#Mina has no filter

[middlechildwhoescapedthebasement]

Mina: *staring at Erron*

Erron: You've been starin' at me for the past five minutes, what do you want?

Mina: Were your mama or papa one of Quan Chi's monsters?

Erron: Technically no, why?

Mina: I'm trying to figure out why you're ugly

[narugen-moved]

can i be negative i’m going to be negative in tags

[a-ikuoliver]

it's all in your head, i'm inside your head and you're never gonna get me out

pairing: hitoshi shinso x f!reader w/c: 2.1k warning/s: DUBCON/NONCON, brainwashing, female!reader, prohero!mindjack, just a lot of staring lmao, please lmk if i missed anything notes: based on this thirst inspo/acknowledgements: MY LOVER @definitelynotsaint FOR ALL UR HELP I WOULD BE NOTHING WITHOUT YOU MARRY ME PLEASE <3 + earworm by cottontail

crossposted to ao3 • masterlist • wip updates & voting • kofi • askbox

"you seriously think you could beat him?!"

"you act like he's huge, kami, i have more chance with brainwashing than electrification. if i stay quiet, what's he going to do?"

"have you ever fought the guy?"

the argument had been going on for about… twenty minutes now, most of your other friends already filtering out of your place, but you'd trapped the blond, and subsequently shinso with your argument over the hypothetical: would you rather fight kaminari or shinso?

this was by far the most passionate you'd been so far, answering earlier versions of the question effortlessly: would you rather wear kirishima or mina's costume to a wedding (mina's), have an uncontrollable quirk with raw power or a perfected, slightly below average quirk (master of one). the moment sero proposed the final question, your eyes landed on his, your eyes glowing with smugness when they met his bored amethyst iris's, a spark of interest when you parted your lips to argue your point.

shinso remained reserved throughout your argument with the blond, studying a chip in the deep purple paint on his thumb idly, breathing slowly, evenly, apathetically despite his ears burning any time you'd say his name (his heart rate spiking every time, even with each word out of your mouth being a teasing jab of his lack of sheer power in comparison to you).

"why don't you test it sometime?" his voice is gravelly, nearly cracking after sitting in silence for so long, quietly nursing the last few mouthfuls of his drink while he peered at you; the animated way you spoke, the sparkle in your eyes every time you'd tease him, the curve of your neck when you'd toss your head back at something someone said. swallowing the final drops of the amber liquor, your attention is drawn back to him, proud smirk and all.

"what? you don't think i could fight you?"

shinso quirks an eyebrow at you, an uncontrollable, self-assured grin lazily gracing his lips, "i don't think you could keep quiet."

your mouth drops open to defend yourself, your glare growing more and more fiery as you spin to face him. he could prove it right now, brainwash you the moment the first syllable leaves your mouth, command you to remain completely still while he binds you, leave you wrapped neatly in the binding cloth to wake up in, leave you stuck while he revels in his victory. he could do it right now, annul your challenge before it could become anything, before your ego could swell even bigger.

"is that a challenge, mind jack?"

no, it's no fun to melt your wings before they're built, not until you're halfway in the air, dangling precariously over the raging sea, completely ignorant to the dangers below, complete trust in your makeshift wings.

offering you his hand, he ignores the apprehension in kaminari's golden eyes, "you wanna make it official?"

patience is a virtue, something hitoshi has to remind himself of frequently; patience, hitoshi echoing in his mind when you patrol by his side, promising to protect him from any villains, pulling him behind you if even a mouse came across your path. patience, hitoshi when you mock kaminari for fearing the muscular mans brainwashing, asking if he feared the boogeyman, too. PATIENCE, HITOSHI, it's like a mantra when you smirk up at him, your unspoken promise of beating him hanging in the air between you before you'd even part your lips to greet him.

a virtue, a true miracle he was blessed with such patience.

so, he waits, biding his time until the perfect moment, the absolute perfect time. it was spring now, weeks after your proposal, the scent of pear blossoms beginning to float through the sky. along with the sweet scent in the air, humidity made it grow thicker and thicker, as his patience grew thinner and thinner with every step closer to you.

"hitoshi!" you answer cheerfully, like you normally do, a bright smile on your curved lips, unfaltering even as your friend stares at you with burning eyes, costume awry and his dark hair mussed, pushed back from his forehead, "you look like shit."

the tension inside his body was ready to snap, a rubber band stretched far beyond what he could handle; hearing one too many jabs from you, (today, a text of your merch, a little plush of yourself that you offered, free of charge, to protect him on patrols when his brainwashing fails).

"you should see the other guy."

"oh, i'm sure you really showed him."

"you going to invite me in or just insult me?"

"aren't you going to make me? or not ready to accept the truth? i know it's hard."

he snorts, relaxing against the door frame, deciding today was the perfect day to claim his victory. to pop your ballooned ego.

"let me in," his voice is smooth, your eyes drawn to his lips at his low timbre, lips parting slightly. you feign stepping aside, dropping your head into an overly dramatic bow, only meeting his eyes again after a long moment, the smug sparkle still shining brightly in your pupils.

"huh, sorry, i don't think it worked," you stand straight once more, fixating on your limbs as if searching for a reason why his quirk hadn't worked, stretching each finger as if just to confirm your autonomy, to confirm his lack of reach, even into the weakest parts of yourself.

your wax wings spread wide, curling over shoulder blades, strapped around biceps, wrists and fingers, nothing but clear blue skies ahead of you, bright eyes zeroing in on the searing sun. you've forgotten all about the deep sea below, no concern for the waves crashing over the jagged rocks at the cliffs edge, of the current dragging helpless creatures further into the depths. what did you have to worry about the peril below when you could take to the sky? you wings will carry you far from the danger lurking in the murkiness.

"let me in."

like a baby bird, struggling to leave its nest for the first time, your wings fail you, cracking, burning, melting, sending you careening carelessly into the frigid depths below.

unlike your act, you can't feign when his voice, his quirk seeps beneath your skin, settling in your veins, in each wrinkle and valley of your brain, invading your nerves. your eyes go blank, inky pupils dilating minutely. no more burning hubris reflecting back at him, there's only the endless darkness he can watch himself in, the heat in his own eyes. the hunger. you obey (of course you do), your hand falling limply from the door frame as you finally step aside, welcoming him inside.

"aw, where'd all that talk go?" he grins, tilting his head condescendingly, arrogance oozing from him in waves as you stare at him, defenceless in his clutches, his hold the only thing keeping you from slipping into the depths, further from the sky you greedily sought. you're silent (of course you are, hitoshi hasn't commanded you to speak), a ditsy, dumb, blank look on your face as he steps over the threshold onto the genkan.

"close the door." you do, your arm falling back to your side as soon as the latch clicked.

"kneel." you do, heavy limbs bending and bowing until you were seated at his feet.

"take my boots off." you do, you make quick work of the hefty boots, shimmying them down his calves and over his ankles, his half-lidded stare trained on you, admiring your casual shorts riding higher and higher on your plush thigh when you leaned forward to place his boots at the edge of the step up into your home, the pair sat neatly, side by side.

"you're so good, so obedient," his voice is low, his tone would have you addicted, itching to hear his faux praise again and again if you could remember it. leering down at you, hitoshi is certain you'd snarl at him if you could, bear your fangs, bite and threaten him. rather, you're pacified staring up at him, doe-eyed like this he can imagine how you'd keen instead, how you'd lean into his touch when he pats your head, how your eyes would blur when he calls you pretty, dizzy and dumb nuzzling into his hand.

it was cute, laughable, he has to admit, studying your vacant stare with deep amethyst eyes, the way you really thought you could overpower his quirk, that you could win against him.

"such a good girl, aren't you? yeah?" shinso's thick gloves tangle your hair in tiny knots at the top of your head every time he pets you like a well-loved house dog, "how about you get me a drink, too?"

god, he wants to record you, to rub your nose in how well you behaved for him, blindly following every instruction and he didn't need to spend a single yen on training clickers or treats. shinso mulls over the decision for a second, just long enough for your chest to rise once more, your eyelids to drop in a blink; the expression on your lips when he would show you how pathetic you look is nothing in comparison to you rebuilding your wax wings every time you break out of his brainwashing, not remembering a thing; your attitude and teasing returning again and again, week after week when he knows exactly how pretty you look when your mind was a blank slate for him to carve any thought into.

by the time he's mulled over the decision, you've led him further into your home, back towards your the kitchen where the bet was born, where you began building the wings that would betray you.

opening the cupboard that housed the glasses, the tips of your fingers just bump the vessel with a light tink when his pink lips part to command you once more, "stop."

you pause, waiting oh so pretty for your next instruction.

"i could tell you to do anything right now, you know that?"

you stand like a marble statue, only blinking when your eyes burn.

"i could tell you to bark like a dog, and you would," you're silent, eyes staring forward even as he disrupts the air around you, tracing a gloved finger over the bare skin of the back of your thigh, just to watch the goosebumps unconsciously form in his wake, just to do it without your burning glare. "tell you to sit pretty, to shake, to roll over. would you like that, baby?"

shinso runs his bare pointer finger up your spine, tracing the nape of your neck until he buries his hand in your hair, tugging your head back and forth to nod along with him, "i knew it, you're just a pathetic, obedient little thing."

again, he manoeuvres your head to nod (he knows he can command it, but sometimes he likes getting his hands dirty).

"bend over," hitoshi tugs his gloves off, placing the pair carefully beside you on the counter, admiring the arch of your back as your tits squash against the stony counter. you were a fucking sight, something he'd never forget until the day he died; the image of you bent, dumb, drooling burnt into his retinas.

obsidian eyes follow every rise and fall of your chest, roaming over the expanse of your body, every sliver of bare skin catching his attention, taking his time to admire while you can't argue with his perversions. wide hands are drawn to your ass like a moth to the flame, the curve of your plush skin hardly covered by the fabric, even more so when he kneads the fat of your ass, squeezing and spreading anywhere he can reach.

"should i take these off? hm?" he toys with the waistband of your shorts, as if waiting for you to reach around and shove him away from you, to call him every name under the sun, to threaten his life if he even moves an inch closer, lays one more finger on your skin.

you don't.

"yeah, i bet you'd like that." shinso chuckles to himself, hooking his fingers under the elastic and tugging them easily down your hips, leaving them to pool around your ankles, left only in your shirt and the cutest cotton panties, marred by an ever-growing dark patch at the centre of your cunt.

"filthy little thing," his smile widens, a predatory stare locking onto the wet patch, tracing the shape of your pussy over your panties just to watch it widen, "you're so fucking perverted, huh? bet you've been waiting for me to try something like this."

his cock is aching in the tight constriction of his suit, he's acutely aware of how uncomfortable it would be to go home with cum staining his boxers, but he can't find it in himself to care, not when that would mean taking his eyes off of your clothed, drooling cunt.

"you wanna know something?" he hears the gentle buzz of a streetlamp igniting outside your window, hears your gentle breaths, you don't answer.

"i can't brainwash you into getting wet, baby, this is all you."

© all works belong to @a-ikuoliver, @gwen0m, and dlirious on archive of our own, do not plagiarise, translate, repost, feed my works into ai or recommend my work on other platforms, or bind my fanworks for sale.

[mintmatcha]

cisfem reader:

"Can I say something?" Denki slams back another shot, face scrunched at the taste. Sero follows, pouring his drink into his mouth and then immediately sputtering. He nods and chokes at the same time, trying to gesture to his friend to speak.

"You can't get mad."

Sero finally gathers himself. The club is just starting to get loud, so he has to lean in to speak to his friend. "Go for it."

Denki's eyes drift into the crowd and Sero knows exactly where he's looking. You're on the edge of the dance floor, hand in hand with Mina as you both bump and sway to the beat. In the pulsing lights, you move like a dream, sweat beading on your skin already.

"Your girl is so fucking hot," Denki murmurs, louder than he wants, "Like, shit, look at her."

Sero's looking. With the way you move-- how could he not? Pride swells in his chest as you glance over your shoulder and wave his way.

"Mhm." He can't hold back his Cheshire smile as he waves back to you, "She's pretty fine."

"Oh, she's better than fine." Denki runs his tongue over the ridge of his teeth, a predator on the prowl. The alcohol has hit him hard and he sways a bit as he speaks.

"God, her ass is incredible." Denki's filter is gone. "You better be pounding that good."

Sero laughs, head tipped back. His cheeks are rosy with alcohol, no embarrassment twisting in his gut. If anything, he likes this, likes showing you and your tiny skirt off.

"Are you kidding?" He's not usually a sharer, but Sero finds himself slipping closer to the blonde, cheek against cheek as he whispers. "I fucked her in the bathroom earlier."

"Oh yeah?" Denki doesn't pull away. In fact, Sero swears he leans into the contact. "Pussy so good you couldn't wait to get home?"

Sero pulls away and takes another sip. You're still watching, eyes dark and smile wide. Mina has her hands on your waist, but for a second, he pretends it's Denki's wide hands exploring you, drifting... pulling...

"More like..." Sero says, "My cock's so good she can't stay off it."

"Oh, yeah?"

Sero's fully aware of how his friend drinks him in, red stained tongue peeking through his lips.

