#Personal Tax Return Assistance

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[orcelito]

Honestly the store has come a long, long way since last January where we were legitimately going to hold a store-wide strike b4 the boss and then-manager panicked and started holding meetings with all of us to try to figure out what to do about it

It's still a workplace, but our current employees r in general much happier and content. + there's a better community in general. It's nice to know I had a part in making this happen.

[wilwheaton]

The GOP wonders why young people (and others) don't want to vote for them. Some wise scribe assembled this list.

1.) Your Reagan-era “trickle-down economics” strategy of tax breaks for billionaires that you continue to employ to this day has widened the gap between rich and poor so much that most of them will never be able to own a home, much less earn a living wage.

2.) You refuse to increase the federal minimum wage, which is still $7.25 an hour (since 2009). Even if it had just kept up with inflation, it would be $27 now. You’re forcing people of all ages but especially young people to work multiple jobs just to afford basic necessities.

3.) You fundamentally oppose and want to kill democracy; have done everything in your power to restrict access to the ballot box, particularly in areas with demographics that tend to vote Democratic (like young people and POC). You staged a fucking coup the last time you lost.

4.) You have abused your disproportionate senate control over the last three decades to pack the courts with religious extremists and idealogues, including SCOTUS—which has rolled back rights for women in ways that do nothing but kill more women and children and expand poverty.

5.) You refuse to enact common sense gun control laws to curb mass shootings like universal background checks and banning assault weapons; subjecting their entire generation to school shootings and drills that are traumatizing in and of themselves. You are owned by the NRA.

6.) You are unequivocally against combatting climate change to the extent that it’s as if you’ve made it your personal mission to ensure they inherit a planet that is beyond the point of no return in terms of remaining habitable for the human race beyond the next few generations.

7.) You oppose all programs that provide assistance to those who need it most. Your governors refused to expand Medicaid even during A PANDEMIC. You are against free school lunches, despite it being the only meal that millions of children can count on to actually receive each day

8.) You are banning books, defunding libraries, barring subject matter, and whitewashing history even more in a fascistic attempt to keep them ignorant of the systemic racism that this nation was literally founded upon and continues to this day in every action your party takes.

9.) You oppose universal healthcare and are still trying to repeal the ACA and rip healthcare from tens of millions of Americans and replace it with nothing. You are against lowering the cost of insulin and prescription drugs that millions need simply to LIVE/FUNCTION in society.

10.) You embrace white nationalists, Neo-Nazis, and other groups that are defined by their intractable racism, xenophobia, bigotry, and intolerance. You conspired with these groups on January 6th to try to overthrow the U.S. government via domestic terrorism that KILLED PEOPLE.

11.) You oppose every bill aimed at making life better for our nation’s youth; from education to extracurricular and financial/nutritional assistance programs. You say you want to “protect the children” while you elect/nominate pedophiles and attack trans youth and drag queens.

12.) You pretend to be offended by “anti-semitism” while literally supporting, electing, and speaking at events organized by Nazis. You pretend to hate “cancel culture” despite the fact that you invented it and it’s basically all you do.

13.) Every word you utter is a lie. You are the party of treason, hypocrisy, crime, and authoritarianism. You want to entrench rule by your aging minority because you know that you have nothing to offer young voters and they will never support you for all these reasons and more.

14.) You’re so hostile to even the notion of helping us overcome the mountain of debt that millions of us are forced to take on just to pay for our post K-12 education that you are suing to try to prevent a small fraction of us from getting even $10,000 in loan forgiveness.

15.) You opened the floodgates of money into politics via Citizens United; allowing our entire system of government to become a cesspool of corruption, crime, and greed. You are supposed to represent the American people whose taxes pay your salary but instead cater to rich donors.

16.) You respond to elected representatives standing in solidarity with their constituents to protest the ONGOING SLAUGHTER of children in schools via shootings by EXPELLING THEM FROM OFFICE & respond to your lack of popularity among young people by trying to raise the voting age.

17.) You impeach Democratic presidents over lying about a BJ but refuse to impeach (then vote twice to acquit) a guy whose entire “administration” was an international crime syndicate being run out of the WH who incited an insurrection to have you killed.

18.) You steal Supreme Court seats from democrats to prevent the only black POTUS we’ve ever had from appointing one and invent fake precedents that you later ignore all to take fundamental rights from Americans; and even your “legitimate” appointments consist of people like THIS (sub-thread refuting CJ Roberts criticisms of people attacking SCOTUS' legitimacy).

19.) You support mass incarceration even for innocuous offenses or execution by cop for POC while doing nothing but protect rich white criminals who engage in such things as tax fraud, money laundering, sex trafficking, rape/sexual assault, falsifying business records, etc.

20.) You are the reason we can’t pass:—Universal background checks—An assault weapons ban—The ‘For the People/Freedom to vote’ Act or John Lewis Voting Rights Act—The ERA & Equality Act—The Climate Action Now Act—The (Stopping) Violence Against Women Act—SCOTUS expansion.

21.) You do not seek office to govern, represent, or serve the American people. You seek power solely for its own sake so you can impose your narrow-minded puritanical will on others at the expense of their most fundamental rights and freedoms like voting and bodily autonomy.

22.) Ok, last one. You are trying to eliminate social security and Medicare that tens of millions of our parents rely on and paid into their entire lives. And you did everything to maximize preventable deaths from COVID leaving millions of us in mourning.

Source: https://imgur.com/gallery/e8DBZLH

[mmbaaccountants]

Tax Consultant East London

It is great being a tax consultant in East London, it really is. Perhaps because of those amazing transport links it is one of the most vibrant and diverse parts of the capital, crammed with every kind of business you could imagine, and every single one of them will at the very least need some tax return services. London offers us so many opportunities, but it also makes us better at what we do. With so many national and international businesses on our doorstep we have the opportunity to work with a wide variety of clients who all need very different kinds of Tax assistance.

[cordeliawhohung]

In Limbo [Chapter 4]

mafia!141 masterlist | In Limbo masterlist | general masterlist | taglist | playlist

mafia!Simon Riley x fem!Reader

cw: violence, blood, vomiting, allusions to sexual trauma

you wish he wasn't so kind

wc: 4.1k

Ever since you were a kid, all your life has been is a game of numbers.

It’s a grueling game, and you’re reminded of its indifference towards your feelings and needs as you scribble your thoughts into your journal. You’ve gotten very good at mental math over the years. Between calculating hours, wages, taxes, overtime… every single day you live is planned to perfection to make sure you can survive throughout the month. There isn’t a single pence not accounted for, nor pound that goes to waste. 

A sigh dances between your lips as you give your hand a break from writing. You’ve been sitting in that bed for what feels like hours just crunching numbers, and you can feel the effects of it ravaging your lower back and wrist. As your head rests against the wall behind you, you take a deep breath of the fresh air blowing through your open window. It’s always chilly in November, but you go insane being kooked up in the small confines of your studio apartment. It’s the only bit of freedom you can pretend to have without having to put yourself in the eyes of the public. 

Two weeks. That’s all you have left until the 25th. 

Your phone buzzes on the bed next to you, pulling you out of your thoughts, and you glance away from your notebook to look at the illuminated screen. Though you had told yourself you wouldn’t text Simon under any circumstances — you really were trying your best to avoid owing people — that leak in your sink had become unbearable. No longer a soft drip, it’s become a steady flow over night, and your head already hurts at the thought of your utility bills. You had messaged him earlier that morning, sheepishly requesting that he assist you once more, and he left almost immediately in order to buy the right materials. 

You take the phone into your hands and unlock it to view his message. Simon’s texts are… odd. They’re very short and blunt, just like he is. Proper capitalization and punctuation, and refuses to use any text talk. It’s nothing concerning, it just makes you feel like you’re speaking to a robot more often than not — or someone being held against their will to talk to you. No matter. Short and blunt is good. Quick. Painless. 

Be there in five.

It was a lie. He shows up three minutes later, and this time he doesn’t sneak up on you. You realize very quickly that instead of driving a car or taking the bus like any sane person would, he’s brought a motorcycle. The roar of the engine has you peeking out of your window down at the street as he quickly shuts it off. It’s hard to tell what kind it is, as you’re not exactly an expert on that type of stuff, but it’s a sleek black, and very well taken care of. Even with the helmet on you recognize right away that it’s him based off of his sheer size alone, but the confirmation comes quickly as he begins to shed his protective layers. 

His knock sounds at the door moments later, and you answer it with a throw blanket wrapped around your shoulders. A bright pink dusts the tip of his nose and his cheekbones, frosted from the bitter cold and his drive over. Simon looks down at you for a short moment before taking a quick scan of the area behind you. His eyes narrow when they return to you. 

“Chilly. Is your heat out?” he asks as he steps into the room. 

How the hell can he sniff stuff out like that so quickly? “Uhm, no I’ve just got the window open,” you explain. 

He gives you a strange look before humming in response and making his way toward your kitchen sink. There’s something wrong with him, surely. Throughout your entire life, you’ve never met someone so hellbent on trying to solve every single issue that just so happens to plague you. Even Row will give up after a period of you insisting that you’re fine, though she does so begrudgingly. Does he see you as some poor creature that can’t take care of itself? Or is he just genuinely this kind? 

Simon Riley is a strange man. Maybe it’s easier for him to stick around because you’re too nervous to tell him you don’t want him here. 

While he works on fixing your sink, you return back to your bed where you continue to crunch numbers and plan out the remaining time you have left this month. There’s always been a huge difference between living, and keeping yourself alive. It’s a balance you try to keep, though it’s extremely difficult. Paying for your rent keeps you alive. Getting Marco his money on time keeps you alive. And after you are finished with all that, you are left with £297 in your checking account. 

Working like a dog, just to live off of scraps. 

