe. You need to be number one for yourself, I need to be number one for us. You’ve forgotten that” You wipe your tears and move around the tall man in your way. It hurt that Katsuki couldn’t see this was bigger than his highschool days. This was your life together. You hadn’t spoken to All Might or even Midoriya in years, so why was it so hard for him to accept you as a permanent part of his life.

“Baby, i’m sorry I just. I get one track minded and I was so hopeful that this was finally the day. I needed so bad to be number one-“

“THIS IS NO LONGER ABOUT BEING NUMBER ONE KATSUKI, THIS IS ABOUT HOW YOU CANT SEE THAT YOURE TREATING ME LIKE A SIDE CHARACTER. I AM YOUR GIRLFRIEND!! For fucks sake katsuki, we live, work, sleep, eat do and do everything together, so the fact that I’m not even one of the reasons you go out and do what you do hurts because this” You pause and gestured to everything around you. “This is the reason I wake up every morning, you are the reason I fight crime and your reason is, a childhood rivalry. You’re am adult now, you’re supposed to be friends with midoriya and all might and you’re supposed to be over this whole thing. This isn’t supposed to be the thing that drives you. I’m not saying I have to be too of the list but it would be nice to be on the list” You sigh and look at your boyfriend. You knew this wasn’t healthy to yell at each other like this, but you needed him to understand where you’re coming from.

“Baby, Of course you’re my reason for waking up and being a hero, I would do anything to protect you, it’s just I always pictured me at Number 1 with my agency and you and a family. I have a need, a primal urge to be number one and that’s never going to change. Doesn’t mean i don’t love your dumbass”

“Well I’m number one Katsuki, and I earned the hell out of it. I worked my ass off day and night for weeks and months and years so that I could have this. And to see you pout and complain and look me in my face and tell me you don’t think I deserve this spot hurts more than some cute little apology where you call me dumbass lovingly. So i’ll ask you again, why don’t you think I deserve this spot? What makes you better?” You squinted your eyes at the tall man and clench your jaw.

“Im physically stronger-“ You interrupt your boyfriend by grabbing his arm and kicking his legs out from under him, using your wings to flip him over in his back, pinning him down.

“You’re so close minded katsuki, that you don’t even know what i’ve. been doing for the past 8 months. I an the number one hero you think i didn’t train to be stronger than everyone around me?” You ask, hurt laced in your voice.

“Fine, you deserve this spot. You’re the best.”

“You dont meant that, I’m gonna make you fucking mean it Katsuki. One day you’re gonna see me and i’m gonna be the best and you’re gonna be in awe of my power and then you’ll finally see that i deserve this.” You push off of him and stand up your wings tucking close to your body.

“Just-give me a week babe. I promise I’ll make it up to you and I’ll show you I am happy for you, it’s just difficult being let down like this. I’m a sore loser and you know it.” Bakugou grabs your shoulder and pulls you close to his chest.

“You haven’t even said you’re proud of me yet. or that you love me. or even good job katsuki. You don’t believe i’m your heart that i deserve this do you?” You look at him, heart in your throat.

“I believe I should be number one. Every time.” Katsuki mutters in your hair like it was a compliment. You push him back, rage filling your body.

“You’re fucked up katsuki. I’m fucking leaving” You spit, throwing on a jacket and shoes, heading towards your front door.

“Where the hell are you going?!” Bakugou snarls as you move past him.

“Katsuki, I love you with every fiber of my soul, but right now looking at your face makes me wanna throw you across town and beat the shit out of you. I’ll be back tomorrow maybe” You mumble the last part, not really sure how long you wanna be away from your hot headed boyfriend.

“you can’t just fucking leave y/n, how do you expect to be number one of you can’t even stay and win a fight against your boyfriend.” Katsuki let’s out a dry laugh, causing you to turn away from your front door.

You lunge at Katsuki, ready to punch him until he understands you’re the number one hero. You two roll around fighting and spewing things typically reserved for villains. Bakugou pins you down on the floor, his knee on your chest and his hands holding both your wrists beside your head. You close your eyes and focus all your energy into your chest, a faint ball of white light glows from your heart. Ktsuki looks at it with realization before the energy is expelled from you and your boyfriend is sent flying across the living room.

“You did not just use Power Surge on me.” He growls. wiping the sweat from his brow.

“I did, and i’m fucking leaving and your not gonna say shit or so help me god katsuki, i will shoot a beam of light so bright and hot that you wake up blind, burnt and fucking single.” You use your wings to send you flying straight to your front door, you look back at your confused boyfriend once more before taking to the sky.

Bakugou began the cleaning process, shocked and confused. Why didn’t you understand he wants to be happy for you, he truly does, but his pride won’t let him get away with not winning. He decided to let you fly off to calm down for the night, opting to call and talk to Kirishima. The two friends ended up talking for a bit longer than expected, bakugou trying to get kiri on his side, not his girlfriends. It didn’t work however, Kirishima understood that bakugou would let his emotions cloud his mind, even when it came to you. By the end of the conversation, bakugou was almost has heated as he was while fighting you. He concluded the best option was to head to his agency and train for the night.

He arrived and decided to do some things around the office before heading to the training and workout wing of his large building. While going thru last minute files, there’s a knock on his door.

“Ground Zero, i wasn’t expecting you to be here so late.” A stranger smiles in Bakugou face as he opens his office door, his secretary smiling sheepishly.

“Who the hell are you?” He cocks his head and tries to figure it out before he’s told, one of those weird habits he’s picked up being a hero.

“My apologies. I’m Niko Takeyama, I work for the Hero Commission. How would you like to be the number one hero by this time next month.”

[yunhoee]

Chapter 8 - A New Friend

The car ride to the convention was pin drop silent. Yesterday after your phone call with Sasha, you had your driver take you to In-And-Out. Thankfully, you were able to quickly sneak out without Levi noticing. As you were driving away, you saw Levi running towards the car. It was too late though, he wasn’t able to catch you.

As soon as you got back, Levi was waiting on the curb for you. He gave you a tense lecture for about an hour. Honestly you were barely listening. Afterwards you spent the rest of the evening in bed watching tv.

Your phone buzzed, bringing you out of your daydream. Sasha was just checking in to see how you were doing. You lied and said that you were 100% better. You told her that you had been drinking so that’s why you were so emotional. Obviously that was a lie, but she didn’t push you on the subject.

You spent extra time on your appearance this morning hoping that it would make you feel better. It helped a little with your confidence, but you couldn’t deny the hurt you felt deep inside.

The car pulled up to the convention center, you got out of the car and went into the building. Not bothering to wait on Levi, you knew he would be tailing you anyway.

The first few sessions were boring. You really just weren’t in the right headspace for this. Thankfully, Levi watched over you from a distance today.

It was finally time for lunch and you were starving. You grab the salmon platter and head to a table alone. You sit down and start eating. Your anxiety starts creeping in, you can feel your body start to get overheated. Even as an adult, you can’t help but feel like a loser because you’re eating alone. All of your insecurities start creeping in and it feels like everyone is staring at you. Just as you’re starting to consider leaving, someone pulls the chair beside you and sits down.

You look over, relief immediately washing over you. You don’t care who it is, you're just glad to not be alone anymore. The man sitting next to you is very tall with blonde hair and noticeably thick eyebrows.