"I'll remember that when I'm alone tonight."

[chiyuuchu]

Shoto’s for you page <3 (30th July 2024)

Shoto Todoroki x Reader

Prompt! The class tried to figure what a nonchalant boy like Shoto Todoroki would have on his tiktok for you page.

Class 1-A was abuzz with energy during a rare free period. As usual, the students found themselves immersed in various activities—some studying, others chatting, and a few engrossed in their phones. The topic of the day happened to be TikTok, as Mina proudly showed off the latest dance trend she had mastered.

"Deku, what's your FYP like?" Kaminari asked, lounging on his desk.

Midoriya blushed, rubbing the back of his head. "Oh, you know, mostly hero analysis videos, training tips, and a few cat videos."

Kirishima laughed. "Sounds about right. What about you, Bakugou?"

Bakugou scoffed, crossing his arms. "Explosions, fight scenes, and cooking hacks. Why does it matter?"

The class erupted in laughter, each person sharing snippets of their For You Pages, until the conversation naturally drifted towards the enigmatic Todoroki Shoto.

"Hey, Todoroki," Mina called out, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Do you have TikTok?"

Todoroki, who had been quietly reading a book, looked up with his usual calm demeanor. "Yes, I do."

The class fell silent for a moment, collectively stunned. Todoroki having TikTok seemed almost out of character for the stoic boy.

"Wait, really?" Jiro asked, incredulous. "What do you even watch on there?"

Todoroki shrugged. "Midoriya kept asking me to download it so he could send me videos. I thought it would be easier to just have the app."

This piqued everyone's curiosity. "So, what's your FYP like?" Kaminari asked, leaning forward eagerly.

Todoroki hesitated, an unusual expression crossing his face. "I'd rather not show."

The class exchanged puzzled looks. What could Todoroki, of all people, possibly have on his TikTok that he wouldn't want to share?

"Come on, Todoroki!" Mina pleaded. "We're all friends here. What are you hiding?"

But Todoroki remained firm. "No."

Suspicion and curiosity reached an all-time high. The students whispered among themselves, brainstorming ways to uncover Todoroki's mysterious FYP. Finally, Mina came up with a plan.

The next day, during another free period, Mina put her plan into action. She sent Todoroki a TikTok and approached him with a smile. "Hey, Todoroki, can you open your phone and check the TikTok I just sent you? I think you'll find it interesting."

Todoroki, unsuspecting, nodded and pulled out his phone. As soon as he opened the app, Mina lunged, snatching the phone from his hands.

"Mina, what are you—" Todoroki started, but it was too late. The entire class gathered around as Mina began scrolling through his For You Page.

The room fell into a stunned silence as the truth was revealed. Todoroki's FYP was filled with TikTok edits of Y/N. Clips of her during training, random shots of her around campus, and even some candid moments where she was just being herself—all meticulously edited with effects, music, and transitions.

“No way!” Kaminari wheezed as he took the phone from Mina. “Let’s check his favorites!” he said with a smirk.

And behold.. an edit of Y/n way back from the sports festival with an incredibly great velocity transition to the song ‘One Of The Girls’. And it was in fact very interesting.

“It’s not what it looks like—!” Todoroki pleaded in embarrassment.

The class, however, erupted into a mix of laughter and teasing.

"Well, well, well," Kaminari smirked. "Looks like someone has a crush!" he sing-songs as he swipes on the next favorite which happened to be an edit of Y/n playing the electric guitar during the school festival performance with the background music being ‘Heartbeat’ by Childish Gambino. The edit was indeed also very alluring with its flashing velocity and dim filter.

Kirishima clapped Todoroki on the back. "Didn't know you had it in you, man."

Even Bakugou couldn't help but chuckle. "You're more of a sap than I thought, Icy Hot."

“Don’t worry! We won’t tell Y/n.” Mina teases.

The class continued to tease Todoroki, but just then, the door opened and Y/N walked in, her eyes narrowing as she noticed the commotion.

“Tell me what?” she asked, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow.

The room fell silent, everyone exchanging nervous glances.

“Uh, nothing!” Mina said, trying to deflect. “Just… hero stuff.”

Y/N wasn’t convinced. “Hero stuff? Really?”

Midoriya, ever the peacemaker, tried to step in. “It’s just that, um, Todoroki’s TikTok FYP is… interesting.”

Y/N’s curiosity piqued, and she looked directly at Todoroki. “Interesting how?”

Todoroki took a deep breath, deciding it was time to come clean. "My FYP is full of edits of you, Y/N. I hope this isn’t weird and… I do very much admire you."

The class held their breath, waiting for Y/N’s reaction. She blinked, processing the information, before a small smile spread across her face.

“You… admire me?” she repeated softly.

Todoroki nodded, feeling a mix of vulnerability and relief. “Yes. I didn’t know how to tell you, but I guess now you know.”

Y/N’s smile widened, and she took a step closer to him. “You could have just told me, you know. I’ve been trying to get your attention for ages.”

The class collectively sighed with relief and joy, realizing that this was the moment they had been waiting for.

“So,” Kaminari said, breaking the tension, “are you two finally going to go out or what?”

Todoroki looked at Y/N, his eyes filled with newfound confidence.

Y/N laughed, nodding enthusiastically. “I’d love to, Shoto.”

The class cheered, clapping and whistling as the new couple shared a shy, but happy moment. And as the buzz of excitement filled the room, Todoroki couldn’t help but feel relieved. What had started as a mortifying ordeal had ended in the best way possible.

[minaturefics]

Of the Earth

Request: Could I request a fic faramir x reader where she has stumbled into ithilien and he comes across her? he's all angry at first because it's dangerous, but it ends well :) (they don't have to know each other either)

A/N: This one has more ranger!Faramir which was fun to write. Boromir lives because I say so lol Hope you all enjoy it!

Faramir x Reader

Fem reader

No content warnings

4.1k words

---

You inhaled the cool evening air, breathing in the scent of fir and cedar. You followed the worn path, now dotted with primroses and overgrown with fragrant herbs of thyme and sage, and swept your eyes over the trees and shrubs. Where was the entrance to Henneth Annûn? Idhron mentioned that it would be along the side of the mountain. The dying light of the sun filtered in through the trees and the forest was bathed in a dreamy glow. Ithilien truly was such a beautiful land, even now, still sullied with the lingering darkness of the orcs.

Something rustled behind you and your hand flew to your short sword. Your eyes darted around, breath hitched in your chest. Were there orcs about this evening? Most of them had been driven away, especially after the destruction of the Ring, but there was always the risk of stray orcs around. The forest settled, still and silent, but you kept your steps light and quiet as you continued on. 

You neared the rock face and raised a hand to the rough surface. Idhron had said that the entrance looked little more than a crack, just wide enough for a man, and that what differentiated it from other cracks was the feeling of the stone. He had said that it would be cool and damp, and that there would be a change in the air, a subtle rushing in of the breeze. You continued past a few fissures until you felt exactly what he described. With a final glance behind you, you slipped into the stone. 

You felt along the wall of the crevice, eyes adjusting to the dim, careful not to stumble on any errant stones or steps. There was a faint glow on the wall ahead, orange and warm, and you frowned. Torches? A fire? But Henneth Annûn was supposed to be empty. You drew your sword and rounded the corner. 

“Do not move if you value your life,” a voice said, low and stern. 

You froze and blinked at the hooded figures in front of you. Their weapons were drawn. Your eyes darted to the white tree on the leather breastplates of the men and you relaxed a fraction. 

“Peace,” you said, lowering your sword. “I come from Minas Tirith.”

“We were not informed of any other parties dispatched to Ithilien. And you do not look like a messenger.”

“I come on behalf of Ioreth, of the Houses of Healing.” You sheathed your sword and offered the pommel, where the crest of the white tree was embossed, to the man. “Would the Enemy carry a sword from The White City? I think not.”

The figure threw his hood back and you flinched. Captain Faramir. 

Prince Faramir. 

“My lord,” you murmured, stunned, and he gestured for his company to lower their weapons.

His grey eyes were cold and stern, his lips set in a displeased line. “What are you doing here? Do you not know that there are still dangers lurking in Ithilien?”

“I am well aware. But I have come on a matter of urgency — I am in search of a plant, a herb, that they require. I have been searching for the last two days.”

“And you would dare venture out alone?” He frowned. “Why were we not informed of such an errand? My men and I could have found the plant for you.”

“By the time Ioreth realised what plant she required, your men had already departed. And it is not as though we, in the Houses of Healing, are told where the rangers go.” 

His brow cleared a little but his jaw was still tense. 

“As for leaving the city alone — there were no others we could spare to come with me. Our little band of foragers are not as well staffed as the rangers and guards,” you muttered, a hint of bitterness lacing your tone. “I was not going to let some woman die simply because I had no companion on this quest.”

“I cannot decide if you are brave or foolish,” he muttered and nodded to dismiss his men. They took one final glance at you then wandered off further into the cavern. “How did you find this place?”

“Idhron told me. It was getting dark, so I thought such a shelter would be a good place to camp for the night.”

He sighed and shook his head. “Come, my men were just about to sit and eat before we were alerted to your intrusion. Join us, and we can talk.”

He led you to one of the caverns where a few worn tables and chairs were scattered about. Some of the Rangers ate at the tables, but most were seated on some woven mats on the floor. Braisers lit and warmed the space and the distant hush of the waterfall echoed above the chatter. Faramir handed you a bowl of stew and a piece of bread and sat with you at one of the empty tables. 

“How do you know Idhron?” he asked.

“He is a friend of the family. They did not wish for me to join the rangers as they thought it would be too dangerous but I did not wish to be designated to a life of weaving or scribing. He had suggested foraging for the Houses of Healing as a sort of compromise. It allows me to be in the wilds, but the work is far less perilous than that of a ranger.”

He hummed. “He is a wise man.”

You nodded and went back to your stew. How strange it was to be seated at a table with Faramir. Prince Faramir, you reminded yourself. You tucked your dirt stained fingernails under your palm and tried not to slurp while you ate. You glanced up, eyes trailing over his wavy hair, to his proud brow, down to his lips and short beard. He truly was handsome up close; it was no wonder the Houses of Healing were all a flutter with gossip after he had stayed there. His eyes met yours and you nearly choked on your stew. 

You cleared your throat and let your eyes fall to the table.

“Tell me about this plant,” he said.

“I do not know what its proper name is but we call it Dawn Root. It is leafy and unassuming and the only way to find it is to listen for it.”

“To listen?”

“Yes, it… it chimes. It is easiest heard at dawn, hence its name.”

“How curious. I have never heard of such a thing,” he murmured. “Will you be searching for it tomorrow morning?” 

You nodded, and he said, “I would like to accompany you, if you are amenable to that.” His gaze had softened, the firelight melting the steel in them. “It is not because I think you are incapable. I simply wish to see this strange plant.”

Your stomach lurched and you gave him a hesitant nod.

”I must confess to some curiosity about how a practised forager goes about it. We are taught some basics, enough to keep us alive, but I’m certain there’s still much more to learn. Even after the sun has risen, perhaps we can still forage, if you do not mind sparing some time to show me.”

Your eyes  dropped to your half-eaten stew. Faramir wished to learn from you? “What would you wish to know about?”

“Mushrooms,” he murmured, a slight smile in his voice. “We’re taught mostly to avoid them unless we are absolutely certain they are not poisonous, and even then, most of us are wary. I am fond of morels, but I know they have a deadly counterpart.”

You shrugged. “They are easy to differentiate. In fact, it is the season for them now. We might find some while we are looking tomorrow.”

“I suppose, then, I can trust you to pick some?”

Your eyes rose to meet his. They were unguarded now, so different to how he looked before, and a gentle smile was on his face. He looked like the sort of man you would cross paths with in the market or in the library. Just an ordinary man, eager for mushrooms. 

 “And then you’ll cook them for us?” You asked with a chuckle and he nodded. “I did not think there would come a day where I would see Prince Faramir standing over a campfire, cooking.”

The moment the words left your mouth you snapped your jaw shut. What were you thinking? Teasing him like that? 

You opened your mouth to apologise but his eyes crinkled with amusement and a breathy laugh escaped from him. “Do you know how to cook?”

“Only well enough to survive.”

He grinned. “Ah, then perhaps this is something I can teach you in return.”

-

Faramir held the torch aloft and swept his eyes across the trees and shrubs. It was so dim, the sun still yet to break the horizon, that he could scarcely see beyond the torch’s little sphere of light. Every morning for the past week, he had set out with you to search for this plant. You walked beside him, steps so silent he wondered who had taught you to stalk and creep through the land, your eyes fixed on the darkness, focused yet distant. 

The light illuminated your profile, highlighting it in a soft orange. He followed the line of light down from the line of your forehead to the swell of your lips. You had shown up at the cave with your hair mussed and your skin shiny with sweat, and yet, in that moment, you seemed to him more beautiful than the courtly ladies of Gondor. 

Ever since his appointment as Prince of Ithilien, it seemed like there was no end to the subtle romantic overtures from the nobles.