You draw an angry circle around your final number before tossing your journal back onto the mattress. How you’re going to afford groceries this month is beyond you. Work nights won’t be so bad, because Bruce — the chef and owner — is more than happy to make free orders for anyone working for him at Sapori. Any other day of the week will be a little tricky, but nothing you haven’t done before. 

A cold breeze puffs through the window, and you pull your blanket tighter around your shoulders. Simon’s still working on your sink with parts dismantled on the counter next to him. As he scrubs them clean with some sort of solvent, you can’t help but take notice of the way his back flexes with the movement. Even through the dark fabric of his long sleeved shirt it’s obvious how his muscles dance underneath it, like there’s too much of him to be properly contained by fabric alone.

Bee’s words from the other night ring loud in your mind. You sure know how to pull them. It’s laughable how she thinks you’re able to attract people as if Simon sees you as something more than a pathetic animal that doesn’t know how to care for itself. Though, you can’t exactly disagree with her. For all his rough edges, he’s an attractive man. But that’s about as far as you ever go. Looking, admiring from afar, keeping your distance. Distance is good. Keeps you safe. Keeps everyone safe. 

Besides, you’re not sure if intimacy is something that’s meant for you. Every time you think of a hand on your waist or hot breath on your face your body tenses so much you can feel it trying to rip itself to shreds. You think of someone’s lips on yours and you want to scream. You think of that hand, sliding between your thighs inside of your skirt, and the bile in your stomach starts to churn. 

“There we are,” Simon mutters to himself. 

As Simon runs some final tests on your sink, you slide out of your bed and tip toe into the kitchen behind him. Water no longer drips out of the spout, and the apartment feels oddly quiet without the constant stream, but you’re grateful to no longer have something quite literally siphoning out your finances. 

“Should be set,” Simon explains as he cleans up old, calcified hardware from your counter. He tosses the discarded metal into the paper bag the new ones came in before turning his attention to you with crossed arms. “Anythin’ else need fixing?” 

“No, nothing else is broken. For now,” you say in an attempt at humor. 

But there is one issue left: payment. 

“Thank you, again. I, uh, don’t really have the money to pay you for it, but I can comp another meal for you tonight, if you’d like?” you offer. 

“It’s no problem. Don’t worry about it. I’m workin’ tonight, anyway,” Simon excuses. 

This… is not how you expected the conversation to go. He seemed more than happy to accept free food last time, yet now he’s making it seem like you don’t need to pay him back at all. Of course you’ll have to pay him back. That’s how the world works. If he doesn’t want anything now, he’s going to want something later.

“I can drop it off tonight at the club,” you insist, desperate to finally be rid of him. “I’m sure you get hungry at work, and I know for a fact the food there is terrible.” 

Simon shrugs. “The chips aren’t that bad.” 

You look him up and down before raising an eyebrow. It’s a silent question — no, a protest — you know for a damn fact a small serving of chips isn’t enough for a man his size. 

“Text me what you want, and I’ll bring it by tonight,” you repeat, tone all but begging for him to accept. 

Dark eyes study you like you’re a specimen. His gaze feels like he’s pinning you to some examination board with your legs and arms splayed out. You’re on full display, chest and stomach waiting to be cut into. All he’s missing is the lab coat and scalpel to rip you open. 

“Alright. See you tonight then, sweetheart.” 

Work goes by fast. Too fast. It’s busy, which is to be expected of a Saturday, but this is outrageous. Between the takeout orders and the endless wave of patrons, it’s impossible for you to take any sort of breather. The aroma of fresh bread and cheeses soaks so deep into your being, you’re certain you’ll have to soak in the shower for hours in order to get it off of you. A deep ache plagues the bottoms of your feet, and by the time you’re finally able to lock the door it’s nearly midnight. 

Things always pass by in a blur on nights like this. The only thing you’re able to focus on between the tasks at hand is the sweat that gathers on your neck and soaks into the collar of your shirt. Really, it’s a blessing in disguise. A busy day means busy hands and busy hands mean you don’t have to think about the notification waiting for you on your phone, or the meal you’ll have to deliver soon.

Yet, your phone is the very first thing you reach for the moment you’re able to grab a seat. One of the waiters is huddled up in the booth next to you, rolling silverware for tomorrow night’s service, and the clinking drowns out the soft music playing through the speakers as you unlock your phone. 

Order whatever you want for tonight. Not picky. Come through the VIP entrance. I’ll wait for you. 

It was sent a while ago, just before eleven. He’s been waiting for nearly an hour and a half, and it’ll be much later by the time you finally get it to him. So much for paying him back. Maybe you should have waited for him to have a day off that way he wouldn’t be waiting for ages just to get his food — then again, you hate having to owe people for longer than needed. 

sorry, it’s been a long night. should be there before one! 

“Chip!” 

Your eyes dart away from your phone just in time to see Bee waving at you from the kitchen entrance. Her ponytail has gotten rather ratty throughout the busy night, yet her beauty is still effortless and captivating as large, sunflower-shaped earrings swing above her shoulders. 

“Bruce is gonna close up soon. Want anything?” she calls. 

“Uh, yeah, just an order of capellini pomodoro!” you shout back. 

Instead of answering you, she gives you a thumbs up before vanishing back into the kitchen. It’s an easy meal. Something quick. Usually your go-to dish whenever Bruce demands that he feeds you, which is quite often. You swear he has some sort of sixth sense that can detect whenever you’re trying to skip meals to save cash. 

A sharp buzz from your phone pulls your attention back down to your lap. Its screen illuminates with the preview of Simon’s response back to you. 

Take your time, sweetheart.

“Christ…” you mumble to yourself. 

You wish he wasn’t so kind. It would be easier to push him away if he was as cruel as everything else in your life is. 

It’s an awkward ride on the bus. Warmth seeps into your lap through the thin, styrofoam takeout box as the world passes by you in a blurr through shiny windows. There are two other women on the bus with you, and you find yourself breathing easier at the realization that there are no men around you. Everyone avoids eye contact with one another as a woman in scrubs types away furiously at her phone, and a woman who looks two seconds away from throwing up rests her head against the cold window on her left. All three of you exist simultaneously, yet so separate from one another. For once, a part of you is glad that you’re not alone. 

There’s an odd pit in your stomach that forms when the bus halts at your stop. It’s one thing coming to the club when you’ve got Row to drag you around, but it’s something else entirely when you know you’ll have to navigate the area all by yourself. Styrofoam squeaks as you grip the box in your hand and exit the bus where the chilly night air cuts right through your work clothes. There’s no need to zip your jumper up. It’s a short walk to the club, and you can already see a group of bouncers hanging around the front entrance of the building. 

Simon had told you to use the VIP entrance, but the issue is that you can’t remember where it’s at. You had only been there a few weeks ago, but you were so tired after your shift that you were too exhausted to really pay attention and remember anything. You have a vague memory of a neon sign, and two large double doors, but that’s about it. Instead of wandering around the building like an idiot, you decide to do something ultimately worse. 

“Excuse me.” 

The bouncers at the front entrances are in the middle of their smoke break as you interrupt them, and they look at you with narrowed, unentertained eyes. There’s a few steps that lead up to the entrance that makes you feel impossibly small as they scrutinize you like you’re just some bug on the pavement. You chew on your bottom lip before you clear your throat and try again. 

“I’m, uh, looking for the VIP entrance? I’m supposed to meet Simon?” you say. 

“You askin’ or tellin’ us?” one of the men asks with his cigarette stuck between his teeth.

Everything you say feels like a question, and you feel heat rise up in your face. You’re starting to second guess asking for help. Maybe you should just call Simon and ask him to meet you out front, but you’d hate to take him away from his job. No, you just need to grit your teeth and bare it. Once this is done, you don’t owe him anymore, and then you’ll never have to see him again. 

“Sorry,” you try again. “It’s just that, I’m supposed to bring Simon dinner tonight, I just need help finding the entrance.” 

“Sorry love, dunno a Simon.” 

You raise an eyebrow at the man, your confusion beating out the anxiety gripping your chest. “Doesn’t he work security with you?” 

The other man slaps the smoker on the arm — something playful and childish — before he rolls his eyes. 

“She’s talking about Riley, you dunce,” he explains. 

Terrible realization washes over the smoker’s face, and he quickly flicks his cigarette onto the ground where it sputters and dies in a little wisp underneath the sole of his boot. 

“Shit, of course,” he says, a silent apology soaking his words. He points a finger toward your right, guiding you along the darkness of the building. “VIP entrance, yeah? Just head that way and make a left before the alleyway.” 

It’s not the easiest set of directions to follow, but it’s certainly more than you had a moment ago. You give the two men a quiet thanks before trudging down the pavement. The only thing keeping you warm is the food in your hands, but the night air is sapping its heat faster than you had anticipated. You fear by the time you finally find Simon, it’ll be stone cold. Hopefully they have a microwave somewhere. 

Soon enough, it won’t be your problem.

Just like you were instructed, you make a left turn into the area you had assumed was the VIP entrance, yet you very quickly find yourself in the alley you were told to turn before. It’s a simple fix. Turn around, backtrack, and find the right turn — but it’s not. It’s not simple because the air is so acrid it starts to choke you. You’re frozen, stuck in time at the entrance of some grimy alley as two men converse with each other and pass notes and cash between one another. 

Dirty business. Dirty, filthy business that stains your skin and festers until you’re rotting. It makes your tongue go dry, but it only gets worse when you realize that you recognize one of the men. It’s difficult not to with his brown, undercut hair and stone cold eyes. You want to run, but it’s too late. His blue eyes have already found you in the darkness with a fire that illuminates you like a spotlight. He always looks angry — determined — with harsh features and tense lips. Yet, as he stares at you, he appears almost relieved. Like he had been looking for you. 