He looks at you and offers you his hand, “My name is Erwin Smith. I’ve been meaning to introduce myself. I’m one of the senior managers at your dad’s company.”

His smile puts you at ease and you shake his head, “It’s good to meet you. I’m Y/n.”

Erwin laughs, “Yes I know.”

You blush and internally cringe. Of course he knows your name, dumbass.

“I think I could be helpful to you as you begin transitioning into our company. I would like to be friends if you’re okay with that”, Erwin says sweetly.

You smile, “Oh yes of course! Thank you so much. Everyone already has their groups of friends, so it’s hard to meet anyone. Especially when you’re the CEO’s daughter. I think everyone is afraid of me.”

Erwin chuckles and puts a reassuring hand on your shoulder, “Don’t worry. I’ll help you meet everyone worth knowing.”

You spend the next hour getting to know Erwin. You don’t take his kindness lightly, you’re extremely grateful to him. Little do you know, a grumpy asshole has been staring daggers into the back of your head this whole time.

Erwin leans over, “Hey, are you and Levi a couple?”

You stare at him shocked, “Uh no. Why would you think that?”

He laughs, “No reason. I was just trying to figure out why he’s been glaring at us this whole time.”

You immediately turn your head around and your eyes meet Levi’s. He’s clearly pissed.

You turn back around and roll your eyes, “He’s technically my bodyguard, but he’s more like a pain in my ass.”

Erwin lets out a loud laugh, “I like your sass. Most people are intimidated by him.”

“Well I’m not most people”, You say teasingly. “Wait, how do you know Levi anyway?”, You ask.

“Oh Levi and I go way back. I’m actually the one who recommended him to your father for this bodyguard position”, Erwin says.

Your eyes open wide, “Wow really?

Erwin smiles and asks, “Is it hard to imagine Levi and I as friends?”

You giggle, “If I’m being honest, yes. You’re so kind and open, and Levi is so...wounded.”

Erwin raises his eyebrows, “I don’t know if I’ve ever heard someone use that word to describe Levi. Scary and stubborn are normally what people describe him as.” Erwin ponders the word for another moment, “It seems that you have seen right through Levi. Right to his very core. I’m very defensive of Levi, you see. Most people don’t give him a chance because of his cold demeanor. But if you even spend one second truly looking at him, you’ll see a bird who’s wing is broken. He’s wounded.”

You don’t acknowledge the tears that are threatening to fall onto your face.

You whisper, “I just wish he would let me in.” You wipe a tear and chuckle, “I must look so stupid. He’s my bodyguard after all. He could have any woman in this building if he wanted. Why did I think I even stood a chance.”

Erwin looks at you with concern, “Did something happen?”

You hesitate but choose to trust Erwin, especially knowing that he would never intentionally hurt Levi.

“Well, we kissed and did...other things”, Your face starts to redden but you continue, “Afterwards he was very cold to me, and when we got back to the hotel room he said that it was all a mistake. That it shouldn’t have happened.”

Erwin pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration, “That idiot.” He is quiet for a moment before starting again, “What if we test him to see if his real feelings for you come out?”

You look at him curiously, “What do you mean?”

Erwin smiles mischievously, “What if we act like we are starting to become romantically interested in each other? I know Levi, and if he truly has feelings for you he will become jealous immediately.”

You ask, “You don’t think Levi will be upset when we tell him it was a joke?”

“I think he’ll be more grateful that we helped him realize his true intentions”, Erwin says confidently.

You agreed to the plan, and you both casually talked while finishing your food. Your Dad soon approaches you, and Levi decides to also come over when he sees your father.

“Y/n! I’m glad to see you’ve finally met Erwin! Handsome fella, isn’t he?”, Your Dad asks with a smile.

You blush and remember your plan, “Yes he is, Dad.”

You don’t notice Levi’s eye twitch at your answer.

“Well, Y/n, I wanted you to come with me so we could discuss your plans for the rest of the day”, Your Dad looks to Levi, “There’s no need for you to come along since I will have my guards with me. Take the next few hours off to relax!”

Levi argues, “Sir I disagree. I don’t think I should be separated from Y/n.”

Your Dad responds, “Oh nonsense! She’ll be just fine.” He motions for you to follow him, “Come along.”

You walk after your father, but stop to look at Levi. He looks pissed and doesn’t break eye contact with you. You manage to pull your eyes away from him and catch up to you Dad.

Erwin’s POV

Levi is seething as he sits beside Erwin.

“Hey Levi, long time no s-”, Erwin starts.

“What the fuck are you doing with, Y/n?”, Levi asks bluntly.

Erwin plays dumb, “What are you talking about? I was getting to know her, we are going to be co-workers.”

Levi rolls his eyes, “Cut the bullshit, Erwin. I saw her blushing and I saw you laughing. You two looked like you were on a goddamned date.”

Erwin asks, “And if we were? Why does that matter to you?”

Levi looks away, “You can’t date my client.”

Erwin pushes, “Maybe, but I can fuck her.” Erwin has no intentions of that, but he wants to see how Levi will respond.

Levi snaps his head and stares daggers into your eyes. If looks could kill, Erwin would absolutely be dead right now.

“What the hell did you just say?”, Levi continues, “Look, you’re my friend but you are really pissing me off.”

Erwin doesn’t back down, “What’s wrong with me wanting to fuck Y/n?”

Levi growls, “I swear to god if you don’t stop saying that I’m going to put my fist through your skull.”

Erwin chuckles dryly, “I don’t see why this is an issue. You used to be my wingman, why can’t you be now?” Erwin pauses and then smiles, “Unless...you want to fuck Y/n as well.”

Levi whisper yells, “Oh my god I don’t just want to fuck Y/n! Can you stop saying the words fuck and Y/n!?”

Erwin teases, “Hmm so there’s more you want? Do you have feelings for this woman, Levi?”

Levi pushes out of his seat and as he walks away he says, “Fuck you.”

Erwin lets out a hearty laugh. His plan is already working.

Y/N’s POV

“Dad, do I have to?”, You ask.

“Absolutely. I won’t budge on this, it’s very important that you have a date to the company ball”, Your dad responds bluntly.

You sigh, “Well that would’ve been nice to know considering it’s tomorrow.”

Your dad chuckles, “I happen to have a few eligible bachelors that I could set you up with.”

You shake your head, “No that’s okay. I have someone in mind.”

You sit while your dad is talking to someone else, and pull out your phone. Luckily you had exchanged numbers. You pull up his name and start a text.

“Hey, Erwin. This is super last minute, but my dad insists that I have a date to the ball tomorrow. Would you like to go together?”

Erwin responds quickly, “Of course. I’ll pick you up at 8.”

You sigh and look out the window of the building. At least you’ll have someone to dance with, even if all you can think of is those gray eyes.

Next Chapter

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Author’s Note: I do have a tag list, so if you’re interested in being added let me know! 😊

Tag list: @awesomeness1679 @onecelestialbeing

[haidyn-reeves]

I’ve Got You

Square: Cuddling Pairing: Dean x Reader Word Count: 2352 Warnings: If cuddling Dean Winchester is a warning, then you’ve been warned. Lil’ bit of angst but lotta bit of fluff! Summary: When Dean loses control during a hunt, Y/N makes sure he knows he’s not alone. A/N: For @spnmixedbingo​ and @spnfluffbingo​!