There was no need for an advantageous match, both Boromir and Aragorn assured him, but even if there was, he could not betray himself to pick someone based on some arbitrary checklist of what would make a good partner. It wrenched his heart each time he spoke with the ladies — they were lovely and polite, intelligent and funny, but they were all lacking a certain something he could not name.

It seemed, to him, with each passing day, that he was destined to be a bachelor like his brother, though unlike Boromir, it would not be of his choosing.

When his brother had offered to temporarily take over the post of Steward while Faramir cleared and reestablished Ithilien, Faramir had marshalled his men and left the city within the week. It would be good to get away from the empty rooms and halls, away from the hollowness that echoed the loneliness within him.

Some part of him missed the warm and dry library, the scent of books and paper, but there was peace to be had in the wild too, in the quiet of the caverns, the stillness of the morning. And even now, in the silent understanding between two people united in the quest for something.

He squinted out into the dark and sighed. “We can hardly see in such low light. Perhaps we set out too early this morning.”

“You are not using the right sense, my lord,” you said, a sly smile growing on your face. “As I said, it chimes.”

“I cannot hear anything.”

“Perhaps if your steps were not so loud…” You flashed him a smile and he chuckled, a strange warm feeling growing in his chest. How long had it been since someone, anyone, aside from his company and his brother, dared to joke with him?

“My steps are hardly making a sound. You move like a cat; it is unnatural.”

“What is unnatural is seeing you out here.” You laughed. “I thought that —” Your smile vanished and you glanced away. “Forgive me, sometimes I forget myself, especially away from the city. I did not mean any offence.”

“I am not offended.” He smiled. “I would like to hear what you were about to say.”

You eyed him, hesitant, then looked away and spoke your words to the woods instead. “I… I thought that you would prefer to be in the city. I am well aware that you were, are, a good captain and ranger, but your love of literature and lore is just as fabled. I did not think you would return to your former roles now that we are in a time of peace.”

“Such a sentiment certainly isn’t unfounded,” he mused. “But sometimes even I, too, find the city a little stifling. It is nice to simply exist as oneself, unobserved by people.”

“I shall do my best to keep my eyes to myself then.” You laughed and he relished the sound before you pursed your lips and forced yourself to stop. “Um, what about your men?”

“We have travelled a long and weary road together. We see each other as friends.”

You opened your mouth then closed it with a snap, forging forward, and his chest tightened. He had thought that all the nightly conversations at dinner would have put you at ease with him but alas. He wished you would speak freely, like you did late at night when your tongue was loosened with fatigue. 

He adored the way you would speak of your little adventures out of the city, eyes aglow with a fond smile on your lips. How you had one too many mishaps with a collapsing tent, how one of your companions taught you the shapes of the stars, how there was no greater thrill than discovering some strange new herb.

And just last night, you had leaned close to him while he fried the morels. The cavern was loud with chatter, but he had deliberately kept his voice low and gestured for you to move closer when you said you could not hear him. He could smell you, musk and moss and lemon from the homemade bar of soap you said you brought. You were so real, so alive. And when an errant strand of hair fell over your forehead, his fingers twitched to tuck it behind your ear.

If he were to do such a thing, would you welcome it? Or would the height of his station prevent you from entertaining such a notion? It vexed him, the way you would speak to him as an equal, a friend, then suddenly pull back, withdrawing to formalities. Perhaps he should make it clear to you that there was no need for such things.

“I was thinking…” he began.

“Hush,” you whispered. “I hear it.”

He stilled, straining his ears, and there, just faintly to his right, was a clear tinkle. You followed the sound, pausing every other step to listen, and he trailed after you. The first of the sun’s rays spilled through the trees, casting the forest, and you, in a hazy glow. His eyes lingered on the lines and curves of your body, marvelling at your grace.

You let out a triumphant cry and knelt a few paces in front of him. Just as you had said, the plant, leafy and unassuming, was chiming softly. You gently dug it out and cradled it in the palm of your hand. Its roots were a deep crimson and remained undamaged. You grinned at him, so open and so genuine that his heart ached with some unknown feeling.

“I must head for the city at once,” you said, tucking the plant into a canvas bag.

“You do not have a horse, correct?”

“A horse? Valar, where would I get a horse? They have been in short supply since the war, and Rohan are yet to send more over. And should the city even have some, the guards and messengers would take precedence over the foragers.”

“I did not realise your company was so ill-equipped.” A strange discomfort settled in his stomach. “It is no matter. We have some horses, please, take one.”

You blinked at him, astonished. “Where do you keep them?”

“There is another tunnel in the rock face not far from the cave entrance. It is large enough for horses to pass through and widens onto a grassy plateau. Come, let us make haste.”

You nodded and the both of you hurried back to Henneth Annûn. While you gathered your things, he untied and retrieved a horse for you. When would he see you again? He supposed he could always visit the Houses of Healing and ask for you, but perhaps you would not appreciate that. You still seemed a little ill at ease with him and, despite his own stirring feelings towards you, he would not wish to discomfit you further. With a sigh, he led the horse out to meet you. 

Saddled and ready, you gave him a lingering look, then turned and galloped away. 

-

You handed Ioreth the most recent bunch of gathered herbs, trying to ignore the curious glances the other women gave you. Ever since you arrived in the city three weeks ago on Faramir’s horse, the Citadel and the Houses of Healing have been abuzz with rumours. It did not help that a couple of days after your return, a messenger had arrived at the Houses of Healing with a letter for you with the bright blue wax seal of Ithilien stark on the envelope. Your foraging company knew better than to ask, but it seemed everyone else was not above gossip. 

Iotheth gave the whispering women a stern look, thanked you for your herbs, and handed you another list of plants required. 

You grumbled to yourself. Faramir’s horse! You did not know it was his, but perhaps you should have noticed the round medallion on the bridle which bore the newly created crest of Ithilien. Still, in the quiet of the night, you wondered why he had chosen that particular horse for you. Perhaps it was the most agreeable one they had, or maybe it was the most well rested, or he thought that sending you on his horse would be the most efficient way for you to reach the city without anyone stopping you.

Or perhaps… perhaps he simply wished to send you on his horse.

No, no. What a foolish thought. Evenings spent in conversation and mornings spent foraging and letters sent with the supply carts and messengers was hardly a basis for anything more than friendship.

Still, the letters had been unusually intimate. There were the usual inquiries about the patients and medicinal herbs, how the outpost in Henneth Annûn was coming along, whether the resource changes he and Boromir agreed on were helping your company of foragers, but there were also little personal comments and questions. 

Other women here in the city might beg to differ, but I think the Rangers’ uniform is far more attractive than the guards’.

You’ve never used a bow? They can be quite handy, especially when hunting dinner. Perhaps when I am back in the city I can teach you. 

Thank you for the pressed primrose you sent, they remind me quite fondly of my time in Ithilien.  Do you have a favourite flower? 

We’ve had another delicious morel dinner. I must confess that the sight of them makes me think of you.

It would amuse you to know I overheard some ladies mourning your absence from the city. Though, I begrudgingly admit that I share their sentiment. 

The lily perfume Ioreth made for you sounds lovely. I imagine it must smell wonderful on you. 

No, I do not write to you out of a sense of obligation. I look forward to your letters; you bring me more joy than you can ever know.

And each time he had signed his letter as ‘Faramir’. Not ‘Captain Faramir’ or ‘Prince Faramir’, but just… Faramir. 

Your heart fluttered when you thought of that, but you squashed the feeling as soon as it arose. He was a prince, for Valar’s sake. And you were just… just…

Ioreth’s voice broke through your thoughts. “Girl,” she said, amusement in her eyes. “You have a visitor.”

“Who in Arda would come see me here?” you groused, pocketing her plant list. “All my friends are out —”

Faramir stood in the archway, his cheeks red from the wind and his cape hem muddied.

“Not all your friends, I hope,” he said, an unsure smile on his face.

“Fara — My lord,” you muttered, bowing your head a little. 

His brows drew together. “Please, I am certain we are past such formalities.” You cast a nervous glance around the room and his frown deepened. “Shall we speak elsewhere? There is something I wish to discuss with you.”

You nodded and led him to one of the secluded gardens outside. “I did not know you were returning to the city,” you said. 

“I had thought of sending a letter but I thought what I wished to discuss would be best done in person.”

“That sounds serious,” you murmured. “Not ill tidings, I hope?”

You paused by one of the shrubs, rubbing a waxy leaf between your fingers, avoiding his eyes. What could be so important he would make the trip back from Ithilien? 

“I hope you will forgive me for being selfish,” he said. “Coming to the Houses of Healing and seeking you out. I am not oblivious to the… the rumours circulating around the city.”

You took a hesitant look at him. “So why did you come?”

“I wished to see your face when you give your reply.” He swallowed and clasped his fidgety hands behind his back. “I have read your letters again and again, trying to find some sort of hint or clue in them, and in your last letter… You said I brought you joy.”

You stared at him, the sound of your heart loud in your ears. The words had slipped from you before you realised, but you had left them in, a cautious declaration of how you felt, hoping that he would take it as a friend being overly sentimental.

“I must know,” he said. “Is there… Is there a chance you might return my feelings?”

“Your feelings?” you stuttered, scarcely believing what he was saying. 

“Yes,” he said slowly. “You are a most singular person to me and there has been no other who has captured my heart so.” 

He paused and looked at you, hopeful and apprehensive all at once. You gaped at him. 

Singular… Captured his heart…  All this time, he felt the same?

“Ah,” he said, voice flat, eyes shuttering. “I suppose your silence is enough of an answer.” He took a step back. “Forgive me, I —”

“Wait, no, please.”

He stilled but his face remained impassive.

“I am simply in disbelief,” you said in a rush. “I did not think… I dare not hope…” A strangled laugh burst from you. “Of course, of course I share your feelings.”

A smile spread slowly across his face and he offered his hand, palm up, to you. You reached out, but the sight of your hands, rough and dirt stained, stopped you.

“Why do you hesitate?” he murmured.

“Faramir, you are a prince. And I am not of equal standing or birth.”

“I do not care for such things. You are kind and brave, and smart and good-humoured.” He offered his hand once more and you tentatively curled your fingers around his. “And you are beautiful.”

He tugged on your hand and you stepped closer. Slowly, slowly, he brought his forehead to yours. You sucked in a deep breath, inhaling his scent of leather and musk, relishing his nearness after so many weeks. He nudged your temple with his nose and pressed a kiss to your temple.

He hummed, low and satisfied. “The perfume really does smell wonderful on you. I suppose I must smell a bit ripe in comparison. Though, in my defence, it was a swift ride, and I was far too eager to see you.”

“I think you would benefit from a bath, yes.” You chuckled and drew back. “But Faramir, what about the court?”

“Tongues will always wag, my love,” he said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “But we shall face them together. And besides, you have already shown your service and care for the people. What more could Gondor ask of you as my partner?”

“I suppose I cannot argue with that.” You grinned. “But maybe, we could proceed slowly? I do not think I would fare well if I were immediately tossed into society.”

“Of course. And it shall give me time to court you, properly. I will be returning from Ithilien soon, and then I assure you, there will be flowers and walks and picnics.”

“And mushrooms?”

He laughed and kissed your cheek. “Yes, and mushrooms.”

---

A/N: Lowkey feel like the pacing was a bit off. I originally planned for it to be longer, but my brain decided to be shitty lmao so I had to pare it back. I hope the flow is still okay.

Nirnroot was inspiration for the Dawn Root, lmk if anyone picked up on that lol

[petpippin]

🍓 . words don't come easy ─ katsuki bkg.

# canon-typical violence .

"shit."

bakugo has been doing just about everything to figure out his dilemma. filtering through those ridiculous shoujo, observing those stupid-fuckin' couples that seem to occupy each and every damn corner of U.A., and yet, and yet...

he can't figure this flirting thing out. the mere prospect has katsuki's palms drenched with sweat; causing explosions if he thinks too hard, and at some point you'll sure be able to tell.

he thinks about it so much that it's starting to affect his academic perfomance, as katsuki stares off into space, wracking his damn brain on how to deal with you.

his oblivious-ass friends have even started to notice, prodding curiously as to why he's barely reacting to their incessant teasing, why he's suddenly blowing them off to go on these little study outings with you.

then, suddenly, mina realizes. kirishima follows along, with sero in tow. kaminari, the damn loud-mouth, is the last to know; and to their credit, they do try to help.

unfortunately, it only helps to drive him utterly fuckin' crazy.

now, he's fighting not only to drive you away, but also to contain his friends from not exploding into confetti whenever he dares approach you.

but balance is fragile, when you're dealing with a ticking time-bomb like his stupid-ass motherfuckin' idiot friends.

bakugo let his guard down for a damn second, and suddenly he's forgot his brain back at home.

peering up from your sheet of homework, you tilt your head, "what's wrong?"

katsuki rifles through his bag for a second-third time. he grinds his teeth, and closes his eyes, as if to brace himself for humiliation and defeat.

"forgot my fuckin' pen, that's what."

you giggle. unhelpful, as he quickly loses his cool, flushed and irate. bakugo hisses, a vein popping from his forehead as his cheeks blow red like an over-exhausted balloon.