You swallow the lump in your throat as this man mutters something in Russian to his friend, who quickly brushes past you as he departs. Heavy feet brush against the stone floor of the alley as you’re approached by that monster of a man, and you tell yourself to look away, but you can’t. You know better than to look away from Andrei when his hands are in his pockets. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” he says, stopping just close enough to crowd your space, but not close enough for you to step back. 

Your tongue sticks to the roof of your mouth as you try to choke out the words to respond to him. “I’m… delivering food.” 

Andrei looks over his shoulder at the poorly illuminated area behind him, before he turns back to face you with a raised brow. “To who? The rats?” 

“I made a wrong turn,” you answer honestly. 

He chuckles, but there’s no amusement behind it. No, you’re nothing but a curious creature. One he can’t wait to cut into. 

“You’re always getting lost, aren’t you?” he questions. It’s not something he expects an answer for, and you know it, so you stay silent as he leans closer as if ready to tell you a secret. “You shouldn’t be here.” 

You’re very aware of that fact. You knew as much the moment you laid eyes on him. 

“I’ll just… drop this off and go. I’ll go home, I swear,” you attempt to plead. 

“Dangerous men here. Lots of them,” Andrei continues as if you had never spoken in the first place. “You’d do well to keep your distance. I know you like getting caught up in bad business, but this isn’t something you want to get stuck in. That much, I can promise you.” 

If only he knew how hard you try. You’ve been playing this grueling game since you were a kid. You’re just always dealt a bad hand. 

“Chip?” 

Simon’s voice bounces off the brick walls around you, rattling you to the point you swear your knees will give out. You’re unsure if you should feel relieved or terrified that he found you. How he did it, you’re not sure. Then again, he always seems to be searching for a problem to try and fix. Andrei looks over your shoulder. His lip twitches, and you swear you’re going to be sick. 

“Need something?” Andrei asks, bored. 

“Yeah,” Simon responds. Gravel and sand crunches behind you, and you jump as you feel a warm hand on your shoulder. “I need you to fuck off.” 

Amused, Andrei tilts his head to one side. Simon is significantly taller than him, yet he doesn’t seem intimidated at all. 

“You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into,” he warns. 

“Don’t care,” Simon deadpans. “I said: Fuck. Off.”

There’s no time to warn Simon about the war he’s started with those words. Rage boils in Andrei’s eyes with a heat so violent you can feel it in his hands as he shoves you to the side. 

The takeout box slips out of your hands just in time for you to catch your fall. Soft flesh collides with sharp rocks and broken glass, but the adrenaline pumping through your system numbs the pain in your hands and knees. Angel hair pasta litters the ground around you, and the mouthwatering scent of Simon’s would-be meal becomes stomach churning. Something that can only be described as a strained sob escapes your mouth as you try to steady yourself and keep your body from toppling over onto the ground. 

All you wanted to do was drop off Simon’s meal and go home. 

It takes an eternity for you to push yourself to your feet and even then you almost fall back to the ground. You look at your hands, shredded and bleeding from whatever you were unfortunate enough to catch yourself on, and your body begins to tremble from the frigid air and shock that grips you like a vice. You hear grunting, and your stomach drops.

You turn your attention to the mess behind you, and the tinnitus in your ears suddenly roars louder than everything else around you. Blood gushes from the side of Andrei’s head and his nose, dribbling down his chin until it stains the dark fabric of his shirt. His head rolls against the back of the wall as he leans against it for support. You can hardly see what’s in his hands from behind Simon — who has decided to use himself as a physical barrier to keep Andrei from you — but the glint of the knife in his hand is unmistakable. 

It hits you all at once. The blood. How it spills on the linoleum floor and spreads, outlining the cooling body in the kitchen. You wonder how many other lives that knife has taken. That cruel, curved blade that taunts you as Andrei folds it up and shoves it back into his pocket. Pale eyes land on you in a warning as he wipes his face on the back of his hand, smearing blood across the flushed color of his cheeks. He doesn’t have to say his caveat out loud for you to know what he means. 

It’s only a matter of time before you’re next. 

There’s hardly enough time for you to turn around and brace your sore hands against the wall before your stomach bubbles. Rancid bile stings the back of your throat as you puke, vile liquid sloshing on the ground. There’s hardly anything inside of you to get rid of; just the consumed remnants of your brunch from hours ago. You try to keep it down, but you’re overwhelmed by the way the muscles in your body contract, contorting your body uncomfortably as you expel the only bit of sustenance you were able to eat that day. 

Simon’s hand rests on your hunched back, making you jump, but you can’t get yourself to turn and face him. Muffled words — your name and reassurances — break through that high pitched drone harassing your hearing, but it doesn’t quite reach you. Everything is disconnected. Nothing but frayed wires and nerves. Shuttering breaths. Cold blood. Trembling hands. Rocks sticking out of flesh. 

Then there’s nicotine. It’s faint; something that haunts the fabric of Simon’s shirt as he holds you close. You’re not sure if it’s to offer you comfort, or to keep your shaking legs from collapsing; you don’t care either way. Instead, you focus on the smell of him — old smoke mixed with something clean, like deodorant — as well as his warmth as he keeps you tucked close to his side. It does nothing to stave off the panic ravaging your chest, but it’s enough for now. 

“C’mon, I’ve got you,” Simon says, voice hardly cutting through the drum of your heart pounding in your chest. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

[eddiediaaz]

hi guys, i am kind of ashamed and embarrassed to have to do this, but i figured it can't hurt to ask. basically i am really struggling right now (i know a lot of us are). i need financial help, so i set up a ko-fi page ☕

any kind of help would be so appreciated and i am so grateful for anyone taking the time to read this little post.

long story short: because of situations completely out of my control, i lost my job in vfx after almost 8 years and i am now forced to switch careers. i'm going back to school and can't find a part time job even tho i have been working non stop for 15 years. financial aid will only cover my rent, so i absolutely need to work 20 to 30 hours a week to cover the rest of my living expenses, but it's really hard to find a job. i am also currently over 10k cad in debt from my film school loans and credit cards.

signal boost would be appreciated, if you can 💕

my situation in more details under the cut for those who are curious

i was working in the vfx industry as a 2D compositor since 2016 (i have worked on over 40 films and tv shows), but in december of 2023 i lost my job due to the hollywood strikes (as expected, and as it should—i fully support the strikes). this was supposed to be temporary for a couple months where i could get unemployment benefits (only 45% of my usual salary though). unfortunately, on may 31st 2024, my government announced that they are significantly cutting the funding & tax credits for the vfx industry where i live. what does this mean? mass lay offs. thousands of canadians and other people in the world working in the industry are losing their career, including me. there will only be about 20% vfx jobs left where i live by 2025. vfx shops and production houses have already started to close doors here. i'm still mourning this career i have been working in for 8 years and loved, even tho it's been difficult and demanding at times (lots of overtime), but there are just no jobs right now (unless you are a senior vfx artist with decades of experience) and the future will only get more bleak. i could move abroad and follow the industry that is already moving somewhere else, but i don't want to do that on my own (i am already super lonely as it is!!) and i can't afford it.

my unemployment benefits will run out by the last week of september. in 4 weeks. i've been sending resumes everywhere, both online and in person, but i am just not getting anything in return. even tho i have over 15 years of experience working in various jobs and i have never been fired from anywhere. even tho my resume and cover letters are solid because they have been approved my professional counselors (a free service for people under 35 where i live). so much for they're hiring everywhere...

since my vfx compositing skills are very niche and not really applicable to much else, i decided to go back to school, taking college classes in the admin and excecutive assistant fields, since it's something that i think would be good for me and there are lots of jobs for that here. i will be getting some financial aid, but it's nowhere near enough to survive. it will only cover my rent, and that's because my rent is super cheap for my city. my college classes start on september 30 and i am excited for it, but also very stressed because i still don't have a part time job.

i've been living on my own with a small salary for over 10 years now, but it truly is the first time that i'm struggling this hard. i honestly don't have anything worth selling except some taylor swift perfumes, which i sold this week. i also have over 6k of credit debt and another 4.5k of school loans left to pay. at the bare minimum i will need about $1.000 CAD/month to cover my other bills and expenses after rent, hence why the need for a job ASAP. i am desperate and my mental health has been a huge mess. this is why i decided to open my ko-fi accounts. not that i'm expecting much, but anything can help, i think.

i don't have much to offer in exchange, except gifs? i'm wondering if (cheap, low price) gif commissions are a thing? i have no idea know, but i set up a poll on my ko-fi page to see if anyone would be interested.

thank you for reading if you've made it here, it's appreciated 💖

[bl-blades]

۵ ⁀ ✧.* 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧 𝐓𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬

Pairing: Jing Yuan x Vidyadhara!reader

Warnings: SFW, spoilers for Xianzhou main story mission, established yet vague relationship with Jing Yuan. Mild angst (?) Blood + Injury

Wordcount: 1.5k

Notes: For darling @mypillowpaper < 33

The day feels long, stretching on endlessly without rest and you’re unsure of what time it even is as your grueling work keeps you from a singular moment of idleness. 

But you’d expect nothing less given the circumstances, calm waters easily and more violently disturbed by sudden ripples. The path you tread, alongside every soul on the Xianzhou, is one stained with blood in the name of redemption and retribution; intent on ridding the great sea of stars of every abomination of abundance. 

Your hands are meant to heal, however, mend the warriors on the frontlines. 

Now operating in the stead of Lady Bailu while she runs amok (giving the realm keeping commission a headache amidst the Arbors revival debacle) but you’re equipped with all of her tutelage, employed in the Alchemy Commission since her Hatching Rebirth. You’ve learned a great many things, seen ailments firsthand that had only been studied in medical texts before now. 