Over the years, Y/N witnessed the many sides of Dean Winchester, but she wasn’t prepared to see him so torn up and uneasy now that he bore the Mark of Cain. He thought she didn’t notice the flinches, winces, and the grabs at his arm. It was no secret that the Mark was affecting him somehow. She heard him tossing and turning in the room next to hers at night, she saw the longing stares at the bottles of liquor. The Mark made him terrifying when he needed to be, but he was the most vulnerable when he was alone with his thoughts. Dean wanted to create space between them, he knew he could snap at any minute and the thought of hurting Y/N because of the Mark he asked for made him sick.

It was a particularly rough day. Dean lost control again during the hunt, leaving Sam and Y/N bewildered as they stared at the man, First Blade in his shaking hands. Y/N wanted nothing more than to run to his side, to wrap him in her arms and remind him that he was still the greatest man she knew, but the sight of the blade made her stomach turn. Dean had created so much distance between himself and his girl that she wasn’t even sure he’d welcome her embrace.

“Dean, drop the blade,” Sam urged, trying to remain calm so as not to alarm his brother.

“Dean, you’re okay. It’s over,” Y/N soothed, her voice shaking. Sam put his arm out to keep her behind him.

Dean began to come to, snapping out of whatever daze he was in. He blinked his eyes a few times, looking around the room at the slaughtered vampires and their victims. He looked down at his hands, seeing all the blood covering his skin and his clothes. He dropped the Blade as if it were on fire, burning his skin to the touch.

“Kick it over to me, Dean.”

Dean looked up at his brother, slowly getting to his feet and nudging the Blade in Sam’s direction with his foot, refusing to look at Y/N before leaving the warehouse and making his way to Baby. Sam shrugged off his flannel and bent down to pick up the Blade, wrapping it in his shirt.

“Sam, what do we do? He hasn’t had the Mark that long and it already has a hold on him.”

“For now, we keep this blade far away from him. Without the temptation of the blade maybe it’ll calm down enough for us to figure out a better plan.”

“How are we going to keep it from him? You know Dean, if he wants something, he gets it.”

“Leave it to me, for now let’s get him home and I’ll take care of it.”

Y/N nodded, following Sam out of the warehouse. They found Dean attempting to clean himself up, though he was still covered in now-dried blood and his skin was stained red. 

“Hey Dean, how about I drive and you try to get some rest. Y/N can sit up front with me and you can take the back seat to stretch out. We’ll be home soon and then you can clean up properly.”

As if still in a daze, Dean gave a brief nod before climbing into the back seat, passing the keys to Sam before making himself comfortable. Y/N sighed quietly, getting into the passenger’s seat beside Sam as he started the engine, driving them back to the Bunker.

The ride was quiet, Dean having passed out sooner than expected. Y/N was fighting sleep, too anxious about Dean to allow herself to rest. Her heart ached for the older hunter. Simply put, she missed him. She never expected him to ask for a break or space from their relationship. All she wanted to do was help him through this mess but all he wanted to do was keep her safe. He didn’t care that she trusted him with her life; he didn’t trust himself with it while bearing the Mark. 

When Baby pulled into the garage, Sam gently shook Dean awake, throwing his hands up in defense when his brother shot up alarmed. 

“Dean it’s just us, we’re home. Let’s get you inside, yeah?” Dean climbed out of the back seat and stormed into the Bunker, leaving Sam and Y/N to carry in the bags. 

“I guess he remembered what happened and now we have grumpy Dean.” Sam looked down at Y/N, giving her a sad smile.

“Listen, I know you two are on a little break, but I can’t comfort him the way you can, and I know my brother, and I know right now he’s hurting, he’s confused, and he’s upset with himself. He may not want to admit it but he does need you, way more than he’s ever let on.”

“I don’t want to disrespect his wishes, Sam.”

“I know, but I’m telling you, he needs you. Go on, I’ll grab the bags.” He gave her a gentle nudge in the Bunker door’s direction, chuckling as she made her way into the underground fortress.

Y/N followed the twists and turns of the hallway until she got to her bedroom, finding Dean’s door closed next to hers. She knocked on his door, turning the knob when she didn’t hear a response. The man was sitting on the edge of his bed, staring at the floor with his hands on his thighs.

“Dean…? Can I run you a bath? Help you clean up?”

“No,” he answered gruffly, still refusing to meet her eyes. 

“Dean, you asked for space. I’m giving you space, but I never agreed to not take care of you, especially when you need it. You take care of everyone else, let yourself be taken care of for once.” Dean didn’t budge and Y/N pursed her lips, going to his dresser and pulling out a henley and sweatpants. “You seem to have forgotten that I don’t take no for an answer, so let’s go.”

Dean rolled his eyes and got up, following Y/N to the bathroom down the hall. She handed him the clothes she picked out, stopping outside the bathroom door. “My aromatherapy body wash is under the sink if you’d like to use it. Always calms me down after a rough day. If you need anything, holler.” She watched him enter the bathroom before going back to her room to change into her pajamas and unpack her duffel. She finished getting ready for bed at the sink in the corner of her room, waiting to hear Dean come down the hall and enter his room. She had no idea how she was going to approach the situation, she just knew she needed to do something to make sure Dean knew he wasn’t alone in dealing with the Mark.

She was packing her duffel away when she heard Dean’s footsteps coming closer to her room before he entered his own. She gave him a few minutes to get settled, taking the time to handle her nerves. What the hell was she nervous about? This was Dean, her man, there was no reason to be this nervous. She took a deep breath before knocking on his bedroom door, hearing an agitated grunt as a response. She rolled her eyes and pushed the door open, finding Dean in the same position as earlier, sitting on the edge of his bed and staring at the floor. His damp hair was standing up in every direction, indicating he had run his fingers through it a ridiculous amount of times while he stewed in his irritation.

“Dean,” she sighed, closing the door behind her.

“Y/N,” he grunted, turning his head away from her. She shook her head, crossing the distance between the doorway and his bed. “Y/N, no-“

She ignored his protests, straddling his thighs and sitting down on his lap. When he refused to meet her gaze, she cupped his cheeks and gently turned his head, making his pretty olive eyes lock with hers. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he huffed, though it was easy to see that his guard was slowly crumbling down. Y/N smiled, wrapping her arms around him in a tight hug. She kissed his temple, resting her cheek against his as she held him, his body tense against hers.

“Dean, you can hug me back.”

“Don't wanna hurt you,” he mumbled, mostly talking into her shoulder.

“You won’t hurt me, and even if you do, you taught me how to defend myself. I could take you.”

“Not a chance.”

“Dean Winchester, if you don’t hug me back, I will tickle you. And don’t you dare say you aren’t ticklish, I’ve heard you squeal like a little girl if someone so much as pokes your side wrong.”

“Y/N you’re such a pain,” Dean huffed again, limply wrapping his arms around her waist.

“You can do better than that.” Dean rolled his eyes, tightening his hold on her. “I’m supposed to be your pain, Dean.”

“Yeah,” he sighed, his body starting to relax. He buried his face in her shoulder, Y/N rocking them from side to side carefully. 

“You don’t have to do this alone, Dee. Sam and I, we want to help you. Any way we can. And don’t you even try to say you can handle it on your own. I know you can, you’re the strongest man I know, but this? This isn’t something anyone should have to do alone, nor is it something you deserve.”