"you think that's funny, brat?!" he stands to yell, nearly toppling his chair over in the process. all eyes at the library turn on him at the outburst, but katsuki is all too captivated with your laughter that follows.

you wave him off with ease, slipping a hand into your pencil-case and offering it to him. "you're such a baby," and then with a playful drone, "kaaa-achan."

bakugo seethes as he slumps back into the chair, hissing as ever-rare embarrassment sets in.

then, for a second time, you burst into a fit of giggles. it's barely quelled when you slap a hand over your mouth, and doesn't stop as you turn away from him.

bakugo is flustered. "shaddap."

you snort, giggling. "it's not you. well, sort of, actually. kaminari said something really funny the other day."

for some odd reason, he suddenly feels his heart sink down to his asshole; like a warning for a forecoming disaster. katsuki grunts.

"what'd that damn dunce say this time."

you peer back up at him with a squint, eyes glittering with amusement. your laughter is barely concealed behind wobbling lips.

"he asked if i like... you know. like you, or somethin'."

bakugo flushes. damn. damn, damn, damn. sneering lowly, he quickly brushes the suggestion off.

"that's fuckin' stupid." do you?

you sigh, your smile tires. "i know, right." do you?

head tipping over the back of your chair, you stretch comfortably. the two of you sit for a while in silence, looking back at eachother.

bakugo breaks off the staring-contest. you smirk. "ha."

"tch." he hisses, pursing his lips, "wind got in my fuckin' eyes."

"we're in an enclosed space, loser," you retort. "i win."

"i could beat your ass in sparring."

you don't grace him with a reply, rolling your eyes.

for a while the two of you sit in silence, homework long abandoned. katsuki twirls your pencil around in his hand, cheek resting in his other. the library feels stuffy; hot as his fluster lingers.

"do you?"

his head snaps up to meet your eyes, katsuki's voice a rumble. "hah?"

you smile, but it's nothing teasing. earnest flickers in your eye, a genuine interest that encapsulates his.

"do you like me."

bakugo's answer is biting, harsh as if bile on his tongue.

"i like you just about as much as shit on my shoe."

you grunt, unamused. there's a tick in your jaw as you roll your eyes in the way he fucking despises. bakugo regrets his words; it's a clumsy insult, and he doesn't mean it.

"okay." you move to stand, and he lets you. stupid, stupid. he's going to kill kaminari, that dumbass.

you abandon the table, and bakugo soon follows.

─

bakugo wants to melt into the floor.

bakugo wants to slam his head into a wall.

bakugo feels like strangling kaminari and kirishima and mina and anyone that's ever dared cross him.

aizawa won't budge and he refuses to ask to have his partner changed. not because you're weak, and not because you're not worthy, but because you're ignoring him.

teetering on the edge of going completely crazy, his friends haven't quite given up on the pursuit, and although you refuse to have anything to do with katsuki, you'll happily chatter on to that idiot mina; which is exactly what you're doing instead of giving him the time of day right now.

too bad he's not planning to let you off the hook, and so isn't aizawa, who gruffly orders the two of you to quit wasting time.

reluctantly, bakugo can tell you don't want this, you enter the arena.

"oi," he growls. you peer up at him, exhasparated, "yeah?"

there's a crackle, he can barely contain the explosion that goes off in his fist, "i told you. i'm gonna bust your fuckin' ass."

"do your best."

─

your back slams against the granite flooring, and you struggle to gasp for air. you've long gone haywire by now, exhausted by bakugo's seemingly untiring resolve that is currently beating you into the ground; literally.

with him things aren't as easy as telling him to stop, you're sure you'll have to die before he stops. bakugo, for once, is angry enough to be blinded. he's frustrated, you're sure; after all, it's impossible to miss the way he's been staring.

maybe you had been too harsh, freezing him out like that. everyone seemed to have noticed too, and suddenly mina was pleading with you to make up for whatever had happened.

part of you never wants to forgive him, and that want is strenghtened by the way bakugo holds good on his promise, sending you flying like a ragdoll.

scrambling to get away, he fists your costume and pins you beneath him. katsuki pants, hand crackling.

"the fuck's your problem, huh?" he snarls, "think you're better than me, that's it, you fuckin'--"

you lift your hand to shield your face, dirtied by the rubble, "it's 'cause you're a fucking asshole."

"you think i'm gonna change for you, or some shit?" bakugo stills, breath hitching. he bares his teeth like a dog, and you think he might just bite.

in a moment of strength, you push him off you. you're done, he realizes.

"no, that's how you treat all your friends, isn't it?" your joints ache as you stand, knees buckling beneath you, "like a little bitch."

you're pissing him off, you can tell. but there's also a hint of upset, one he poorly hides in the heat of the moment.

"you're such a pus─ hey!" he barks, grabbing your arm as you storm off, "don't tell me you're pissed 'cause i called you a piece of shit."

you turn to look at him, furious. it's getting heated, veins pumping as you rip away your arm. "you'd be too, dumbass! i swear, you're so thick─"

bakugo hisses, grinding his teeth. "shaddap! 's not my fault you're so─"

"you shut up!"

"i'll murder you, damn it!"

"oh," you push at him, "screw you, you loser!"

seething, bakugo wrangles your arms into place, knocking you into a wall. rubble unravels from above like hardened raindrops, and you brace yourself.

"you got something to say?" he rumbles, glare darkening, "i'll kill you."

grimacing, you lean further into the wall, and bakugo moves to follow it. "admit it, you prick," you seethe, "admit you you like me, or this is all for nothing and i'll never talk to you again."

a strangled noise leaves katsuki. he has half the mind to slam your head into the cement; to shut you up. maybe he'll scare you away, and you can leave for him to wallow in his feelings.

he squeezes your forearms, blunt leather digging into your skin. "...who the fuck told you, huh?"

a tiny smile, however smug, grazes your features. "anonymous source, "kacchan."

a/n: back from the dead at last ＼(≧▽≦)／

[back2bluesidex]

Incognito - JHS (WDBHG Drabble)

A Where Do Broken Hearts Go Drabble

Pairing: Hoseok X Fem!Reader X Jungkook

Wordcount: 1k+

Summary: Hoseok is curious about the guy who left you behind. So, he goes incognito.

Warnings: drinking!

Minors are not allowed in this blog!!

A/N: This takes place after chapter 4 and before chapter 5

Try as he might - Hoseok can’t think of anything else other than your lips, which he was about to kiss. 

He doesn’t know what had possessed him earlier tonight but he really regrets it. He had been trying hard not to look at you for the better part of the day. But he failed 

As if he hasn’t sold himself as a creep by continuously ogling his daughter’s therapist, that he had to lean down and almost kiss you. 

Thank god Sua woke up and stopped him, otherwise things might have changed from the next session and he doesn’t want that. Not only Sua but also he have been forming a genuine relationship with someone for the first time in all these years, he doesn’t wanna fuck things up now. Even though you seemed ready for him to take you over.

He pours a good amount of Hibiki in his fancy diamond cut glass. Looking at the liquid he sighs, he thinks to himself of the countless identical nights that he has been spending locking himself up in his study after putting Sua to sleep. 

He could have called Mina tonight. She is always ready and one call away. But somehow Hoseok feels greatly turned off by the idea. 

He almost had a taste of you, he almost put his mouth on yours and lord, he can still somehow smell your sweet subtle vanilla scent in the air. How the fuck he can think of anyone else when you were ready to jump in his arms just an an hour ago? 

He groans at the thought. 

What is this feeling of confusion? Why does he want you but is grateful that things didn’t escalate? 

The whiskey burns at the back of his throat but does nothing to take away the troubled thoughts he has been having. 

Then something ticks in his mind. 

“Jungkoo-?” he murmurs to himself. You didn’t say the full name but this jungkoo person has to be the ex boyfriend that supposedly fell out of love with you. 

And suddenly Hoseok is curious. He wants to see the face of this idiot who let you go. He wants to see the person who broke you and whom you still probably love. Whom you probably thought of while he was about to kiss you. 

He takes a big gulp from the glass and walks towards his desk. Settling down in the huge chair he opens his laptop, taps on the browser and goes into incognito mode. Typing a specific address and agreeing on using the site on guest mode, he filters out the search criteria. 

Location: Seoul,  Gender: Male,  Age: he thinks hard about it. You don’t seem like the type to go for very older or very younger guys. Given the fact that you are still under 30, he selects the age bar from 20 to 35.  Name: Jungko

Enter. 

There are 5 results that pop up: 

Jeon Jung Kook 

Shin Jung Kook 

Kim Jeong Gguk 

Kim Jeong Guen 

Lee Jung Min 

It’s good that your ex-boyfriend has a distinct name, it makes it easy to find him. The website showed him the most relevant results, so there are 5. But he knows which two he has to work with. 

So, he clicks on the first profile: 

Name: Jeon Jung Kook

Age: 28 

Occupation: Modeling 

Address: Unknown 

Email ID: Unknown 

Website: www.goldenstudios.kr  

Hoseok frowns at that. He has been using this people finder tool for the better part of his career but this ‘website’ section is added only on special cases. Either this jungkook guy is a bigshot or a celebrity. And he doubts if you settle for those types. 

But he clicks on the link regardless. 

His breath hitches upon seeing Jungkook’s face. He is the Calvin Klein model, whose face is in every possible billboard? 

Jesus. Is he really Y/N’s ex? He thinks to himself as he scrolls down the page. 

He can be wrong as well. There is another guy with the same name, so yeah. And he doesn’t really think you would have the mind to put up with a celebrity for three years. 

But something keeps him from exiting the page. He clicks on the instagram icon that is added at the end of Jungkook's bio. 

When the instagram opens, the first thing he tries is to look for your face but he finds none. Then he clicks on a random post and starts scrolling. 

Hoseok stumbles upon a post from a month ago. In the picture a pretty lady is hugging Jungkook tightly. As Jungkook lovingly wraps up her waist with one of his hands, laying his head on the top of her head. There are no captions but a ton of congratulations in the comments. 

So, this guy is already committed. 

Hoseok thinks of the likeliness of this guy being your ex. You said he broke up with you but didn’t mention when. Given the fact that your wounds are still fresh, it might haven’t been that long. And this guy just got into a relationship a month ago. So, he can very well be the Jungkook you were talking about. 

However, still, you dating a celebrity doesn’t sit right with Hoseok. So he decides to exit instagram and investigate the other guy. 

Before exiting, though, he decides to tap on the profile picture to view the recent stories. 

There is a picture of Jungkook, with another strikingly beautiful guy inside a condo. The caption says “happy birthday @j.m” with a tagged location. 

And.. it is the same location Hoseok picked you up from today. You also mentioned visiting a friend just before the session. 

Hoseok’s eyes narrow at the screen as he takes a better look at Jungkook’s face. 

“So you left Y/N for the girl in the photo, huh?” He talks to the screen as if Jungkook can hear him. 

“What an idiot you are, Jeon Jungkook.” Hoseok takes a swig from his glass making a silent promise of making you forget your ex.  

Taglist 1:-

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Taglist 2:-

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[sophrosynesworld]

Game On

“Izuku, get that notebook away from me before I toss it into the fountain.”

“Oh my God,” Mina busts into laughter next to me, her eyes wide with mock horror. “You kicked the puppy!”

I glance at Izuku, who’s standing there with wide eyes, looking utterly betrayed. He clutches his precious notebook to his chest like it’s the only thing holding him together.

“Come on, just a few questions?” he pleads, frustration lacing his voice as he hovers behind me, desperate to pry into my quirk.

“Five bucks,” I reply, holding out my hand with a grin. Izuku frowns, hesitating for a split second before reluctantly rummaging through his wallet. Just as he’s about to pull out some crumpled bills, a crisp twenty lands in my hand.

I glance over to see Todoroki joining us, his expression as unreadable as ever. “I’m curious too.”

Before I can even process what’s happening, the front door slams closed with a bang. Denki stumbles inside, nearly tripping over his own feet in his excitement.

“Yo, check this out!” he yells, instantly stealing the spotlight. In his hands is a small metallic box, his eyes practically glowing with excitement.

“What is it?” I ask, more than happy for the interruption, as Todoroki and Midoriya groan in unison, clearly annoyed that their interrogation has been cut short.

Denki flips the box around, revealing a flashy cover with our faces on it. “It’s us! Someone made a whole video game about our class!” Kaminari waves the box around, drawing the attention of our sleepy classmates who begin to filter into the common room, curiosity piqued.

Within minutes, the once-quiet morning buzzes with excitement. Conversations overlap, and eager eyes dart toward the box in Denki’s hands.

“What’s so damn important?” Bakugo grumbles, shuffling in like he’s been dragged there against his will. He collapses onto the couch with the grace of a grumpy old man, his hair sticking out at odd angles, a scowl permanently etched on his face. He crosses his arms, sinking into the cushions like he’s already counting down the minutes until he can leave.

I open my mouth to respond, but Izuku’s already off and running, words spilling out like a rapid-fire stream of consciousness. Bakugo’s eyes roll, but he stays sitting next to him, a massive improvement from a few months ago.

Given how much Deku knows, I wouldn’t be surprised if the developers had consulted him directly, maybe even asked for a copy of his ever-present notebook. The sheer depth of his knowledge is almost unsettling, but it’s also so typically Izuku that I can’t help but expect it.