But for every heartwarming and uplifting feat, you’ve witnessed more than your fair share of hefty losses as well. 

It’s taxing, tirelessly working on injured cloud nights, heartbreaking to see some begging to exhibit symptoms of Mara and some returned dead of the disfigured. Mara-struck and completely unrecognizable from the person they once were, though it felt heartless to call them abominations. You’ve seen firsthand in the field how some valiantly battle their symptoms or warn their comrades to flee from their sides. 

It’s also incredibly relieving, a rewarding sense of satisfaction, when your hands are capable of mending the broken. Mending wounds that should be grievous and mortal to a state where you could believe they were never afflicted in the first place. Enjoying your patients ragged breathing easing into painless draws, the reprieve almost outweighs the feeling of grief— almost.

But your heart sinks when dutiful medical practitioners and assistants burst through the doors of the area you’ve outfitted as a triage center hastily. Creating a ruckus just as you’ve breathed a sigh of relief only for it to stall in your chest all together as you turn on your heels. 

Horror marring pretty features when you see your galant general battered and more broken than the multitude of casualties since this calamity began. 

Alongside the exiled Imbibitor Lunae, blood staining deft digits and the intricate ceremonial you’ve only seen in depictions of the traitor until today. But you can’t focus on that right now, a million questions gathering on the tip of your tongue as your own hands come to hover over Jing Yuan’s body. Trembling now because you don’t know where to start, what to check first or what best suited elixir you have on hand to  administer. 

Growing frantic with each passing moment, chest beginning to heave with hastening draws of breath that do little to aid rational thought because how could this have happened? 

He’s powerful, he’s strong, he’s cunning and calculating. Jing Yuan, for as long as you’ve known him, has come from battles unscathed in the unprecedented era of peace he ushered and maintained during his stint as the Xianzhous general. 

Until today. 

Jing Yuan is still conscious, of course he would be, crudely bandages with his bloodstained hands pressing over the soaking material to maintain required pressure before one reaches for your hand. The contact roots you to your spot, chin jerking down to look upon his increasingly exhausted features before you lean down so he won’t have to strain for you to hear him should he speak. 

Your vision blurs with welling tears, a hiccup of a sob lodges in your chest because, even still, you can see his skin is far paler than normal. 

Someone’s talking to you now, you know that, a voice speaking directly to you amidst the heightened chatter of bustling bodies rushing to rescue the dozing general. The voice is calm, calmer than you appreciate while you attempt to ignore it and focus on your ailing lover before a hand rests on your shoulder. 

Head whipping to the source with a wild expression on your features, almost feral as your attention finally fixed to the exiled high elder, Imbibitor Lunae. The solemn and apologetic contortion to his once impassive features does little to put you at ease. 

His explanation for the state Jing Yuan is in currently only worsens the hammering of your heart, blood roaring so loudly in your ears it’s almost deafening. 

You’re ready to scream, to shove at the elegant man before a sweet and childish voice interrupts the chaos. It was a miracle you heard her at all but you’ve grown attuned to the young Dragon Ladies voice. 

“Everyone step aside, I’ll take care of him,” Lady Bailu, impeccable timing as always in her appearance. Her presence clears the way to give her room to perform her miracles and you’re prepared to do whatever she asks of you. 

Stiff as you shuffle out of her way and let her near Jing Yuan without going far before she turns to you with a sympathetic look that was certainly beyond the age she looked now. Brows furrowed and eyes soft as her small hand rests on your forearm, “I can do this by myself, please take a break, the other alchemists can tend to the wounded.” 

You’re speechless, lips parted around words that won’t form on your tongue for a solid moment, “a-are you dismissing me, Lady Bailu?” 

It’s Dan Heng who speaks next, tilting into your view with his hand on your shoulder but the gesture leaves you feeling less inflammatory than earlier. 

“I believe what the High Elder is suggesting is for you to take time to rest as well. You’ve done great work, the general is in capable hands.” 

You move to protest, refusals bubbling in your throat when another hand wraps around your wrist. Holding you tenderly not because he’s missing the strength for a firmer grip but because Jing Yuan was adept in his handling of you. 

Garnering your attention as you crouch lower so he won’t have to strain to speak, but his voice still sounds as strong as ever. 

“You worry too much, I was always stronger than our old friend in our heyday,” a friendly jibe as golden hues glitter with mirth as they slide from Dan Heng’s cool jades back to you. Your hand slipping into his own, squeezing his fingers affectionately before he chuckles, weakly with effort from his wound, “is this your way of hinting my old age is catching up with me?” 

“Never,” comes your response with your own breathless chuckle before Dan Heng gently ushers you from the room. 

It feels like hours before, hours more as you accompany his unconscious form to his chambers and stay by your generals side while he rests.  

Busying yourself as you handle him carefully so as not to rouse while changing his dressings every so often and seeing to his comfort before unknowingly dozing yourself, finally succumbing to exhaustion. 

“I believe there are easier ways to get me undressed and alone here,” his voice bears a gravel it doesn’t often bear, starling you from a necessary but light slumber as it breaks the silence and you sit up from your seat at his bedside. Somewhat frantic as you move to sit on the edge of his mattress, the plush pillowtop dipping from his weight and your hand hovers over his shoulder to keep him still. 

“You shouldn’t move, Lady Bailu said even with her elixirs and expertise you need more rest.” 

“Nobody ever has to tell the dozing general he should rest twice,” chuckling but it bids rise to a coughing fit that leaves him hissing in pain and clutching over his mid abdomen. 

“Jing Yuan, please,” your voice wavers and it garners his attention despite the demanding throb of pain that pulses through his tired body. 

A weighted silence blankets between you both as you fuss over him more than usual. Fixing his pillows and adjusting his blanket after checking all of his bandages to make sure they won’t begin to stain with crimson.

Only stalling in your ministrations at his tender touch. Broad palm cupping your cheek affectionately, his touch still warm and that should fill you with some relief but it feels as if it only worsens the well of emotions that aches in your chest. Worry still lodged firmly within your sternum and from the placating gaze Jing Yuan fixes you with despite just regaining consciousness it must be evident from your own expression. 

The pad of his thumb telling of it as it swipes over a saline droplet that begins to roll down the swell of your cheek. 

“Dragon's tears are an invaluable medicine, don’t waste them on a stubborn old general like me,” his attempt at reassurance for sure, and it works to some extent as you lean into his touch, caressing the back of his hand as he cradles your cheek. 

Sniffling softly but a smile finds your lips before the brush against the heel of his palm in a chaste peck, more tears leaking freely that threatens to furrow Jing Yuan's brow; worried he’d accomplished the opposite of what he desired. 

“Consider it a unique administration of care then, general.” 

[zvaigzdelasas]

"Why doesn't Hamas just have elections?'

The result was a victory for Hamas, contesting under the list name of Change and Reform, which received 44.45% of the vote and won 74 of the 132 seats, whilst the ruling Fatah received 41.43% of the vote and won 45 seats.[1][...]

In the lead-up to the elections, on 26 September 2005 Israel launched a campaign of arrests against PLC members. 450 members of Hamas were detained, mostly those involved in the 2006 PLC elections. The majority of them were kept in administrative detention for different periods.[19] In the election period, 15 PLC members were captured and held as political prisoners.[20]

During the elections, the Israeli authorities banned the candidates from holding election campaigns inside Jerusalem. Rallies and public meetings were prohibited. The Jerusalem identity cards of some PLC members were also revoked.[21] The Carter Center, which monitored the elections, criticised the detentions of persons who "are guilty of nothing more than winning a parliamentary seat in an open and honest election".[22][...]

On 21 December 2005, Israeli officials stated their intention to prevent voting in East Jerusalem, which, unlike most of the Palestinian-inhabited areas that are planned to participate in the election, is under Israeli civil and military control. (Israel annexed East Jerusalem in the wake of the Six-Day War; this move has not been recognized by most other governments, or by the PNA, which claims Jerusalem as a Palestinian capital.) Israel's stated motivation was not the argument about sovereignty over the area (Palestinian voters in East Jerusalem had been allowed to vote in previous PNA elections despite the dispute) but concern over Hamas' participation in—and potential victory in—the election.[...]

The Israeli police arrested campaigners of Hamas and closed at least three Hamas election offices in East Jerusalem during the campaign.[26][27][...]

On 29 March 2006 a new government was formed by Hamas leader Ismail Haniya.

After the kidnap of Israeli soldier Gilad Shalit on 25 June 2006, Israel launched a series of raids into Gaza and West Bank. Israel destroyed civilian infrastructure and arrested dozens of Hamas supporters, including elected cabinet ministers and members of the PLC. On 28 June overnight, the army invaded Gaza and performed airstrikes, bombing infrastructure such as bridges and an electricity station. On 29 June, the IDF detained from the West Bank 8 ministers and 26 PLC members in addition to many other political leaders.[19][41] By August 2006, Israel had arrested 49 senior Hamas officials, all from the West Bank, including 33 parliamentarians, "because technically they were members of a terrorist organisation although they may not be involved in terrorist acts themselves". Most of the Hamas detainees were moderate members from the West Bank who had been calling on the Gaza leadership to recognise Israel and make the party more acceptable to the international community. Hamas has accused Israel of trying to destroy the Hamas-led Palestinian Authority.[42][...]

On 28 January 2006, Israel said it would prevent Hamas leaders, including newly elected PLC deputies, from travelling between the Gaza Strip and the West Bank. On 29 January, Ehud Olmert said that after Hamas sets up a Government, Israel would stop transferring to the PA custom duties and taxes it had collected on their behalf until it was satisfied that they would not end up in the hands of "terrorists". US Secretary of State Rice declared that "The United States wants other nations to cut off aid to a Hamas-led Palestinian Government, also ruling out any US financial assistance to a Hamas Government." [45] On 17 February, one day before the new parliament was sworn in, the then Fatah-led government returned $50 million US aid that Washington did not want to come in the hands of the new government. The money had been intended for infrastructure projects in Gaza.[46][...]