“Yes I do,” he whispered. “I’ve done terrible things-“

“Darling, the amount of good you’ve done surely outweighs anything bad you’ve ever done. You’ve saved so many lives, Dee. You stopped the apocalypse. You saved the literal world. You don’t deserve anything less than everything good this world has to offer. You’re not a bad person, Dean. I’m not just saying that. I genuinely believe your heart is good. None of us would be here without you.”

“I’m scared.” The words tasted foreign on his tongue. Dean was never one to discuss his feelings, not liking to be vulnerable. Y/N and Sam were the exceptions, he felt comfortable sharing some of his feelings with them, but he’d never told anyone he was scared before.

“It’s okay to be scared, Dean. It’s a scary Mark and a scary burden to bear. But you don’t have to face it alone.”

Dean squeezed his eyes shut, his grip continuing to tighten as he held onto Y/N, almost for dear life. He hated that he pushed her away to cope on his own and now he desperately wanted her back. He nudged his face further into the crook of her neck, his fingers squeezing the material of her pajama top.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, “I need you.”

“I’ve got you,” she pulled back slightly, kissing his forehead. “How about we lay down yeah? You need to get some sleep, babe.”

Dean nodded, letting go of Y/N so they could crawl into his bed. She scooted behind him, spooning him, Dean sinking back against her front. She reached for his right hand, interlocking their fingers and squeezing softly. She looked down at the Mark on his arm and cringed. “Does it hurt?”

“Feels like when you have pins and needles and sunburn all at the same time,” he winced. He pulled their interlocked fingers up to his chest, holding her hand over his heart tightly. Y/N smiled, dipping her head down to press a soft kiss to the back of his neck. He shuddered in her hold, smiling to himself as he tucked himself under her chin.

“I told you you’re ticklish,” she teased. 

“Felt nice though, made me relax.” Y/N smiled, nuzzling her nose at the back of his neck. “I love you, you know.”

“I know Dean, I love you, too. Every inch of your stubborn ass.”

“I was trying to be cute.”

“You don’t have to try, you just are,” she giggled. “But seriously, please don’t push me away, babe. I’m here for you, I’ve got you, always. I want to help in any way I can.”

Dean melted in her embrace, relaxing against her. “I just don’t want to hurt you, sweetheart. The Mark, it takes over sometimes and I don’t want you to be the one that gets hurt because of it.”

“Dean…I know you’re trying to protect me, and I appreciate that and love that about you…but maybe you need to let me and Sam try to protect you for a bit. Just until you get a handle on the Mark and learn to understand it better.”

Dean brought their interlocked hands from his chest to his lips, kissing the back of her hand before turning over in her arms to face her. “If it gets to be too much for you, I need you to promise me you’ll walk away.”

“Dean-“

“Y/N, I’m serious. If I agree to this, I need to know that when it gets too dangerous, you’ll be safe. Promise me.”

Y/N stared into Dean’s eyes, those pretty green orbs always able to say what he wouldn’t allow himself to voice out loud. The worry was evident, but the love was enough to make her heart stop in her chest. She knew she could never actually walk away from him when he needed her most, but if it made him feel better to hear her say it, she could give him that much.

“Y/N-“

“I promise, Dean.” She brushed her lips against his in a soft kiss, sealing the deal.

“Thank you,” he sighed with relief, pulling her impossibly closer. He showered her cheeks in kisses, making her squeal and squirm as his days-old scruff tickled her skin. “Missed this.”

“Missed you.”

“Well played,” he hummed, combing his fingers through her hair as she snuggled into his chest. “Remind me never to do that again.”

“Oh trust me, Winchester. I will.”

Tagging: @lyarr24​ @gia-25​ @waywardrose13​

[kingexpl0sionmurder]

Missed Connection - Shinsou Hitoshi

Author: @kingexpl0sionmurder​ Rating: NSFW 18+ Warnings: Unprotected sex, blowjobs, dirty talk, poking fun at fakes who shop at UO and wear band t-shirts for bands they don’t listen to, terrible poetry, Kaminari is a weirdo. Pairing: Shinsou Hitoshi/F!Reader Words: 4,554 AN: This is for the bnharem server collab, the theme is pen pals! We were able to write basically anything as long as there was some kind of communication/writing/texting etc! This is the first time I’ve written for Shinsou and I head cannon him as a fucking closet goth so don’t at me. Collab Masterlist (Please go check out everyone else’s contributions!) My Masterlist Buy me a Ko-fi -- When his phone started ringing, Shinsou was tempted to throw it halfway across the room. Whoever thought it was okay to call him at - he turned to squint at the clock on his bedside table - 10 in the morning on his day off, better have a good excuse. He frowned at the screen once he’d found his phone, and sighed.

“The world better be on fire, Kaminari.” His palm rubbed over his face as he pressed the phone to his ear, his eyes closing again.

The blonde chuckled, full of energy as usual. “Aw, come on ‘Toshi! It’s not that early.”

A million ways he could kill his friend and make it look like an accident flashed through his mind. “You know I like to sleep late on my days off.” He left it at that, no further explanation needed. Kaminari knew he stayed up impossibly late on his off days, crawling under the covers only when the sun started to rise.

“You want to hear this, I promise. I wouldn’t call this early unless it was important.” Shinsou listened to the sound of a keyboard clicking through the phone, waiting impatiently for his friend to continue. 

“So, you know how I sometimes like to fuck around on the internet?” This was a rhetorical question. Of course he did. “Well, occasionally I like to browse through Craigslist, and this morning I was in the missed connections section, and I found something interesting.”

“Why do you look through missed connections?” He didn’t really care, he just thought it was kind of...weird. But, then again, this was Denki, so he shouldn’t have been surprised.

Kaminari huffed. “Dude, sometimes it’s so sad to read how they saw someone and thought there was a connection. It makes me wonder if they ever find each other.” He was quiet for a moment like he was deep in thought. “But then sometimes, it’s like ‘You farted in the produce section and I’d still date you, let’s go out’ and it kind of loses the romantic appeal.”

“You’re a sap. Also, gross.” He found himself drifting off, bored with the conversation already. “Do you have a point?”

“God, you’re impatient! Listen, I was scrolling through the ads and I found this one, I think you should hear it.” Clearing his throat, he began to read. 

“You were the sleepy purple-haired man in the cat cafe on Main, I was hiding behind an orange tabby by the window. I was staring, but I wasn’t trying to be creepy. You just looked kind of lost, and the black and white short hair on your lap seemed to have all your attention. Oh, I think his name is Socks. Isn’t that unoriginal? Anyway, I’ve seen you there a few times and I want to know more about you. If you see this, please respond.”

Shinsou sat up in his bed, ignoring the sharp pain of his muscles protesting at the sudden movement. “What the fuck?”

“This is about you, isn’t it?” Denki’s excitement was clear. “You’re the only sleepy guy with purple hair I know who frequents that cat cafe on Main Street.”

“How long ago was that posted?” Hitoshi felt strange, restless energy flowing through him. Someone had noticed him and decided that he was interesting enough to want to get to know? He wasn’t anything special, and he kept to himself mostly. What did this even mean?