As Denki fumbles with the cables, his tongue sticking out in concentration, the game quickly takes over the room, shifting the energy entirely.

The moment Denki connects the game system to the TV, the screen flickers to life, casting a bright glow across the common room. The screen flashes with an over-the-top title card: My Hero Brawl! - The Next Gen, complete with 8-bit music and an announcer’s voice shouting, “ARE YOU READY FOR A PLUS ULTRA FIGHT?”

“Who made me look so manly?” Kirishima exclaims, a wide grin spreading across his face as he admires the blocky, muscular version of himself flexing on the character selection screen.

Izuku’s eyes widen as he scrolls through his phone, quickly turning it around to show us Bakugo’s character. “This is incredible! Look at the detail!”

Bakugo’s expression darkens as he snatches the phone from Izuku's hand. “What the hell?! Who made me look like this?”

I lean over, stifling a laugh. “You always look like that, Bakugo.”

Without warning, a deafening boom shakes the room as Bakugo detonates the phone in his hand, sending sparks flying and forcing everyone to duck for cover. The explosion propels Deku and Bakugo into a full-on shouting match.

“YOU?! THEY MADE ME SHORTER!” Mineta’s shrill voice cuts through the chaos as he flails his arms, desperately trying to draw our attention to the main screen. His character is nearly microscopic, barely reaching the height of the barrels scattered across the stage.

Mina bounces over to a couch, plopping herself down between Koji and Momo with a mischievous grin. “So, how does this work? Can we pick ourselves?”

Denki cracks his knuckles, a sly smirk on his face. “Oh, definitely. But I’m warning you guys—I’m in it to win it.”

Bakugo’s cracks his knuckles, the sound echoing like gunshots. “Pick whoever you want, extras. I’m out for blood.”

The moment the first round begins, the room erupts into a betting match. Everyone lunges for their controllers, eyes locked on the screen as the pixelated characters spring to life. Denki’s character zips around, crackling with electricity as he unleashes a barrage of lightning-fast attacks. Kirishima’s Red Riot charges forward, his “Unbreakable” form turning him into an unstoppable force of nature, even blockier and more imposing than ever.

Dynamight launches into the air, explosions detonating beneath him as he unleashes a storm of fiery blasts. Denki grins as he narrowly dodges each explosion, retaliating with a burst of electric bolts that crackle across the screen.

“Come on, you extras! Stop running and fight me!” Bakugo’s voice is a roar, his fingers hammering the buttons with brutal intensity.

Red Riot barrels in, blocking Dynamight's attacks with his hardened armor, while Chargebolt cackles from a distance, raining down lightning strikes. “You gotta get through me first, bro!”

“I WILL LITERALLY KILL YOU!” Katsuki’s eyes burn with fury as he unleashes a devastating explosion, the impact shaking the screen. But before we can see any affect, Zero Gravity, swoops in from the edge of the battlefield, launching a pixelated attack. The ground shakes sending everyone else’s characters floating helplessly into the air.

“What the—?!” Denki stares in disbelief as his character is tossed around like a leaf in a storm.

Uraraka flashes a cheeky smile. “You didn’t see that coming, did you?”

Kirishima laughs clearly impressed. “That’s what you get for underestimating Uraraka!”

With each round, the intensity ramps up. Characters zoom across the screen, delivering bone-crushing blows, unleashing powerful special moves, and narrowly escaping defeat.

Izuku watches, his fists clenched in anticipation, before finally stepping up. “Mind if I jump in for the next round? I want to see how ‘Deku’ holds up!”

Bakugo’s eyes narrow, a dangerous smirk curling his lips. “Get ready to lose, nerd.”

The next round begins with a burst of energy, Izuku’s pixelated hero standing tall. Dynamight wastes no time, launching a relentless assault of explosions. Deku ducks, weaves, and counters, his movements fluid and precise. Every button press is a calculated strike, every dodge perfectly timed.

“You’re finished, Kacchan,” Izuku grins, his fingers flying across the controller as he lands a devastating combo that sends Dynamight flying across the screen.

Bakugo’s jaw tightens, his fingers mashing the buttons in a desperate attempt to trigger a special move. But it’s too late. Deku counters with a well-timed attack, knocking Dynamight out cold.

“KO! WINNER: DEKU!” The announcer’s voice booms as Bakugo’s character plummets into the void.

The room explodes into cheers, the sound bouncing off the walls as Bakugo glares daggers at Izuku, who shrugs with an innocent smile. “What? It’s just a game.”

Bakugo’s grin turns wicked, his eyes narrowing to slits.

“Rematch. NOW.”

Authors Note: This was so hard to write. Just pretend it doesn't suck :)

[eris-snow]

6. 𝐑𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐞?

Tags: bakugou x fem!reader, juxtaposition, angst, swearing, toaster shenanigans, bakusquad shenanigans

A yellow thread like a soulmate’s cord: So similar, but so different.

Katsuki hates people.

It doesn’t matter if he appreciates a small small small minority of them, he’s fully obligated to bring his thoughts to the grave because Mina and Denki had broken the toaster for the hundredth time, Kirishima’s way too positive for someone going for therapy and Izuku breathes too hard.

“Why do I have to buy the stupid toaster?” He lashes, sweat building dangerously in his hands. “I did nothing!”

“We haven’t hung out properly in a long while, man! Think of it as a…a get-together!” Eijiro told him, slinging an arm around his shoulder.

He’s testing his luck.

Ashido marches ahead of the both of them while playing thumb war with Denki. “And plus-hey!-you went feral when we got the previous previous toaster—Mina, stop it!” Denki chimes in, wrestling with Ashido.

“Who buys a VHS Player toaster? HOW DID YOU EVEN FIND A VHS PLAYER FOR A FUCKING TOASTER.”

“Mhm, uh-huh, yeah, yes, you see?” Ashido responds calmly. “This is why you’re needed.”

Behind them, Eijiro frowns. “I thought that was the 5th toaster, not the—”

“Finish that sentence,” He grits out. “I dare you.”

So yeah, borderline, Katsuki hates people.

He especially hates them when they start asking questions.

“You’ve been a ghost lately, disappearing right after class. What’s going on with you?” Eijiro changes the subject, and looks at him with curious red eyes.

Real, fuckin’ annoying questions.

Katsuki’s brain goes uhhh, and he shrugs off the red-haired’s shoulder to buy time.

“None of your business. If I’m busy, I’m busy. Deal with it.”

His friend gives him an inquisitive look, but Denki’s groan of defeat snaps both of them out of it, and Eijiro backs off. “Whatever you say, man.”

There’s an old street piano that lives right outside the mall. Katsuki’s surprised it’s still there, even after the plaza was stripped bare and renovated, the instrument sat there, creaking and lonely. What a contrast to the shiny, modern building it sat so innocently next to.

Out of nowhere, a splitting headache rips into his skull, and he has to grab the nearest thing (Eijiro) to keep himself from toppling. What the hell?

All he can see is that goddamn piano, multiplying and filling his vision. It flashes, disappears, and then reappears like it’s trying to decide whether it should be there or not. Someone calls his name, but it’s far away. Suddenly, he’s 7 again, showing off to all his admirers how wide his fingers could reach, how beautifully he could play the instrument.

All eyes are on him, and he feels like he’s a third person watching his younger self smile, shift aside to let someone else join him on the seat—

“Bakugou?”

A blink, two blinks, and the image is wiped.

“Bakugou?” Eijiro’s hand is on his shoulder and all eyes are on him. It takes him a second to realise that he’s gripping Eijiro’s arm, and another to unclench his hand. He leans away, and grits out low. “I’m fine.”

“You’re a liar,” Denki refutes, expression worried. “You okay, Bakubro?”

“Headache,” He supplies, gaze cutting back to the piano. It’s still sitting there harmlessly, like it hadn’t given him an existential crisis 5 seconds ago. He filters through his memories, frowning when he grasps at straws. He can’t remember ever playing a duet with someone.

Stalking ahead, he shoots a scowl at the inanimate object and enters the mall. “I wanna be in and out. Let’s go.”

He knows his friends’ expressions. They’re all concerned, because for some reason, Katsuki’s word isn’t good enough for them.

Whatever, it’s not like he hasn’t had lapses like that before.

A store full of green catches Katsuki’s eyes, and suddenly, all he can see is ferns and flowers stuffing the entrance of the little shop greeting the visitors of the mall.

They come back to the dorms with a new, normal toaster, and Katsuki gets a desk cactus.

—

Katsuki’s going deaf. He knows the drill yadda yadda, he’ll be deaf by 35 yadda yadda his quirk is an ass and so is he. However, he prides himself in knowing his eyesight is perfect and better than average. So he really, really hates it when they try to fuck shit up for him by making him see things that aren’t there.

His jacket hanging on the edge of the couch when he was visiting his parents over winter break. (It’s in an old storage unit his parents rented out since he can’t fit it anymore)

A cherry blossom tree siting right outside his old middle school. (It’s in the dead of the winter.)

Random street pianos, showing up at every turn.

And every time he shakes his head and blinks, the objects disappear. He doesn’t even want to get started with his dreams. Scenes from the war have been ending abruptly, cutting off and throwing him into moments of his life he never knew he lived through.

It’s been all he can even think about lately, and his zone-out sessions have earned him a slap to the head by his mother and daily check-ups via text from the shit broccoli nerd and Shitty Hair. He thinks about it, because it’s the same feeling when he hangs out with you. Your presence is so difficult to detect sometimes, he has to steels himself from blasting your face off because he didn’t notice you sitting right in front of him.

He has an internship with Jeanist and 10 articles to write for Hero History. He cannot afford to go crazy now.

—

“Katsuki.”

Katsuki’s eyes open. He spins around and finds a memory, ripped straight out from his life. It’s like watching a scene directly out of a play. His old, junior high classroom, with its rusted cabinets and creaky seats.

His younger self stops, and looks back, obviously annoyed. “What do you want, extra? Who the fuck are you?”

A girl stands there with her face blurred and clipped out, but for some reason, he knows her expression is one of shock and disbelief.

“Katsuki, don’t you remember me?”

Bakugou jolts awake. The sound of someone’s voice he can’t quite hear the words off ring in his mind, and he clenches his shirt as his heart pounds so loud it feels like it’s echoing throughout the entire room. Sweat is everywhere, clinging to his skin like a layer of dust, and a glance at his alarm clock shows 02:31. He lets out a loud groan, glaring at his empty ceiling. He’s definitely not going to sleep anytime soon. With sweat clinging to every part of his body, he swings his legs off and heads to the door. He needs a shower.

And coffee.

—

“Weird dreams? Seeing items not there?” Recovery Girl looks at him thoughtfully. “And you’re positive it’s not a Quirk?”

“That’s what I said,” Katsuki replied through gritted teeth. He’d have known if it was a Quirk. Even some Quirks weren’t touch-based, it was hard to be put under a quirk undetected. This was something else. “If it’s not doing you any physical harm, then my Quirk can’t help you with that. The best prescription I can give you is neuroleptic medications and sedatives for a good night's sleep. Other than that, try to take your mind off training for a while and take the rest of the day off. I suspect that you’re overworked.”

With Recovery Girl’s advice in mind, Katsuki comes out of the infirmary feeling less sane than he originally felt. Overworked? As if. The most eventful thing he experienced this month was him buying a fucking toaster.

With a heavy grunt, he opens the library door and ignores the hall just down the corridor. You’re probably on vacation, or visiting relatives. No point in going there.

If he’s barred from training the rest of today, then he could kill time by learning something new. If he wants to be a top hero, he’s got to be able to communicate. That means in both Japanese and English. If he can read more English books, he’d surely be more fluent in—

He stops short. In front of him, is a yellow thread. It curves and winds and leads him all the way to the back of the library, slung over seats and tables of the nearly isolated room. He’s heard about cringy soulmate manga from Mina, the one where the pinkies of two individuals are connected by a red string. This one, however, is yellow, and looks way thinner, like a spider’s skein.

Yellow.

That was your favourite colour.

Intrigued, he follows it all the way, and when he stops to see what’s at the end of it, he finds an essay shelved in the wrong way buried behind the dusty books that haven’t been borrowed in a long, long time. He almost misses it, but when he does find it, he takes it off the shelf and eyes the title wearily.

Phenomenon: Reset

It’s clearly not a published book, it’s bonded by stapler bullets and it’s written on the old U.A. foolscap that was outdated years ago. It’s more like a log then a book, a diary, even. Katsuki slaps himself mentally. What the fuck is he doing? Playing detective for his delusions? This could be a prank for all he knows, and the yellow skein his eyes playing tricks on him. This was—

‘Not a Quirk, causes people to become nearly invisible to the eye.’

Katsuki blinks rapidly.

Hah?

‘Day 3: I tried to talk to him the other day. It’s like we never met. He asked me if I was a new transfer student. I’ve been in his class for over a year.’

‘Day 4: He forgot our conversation the previous day. The teacher missed my name during attendance and called my parents up today. What’s going on?’

Katsuki skims through the rest of the days, and with each passing page, the handwriting gets more and more illegible.