Just before the January 2006 elections, and after witnessing Hamas' gains in municipal polls, the House of Representatives passed H.Res. 575 (December 16, 2005), asserting that terrorist groups, like Hamas, should not be permitted to participate in Palestinian elections until such organizations "recognize Israel's right to exist as a Jewish state, cease incitement, condemn terrorism, and permanently disarm and dismantle their terrorist infrastructure."[54] The Palestinian Authority chose to ignore this external decision[...]

The New York Times reported in February 2006 that "The United States and Israel are discussing ways to destabilize the Palestinian government so that newly elected Hamas officials will fail and elections will be called again. The intention is to starve the Palestinian Authority of money and international connections to the point where, some months from now, its president, Mahmoud Abbas, is compelled to call a new election."[56] Just how much further matters would be taken was revealed in April 2008. Tom Segev (in Ha'aretz) reported:

a "confidential document, a 'talking points' memo,[57] was left by the U.S. consul general in Jerusalem, Jake Walles, on the desk of Mahmoud Abbas . … According to the paper left behind … he wanted to pressure Abu Mazen to take action that would annul the outcome of the elections that had catapulted Hamas to power. … When nothing happened, Walles … warned the Palestinian president that the time had come to act. Instead, Abu Mazen launched negotiations with Hamas on the establishment of a unity government. … At this point the Americans moved to "Plan B." That was a plan to eliminate Hamas by force. In fact, it was to be a deliberately fomented civil war Fatah was supposed to win, with U.S. help."[58][...]

Vanity Fair has obtained confidential documents, since corroborated by sources in the U.S. and Palestine, which lay bare a covert initiative, approved by Bush and implemented by Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice and Deputy National Security Adviser Elliott Abrams, to provoke a Palestinian civil war. The plan was for forces led by Dahlan, and armed with new weapons supplied at America's behest, to give Fatah the muscle it needed to remove the democratically elected Hamas-led government from power. (The State Department declined to comment.) Some sources call the scheme "Iran-contra 2.0," recalling that Abrams was convicted (and later pardoned) for withholding information from Congress during the original Iran-contra scandal under President Reagan. There are echoes of other past misadventures as well: the C.I.A.'s 1953 ouster of an elected prime minister in Iran, which set the stage for the 1979 Islamic revolution there; the aborted 1961 Bay of Pigs invasion, which gave Fidel Castro an excuse to solidify his hold on Cuba; and the contemporary tragedy in Iraq.[59]

The Jerusalem Post confirmed that the documents cited by Vanity Fair "have been corroborated by sources at the US State Department and Palestinian officials", and added:

The report said that instead of driving its enemies out of power, the US-backed Fatah fighters inadvertently provoked Hamas to seize total control of the Gaza Strip in June 2007. David Wurmser, who resigned as Vice President Dick Cheney's chief Middle East adviser a month after the Hamas takeover, said he believed that Hamas had no intention of taking over the Gaza Strip until Fatah forced its hand. "It looks to me that what happened wasn't so much a coup by Hamas but an attempted coup by Fatah that was preempted before it could happen," he was quoted as saying. Wurmser said that the Bush administration engaged in a "dirty war in an effort to provide a corrupt dictatorship [led by Palestinian Authority President Mahmoud Abbas] with victory." Wurmser said he was especially galled by the Bush administration's hypocrisy. "There is a stunning disconnect between the president's call for Middle East democracy and this policy," he said. "It directly contradicts it.".[60][...]

The original article was cited by the Irish Times, the Israeli historian and political analyst, Tom Segev, in an article entitled "Bay of Pigs in Gaza", and also by Suzanne Goldenburg of The Guardian, who added "A state department memo put the cost for salaries, training and weapons at $1.27bn (£640m) over five years."[50]

The 2008 exposé by Vanity Fair (of plans to reverse the democratic 2006 PA parliamentary elections) confirmed a CF Report of January 2007, over a year earlier, by Alistair Crooke:

Deputy National Security Advisor, Elliott Abrams ... has had it about for some months now that the U.S. is not only not interested in dealing with Hamas, it is working to ensure its failure. In the immediate aftermath of the Hamas elections, last January, Abrams greeted a group of Palestinian businessmen in his White House office with talk of a "hard coup" against the newly-elected Hamas government — the violent overthrow of their leadership with arms supplied by the United States. While the businessmen were shocked, Abrams was adamant — the U.S. had to support Fatah with guns, ammunition and training, so that they could fight Hamas for control of the Palestinian government.

Over the last twelve months, the United States has supplied guns, ammunition and training to Palestinian Fatah activists to take on Hamas in the streets of Gaza and the West Bank. A large number of Fatah activists have been trained and "graduated" from two camps — one in Ramallah and one in Jericho. The supplies of rifles and ammunition, which started as a mere trickle, has now become a torrent (Haaretz reports the U.S. has designated an astounding $86.4 million for Abu Mazen's security detail), and while the program has gone largely without notice in the American press, it is openly talked about and commented on in the Arab media. Of course, in public, Secretary Rice appears contrite and concerned with "the growing lawlessness" among Palestinians, while failing to mention that such lawlessness is exactly what the Abrams plan was designed to create."[61]

Voice of America reported that the Bush administration had denied the Vanity Fair report.[62]

In 2016 a 2006 audio tape emerged that contains an interview by Eli Chomsky of the Jewish Press with Hillary Clinton. Clinton opined that pushing for elections "in the Palestinian territories ... was a big mistake", adding "(a)nd if we were going to push for an election, then we should have made sure that we did something to determine who was going to win."[63][...]

In June 2007 the Washington Post reported: "Hamas … leaders have accused Fatah's security services of working on behalf of Israeli and American interests because of a $40 million U.S. aid package to strengthen Abbas's forces. … The Israeli government has openly supported Fatah forces against Hamas, whose tightening control of Gaza alarmed Israeli defense officials.[67]

In a wikileaks cable dated 13 June 2007, Shin Bet security chief Yuval Diskin told U.S. Ambassador to Israel Richard Jones that: "Fatah had thus turned to Israel for help in attack Hamas", which he termed a new and unprecedented development in Jerusalem's relations with the Palestinian Authority.

In the cable sent to Washington, Jones said that Yadlin had been quite satisfied with Hamas' seizure of the Gaza Strip. If Hamas managed to take complete control then the Israel Defense Forces would be able to relate to Gaza as a hostile territory and stop looking at the militant group as an undiplomatic player, Yadlin apparently told Jones."[68]

[esoteric-chaos]

What is Banishing? The How-Tos and Methods

Banishing is a direct form of expelling energy or spirit from your space. Used to get rid of a specific energy, spirit, or person. Can even be used to banish a bad habit if you really wanted to. It is a strong form of defensive magic versus cleansing which is more of a brush out the door. Banishing is you picking whatever up by the scruff like a wet cat and throwing it out the window.

You can incorporate cleansing and banishing methods together. Make it spicy, get the job done in one go.

Here are some banishing methods that are within my grimoire.

Spiritual

Smoke - Burning Dragons Blood, Frankincense, Hyssop, Rue, Cedar, Juniper, Blackberry Leaves and Pine are great herbs to burn for banishing and purification. You can also make a herbal spray as well.

Candles - Banish from your space using corresponding banishing candle colours like Black.

Herbs - Can be made into satchels, jars, sprays, spellwork and other items for banishing.

Sigils - Create a banishing sigil for your space, self or working.

Powders - Powders like GTFO powder are great examples for banishing's

Witches bells - Witches bells hang on your doorknob or on your door (inside the home) for protection and banishing. When someone comes into the home it rings, banishing negative energy.

Spells - Return to sender, uncrossings and freezer spells are good examples of banishings. Write the target's name on a black candle with intention, dress with corresponding oils, and write a petition to place under the candle to effectively banish them from your space/life.

Energy - Visualize a powerful bubble of protective light of any colour. Visualize it pushing out of your chest and visualize it burning up the energy and pushing it out of your space. Can be energy-taxing so please drink some water and eat a snack.

Black salt - Salt (I use sea) mixed with charcoal, eggshell powder and protective & purifying herbs. Used in warding, banishing and protection. Please be careful around pets with salt as they can get sick if eaten.

Physical

Baths/showers - Submerging yourself in water with banishing herbs and oils. You can also shower with banishing herbal soaps and hang a mesh satchel with purifying herbs over your shower head.

Physical - Literally taking pots and pans, screaming to get out of your house. Both annoying to the neighbors and effective for spirits.

Vocal - Prayer to deity/ancestors/guides/etc for assistance. Prayer from a holy book. Incantations are normally followed by another action like ringing bells.

Feel free to place your banishing methods below!

Looking for all of my posts in one place? Check out the Masterpost

[cupofmiko]

LOVELY TO BE HERE (WITH YOU) - midoriya izuku x f!reader 

with midoriya izuku, some things have always been easy. other things, however, have not.

genre: a strangers to lovers to exes to lovers au, pro hero au | angst, fluff

warnings: aged up characters (you and Izuku go through your 20s during this fic), a right person wrong time fic, hurt/comfort, happy ending, Izuku is taller than you, insecurity, talks of a boss/employee relationship (nothing happens during that time), making out, some smut (fem!recieving oral, mating press, slight dom!Izuku?? some dumbification… not actually sure I’m just putting it in the warning just in case, use of “pretty girl” and “good girl”), mentions of an outside natural disaster, arguments, you and Izuku gets a little Mean during the argument, Bakugou and Kirishima are your Helpful Friends and Good Bosses, some recreational alcohol consumption at a party

word count: 22k 

a/n: vaguely inspired by that tiktok trend with the “ceilings” by lizzy mcalpine audio… if you know you know. this is so behind the trend lol it ended up so much longer than i thought it would be so a lot of this hasn’t been thoroughly read through i am sorry lol 

.