“Last night! When did you go to the cafe?” He didn’t even wait for a response. “I’m forwarding this post to you, and you better send them an email! It’s been too long since you’ve dated someone, ‘Toshi, and I’m concerned.”

Unfortunately feeling more awake than he wanted to be, Shinsou shifted until his feet were on the floor. “Yesterday afternoon. And it hasn’t been that long.”

“It’s been like a year, dude.” Kaminari sighed. “Okay, I sent it. Please write back to them. Let me live vicariously through you in this weird turn of events.”

Shinsou sighed and said goodbye, ending the call and staring off into space for a minute. He needed coffee before he could even think about reading it for himself and then maybe responding.

--

Uh, hello.

 I can’t help but feel like this was about me? I’m not even really sure what to say. This feels weird. You could have come over and said hi, maybe. I don’t bite. I might have stared at you and made things awkward but I feel like it would have been a surefire way to talk to me instead of posting this on craigslist of all places and expecting me to see it. 

You’re lucky I have a friend who likes to scour the dark recesses of the internet for entertainment purposes and happened upon this post.

-Shinsou

--

How do I know this is really the person I’m talking about? What were you wearing when you went to the cafe? That’s like the only way I can be sure you are who you say you are. 

The only reason I didn’t come over and talk to you was that I had Oliver on my lap and he is a grump and didn’t want me to get up until he was good and ready. (That’s the orange tabby’s name, by the way.) By the time I was able to coax his fat ass off of me you had gone. 

Honestly, I’d let those cats climb all over me like their own personal cat tree all day long and not complain about it, but I digress. 

I didn’t expect you to find this or reply, it was kind of my way of convincing myself that I’d given it a shot, even though I really hadn’t done much.

-Y/N

--

I was wearing the following:

A Joy Division t-shirt depicting the cover of Unknown Pleasures, which is arguably the most cliche t-shirt I own. It’s become one of those shirts that people wear who have no idea who Joy Division is, they just like it for the aesthetic. (I’ll have you know I happen to know who they are and like their music very much.) This shirt was more than likely covered in cat hair.

Black jeans, which were probably covered in cat hair as well.

Black boots, a staple of mine.

I am a closet goth. I don’t know what else to say. I won’t deny it. I’ve learned to embrace who I am. I happen to know that Oliver is a grumpy shit, so I am not surprised he kept you pinned down for so long. That cat has been known to knock people over and purr loudly while “making biscuits” on their chests for hours at a time. I’m glad to know that you survived his assault.

So what are you going to tell me about yourself now? I have confessed to you about my goth status, so I demand something in return.

-Shinsou

--

Yeah, it was you.

I was hoping that you actually liked Joy Division and you weren’t one of those Urban Outfitters aesthetic people. I can now rest easy. I like them too, but I really like New Order more? I hope this isn’t the end of our budding friendship.

I will not say that I am a goth, though I have goth-like tendencies? Or I just appreciate the music. Whatever. I don’t have, like, a pet bat or anything. I own a pair of Doc’s, though.

I have been on the receiving end of one of Oliver’s attacks before, so you don’t have to tell me about them. I have experienced his pushy demeanor on more than one occasion.

So, something about me? I don’t know. I spend a lot of time in that cafe because I love cats, but that’s kind of a given, isn’t it? I usually bring my laptop and make an attempt to work on my homework, but it’s usually futile. I’d rather pet the cats. 

Oh, I guess that counts as something right? I go to college. I’m an English major and taking a fuck ton of creative writing courses. What about you?

-Y/N

--

An English major? That sounds like fun. I think if I had a need to go to college I’d have liked to take something like that. I have a friend who writes ultra depressing Gothic poetry, that would be right up his ally as well.

I’m a pro hero, hence why I didn’t need college. Saving people is something I’ve always wanted to do, especially since I was always bullied about my quirk as a kid. It kind of made me more determined, I always wanted to prove those assholes wrong, you know? So, here I am.

I’m glad to know we can wear matching Doc’s together, and that you don’t keep a bat as a pet. As cute as their faces are, they’re not very easily domesticated. 

New Order is fine. The real question is, The Smiths or The Cure? Your answer to this question will be what determines the longevity of our friendship.

-Shinsou

--

This is the worst question you could ever ask me. How could you do this? I could never choose between them. Both? The answer is both.

I hope your next email will not be your last.

Bats are cute but they always seem to dive bomb my head when they’re around. Not that I go places with bats often, but I used to go camping as a kid and they always did that. It was not a good time.

I think it’s amazing that you’re a pro hero! You’re really out here, fighting the bad guys and saving people and then coming into the cat cafe and petting kittens and drinking coffee like a normal person. I think it’s admirable how hard you worked to achieve your dream. I know we don’t know each other that well, but I’m proud of you. Why were you bullied for your quirk? You don’t have to answer that if it makes you uncomfortable.

I wish I could write ultra depressy Gothic poetry. Here let me try:

The night is black like my soul Clove cigarettes burn slowly My life is Meaningless

How was that? Do I get a gold star? Or a black skull? Which is appropriate?

-Y/N

--

I’m printing that and sending it to Tokoyami. Thank you for making my entire existence with that poem. I’m breaking out the red wax candles and putting on “How Soon Is Now?” right now.

You get a star, but it’s a pentagram. We have to keep with the theme.

My quirk has to do with mind control, so I was always told I was meant to be a villain. You can imagine what that could do to a kid’s psyche, being told by peers and adults alike that you weren’t hero material, when that’s all you wanted. It’s okay though, I did what I wanted and they can eat my ass.

Sorry if that was too raunchy, but it’s how I feel.

If my earlier comment wasn’t proof enough, I prefer The Smiths, but I cannot deny the impact of Disintegration. Lullaby is a really great song.

That being said, this will not be my last email, so you can breathe easy. 

On a semi serious note, I really enjoy talking with you. We have a similar sense of humor, and you like cats which makes you automatically better than most people. Would you like to get coffee sometime? I know a nice place that’s quiet and filled with fluffy kittens...

-Shinsou

—

I’m glad I haven’t lost your friendship due to my opinion. I know how important that feud can be to some people. People get very passionate about it. Kind of like with Blur versus Oasis, or Brand New versus Taking Back Sunday. I hate that these are the only examples I can think of. 

It wasn’t too raunchy. Those people can most definitely eat your ass. I’m glad you have decided to use your powers for good. You’ll have to explain to me how your quirk works sometime. 

I shall treasure my shiny pentagram sticker with my entire heart.

Isn’t Tokoyami the Jet Black Hero: Tsukuyomi? He looks like the type to write Gothic poetry. I am not even mildly surprised. 

Even though the way we met was unconventional, I’d like to think I’d have gotten up the courage to speak to you the next time I saw you in the cafe. Somehow this is better, though. It makes for an interesting story, you know?

I’d love to get coffee. I think I know the place you’re talking about. Let me know when.

-Y/N

—

Shinsou was nervous. It was stupid really. He’d been exchanging emails back and forth with you for a few days, and even though you’d barely revealed much about each other, the easy banter through your messages was comforting. He felt like the two of you would be compatible. He just hoped that he was able to keep the conversation going in real life. 

When he entered the cafe, he ordered his usual and picked his normal table towards the back. Socks, his favorite black and white companion, was at his side almost immediately. He let his hand drift down to scratch behind her ears, his gaze fixed on the door as he waited for you to arrive. 