‘Day 7: I feel like a ghost. My parents still remember me, thank goodness. I don’t know if I could handle it if they didn’t.’

‘Day 16: If this is some sick joke, I hope it ends already. What the hell? It’s like it’s a reset for me every single day. Every time I try to tell someone about it the person straight up forgets me the next day. This isn’t funny anymore.’

‘Day 70: He sees me! I don’t know how this worked but he sees me! I tried probing for more, but I can’t believe it! I’m so glad…it’s been so long since someone looked at me in the eye.”

‘Day 71: He remembers! Honestly, I don’t care that everyone else isn’t noticing me anymore, just having one person is enough.”

‘Day 121: I told him about my situation, and thankfully he believed me. He said he had a feeling about it, something about a watch and the stupid tree in the forest we used to sleep under. He said it kept popping up everywhere and it was driving him crazy.’

‘Day 235: I found an article that’d tried to be covered up. One of the government’s mistakes, back when Quirks were new. It had something to do with a science experiment gone wrong. It might be a lead.’

It goes on and on, from red hairs to dead ends, but through it, Katsuki got a gist of the situation. A science experiment from 70 years ago was conducted to see if a Quirk could be transferred forcibly from one person to another. That Quirk was named Undetected, one of the less destructive Quirks of that time and among the few who agreed to proceed with this experiment.

It might be possible in the modern day, but humans back then were far too uneducated to be dealing with Quirks that were still relatively new. The experiment went wrong, obviously, and it resulted in a glitch of the person’s Quirk and the region the experiment was being carried out in. Victims ended up forgotten with a presence so low that they were basically invisible. Back when this article was still new, there had been questions raised about it, whether these Quirks were more of a curse than a blessing, but with time this phenomenon ‘faded out of existence’.

No one could prove it, and the victims were chalked up to accidents or lunatics. Not many were affected anyway, and almost as quickly as the rumour made headlines, it disappeared entirely from the internet.

Katsuki’s blood runs cold.

Is this what was going on with you?

He leafs through the paper and skips to the last day that was catalogued.

‘Day 435: He said that I looked really pale, and told me that he’d found a way to save me. I was really glad, I was really. I only wish that we could have done it before it was too late.’

Katsuki flips the page over to find nothing else written and almost crumples the paper up in frustration.

He needs to see you. Now.

[z-mizcellaneous-z]

hi everyone i wanna come here and say that since "babygirl" is gender neutral so should "pretty boy". allow me to explain:

KIRITODO/TODOKIRI: Kiri is babygirl and todo is pretty boy

BAKUDEKU/DEKUBAKU: Kacchan is babygirl and Deku is pretty boy

TODOBAKU/BAKUTODO: Katsuki is pretty boy and Todoroki is babygirl

MOMOJIROU/JIROUMOMO: momo is babygirl and jirou is pretty boy

TOGACHAKO/OCHAMIKO: Toga is pretty boy and ochako is babygirl

KAMICHAKO: ochako is pretty boy and Kami is babygirl

SHINKAMI/KAMISHIN: Kaminari is pretty boy shinso is babygirl

KIRIBAKU/BAKUKIRI: Kirishima is pretty boy and katsuki is babygirl

KIRIMINA/ASHSHIMA: Kirishima is babygirl and mina is pretty boy

CAMIEMINA/MINACAMIE: camie is pretty boy and mina is babygirl

SEROKAMI/KAMISERO: sero is pretty boy and kaminari is babygirl

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

do you all get it. do you see the vision do you UNDERSTAND I AM NOT INSANE THIS MAKES PERFECT SENSE JUST LOOK AT THEM- anyways yes.

Babygirl and pretty boy are gay and they're lesbian lovers and they have the nastiest, kinkiest sex. have a wonderful day

NOTE: i will be tagging multiple ships for the sake of organization and for anyone who has these tags filtered. If you are not respectful in the reblogs and/or comments, I WILL block you. And if there is increased discourse I WILL turn off reblogs.

[dreamersville]

hi lovelyyy can you do a "theyre the type to-" but fluff edition for the bnha men?? pleaseee🥹 thank youu

an? hiii loveee! ofc i could do this for youu, especially when you ask so nicely🥰💜💜! i hope this was what you were looking for .. lmk if it not and i would happily do something else for you ml🫡💜. thank you requesting i had a lot of fun writing this for you. request are open

pairings? bakugou x reader, kirishima x reader, todoroki x reader, sero x reader, tamaki x reader, iida x reader, shinsou x reader, denki x reader, mina x reader

tw? none that i know of .. lmk if there are any 💜

you mean like how katsuki is the type to just pick you up from wherever you are, sitting where you were then placing you in his lap expecting you to continue on like nothing was happening ?? Kiris likes this too, but not as aggressive as katsuki. He tries to refrain from doing it too much until you tell him that you actually like to be manhandled sometimes. Now he's doing it as often as katsuki, but still not quite as aggressive as him.

shoto would definitely be the type to stare at you. you could be doing anything it doesn't matter this man eyes will be locked on you. you always catch him too but he still wouldnt look away. you don't see any harm in it so you just let him continue. sometimes you would walk past him and give you a kiss. sero would also be caught looking at you, but isn't shameless enough to keep staring after getting caught, but just because you caught him doesn't mean that he won't be right back to looking after you turn back to what you were doing.

nobody finna tell me my sweet baby tamaki wouldn't get all flustered when you're attention is on him. he was talking to mirio about how a different breed of squid had compared to the usual he eats, when he sees you looking at him with interest in your eyes, now he fumbling over his words trying to remember what he was talking about before he caught your gaze upon him..

iida is definitely the type to lecture you about eating Honey Buns all the time until he decides to eat one and see why you're so obsessed with them, now everytime you get a box for him you have to get a box for him too. please don't let this man see you warming it up, it was good at room temp but slightly warmer??????? He thinks he found heaven.

Shinsou's favorite thing to do is take a nap with you, or with you around. so he definitely tries to make his dorm sleep approved. black out curtains to stop the light from filtering in, but don't worry cause he got a lap on his desk and a taller one in the corner. a fan to keep the roomer cooler. don't get me started on his blanket collection. He has weighted blanket soft blankets. 2 blankets from where he was in his lil crocheting era. Overall he tries to make his room the ultimate sleeping spot, and he feels like he is succeeding as he snuggles more into your stomach.

denki is sending you a 100 millions tiktoks. These include dances that he wants you to learn so that y'all could have them together, different challenges, posts that remind him of you, part 267 of a series you and him are watching, and many many more things.

Mina is definitely the type to get you up and out to try new things, she doesn't want to sit in the dorm all day when she could be out shopping with you hello??

i hope you enjoyed reading * thank you so much for the request, request are open

[feyhunter78]

Chapter Six - Miguel returns to his home to spend some time talking about you with his brother and sister-in-law. Ch 7

Miguel can’t stop thinking about what you said—well thought, the words turn over and over in his head, taunting him. He stares off into the distance, window open to the night air, heavy bookshelves lining the wall of his study, glowing screens surrounding him, filtering information in and out, compiling, collecting, processing. You, you, you, your face plagues his mind, he can’t eat, can’t sleep, can’t think as he replays your words. The way your voice rings so clear even in your own thoughts, the humor in your words, the desire he felt dripping down, heated and lush, making his face warm.

His fangs had pricked at his gums. He longed to turn on his heels and take you, sink his teeth, his fingers into your skin, claim the soft flesh as you sighed and whined for him, each desperate needy sound music to his ears. He would not fuck you in the morgue, he had too much respect for you and the dead to do such a thing, but maybe in his office? Or yours? Or the woods that bordered the morgue parking lot.

He would lay you down on soft grass, keep you covered with his body as you took him into your warm embrace, velvet walls welcoming him home, each sensitive spot exactly where he remembered them. You would beg for him, and he would give you all you desired, if only—

“Miguel, are you even listening to me?” Gabriel’s voice comes through the speaker, crackly and irritated, jolting him from his daydream.

“Of course.” Miguel says, straightening up, his eyes meeting his brother’s.

“What did he say then?” Mina asks, smiling teasingly at him through the screen, her accented tone lacks the irritation of his brother’s, she’s lived long enough that simple things like this only amuse her.

“That I should kidnap and turn y/n in order to bring her home in time for the solstice.” Miguel says, tapping his pen against his desk, running his free hand through his hair.

Mina looks at Gabriel in faux shock, raising her hand to lightly smack him on the arm. “He did not, Gabriel, why would you give him such terrible advice? You know she cannot enter the undead realm with attachments, it will muddle her transformation. It is imperative she relinquishes her hold on this Todd and accepts Miguel before she is bitten.”

“Miguel entered with attachments.” Gabriel says, shrugging as he dodges his wife’s playful attack.

They’re in their sitting room, one of many rooms they claimed ownership of in the Morris manor, all dark wood and heavy curtains, gold inlaid furniture and portraits scattered around. Miguel feels a pang of homesickness, knowing his own rooms lay unused, cold, longing for the light you bring, for you to return to your rightful place beside him.

“That was different, they were bound together, they are mates, like you and me.” Mina explains, exasperated. She has relayed this information time and time again, mostly because Miguel asks her too, but often times because Gabriel forgets why it’s so critically important you join their coven free of mortal ties.

His brother has a more laxed attitude about your ascension into immortality, frequently suggesting that it would be easier to simply compel and turn you. You have all of time to apologize if she’s upset about it, he’d say.

“Right, right, right, the magic of true love and all that.” Gabriel says, leaning back in his chair, and stretching out his arm to lay it across the back of Mina’s chair.

“I will not compel her and force her to turn, it has to be a choice.”

“But you would compel her to do other things? You dirty man, Miguel, I knew you had some trouble in you.” Mina wriggles her shoulders suggestively.

“That’s not—”

“Mina, we talked about this, you have to ease him into stuff like that.” Gabriel says.

Mina rolls her eyes. “He’s over a century old, he should not be so squeamish about this, as long as they do not detest you, you are not being violent, and you know that you can provide your mate pleasure I do not see the problem, I compelled you when we first met.”

Gabriel smiles, it’s a catlike, satisfied smile, as he reminisces. “A ghrá, I was a merchant’s son bound to be married off for my father’s monetary gain, and you were a beautiful foreign woman who wished for me to take her behind the inn. You would not have had to compel me if you had only asked for what you desired.” Trsl: my love/my dear

“One can never be too careful.” Mina says, waving her hand dismissively. “Did you not enjoy it?”

Gabriel laughs. “You know I did, is that not why I followed you into an early grave?”

Miguel watches them, a pit forming in his stomach, he’s happy for his brother, but moments like this are difficult. You are a mere fifteen minutes away, and yet he can’t go to you. He can’t bring you here and laugh alongside his family. Can’t sit as you tease him for the way he approached you, can’t kiss lovingly as his brother kisses Mina.

“I’m going to be sick.” He complains halfheartedly, giving his brother a sly wink. “I’ll talk to you two later. Goodnight.”

He shuts down his computers without fanfare, toying with his sister-in-law’s words. You don’t hate him, he would never be violent towards you, and he’s already proven he would be able to give you pleasure…

There is something intoxicating about the idea. Having you fully under his sway, pretty eyes glazed over, so pliable and obedient for him, your chin resting in his hand, perfect lips parted ever so slightly, gasps slipping from them as he touched you as he wished. Running his hand down your soft skin, playing you like a violin, each string taut and fine-tuned to produce beautiful music.

Yes, he would coax such beautiful sounds from your lips, a never-ending symphony of euphoria, played to an audience of one. He would be the only one to hear your songs, the only one to make you sing.

Miguel hopes the accidental reveal of Kasey's voicemail planted seeds of curiosity in your mind. Maybe—if he was lucky—seeds of jealousy would be scattered among them, taking root in your mind, your heart, driving you to see him in another light.

He knows you have a possessive streak, he merely must tap into it, turn your focus onto him, onto obtaining and keeping him. He has to make you want him, more than you’ve wanted anyone else in your life. Miguel knows he would be able to do such a thing through carnal pleasures, but a small part of him longs for you to look at him as you once did. With such innocent joy, simply happy to be in his presence. 

That look can only bloom from true affection, from pure appreciation and trust. He must build up your trust in him, become someone you rely on for more than just sex. He will pay more attention to your thoughts. Try to glean every spec of information you unknowingly reveal to him until he has an arsenal of knowledge that will allow him to slip into every role you need filled in your life. Then you will look at him as you did before.

I put this in the ao3 end note, putting it here as well: Now no one come at Mina for being like "just hypnotize her and have sex with her" bc she's not meaning r4pe y/n. She's just an old-world vampire who knows that mates are bound to each other and usually want to jump each other's bones 24/7 + she's assuming y/n is shy and/or too nervous about cheating on Todd sober to act on her desires, sooooo she's suggesting Miguel *give y/n some confidence*

TL: @obi-mom-kenobi, @poutysprouty, @oharasfilipinawife, @laysmt, @cicithemess, @unabashedcroissanttreefan, @lynxslokley, @thedevax, @generalkenobitrash

[mrsfatu08]

Title: "The Fast Track to Parenthood"

a version for my black queens

Summary: Tenya Iida, a dedicated pro hero, is balancing his high-speed responsibilities with the delicate excitement of becoming a father. In a world where villains don’t give him a break, Tenya’s biggest challenge comes in the form of preparing for a baby. A private gender reveal and a big baby shower lead to new moments of joy, but when labor arrives, Tenya will have to prove that even in the toughest situations, he can be a calm, caring father.