You are twenty-two years old when you get the email - an offer letter that confirms your acceptance for an entry level office assistant position at Deku’s agency. And for someone like you who is in the final year of university and has been looking for a job to get a head start on your career, this is a very exciting opportunity. 

Not only is it a foot in the door for the hero industry, a very popular and competitive industry for any young college student, but it is with Deku. The hero from UA, the one who has been destined for the top since he was a teenager. 

According to the hiring manager, Deku is officially returning back to Japan after spending his first few years post-UA abroad in different countries. Different contract work with hero agencies worldwide. But now, with several years of experience under his belt, Deku has decided to return back home and start up his own agency. 

It’s intended to start as a small agency, the hiring manager had explained to you, a small but multi-talented team who can take on different responsibilities. And you, young and enthusiastic, played up your retail experience and the tutoring jobs you took on during those earlier college years. 

Clearly, you talked yourself up well because now you stand in front of Deku’s agency - a moderately sized building whose simplicity is reflected in the warm earth tones inside. Something in your gut tells you that this is the first page of a brand new chapter. 

The beginning of your first day is slow and typical of any first day experience. You remeet the hiring manager who introduces you to your boss and your responsibilities, which will mainly involve managing the front desk and answering the phone and making appointments for Deku. It is a little overwhelming, but you mask that incoming anxiety with a determination to do well. 

Your afternoon is spent filling out information for email accounts, taxes, and pay. The phone rings a few times, and your boss lets you know what to do based on the different phone calls. For a top hero agency, it’s surprisingly normal. 

So normal, that you almost forget who you’re working for until he walks through the front door of the agency. 

You look up and immediately feel your breath catch in your throat because holy fuck, it’s Deku walking towards you. It’s very strange to see the boy you’ve only watched through a laptop screen stand opposite of you. He’s much taller than you thought. His suit is more detailed, his hair more fluffy, his muscles more defined in person. It’s strange, seeing someone the same age as you hold so much power and confidence in a single stance. But his gaze is open, kind, and curious when he looks at you. 

“Hi there!” he greets cheerfully, approaching your desk. “You must be the new office assistant! I heard you were starting today - welcome!! It’s nice to meet you!! Are you adjusting well?” 

You blink, feeling like your brain is lagging behind to process the fact that pro hero Deku is even talking to you. Then, you realize that he has asked you a question. You close your mouth (one that you hadn’t even realized you opened) and try to string together a sentence. “O-oh, thank you! And I’m doing well… thank you, Deku.” You test out the hero name. It sounds so strange saying it out loud. 

Deku laughs, a shy almost unexpected sound that makes something flutter in your chest. “I’m glad to hear that! And call me Midoriya. I’m glad to have you on the team!” His eyes flicker down, taking in the new lanyard you’ve received - it was part of your welcome package that is meant to hold your employee ID. “I can see you’ve already decorated your lanyard! I like your pin.”

Now you’re surprised for a multitude of reasons. Not only did he speak words to you, he’s actually continuing that conversation by noticing something you never expected a boss to notice. And he’s being sweet, warm, and welcoming. 

You look down at your lanyard, bewildered as if you’ve never been a lanyard before, and see the pin you’ve haphazardly attached to the fabric. Glimmering on the metal is a character from your favorite movie - Howl from Howl’s Moving Castle. “Oh, t-thank you!” you manage, feeling warm, partly with embarrassment of having to explain a private interest, and partly because Deku actually looks genuinely curious in what you’re talking about. “He’s from this movie I really like. Howl’s Moving Castle?” 

Deku ponders for a second. “Oh! Studio Ghibli right? I’ve never seen that one, but my friends introduced me to Spirited Away and I really enjoyed that one!” 

“That’s a good one too,” you reply, losing enough nerves to actually feel your lips curve up into a small smile. Deku traces the movement quickly with his eyes. “That one and Howl’s Moving Castle are probably some of my favorites.” 

He nods approvingly. “I’ll have to ask my friend to show that one to me someday.” He gets distracted momentarily by his phone, picking it up and frowning. “Ah, sorry, I have a meeting to get to,” he explains, putting the phone back down. “But it was really nice meeting you.” 

Your smile grows a little, your head bowing a little to see him off. “It was nice meeting you too. Midoriya.” 

He mirrors your smile, likely proud that you’re calling him Midoriya, before he walks towards the main office floor. 

The phone rings before your gaze can linger for too long. 

. 

A full month goes by before you accept it. You have a crush on pro hero Deku. 

To be fair, it’s hard not to have a crush on Midoriya. He’s just so open and sweet, thoughtful and considerate - a little shy, but reassuring enough to make you feel safe with just one smile. 

Honestly? It’s a little infuriating. After all, Midoriya is… well, he’s pro hero Deku!! He’ll help old grandmothers cross the street and save a truck from falling off a bridge and then tackle a villain the size of a building all within the same day. He carries so much greatness, so much power, yet so many expectations on just one pair of shoulders. You see it on the news, in the meetings you have to schedule for him. Everyone wants a piece of him. 

It’s harder now since he’s just starting up as a pro hero in Japan. There are things he must do, cases he must solve, and people he needs to save in order to climb that ladder and establish himself. 

But still, despite himself, he stops by your desk every day. Either at the beginning of your shift or towards the end. He’s always had a busy day - you can tell as much because you help manage some of his appointments. Yet he never shows his exhaustion. He comes by, same bright smile, always asking about your day and chipping away at your apprehension. 

It gets to the point where you’re comfortable enough finally sharing some interests with Deku rather than brush it off every time he tries to ask. You talk about the movies you like, the music you listen to, the dinner you cooked last night. Deku (Midoriya, you remind yourself time and time again) is always attentive. 

So, again, how could you not have a crush on Midoriya? 

And, to be fair, he doesn’t do much to quell that crush or fan the growing flames of affection you have for him. When he finds out that you really like that boba place thirty minutes away from the office, he starts bringing you a cup once a week. You try not to overthink the fact that he knows your exact boba order- down to the percentage of sugar you prefer. Or when he finds out you really like that Thai restaurant around the corner and starts bringing you your favorite when he knows you forgot to pack a lunch. 

It’s sweet. Midoriya is sweet, dangerously so. Considering you often only see him drop off food and drinks for you, it makes you wonder if… perhaps, he feels the same way. 

But a small, reasonable voice in your mind reminds you of a very important consideration: Deku was your boss. More than that, he was your boss’ boss. The big boss, if you will. There’s no way he could feel the same way, just from a moral standpoint. And even if you weren’t overthinking anything - a boss dating his employee? The scandals just write themselves. 

It’s another two months before you learn to leave your feelings on the backburner and write it off as nothing more than a puppy dog crush. Lots of people probably have a crush on Midoriya, you think bitterly, it doesn’t make you special and it definitely doesn’t warrant a crush back. 

Besides, you continue to think, Midoriya could have anyone he wanted in the country. In the world. There’s no way he’d settle with a measly secretary. He’s just doing these things because he’s a genuinely nice person - and it’s just convenient for him to make sure you’re eating proper meals and drinking proper (as proper as boba can be you suppose) drinks. 

It is officially four months that you’ve been working for Deku’s agency when you stay late for the first time. You’ve started taking on more responsibilities that take the form of helping organize paperwork and writing up data analytical reports for Deku and his small group of sidekicks. 

On the one hand, more work is great because it means your boss trusts you enough to handle important tasks. But on the other hand, it is stressful. Your perfectionist tendencies are not lost on you as you spend some extra time ensuring that a report is thoroughly. That means that by the time you are done, it is considerably later than your normal departure time. 

Your boss and other colleagues must have left during your autopilot drive to get everything done because the office is mostly empty by the time your brain catches up to the outside world. The exceptions are the janitor taking out the trash and the night shift sidekicks who are either getting ready for a nighttime patrol or are currently sitting at their desks. They say their goodbyes as you pack up to leave for the night, coat on and everything, before you head towards the building entrance. 

Only to find that it is pouring rain outside. 

You stop short, taking in the rain pittering and pattering onto the sidewalk and the roar of rainfall filling your ears. Normally, you don’t mind rain. But the fall is too heavy to walk through unscathed - a fate that looks inevitable for you considering you forgot your umbrella. 

You’re in the middle of wringing your hands together, debating whether or not you should just go for it, before you feel the agency doors open behind you. Then, a familiar voice calling your name. 

It’s Midoriya, looking bewildered at the sight of you. “What are you still doing here?” 

You blink back, equally as surprised. Last you had checked, Midoriya should have been long gone by now. “What are you doing here?” you quip back. 

“Well, I, uh, had to approve some of the reports my sidekicks wrote up before sending them to the police,” he explains, scratching at his hair. “But late nights are normal for me. I’ve never seen you work late before.” 

His inquisitive look leaves you warm with embarrassment. “I-I just wanted to make sure those data analytical reports were perfect before sending them for approval.” 

Midoriya ponders you for a moment, but he ends up smiling. “I appreciate you working so hard. I hope you’re planning to go home. Or at least planning to eat something.” 

You smile back sheepishly. “Guilty. I’m gonna go home- I have groceries that need to be cooked.” 

“Can I walk you to the station?” he offers, flashing his All Might umbrella towards you. 

You laugh. “Cute umbrella. And sure, that would be nice Midoriya.” 

He watches you for a moment. “Do you have an umbrella?”

“Oh!” you laugh again nervously. “No, I forgot mine at home. But it’s okay.”

Midoriya looks momentarily troubled at your predicament, but he smiles easily enough. “It’s okay! Here. We’ll share mine.” He opens up the umbrella and holds it over both of you. 