Out of habit he was a little early, but he figured it would be easier this way. He had no idea what you looked like, but you knew him, so he knew you’d come over when you got there, and it would make things less awkward. 

A few minutes later he saw the door open, and he immediately knew it was you. Black Doc’s and thigh high stockings, a black skirt and an oversized deep red sweater adorned your body, a leather jacket over your shoulders and your hair tucked under a black beanie, cheeks pink from the chill of the autumn weather outside. You were pretty, and he felt his nerves increase tenfold when your eyes met his, a smile gracing your face. 

He watched as you ordered a drink at the counter, the paper cup clutched in your hands as you made your way to his table. He stood up when you approached, letting himself appreciate you up close. “Y/N?”

“Hi, Shinsou.” You were so much shorter than he was, and he found himself having to gaze down at you when he was standing at his full height. 

“It’s nice to put a face to all those emails.” The way you blushed under his attention made his heart flip. “Please, sit.”

You nodded, sliding into the seat across from him. He sat back down, his hands moving to grip his coffee cup. 

“This is kind of weird, isn’t it?” You looked down when Oliver made his way over, rubbing himself against your boot. “I almost feel like I don’t know what to say.”

“I know what you mean. We could just sit here and email each other, if that would make you feel better.” Your laugh was like music to his ears. “I’d rather hear your voice though.”

Your face was red when you looked back up at him. “I have to agree.” You leaned your elbow on the table, your cheek cradled in your palm. “Tell me more about yourself, Shinsou.”

“It’s Hitoshi. You can call me Hitoshi.”

—

If anyone would have told him that the night would end this way, he’d have said they were insane, and should probably get themselves checked into the nearest institution. 

But here he was, his face pressed into the spot where your neck and shoulder met, lips ghosting over soft skin, his calloused palms sliding underneath your sweater. You were purring, your head thrown back and your fists clenched in his t-shirt, your back pressed against the wall in the hallway that led to his bedroom. 

“Fuck, ‘Toshi.” You mumbled, pressing yourself closer to him. “Bed?”

You didn’t have to ask twice, his hands sliding down to lift you up by the backs of your thighs, his cock hard and straining in his jeans as you rutted against him. He turned himself and began walking toward his room blindly, his eyes still shut as he sucked a mark into your neck. 

He pulled back so he could peer over your shoulder and maneuver your bodies through the doorway without bumping into anything, laying you back on the bed. 

The events of the night were a blur, your coffee date turned into him taking you out for ramen at the restaurant down the street, and then he asked you back to his apartment to show you his record collection. 

It was mostly a ruse though. You’d been flirting back and forth, the both of you getting bolder as the night went on. He was only half surprised when you’d entered his apartment, barely removing shoes and coats and hats before you spun around on him, pressing him against the door and kissing him like your life depended on it.

He rested on his forearms, poised above you, looking over your flushed face and kiss bruised lips. Your legs wrapped around his waist and pulled his hips closer, making him groan. “Impatient?”

Your hands moved to cup his face, pulling him down toward you. “Very.” 

He wasn’t expecting your strength, caught off guard when your lips crashed into his, your body pushing him over until he was on his back and you were straddling him, knees on either side of his hips. You ground down against him, moaning when his hips snapped up reflexively. He was happy to give you control for a while, especially when you sat up and grabbed the bottom of your sweater and pulled it over your head. The view was spectacular.

He let his hands wander, tracing along the lines of your thigh highs from under your skirt, and up to the lace at your hips. Your chest heaved as you tried to catch your breath, the devilish glint in your eye was not lost on his as you shifted down his body, fingers swiftly working to unclasp his belt and undo the button on his jeans. 

You slid off of him, and he lifted his hips to aid you in pulling his pants down his legs, his boxers following. His cock was achingly hard, the tip angry and red as it sprung free from it’s confines, nearly slapping his stomach. You eyed it greedily, and he was lost for words when you surged forward, delicate fingers wrapping around his length and stroking him, your tongue peeking out to taste him.

Amethyst eyes rolled back when you took the tip in your mouth, tongue swirling around the head, a low moan sounding from the back of your throat. The warmth and wetness that surrounded his cock when you closed your eyes and bobbed forward had him breathless, his hand threading through your hair, and his palm resting on the back of your head. He kept himself steady, fighting back the urge to buck his hips and push you down further on his length. 

Shinsou bit down on his lower lip, his stomach muscles tensing as he tried to keep it together. Kaminari had been right, it had been a while since he’d been with someone, and he wanted this night to last as long as possible. The sweet and innocent look in your eyes as you looked up at him through your lashes, your mouth enveloping him all the way to base, was nearly too much for him to handle, his hand tugging at your hair gently to pull you off of him. “I’m not going to last if you keep that up, kitten.”

You visibly shivered at the pet name and he grinned, loving the feeling of being able to invoke that reaction from you. He scooted forward when you sat back on your knees between his spread legs, his arms circling your torso as he worked at the clasp on your bra, pulling the straps down your arms when he unclipped it. Strong hands gripped your waist and moved you to the side as he stood up, reaching under your skirt to tug your panties down your legs.

He took a moment to consider what he’d do next. He wanted to taste you, it was only right for him to return the favor, and he was almost certain you would taste as sweet as you looked. Another part of him wanted to hike up your legs around his waist and slam inside of you, desperate to hear you moan his name as he pounded you into the mattress. As he contemplated what to do, reached back and pulled his shirt over his head, and then let his hands wander up to the apex of your thighs, digits sliding through your folds. You gasped, falling back onto your elbows, back arching as he toyed with your clit, letting his long fingers slip inside your heat. “So wet. Just for me?” Eyebrows raised, he teased you.

“Fuck, Hitoshi, please.” Breathless and panting, you gazed up at him, biting your lip.

“Please what? Tell me what you want.” You would make the decision for him. “Would you like my mouth or my cock? I’ll let you choose.”

Huffing, your hips rutted against his hand impatiently. He kneeled on the bed between your legs, adjusting his arm and adding a second finger in with the first, his thumb finding your bundle of nerves again. He listened to your breath hitch, and your quiet mewls, pride filling his chest that he was the one coaxing those noises out of you. Finally, you breathed deep and answered him. “Fuck me, Hitoshi.”

Ignoring the protesting whine that left your lips when he removed his fingers, he brought them up to his mouth, maintaining eye contact with you as he sucked on them, tasting you. “You’re delicious, kitten. I’ll have to make sure to taste you properly later.” 

Wasting no time, he lifted your legs up to rest your legs over his shoulders, one hand on his cock. He lined himself up with your entrance, grabbing at your hips and pushing himself inside you. If he thought your mouth was hot and wet and basically everything he thought was heaven, he was mistaken. This was it. This was everything. He wasn’t even inside you all the way and he was fighting back the need to cum again, cursing himself and breathing deeply. He leaned forward, forearms on either side of your head as his mouth crashed against yours, all lips and tongues and teeth, his need for you growing tenfold as you wiggled your hips in an attempt to feel more of him.

Groaning, he bucked forward, filling you up, the both of you sighing in relief at the feeling. He gave you a moment to adjust, lips moving down your jaw and tongue laving at the mark he’d left on your neck earlier. “You feel so good, kitten.”