Chapter 1: The News

The golden light of the setting sun filtered through the window, casting a warm glow over the apartment. Tenya Iida, always meticulous in everything he did, stood in front of the mirror adjusting his tie. His fingers fumbled with the knot for a moment as he murmured to himself, his nerves getting the best of him.

“I don’t know why I’m nervous,” Tenya muttered under his breath, finally straightening the tie. "I’ve handled entire rescue missions, fought villains with my bare hands, but this? This feels like the biggest challenge of all."

From the doorway, Y/N, his fiancée, stepped into the room, her dark skin glowing in the soft light, her hair pulled back into a neat bun, and a smile on her face that eased some of the tension in Tenya’s chest.

"You’re going to do great," she said, walking over and resting a hand on his shoulder. "It’s just a gender reveal, Tenya. Just us and our little one. We’ve got this."

Tenya turned to face her, his glasses glinting in the light as he smiled at her, a mixture of admiration and anxiety in his expression. “You’re right. It’s just… I want everything to be perfect for you… and for our daughter.”

Y/N chuckled softly, her fingers gently brushing the fabric of his shirt as she looked up at him. “Tenya, you’re a pro hero, remember? You’ve saved the city multiple times, and now you’re going to save me from stressing about one small reveal. All you have to do is be there.”

He chuckled in return, leaning in to kiss her forehead. “And I will be, every step of the way.”

Chapter 2: The Gender Reveal

A week later, in the quiet of their apartment, Tenya and Y/N stood together in front of a simple box, just the two of them, preparing for a private moment to reveal the gender of their child.

Y/N’s fingers were gently resting on her growing belly, her dark skin glowing with the warmth of pregnancy. The excitement between them was palpable. Despite Tenya’s usual calm and composed demeanor, he was visibly anxious, his hands shaking just a bit as he reached for the box.

“This is it,” Tenya said softly, lifting the lid. Inside, there was a large balloon, its color hidden from view.

Y/N reached over, taking the string from Tenya’s hand. "Are you ready?"

Tenya swallowed, nodding slowly. He watched intently as Y/N untied the string, the balloon rising into the air. As it floated up, the color became clear—pink.

“It’s a girl,” Tenya whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "A daughter."

Tears welled up in his eyes as he stepped forward to embrace Y/N, holding her close as they shared the quiet moment together. The joy in his heart was overwhelming. This was real—this little girl, their daughter, was going to be a part of their lives forever.

“I knew it,” Y/N said with a soft laugh, wiping away a few stray tears of her own. “A girl, huh? I think I can already tell she’s going to be strong—just like her father.”

Tenya smiled, his heart swelling with pride. “And she’ll be as beautiful and intelligent as you.”

They stood there for a moment, just the two of them, savoring the moment before the chaos of the world outside would inevitably come back to claim their time. But for now, it was just them and their baby girl.

Chapter 3: The Baby Shower

As the weeks passed, Y/N and Tenya prepared for the baby shower. This time, instead of a small, intimate celebration, their friends had insisted on throwing a large party for the couple. Mina Ashido and Momo Yaoyorozu, ever the enthusiastic planners, had taken over the organization, and it was shaping up to be an event no one would soon forget.

Tenya stood in front of the mirror once more, adjusting his tie—this time with more ease than before. He had learned to embrace the more relaxed approach of the baby shower. There was no danger here, no villains to defeat. Just friends, family, and the joyful anticipation of their daughter’s arrival.

Y/N walked into the room, her dark curls spilling down around her shoulders and her skin glowing with pregnancy. She wore a soft, lavender dress that made her look even more radiant.

"You look gorgeous," Tenya said, his voice full of admiration.

Y/N gave him a warm smile. “Thank you. I feel like a walking miracle right now.”

The party was in full swing by the time they arrived. Mina had arranged for balloons in every color of the rainbow, while Momo had worked out the decorations to perfection. Guests were mingling, gifts were being opened, and the room was filled with laughter.

"Tenya, Y/N!" Mina shouted over to them, rushing forward with a drink in hand. "You two are the best parents already. Look at all this love!"

Y/N laughed as Mina spun her around playfully. “I’m just happy to have so many people around to support us,” she said. “This baby is going to be surrounded by so much love.”

“Support is what it’s all about,” Tenya said, giving his fiancée a proud smile. “Our daughter will be raised with more care than even I’ve put into some of my rescues.”

The party continued with fun games, laughing friends, and thoughtful gifts—clothes, toys, blankets, books, and even some of Tenya’s favorite childhood items, like his old robot action figures, which his friends had hilariously tracked down.

As the night wore on, Tenya found himself more and more overwhelmed by the love and excitement surrounding them. He never imagined that a hero’s life would lead to such an intimate, beautiful journey. Y/N, glowing with joy, looked over at him, and their gazes locked. She mouthed, We’re doing this. Together.

Chapter 4: Labor

Several weeks later, the night they had been waiting for arrived. Y/N’s water broke while they were enjoying dinner. The moment was swift, but Tenya’s heart rate skyrocketed. He immediately jumped into action, but Y/N, always calm and collected, held up a hand.

“Tenya,” she said, breathing a little quicker as her contractions began, “Don’t worry. I’m okay. Just get me to the hospital.”

“I’m not wasting a second,” he replied firmly, scooping her up into his arms. His super speed kicked in, and in an instant, they were in the car and on their way to the hospital. Tenya’s mind raced. This was different than any mission he had been on. This was his family, his future.

At the hospital, the hours felt like days as they prepared for the delivery. Y/N was strong, but Tenya could see the exhaustion beginning to weigh on her. He held her hand tightly, speaking words of encouragement, even though inside, he was terrified.

“You’re incredible, Y/N,” he whispered. “Just a little more. I’m right here. You’re doing amazing.”

As the final moments approached, Tenya was by her side, holding her hand, offering support. And finally, the cry of a newborn filled the room.

“It’s a girl,” the doctor said with a smile, handing the tiny baby to the nurse.

Tears filled Tenya’s eyes as he gazed at their daughter. "A girl," he said softly, his voice full of awe and love. "She’s perfect."

Y/N, exhausted but beaming with joy, pulled Tenya in for a kiss. "We did it. She's here. Our little girl."

They both held their daughter together for the first time, their hearts swelling with love and pride.

Chapter 5: The First Day

A few days later, after their baby girl had been safely brought home, Tenya and Y/N sat together on the couch. Y/N held their daughter in her arms, looking down at her with tears of happiness in her eyes.

Tenya, sitting beside her, rested his hand gently over hers. “She’s so small, so beautiful,” he whispered. “I never imagined this moment, but now that it’s here, it feels like everything I’ve worked for.”

Y/N smiled, her eyes shining with love. “She’s perfect, Tenya. And she’s ours.”

As they looked down at their newborn daughter, the reality of their new life settled in. It wouldn’t always be easy. There would be challenges. But together, as a family, they would face everything the world had to offer.

And Tenya Iida, the hero who ran at the speed of light, would always make sure to slow down when it mattered most.

[see-arcane]

"The dear girl was more affectionate with me than ever, and clung to me as though she would detain me; but there was much to be talked of and I came away. Thank God, the ceasing of telling things has made no difference between us."

I don't want to blame him too much for drawing the conclusion that since Mina tries to sleep with him today then it means she isn't mad at him and there's no difference like he feared, but oh Jonathan everything is different between you... And it'll never be the same.

I still can’t parse just how much is him trying to convince himself that This is Fine VS accepting Mina’s own performance of This is Fine (they’re both acting out parts they think are required right now and they’re unfortunately both swallowing it, ironically trusting each other’s performances and Van Helsing’s orders more than real gut feeling) VS heavily filtering his actual thoughts because he knows whatever he writes is now potentially going to be read by others in the future ~as needed~.

The last one is especially getting to me when it comes to his and Mina’s writing from Sept 30th on. They are both contributors, past present and future, to the Documents. They have a live and written performance to put on. So I wonder how much they’re really keeping bottled up off of the page.

[minaturefics]

Though I Know My Heart Would Break

Request: For the poll that Legolas won! You guys sent in a few prompts, I've incorporated: sick (injured, rather) fic, hurt/comfort, everyone lives, and reader confesses first! Hope you guys like it! (Title is from Hozier's Francesca that has me in a chokehold)

Legolas x Reader

Gender-neutral reader

Content warnings: Mild injury (no overly graphic descriptions)

3.7k words

---

You walked through the forest, ducking under the cedar branches, weaving between the cypresses. The air was rich with the scent of herbs — thyme and sage, marjoram and parsley. The late afternoon sun filtered in through the canopy, specking the forest floor with light. Legolas’ footsteps were silent on the soft ground, but the steady clopping of the horse he was leading reassured you of his presence.

With the coronation over, and Eowyn and Faramir wed, attention was turned to restoring Minas Tirith and setting up a settlement at Emyn Arnen. You and Legolas were tasked with surveying the land and forests around Emyn Arnen. Sam was curious about the plants, hearing how new and different they were to those back in The Shire, but Frodo’s reluctance to stray further than the Citadel kept him in Minas Tirith. 

You paused by a cluster of pink rockfoils, thumbing the thin stems before plucking a few small flowers and tucking them into a waxed pouch. 

“Mellon nin,” Legolas said, sounding half-amused, half-exasperated, “Why do you pause and pluck? You have been doing so since we arrived. ”

“They’re for Sam. He might have agreed to stay in Minas Tirith, but I saw the shade of disappointment in his eyes. I thought perhaps I could bring the forest to him instead.”

His lips tugged up at the corners. “And what will you give the forest in return?”

“What do you mean?” You frowned and stood. 

He smiled, soft and knowing, eyes wandering over the barks and branches. “These trees have been left at peace for many years, the bushes and shrubs untouched. They are not used to wandering fingers and restless feet.”

You glanced down at the patch of rockfoils, the decapitated stems looking more brutal in light of Legolas’ words. Your lips twisted and he chuckled, and your eyes drifted back to him.

He had always been so full of light and laughter, even during the endless days and dark nights, even after Gandalf fell, even after the hobbits were taken. Ethereal, that was what people said of the elves. Otherworldly. 

But he looked so human, so normal, standing in a patch of sunlight, laughing at the concerned expression on your face. There were smudges of dirt on his boots, dew dotting the bottom hem of his cloak, and even a small leaf lodged in his hair. 

Yes, Legolas has always just been Legolas to you. 

Perhaps that was why it had been so easy to lose your heart to him. How could you not? While the others regarded him with a deference, or awe in the hobbits’ case, or even confusion at his elf customs, he had never truly seemed so different to you. His eyes, brown and alive in the light, still crinkled at the corners when he smiled. His voice, low and melodious, still cracked when he spoke of sorrows. And his hands, delicate and strong, still bore soft calluses from his bow. 

The last couple of days had been so indulgently wonderful. Without the threat of war or the constant need for secrecy and vigilance, being out in the wilds once more was soothing. It was a great secret joy, of course, that you had Legolas’ undivided attention. 

He had been more loose limbed and free with touches. Hands grazing yours as you walked, his knee against yours while you sat. His eyes too, seemed to melt into an amber by the fire, a tenderness in his gaze. It felt as though the seed of friendship had slowly, slowly, started to grow into something more. 

“Shall we continue on?” He said, and inclined his head towards the distant sound of water. “We can set up camp and leave our things while we walk the forest.”

You nodded and smiled before looking away, eyes scanning the forest floor before they landed on a patch of flowers. They were strange looking, three pronged with large paper-like petals. You knelt by them, carefully cutting the blooms with your knife, and idly said, “It is beautiful here, is it not?”

He hummed in agreement. “I could envisage residing here for a time, should Faramir allow it.”

You glanced at him over your shoulder and chuckled. “You should speak to Sam. Aragorn has already consulted him on some of the gardens in the Citadel, it would not surprise me if Faramir would ask him to Emyn Arnen to design something.”

“Those flowers,” he began, stepping closer and inspecting them, “they are… strange. I do not know what they are, and perhaps it would be better to leave them be.”

“Are they poisonous?”

He leaned in and sniffed them. “No, but as I said before, this forest is unaccustomed to such things. Gifts must be freely given, and what is not must be a fair exchange.”

You dropped them into the pouch and laughed, continuing through the forest. There was a strange note in his voice, something older, wiser, than the Legolas you knew. But what harm could there be in a few cuttings? The forest was vast; a few flowers and leaves here and there would not be any loss at all. “Come now, Legolas, you speak as though —”

A stone caught your toe, your knee buckled, and you fell to the ground. Sharp pain jolted up your wrists and knees, then a hot stinging spread across your palms and shins. You blinked, eyes focusing and unfocusing on the rotting leaves in the dirt, before warm hands rested between your shoulder blades.

“Are you alright?” Legolas said, crouching and easing you back into a sitting position. You stared at him, eyes drifting from his eyes to his lips. Had he always had such beautiful lips? “Mellon nin, are you alright?”