You still and immediately turn warm at the thought of sharing an umbrella with Midoriya. It seems too intimate of a situation to be in, all things considered. “O-Oh, don’t worry about me.” 

“How could I not?” he retorts, surprising you by wrapping an arm around your shoulder to bring you close. Though hesitate, your arms encircle his midriff. For the umbrella, you tell yourself, as you gaze up at Midoriya. He’s staring back down at you, gaze unreadable. 

A moment of doubt fills you. Was this too much? Self-conscious, you loosen your grip around him. But Midoriya tightens his hold, making you stop. 

“You okay?” he asks, voice soft. 

You manage to nod your head. Totally okay, more than okay. “Peachy,” you say, allowing him to lead you down the sidewalk towards the station. All the while, you do your best to ignore how romantic the gesture looks to people on the outside. 

You reach the station within a ten minute walk, all while bunched up together like any other normal couple. Midoriya insists on making sure you’re underneath a solid roof before removing the umbrella. Untangling yourself from Midoriya feels like the real world has resettled itself on your shoulders. 

So you take a breath, readjusting your backpack. “Thank you for walking me, boss.” 

He grins sheepishly. “No worries. I just have to make sure my employee gets home safe.” 

He’s trying to play along, but it feels a little like this cold wave of reality has just washed over you. You just try to manage with your best smile. “And some people have the nerve to say you’d be a terrifying boss.” 

Midoriya laughs. “You’re right. They should be saying I’m downright jolly.” 

That makes you laugh. “What are you, Santa Claus??” 

Another short round of laughter, before you pull yourself together enough to stop and look at him. He’s looking back at you, that crinkle of laughter in his eyes - which doesn’t mean anything. It means nothing at all. 

You look away first, fidgeting with the straps of your backpack. “I should go. Thanks again Midoriya.” 

You still don’t look at him as he replies. “You’re welcome,” he says. 

Without another word, you walk away. 

. 

Your ten month anniversary at Deku’s agency is around Christmas time, where the nearby shopping districts get taken over by holiday lights and festive trees of red and green. The weather gets colder, the days get shorter, and the work gets harder. Especially when most of your assignments consist of summarizing the events of the year. There are a lot of days where you are just trying to gather information. 

It’s busy enough that you almost forget about the agency holiday party, scheduled just two days before Christmas. You only remember because your marketing specialist friend (Karly) volunteers you to help with decorations. 

For The Most Wonderful Time of Year, it is rather stressful to make orders for the tree, the wreaths, the lights, and the Santa’s that are scattered throughout the office. 

The day comes fast. Two days before Christmas, Deku’s agency is filled with laughter and chatter. Per the rules of the night, everyone is dawning their ugliest Christmas sweater and are currently partaking in the borderline alarming amount of alcohol that was brought. After all, the white elephant gifts have been exchanged, the toasts have been made - all that’s left to do is drink. 

You’re no exception, as you have now found your way outside onto the balcony with a cocktail in your hand and a warmth in your cheeks. Being outside is nice considering how hot your body feels right now. You close your eyes as a nice breeze brushes against you. 

That is how Midoriya finds you. “There you are!” he exclaims, closing the sliding door behind him as he steps forward to join you. “Been looking for you.” 

You turn around to face him, eyes wide. He was… looking for you? “What for? Did you need something?” 

He stops next to you. “No, no, nothing serious. I just wanted to say you did a good job with the party.” He grins, cheeks also a little rosy from drinking. “Everyone seems to be having a good time!” 

You smile. “I’m glad. I would never have thought planning a party would be so stressful. But a part of me is glad I got to be in charge of it.” You glance at him, feeling unusually bold. It must be the alcohol. “Otherwise I would never get to see the great Deku in his Christmas sweater.” 

True to your words, Midoriya is dawning an All Might Christmas sweater - the brightest shades of blue, yellow, and red that you’ve ever seen. It’s cute. Horrifyingly so. 

Midoriya does a little pose that makes you laugh. “I mean, you could have seen this anytime. You just needed to ask.” 

The remark makes you still because was he implying he wanted to discuss his interests with you? 

The internal struggle leaves you a little winded, unsure how to respond to such a statement. “Is… is that so?” you reply softly. “B-But,” you stammer awkwardly. “I’m sure there are other people you could discuss your All Might collection with?” 

Midoriya hums softly, resuming his position next to you against the balcony. “Like who?” 

You shrug, trying to play it off casually. “I don’t know. Your girlfriend?” 

He laughs gently at that. “Who is this girlfriend you speak of? She doesn’t exist here.” 

Despite his behavior, it is a little surprising hearing that Deku doesn’t have a girlfriend. Especially considering that he looks the way he does and has literally been called Japan’s Sweetheart on numerous occasions. 

You don’t feel too nervous at being called out like this. It definitely has to be because of the alcohol. “W-Well, I just figured. Someone who looks the way you do should have no problem finding someone.” 

“Your confidence in me might be misplaced,” Midoriya returns. He turns to you. “Would you believe me if I told you that I have relationship problems too?”

“You? Having problems with women?” you joke. “Enlighten me then.” 

He takes in a small breath. “Well,” he starts shyly. “Hypothetically, there’s someone that I’m interested in. Someone who I would think is smart, funny… and pretty.” There’s a weight in his words that settles heavily on your heart. “But… the problem, scientifically speaking, is that us being together would be inappropriate. I would never want this person to think I’m taking advantage of my position to manipulate them. And even if we were able to go out, I don’t want this person to be viewed negatively. I don’t want people to think she has been doing well or that she even got a job because of my personal feelings. After all…” he gaze drops to your lips for a moment. Your stomach clenches a little. “This person is a really hard worker. And I would never want to take that away from them.” 

You wet your lips. “That does sound like a predicament, Mr. Deku.” 

He smiles, albeit a little sadly. “I suppose…” he starts. “That if this situation was real, it could definitely be seen like that.” 

You nod. “Right. Hypotheticals.” You take in a breath. “I guess you and I aren’t so different.” 

He glances at you. “Relationship problems?” 

You shrug. “Hypothetically, I could have problems.” 

Midoriya laughs, playing along. “Right. Of course.” 

“Let’s just say,” you start slowly. The alcohol buzz is starting to wear off. But you’re already neck-deep into this interaction and it’s too late to back off. “There’s this guy. He makes me laugh, looks out for me, and has never made me feel insecure. He’s patient, smart, and thoughtful - someone that I really admire, and someone I like a lot. The problem, hypothetically, would be that there’s a gap between us. Not an age gap or anything crazy but more just… the kind of gap where us dating would make him look bad. And he’s a good guy, who doesn’t deserve that kind of speculation.”

You dare to spare a glance at Midoriya for the first time since you started talking. He’s looking at you like it’s his first time seeing you - eyes wide and lips parted. But there’s some uncertainty in his eyes. Like he doesn’t want to jump to conclusions on who you’re talking about. You understand that. After all, his own situation could describe anyone. 

But he turns towards you with eyes open and vulnerable. And you are rooted to your spot, helpless to do nothing but watch him watch you. You watch as he steps closer, feel as he reaches out to grab at the bottom hem of your Christmas sweater and thumbs at the material. As if he is giving you permission to turn away. 

When you don’t, his fingers snake upwards to touch your hips. “It seems,” he breathes out softly. “We’re both a little stupid, aren’t we?” 

You exhale as his hands settle. You feel warm with something decidedly non-alcoholic. “So stupid…” You want to just close your eyes, lose yourself in Midoriya as you’ve wanted to do for the past few months. 

But. 

Your hands find him, your fingers curling around his wrist. It takes a lot of (obvious) effort to pull him away. “Wait,” you whisper. “W-We just talked about how this isn’t right. And I don’t want you getting in trouble for this.”

His eyes search yours, but he squeezes your waist once before relinquishing the grip. “You’re right,” he returns, smiling a little. “There’s a lot of alcohol at this party. Makes me do things I shouldn’t. I’m sorry.” 

You shake your head. “You don’t need to say sorry. Only if you don’t mean it and you don’t really like me.” 

His eyes have not left your face. “I do mean it. I do like you, a lot. I’m just sorry that it has to be like this. If things were different…” 

“I know,” you whisper. “But I… care about you. And I don’t want people to think you’re the kind of guy who’ll date an employee. Especially since you’re back and trying to establish yourself as a pro-hero here.” 

Midoriya laughs, but it’s not meant to be a humorous noise. He reaches out, thumbing your cheek one last time as if to commit the gesture to memory before he pulls away. “I don’t want us to pretend like this conversation never happened, but I hope that we can still be… friends.” 

Despite the unexpected turn of events (at a Christmas party of all places), you warm slightly at all how well he’s taking it. Not that you expected him to take it badly. And that, above all, he considers you a friend. “Of course,” you reply. “That’s what I want too.” 

The pair of you stare for another long moment before someone is sliding open the glass door of the agency that leads to the balcony. It’s Karly, calling out your name. 

You and Izuku look away, the moment gone. “I’m out here, Karly.” 

Said marketing specialist appears from the shadows, cheeks bright red from rose much like everyone else. But she stops short when she notices the two of you. “Oh! I’m sorry, am I interrupting something?” 

“No,” Midoriya cuts in quickly. He’s not looking at either of you. “We’ve finished our discussion.” 

Deciding to leave him alone, you nod towards Karly. “Well, some people are asking about the cake…” 

“Oh!” you exclaim. “That’s right. I know where it is.” You turn towards Deku. “Will you be okay?” 

You mean it in two different ways. Deku looks at you like he knows what you mean. “Yes, I’ll be fine.” 

You make your way back into the party, refusing to think about what happens next. 

.