“Toshi, you can move…” Your hands were gripping his biceps, nails leaving crescent shapes in his pale skin, breathing ragged as you clenched around him.

Hissing, he followed your instructions, hips pulling back until he was almost completely out, before sliding back in. Your arousal made the glide easy, your back arching underneath him. He started a steady rhythm, grunting quietly and letting the feeling of you pulsing around him keep him grounded. He let one of his hands wander, shifting his weight so he could ghost his palm over your side, fingers pinching your nipple and rolling the hardened bud between them. You keened, chanting his name like a prayer, the sound of blood pounding in his ears almost masking the sound.

It spurred him to move faster, his chest tight, sweat pooling at his temples and between his shoulder blades, purple locks sticking to his forehead. His gaze was locked on you, and it stole his breath. Your chest and neck were flushed, the most beautiful sounds spilling from your lips as he fucked into you. It became clear to him that he wasn’t going to last much longer, and neither were you.

“Hey, kitten. You gonna cum for me?” He shifted back to his knees and trailed the fingers on his left hand down your stomach, coming to rest between your parted legs. “I want to hear how pretty you sound when you come apart.” He kept a firm grip on your hip to keep you from sliding away, rolling his hips and rubbing tight circles on your clit. 

“Fuck, Hitoshi!” The effect was almost immediate, your body and lungs seizing, eyes rolling back as you fell over the edge, your cunt clenching around him like a vice. 

Falling back over you, his thrusts became sloppy as he chased his own release, barely able to move with how tight your pussy was gripping him, your orgasm still rolling through you. He felt your hands on his face, guiding him to kiss you again, fingers carding through his hair and down his back, your nails raking red trails down his back. He felt like he could barely breathe, lost in you. “Y/N…”

He felt his muscles tense, and moved to bury his face in your neck, his hips stilling as he came hard, filling you up with his release. You squeezed around him again, and he sighed into your skin, eyes closed as he tried to regulate his breathing.

Rolling over to the side, he hissed when he pulled out. You chuckled, and he turned to look at you, a lazy smile on his face. “What?”

“Is that what you call showing me your record collection?” 

Snorting, he propped his head up on his palm, leaning on his elbow, his free hand reaching out to push a piece of hair away from your face. “You attacked me, remember?”

“I couldn’t help it!” Protesting, you blushed. “I wanted to kiss you from the moment I walked into the cafe.”

It was his turn to blush. “Yeah?”

Shrugging, you turned on your side to face him. “Mm. Can you do me a favor?”

His body was still buzzing, muscles loose and pliant as he shuffled closer to you. “Anything.”

“Can you thank your friend for being a weird internet troll and finding my post?” 

Shinsou coughed a laugh, leaning forward to rest his forehead against yours. “Please, I can’t do that. It’s all he’d ever talk about for the rest of our lives if I did.” 

You leaned up and kissed him, your fingers pushing back his hair. 

He hummed against your lips, feeling content, shifting himself on the bed and wrapping his arms around your waist, tugging you into him. “Maybe I’ll send him a text later. For now, I have other plans.”

--

Kaminari’s phone buzzed on the coffee table, and he picked it up, eyes widening at the message that appeared on the screen.

Toshi: I owe you a crate full of Pokemon cards and my eternal gratitude for being a weirdo meme king who trolls the internet.

Denki: Oh, you’re in a good mood. Did you get laid?

Toshi: Fuck all the way off. 

Denki: That’s a yes. You’re welcome.

[13uswntimagines]

Complicated (Emily Sonnett x Reader)

Request: maybe the reader is really uptight and cold all the time until she meets emily and they somehow click + maybe the teams reaction?

Author’s Note: Hey dudes, so i know that this is a bit of a stretch for the prompt, but i just couldn’t seem to get this idea out of my head. I really hope Y’all like it! Let me know what You think!

You were… complicated. A stoic person with seemingly no heart. Someone with a massive aversion to touch and who most of the team had never seen smile. Or at least that’s how you were introduced to every newcomer to the team. They were warned to stay away from you, to avoid you in any of their shenanigans or face the consequences. 

You were never overtly rude- just detached, uninterested, completely and totally unapproachable by all accounts. Your aggression on the field was bar none and some of the vets had learned that pushing you led to the same result off the field. 

It was safe to say that most of the team was terrified of you and your stoic exterior, so they let you be. Well, except for a particular blond defender that you knew. You would never admit it out loud, but you had a bit of a soft spot for the bubbly defender. And she was determined to break through your tough outer shell. 

You sighed, staring with thinly veiled boredom at the women in front of you. Bonding nights were obligatory, but forced participation in the games they chose was not. Sure, you guessed you were technically playing truth or dare with the women, but no one dared call on you. You didn’t want them too. 

“Alright Sonny, your turn,” Alex smiled, sobering from the embarrassing story Sonnett had just been dared to tell. You leaned forward slightly, interested in what the woman would do. She sent Lindsey a mischievous smirk. “Well, I think I should pick the only person who hasn’t participated this evening,”

“Emily that might not be a good idea…” Kelley started, glancing worriedly at you. There was a reason they didn’t fuck with you. 

“Y/n, truth or dare,” Emily asked, raising her eyebrow at you, completely ignoring frat daddy senior. The rest of the team held their breath as you cocked your head to the side and squinted your eyes. 

“Truth,”

“But that’s boring,” Emily huffed, pouting. The corners of your mouth twitched at her adorableness and you rolled your eyes goodnaturedly (something that didn’t go unnoticed by a majority of the team's veterans). 

“Fine then, dare,” You raised your eyebrow, leaning back in your seat. The vets released their breath, glad that this was going well. 

“Yes!!!” she cheered, pumping her fists. Your lips twitched again into a playful smirk. She tapped her chin in thought, surprised she had gotten this far. You began to hum jeopardy theme under your breath, waiting for her to decide. And the vets yet again shared a look of disbelief. Emily was the only person who brought out this side of you. 

A mischievous smile broke across her features when she had finally thought up her dare. She wanted to do something that no one on the team had done. “I dare you to let me touch you,” 

Your smirk disappeared, your lips forming a tight line, your shoulders tensed, all humor evaporated like smoke. You didn’t do physical contact, just the thought made your skin crawl. “No,” you said sternly. 

“Oh come on. I’ll be gentle. You might even like it,” Emily pleaded, wiggling her eyebrows at you. You frowned. That was part of why you didn’t want it. You were terrified that you would like the comfort of her touch, and then what happened when she left? Everyone always left. 

“No, I change my mind. I chose truth,” You shook your head. 

“You can’t do that,” Emily whined. 

“I just did,” You said cooley, clasping your hands together, the glint in your eye just daring her to try and challenge you. 

She opened her mouth as if to respond, but Alex beat her to it. “Sonnett just let it go,” Alex said, eyeing you carefully. They didn’t need an explosion from you, frankly, she was surprised that one hadn’t happened already. 

Emily’s pout deepened. She crossed her arms like a small child, and just like that the tension left you. 

“Fine, but you have to answer the question I pick,” She huffed. 

You nodded once, biting the inside of your cheek to prevent a smile at her cuteness and gesturing for her to continue. 

Alex grabbed Kelley’s hand to prevent her from gaping at you. You never ever flipped back and forth between agitated and playful so quickly. 

“Why won’t you let us touch you? Like even a hug or a high five?” Emily asked, staring you in the eyes. 