“Yes… I —” The shock of tingling subsided from your hands and legs and only a dull throbbing remained. You looked down at your knee, the same knee that had been shot, and found your trousers ripped and the old wound reopened. It was not as bad as the initial wound, though still relatively deep, and was bleeding sluggishly through the matted dirt. “Oh, I’m… bleeding.”

His eyes darted from your knee to the divot in the ground where a leaf caught in your fall was stained with blood. His lips tightened before he let out a soft sigh. “It is as I said: a fair exchange.” An easy smile spread across his face, the hand on your shoulder loosened its grip, and his voice took on a merry lilt. “However, I do not believe we will have any more trouble on our little trip here.”

The shock of the fall had subsided and you looked at the pouch still clutched in your fist. “Well, I suppose I should make the most of it then, and collect what I can for Sam.”

He laughed, squeezing your shoulder affectionately. “Never one to pass up an opportunity. Come, let us set up camp by the river and have a look at your wound. I do not wish for the matrons at the Houses of Healing tomorrow to claim I have neglected you.”

He pulled you to your feet, and looped an arm around your waist to help you hobble along. His arm was warm, his grip firm but gentle. Pressed up against him you could smell his scent, something fresh like grass or water, unsullied even by a couple of days in the forest. The both of you found a suitable spot under shelter by the trees, and after tying the horse up, he led you to the banks. 

His nimble fingers pried apart the shredded remains of the fabric by your knee and started to wash the wound. He dressed it with some honey from his pack and untouched moss from the forest floor and some spare wrappings you had in your supplies for such an eventuality. 

While he worked, you watched his hands. Long and lithe, they were precise and delicate with their motions. If only you could reach out, and lay your hand on top of his, to sweep your thumb over the back of his knuckles. But your hands were still muddied, and the new closeness you shared with him was too new and too tenuous for something like that. 

Legolas set up camp with a practiced efficiency, and soon the both of you were sitting beside each other by the fire, eating your supplies of bread and cheese. The fire crackled and popped, and around you the forest became alive at night. Owls hooted in the trees, and critters rustled in the bushes, and then, very softly, Legolas began to sing. 

The words were lost on you, but the melody was enough. The notes drifted in the air, curling around you, seeping into your skin. It sounded slow and adoring, leisurely and lazy, and the sensation of lying on sun-warmed grass, your lover’s touch skirting up your arm, filled your body. You leaned back on your arms, sinking into his voice, letting it carry and caress you. 

When the last few words rang in the air, you opened your eyes. Legolas was looking at you with a fond expression, eyes half-lidded and lips in a soft smile. 

“That song,” you whispered, “what is it about?”

His smile widened and he said, “I’ll tell you another time perhaps.”

-

Legolas stood on one of the parapets that overlooked the entrance to the Houses of Healing. Your wound was not healing as well as it should, most likely because of how bad the initial arrow wound was, and you were getting it redressed by the matrons. He sighed and let his eyes wander from the stone flagstones, to the rooftops, to the plains. In truth, the sight of your flesh, angry and inflamed, shook something in him. Even something as minor as your wound, was enough of a risk for infection, for fever. 

Humans were so fragile, so… final. 

He blinked at the thought. Yes, of course, how could he forget? Humans were mortal. Boromir was, Aragorn was. Even the merry little hobbits and Gimli were. How strange to think that such a thing slipped his mind when it came to you, but it was far too easy really. 

There was a vitality that seemed to pour from your being, an almost stubborn resilience, especially in the grim shadow of misfortune. It was the way you would play with the hobbits, even after a long day of walking, or grit your teeth and carry on, even harrowing experience after harrowing experience. When you smiled, the day was better, brighter, and he always found himself trying to get another laugh from you. 

And yet… such a light could be so easily snuffed out. 

He shifted on his feet and watched as you limped from the Houses of Healing. He had intended to go with you, but Sam had wanted to discuss garden plans, and Boromir had gone with you instead. He was about to raise his arm and call out to you, when a figure emerged from behind the line of trees. Boromir walked towards you with outstretched arms and pulled you into his side and helped you along, vanishing from his sight beyond the trees.

Ever since the end of the war, it had felt as though things were shifting between him and you. It was only small, nearly imperceptible changes — softer smiles, more frequent dinners alone, hands that reached and fingers that brushed. And yet… Why did it feel as though you were on the other side of something he could not cross? 

He thought of the cry of the gulls, the perpetual tugging at his heart for the sea. Oh, how he wished he had never heard them. Was this how Arwen felt all the time? Longing, aching. She was happy with Aragron, he knew, but sometimes he would catch her gazing out of a window, eyes forlorn and smile sad. Aragorn knew, understood even, and in those moments he left her to her quiet longing, never hurt or bothered, and welcomed her into his arms when she went back to him. 

But would you understand? Could you accept that there would always be one part of him that belonged to the sea, to the distant shore he would never reach? Or would it be a burden to ask such a thing of you? Maybe you would be better off with someone… mortal. He sighed and wandered back towards the Citadel proper. 

“Boromir, this is unnecessary. Put me down!” Your laughter rang out and you and Boromir emerged onto the courtyard. You were in his arms, limbs flailing as he wrangled to keep you held properly. “Boromir, I — oh, Legolas.”

“Ah, Legolas,” Boromir said as he gently replaced you back on the ground. “I return them to your care.”

He forced a smile onto his face. “How is your leg?”

“Mild infection but nothing to worry about,” you said, hobbling over to him. 

He instinctively reached out and wrapped an arm around your waist. You were warm underneath his hand, warmer than usual, and you smelled strongly of herbal poultice. He could detect traces of burdock and comfrey, and underneath it all, the smell of you. He took a greedy breath, filling his lungs with proof of your life. “You should be resting. Let us go back inside.”

“I’ve been inside the past week. I’m bored to death,” you grumbled. “Let’s sit outside for a while.”

He helped you to one of the stone benches and you collapsed onto it, hissing in pain. You gingerly stretched your leg out and sighed as you settled. He sat next to you, his eyes lingering on your knee. 

“Oh, stop fussing. It’s quite minor, really.”

“I have seen men succumb to infection from unassuming cuts. I do not think I will rest easy until you are fully healed.”

He followed the line of your leg up to your waist, then shoulders, and along your jaw and lips, up to your nose and eyes. Such beauty, destined to fade, to vanish from the world forever. How could he bear it? How could anyone?

“What is on your mind, my friend?” You asked.

“I was just thinking about the fading nature of men. I do not know how your kind bear it.”

“Death?” You chuckled. “But elves can die too, can they not?”

“Yes, but… it is not in our nature. In peace times, it is very rare for our kind to die. For men… even now, where there is no suffering any longer, you still experience the sting of mortality.” His chest constricted. “How can one stand to behold love and light, knowing it will vanish?”

“It is because they do not last, that we relish in them.”

“Even if it will bring you pain later?”

You smiled, gentle and indulgent, and placed your hand on top of his. His shoulders relaxed at your touch, the tension seeping out of his muscles. He wanted to capture the moment, to bottle it somehow, keep the image of you with the sun on your eyelashes and the feeling of the softness of your skin forever preserved. 

“Yes,” you whispered, “even then.”

Something shifted in his heart, just slightly, and a smile crept onto his face. Yes, he thought, especially then. 

-

“Sam,” you said, surveying the small garden. He had done a good job with it — the shrubs were well trimmed and flowers burst in orange and yellow all around. “Are you certain it will look good?”

He nodded and grinned. “It’ll look real pretty with some candles about. I still remember what it looked like in Lothlorien. We don’t ‘ave the sort of fancy holders and the like, but I’ll do my best.”

You smiled and laid a hand on his shoulder. “I don’t know how to thank you for this. I would do it myself but my knee…”

“No thankin’ needed. If anything, I should be thanking you. You brinin’ me those plants and flowers, even when the forest didn’t like you doin’ so.” His eyes fell to your knee. “I’m real sorry it caused you such trouble.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that.” You chuckled and patted him on the back. You looked around the garden again, trying to imagine the candles and cushions that Sam said he’d arrange for the night time picnic you had planned. “Do you think he’ll like it?”

“I think he’ll love it. Mighty romantic, if I can say.”

You shifted on your feet, stomach suddenly lurching. “What if I’m mistaken, Sam? I’m not sure I could bear the embarrassment.”

The last week or so had been so lovely it had felt like a dream. Nearly every night, Legolas had invited you to sit with him at the top of some tower or parapet. He would point and tell you stories of the stars and of the elves that had come before. There were so many instances where he would lean in close, eyes half-lidded, and talk in a low, murmured tone. You would watch his lips, and watch as he watched yours. But then he would draw back and glance away. 

“The elves are funny folk,” he said with a sigh. “I couldn’t tell you what might be goin’ on in Legolas’ mind, but I doubt he would be spendin’ so much time with you if he didn’t have some… reason to do so. If you catch my meaning.”

“I hope so, Sam. Well, I’ll leave you to it. I need to go to the kitchens to see what cheese and fruit they might be able to spare me.”

He gave you an encouraging smile and with a little wave, you set off downstairs. 

The sun was just setting when Sam called you back to the garden to assess what he had prepared. Candles were dotted all around the courtyard, separated on candelabras and clustered in small groups around the picnic blanket. Plush cushions were laid out and there were little white flowers scattered on the soft wool, perfuming the air with the faint smell of jasmine. 

“Sam,” you gasped. “This is — I cannot —”

“I’ll be takin’ your speechlessness as a compliment?” He smiled shyly and ducked his head. He reached for the picnic basket in your hand and placed it on the blanket. “There, now it’s complete.”

“I’ll repay you for this Sam, I promise.”

He blushed. “Like I said before, there’s no need. Anyway, I best be hurryin’ along. Wouldn’t want Legolas to stumble upon me here and get any wrong ideas.”

You laughed and he vanished back inside. You limped over to the blanket, wincing a little as you lowered yourself, and tried to slow your breathing. Legolas would come, wouldn’t he? What if he took one look at the scene and fled? You shook your head. No, he wouldn’t do that. If you were truly mistaken about his feelings towards you, he would tell you gently and bear you no ill will.

“Mellon nin,” Legolas said from behind you and you turned, heart thumping in your chest. His eyes were wide and a slow smile was spreading across his face. “I received your message. Why have you asked me here?”

You swallowed. Did he not know? “Is it… is it not obvious?”

“I have an inkling, perhaps.” He wandered over, his steps lazy and relaxed, and sank onto the cushions. The tightness in your chest eased a fraction. “But I do not wish to presume what may or may not be in your heart. Will you not give me the truth?”

“Legolas, I…” You cleared your throat. By the Valar, why was it so difficult to speak? He arched an eyebrow at you and you glanced away, speaking more to the picnic basket than to him. “I… care for you. A great deal.”

He took your hand, and you dared to lift your gaze. He beamed at you, and then a flash of mischief entered his eyes. “As a friend?”

You scowled at him. “Do you often plan candlelit picnics for your friends, Legolas?”

He laughed and pressed his lips to the back of your hand. They were soft and warm, his breath hot on your skin. “I am teasing, meleth nin.”

Heat crept up your neck and you tried to withdraw your hand. He held fast and planted a line of kisses up, up, up, from your wrist to your elbow to your shoulder. His eyes were almost sparking in the dim, the dots of candlelight flickering in his dark irises. He kissed your jaw and your nose and your temple before dipping his head to capture your lips.

He kissed slow and languid, as though savouring the feeling of you against him. He tasted tart and sweet, no doubt from the berry and honey biscuits you knew he liked to snack on. The strange tension in your stomach snapped and vanished, and you melted under his touch. His growing smile made you giggle and your teeth knocked against his, making him laugh. 

“I am curious about what you have in that picnic basket of yours,” he murmured. “There will be time for such enjoyment later.”

A flush coloured your cheeks. “I suppose it would be a waste if we simply ignored all the food I prepared.”

“Though, before we continue, I must ask you a question first,” he said, growing grave and serious. His eyes drifted down to your joined hands, and he brushed his thumb over your knuckles. “Could you bear being with me, living with me, when part of my heart is forever owned by the sea?”

You reached up and brushed a stray strand of hair behind his ear. “My love, could you bear to be with me? If you stay, you will fade.”

“It would be a worse fate to live eternity without you,” he whispered. “That I could not bear.”

“Legolas…” It seemed all the more tragic that he, of all people, should die. He was light and joy and the thought of him growing cold and dim wrenched at your heart. “You deserve to… I cannot…”

“I have made my choice, meleth nin. Let us be happy together.” He cupped your cheek, a smile spreading across his face. His eyes were soft, but certain, his touch gentle but sure. He kissed the tip of your nose, chuckling, before he slanted his lips against yours. The kiss was chaste and quick, and all the more sweeter for its casualness. 

“For however long we have,” he murmured, “let us be happy.”

“Alright,” you said. You rested your forehead against his, inhaling his scent, breathing his breath. Yours, for now, for ever. “For however long we have.”

---

ok but what is it about the immortality of elves that has me appreciating/relishing/romanticising our mortal lives. i swear this is the second time ive done this with legolas.

Taglist: @sotwk