You blinked, pursing your lips. “I don’t like it.”

“But how do you have a relationship when you won’t let people get close to you?” Emily pressed, refusing to stop this line of questioning. She really liked you, despite your brooding, and how did you have a relationship with someone who you couldn’t touch. That sounded like some fifty shades of grey bullshit and she wasn’t here for it. 

“I don’t. I’m going to bed,” You said stonily, standing and stalking towards the door, tired of this impromptu interrogation. Why was Emily so obsessed with touching you anyway?

*****

The silence that followed the slam of the door was defining, the team frozen by your sudden outburst. Emily’s mouth was left hanging at your reaction. Sure she had been warned of your moodiness, but with your playful behavior, in the beginning, she thought that it may have been safe to ask. To try and break past one of those walls. 

“You’re lucky she likes you kid,” Tobin said quietly, still watching the door. 

“You call that liking?” Emily snorted in disbelief. 

“She let you ask the question, that’s more than any of us have ever gotten,” Christen smiled sadly, patting Emily’s knee. 

You didn’t do games or get-to-know-you questions. Hell, the most the team had heard you talk was during strategy meetings. The last time someone had tried to get you involved in the team's bonding games, Abby Wambach had taken the field with a black eye (It wasn’t intentional, but pin the medal on the cutout was maybe not the best choice of games). 

“You also almost got her to smile,” Megan added kindly, trying to brighten her spirit. You liked Emily, and you always seemed to brighten around her. She didn’t want Emily to give up on you. You both deserved to be happy. 

“Why is she so grumpy all the time?” Emily asked, her eyebrows furrowing. 

“It’s complicated,” Kelley started, and Emily rolled her eyes. That was all anyone would say about you, and she found it entirely inadequate in describing the situation. 

“Y/n was hurt a long time ago, by the only person she’s ever loved. Just give her some time,” Christen said gently rubbing her back. It wasn’t their story to tell, but you liked Emily, and she would bet her hat that you would tell her eventually. 

****

“Emily this is a bad idea,” Rose whispered, huddling against the wall just behind the dining-room door. Sam and Lindsey nodded their agreement. 

Emily rolled her eyes. It wasn’t like they were gonna dump water on anyone. It was just confetti’s.“It’ll be fine guys, it’s just a prank,” 

She shushed the girls as footsteps approached. She stepped out behind the door, preparing to throw the confetti on her poor, unsuspecting teammate, only for strong hands to grip her wrists and pull her into their tall frame. 

“Whoa, there hot stuff,” You chucked, catching the woman, a smile hinting on your lips, the confetti bucket trapped conveniently between your bodies. 

“Oh, shit” Lindsey breathed out. 

“Sorry Y/N we-...” Rose stuttered, both women stopping when your gaze met theirs. All humor was gone from your eyes, and your lips curled slightly. They shrunk as far back from you and Emily as much they could. 

You glanced down, softening at the woman in your arms. “Try to time your pranks better next time, alright?” A smile hinted on your features at the woman’s too quick nod, and you squeezed her shoulders lightly, nodding back once. 

 “Ice Cream tonight?” You asked, completely missing the glances Rose and Lindsey were sharing. 

“Yeah, sure,” Emily smiled, eyes wide. You nodded, a soft smile playing across your lips. You squeezed her shoulder and leaning in to place a very soft kiss on her cheek before heading off. 

“What the fuck just happened?” Emily whispered, watching the slightly giddy way you walked away. 

“I think Y/N just asked you out,” Lindsey mumbled in disbelief. For a person with seemingly no heart, it was strange to see you acting so soft with their Disani. 

“She touched you,” Rose said, her mouth hanging open and her eyes wide. 

“Touch, she kissed her cheek,” Lindsey snorted. 

“Yeah, she did,” 

*****

Emily didn’t know what she expected from your ice cream date, but it certainly wasn’t your shy smiles and adorable jokes. You were warm and inviting with her (at least you tried to be) and Emily immensely appreciated the effort. For someone who everyone thought had no heart, she thought yours was beautiful. Hesitant and shy but very sweet. 

You had been polite, and courteous, even going so far as to insist that you walked Emily back to her room. You paused in front of her door, saddened that your night was about to be over. This was so different for you, but with Emily, opening up felt so much less scary. 

“You know, I could have walked here by myself. You’re only like 2 doors down,” Emily joked, and you rolled your eyes at the woman, pulling her hand to your lips. 

“Hmm, I know, but I wanted this to be perfect,” You smirked against her hand. 

“Well, it was pretty good,” She laughed, thoroughly enjoying your playful nature. She just hoped it didn’t disappear when you were around the others. 

“Just pretty good?” You asked, insecurity obvious in your tone. You never let someone get this close, you didn’t want to be a disappointment. 

“No, amazing,” she smiled reassuringly, taking a step closer to you. 

“I have something that will make it even better,” You murmured leaning in, draping the hand you were holding over her shoulder, and resting your hands on her waist. She tilted her head up, connecting your lips in a slow sweet kiss. Her hand traveled from your shoulder to toy with the collar of your dress shirt, and you tensed lightly. You relaxed when her tongue probed your lips, and you hesitantly parted them, your tongues sweetly touching. Her hand traced down your collar and settled on your chest, just above your heart, and she ran her fingers over the raised lines she found there. 

You pulled away when air became, resting for foreheads together. 

“Wow,” The breath from her words famed across your lips, and you felt a light pink bloom across your cheeks. 

“Good wow?” You asked.

“Fantastic,” She hummed, leaning up and connecting your lips again. The fingers not on your collar tangled in the baby hairs at the back of your neck, and you sighed into the kiss. 

You pulled away, a sudden smile breaking across your features. 

“Does this mean you’ll go out with me again?” 

“Absolutely,” she giggled. And you pecked her lips again, before pulling away to open the door for her. She leaned heavily against it and watched you retreat back to your room (totally not missing your little celebration that was not so different from Carli’s goal celebration, as you headed back to your room). She snorted. Cold-hearted her ass. 

*****

In the eight months since your date, you and Emily had only gotten closer. She was like a magnet, always drawing you back to her. You had gotten better about touch, and allowing your playful side out around the team. You loved her, and you would do anything for her. She was your person. 

You plopped down on the pitch, breathing heavily after your team (cool beans) beat Alex’s team (hot stuff) in the scrimmage. You had played alright, scoring 4 goals and leaving the other team’s defense useless. You were broken out of your thoughts by a blond shadow. You placed your hand on your brow, squinting up at the woman. 

“Good game, even though you didn’t really have to do much,” You smirked up at her, taking her outstretched hand to stand up. 

“Well spending all that time in the attacking half really made me tired,” She laughed, and you rolled your eyes at her. 

“Hop on,” You smiled, gesturing towards your back. 

The team was stunned, watching as you lifted one Emily Sonnett for a piggyback ride. What was even more surprising was the large smile plastered across your face at her repeated calls of giddy-up. 

“Is she?” Alex asked, unable to decide if it was the touching or the smiling that she was asking about. 

“Yep,” Kelley murmured back, smiling when you set Sonnett carefully on her feet and kissed her forehead. She melted a little at how softly you cradled the woman’s face. 

“She looks happy,” Alex hummed. 

“She deserves to be. They both do,”