What happens is a quiet next few months. Midoriya becomes busy with joint patrols, an onslaught of photoshoots, and general paperwork. He still comes by your desk when he happens to be around when you are around, but the interactions are safe and surface level. It is a warped version of what you and Midoriya would call friendly conversations. 

While you miss the deeper conversations, you’re also guilty of not bringing up anything that could bring you back to that night. The fear of uncertainty gnaws at you, afraid of what could happen if you were to cross that threshold with Midoriya. 

Like you, Midoriya is also good at maintaining that friendly facade. He thanks you for your hard work on your one-year anniversary, allowing your boss to take you out for dinner. He signs a company congratulations card when you graduate from university and officially become a working adult.

And you’re thankful that he’s willing to… move on, you suppose? Perhaps avoid is a better word. It’s hard to smile and laugh with Midoriya when you’ve spent the better part of your employment at Deku’s agency wanting more. 

Despite those things, that isn’t the reason why you’re here now. “Here” being the corner coffee shop on a random Saturday, laptop open with a whole listing of hiring hero agencies displayed. Some of the reason is that awkward limbo with Deku, yes, but most of it has to do with the desire for a full-time job. Working part-time at Deku’s agency had been more of a necessity than a want, considering you had to work around a full-time student schedule. 

But with graduation under your belt, full-time has become an option. While the hiring manager at the agency has been open to the conversation of offering you that full-time position, this feels like a rare moment of opportunity to branch out. 

Besides, you think absently, there are a lot of good agencies hiring. 

Quietly, you apply to a few of them, wondering if your experience at Deku’s agency and all the hats you had to wear as a result of working at essentially an agency start-up could impress some of these bigger agencies. 

As it turns out, it does. Because over the next month, you garner the attention of Riot Ground. Again, quietly, you interview a few times before they offer you a position - one that will include working at a cubicle rather than a front desk and definitely involves a higher level of responsibility with a higher pay that you would be dumb to reject. 

Your direct boss is supportive of the decision, understanding that this type of industry exploration is what you want for the next chapter of your career. It’s a chance, she says, you need to take. Additionally, she accepts your two week notice. 

Telling Midoriya had been something you’ve wanted to avoid since Riot Ground offered you the position. In fact, it’s very possible that he already knows what is going on. It’s no secret that the Riot Ground agency and Deku agency are close - the leading heroes have known each other since high school. 

But you decide to just assume that Midoriya doesn’t know what’s going on as you knock on Deku’s office door, taking in a breath when he tells you to come in. He’s finishing up some paperwork as you open the door, definitely looking appalled by your appearance. You hardly ever visit him, especially not since the Christmas party. 

“Hey,” he breathes, closing his laptop. “Is everything okay?” 

You smile a little, trying to stay professional. “Yes! Everything is good. I just thought I should let you know something that’s coming up.” 

He frowns, but nods slowly. “Okay,” he says, a little confused. “What’s up?” 

“Well,” you start. “As you know, since I graduated I’ve been thinking about getting into a full-time position. I don’t know any kind of end goal for myself, but I want the opportunity to grow my experience however. And wherever. So… I just thought that I should let you know that Riot Ground offered me a position. And I accepted. I start in a month, but I already submitted my two weeks.” 

Midoriya is quiet for a moment, processing the ultimate conclusion to your words. Then, he laughs a little. Softly. “Kacchan… I mean, Bakugou told me that they had just hired someone from my agency. When he spoke about the new hire’s interview, I could tell he was impressed and excited to have that kind of person on his team. I just had a feeling that it was you.” He stands up, rounding the desk to lean against the front. “I’m really happy for you.” 

You smile, relieved. Although you should have known to expect nothing less from Deku. “Thank you, Midoriya.” 

But he does smile back, sighing a little. “I will say that I’m going to miss having you around. Getting to talk to you and see you at the end of a hard day always made things easier for me.” 

Your heart picks up a little. You hadn’t expected him to use that kind of line on you. “I-I mean,” you stammer. “It’s not like I’m going off the grid. The agency is just a subway ride away. A-And, I’m still going to be in the industry. So we’ll see each other around at events and such… Besides, we’re friends.” 

Friends. A delicate word to reflect on a delicate subject. And it shows in Midoriya’s eyes, watching you carefully. His eyes look you up and down, before he gives a half-smile. It looks like he has so much to say. But he eventually settles with, “Of course. We are friends.” 

A long pause follows. The pair of you take each other in, until the sound of footsteps pass by Deku’s office and it brings you back to reality. You look away first. “I just… I thought I would let you know. As a courtesy.” 

He nods. “I-I appreciate that. And I really am happy for you. Kacchan and Kirishima are good heroes, and they are good bosses too. I expect great things will happen with you on board.” 

You laugh. “Midoriya, you are speaking way too highly of me. It’s just an entry level position, The amount of influence I’ll have is probably second to none.” 

He shrugs. “So what? I believe in my friends - and I believe in you.” After a moment he clears his throat. “When is your last day?” 

“About a week and a half from now,” you reply. 

He nods slowly. “Got it. Well, thanks for letting me know.” 

You leave work that night a little unsettled, wondering if you’ve made the right decision in telling Midoriya. 

. 

The last week and a half of your employment at Deku’s agency is quiet. Midoriya gets pulled into a job on the other side of the country, meaning he doesn’t get to see you on your last day. You tell yourself that it’s normal that a big boss wouldn’t mind one of his part-time interns leaving and try to make peace with it. 

Midoriya is right about Bakugou and Kirishima. Despite being a little rough around the edges, Bakugou is polite and engaging. Naturally, Kirishima is warm and welcoming. Ground Zero is definitely a bigger agency compared to Deku’s up and coming roots - but the two heroes still take the time to greet you. 

It isn’t long before you’re taking on your own assignments - but your team is nice and supportive and Kirishima even tells you that the recent report you handed in was good. 

Two weeks after you start working at Riot Ground, Bakugou’s Vogue Japan article gets released and you are immediately pulled last minute into the afterparty preparations that Riot Ground is holding to celebrate. You’re more of a background shadow to provide support, but you are still invited to the party. Kirishima says you can think of your attendance as a rite of passage for your employment - one that you intend to take full advantage of. 

The afterparty is hosted at the top floor of this insane skyscraper in the city center - surrounded by lights and music and drinking. You spend most of the early night with coworkers, those in the same department as you as you all talk and laugh and make sure that things are going smoothly. 

This sense of ease is probably how you’re able to notice him before he notices you. 

Your stomach drops when you see Midoriya, someone who you hadn’t seen since that last conversation in his office. He’s at the bar, talking to some girl with a surprising amount of engagement and focus that you stare. 

You cannot help the sickly feeling weighing at the pit of your stomach - because you cannot remember the last time Midoriya talked to you like that. Actually, you can. It was before the Christmas party. Before you engaged in that game of hypotheticals with him. You’ve never regretted the way the exchange went down. But you have regretted the aftermath - the halted conversations, the surface level charades. Midoriya had said he liked you back, sure, but perhaps he only did nice things for you because he wanted something? And surely once he realized he was never going to get anywhere with you - he just gave up, didn’t he? 

That’s stupid, you think to yourself, because Midoriya isn’t like that. He’s sweet and earnest. He doesn’t seem like the kind of person to just throw them aside when they are no longer of use. 

But, the other side of you whispers, things haven’t been the same since that night at the Christmas party. Perhaps it’s not out of left field for you to be doubtful. 

Across the way, Midoriya catches your eye and gives you a smile. You wave back half-heartedly. 

He tilts his head, giving you a look you hate that you can read. Is everything okay? 

You just give a shrug, turning back to your coworker before he could respond. 

You assume it’s the end of that conversation with Midoriya. In fact, the next time you (subconsciously) try looking for him, he isn’t at the bar anymore but on the dance floor with Uravity and Shouto. You disappear into an empty hallway that leads to the elevators, sipping the drink (water) you’ve gotten and try to ignore that vague feeling of relief upon realizing that girl was nowhere to be seen. 

You turn back to your water, perhaps waiting for it to drown you or give you answers to questions you are too afraid to ask. 

That is, until a figure slides up next to you. At first, you think it’s some stranger coming up to bother you. But it’s Midoriya. 

“You look lonely,” he comments. Despite the loud music coming from the main room just a few feet down, the hallway is insulated enough where you can hear him properly. 

You glance at him. “What do you mean? I’m peachy-keen.” 

He frowns, the first crack in his wall. “You know, people who say they are peachy-keen are usually the opposite of that. I just can’t help but notice that you’re here by yourself, and you’re drinking water.” 

“I’m on the clock,” you reply. 

Midoriya looks around for a moment, before turning to face you fully. “Is everything okay? Nobody’s bothering you, are they?” 

You look at him this time. “It’s fine, Midoriya.” You jerk your head out towards the main room. “Why don’t you go reunite with your girlfriend or something?” 

Midoriya blinks. “Girlfriend? What are you talking about?” 

Your eyes narrow into a glare. “Don’t try to play dumb with me, Deku. I know that you saw me looking. She’s cute. Thanks for letting me know about that, by the way.” 

“Oh, just like you told me that you were looking for a new job?” Deku bites back. Another crack in his game of pretend. He also seems annoyed you’ve addressed him by his hero name. “She’s not my girlfriend. She’s Uraraka’s manager and has been her manager since we graduated high school. We’re friends - just like I thought you and me were friends.” 

You push yourself off the wall at that. “We are friends,” you protest hotly, defensive, not even sure if you believe your own words. “It’s just…” 

“Just what?” Midoriya snaps, that friendly facade gone now. “Just the fact that I thought things would go back to normal after that night, only to get blindsided?” He runs a hand through his curls. “Listen, I was and am really happy for you that you got a great job with Kacchan and Eijiro. I just wish you told me you were planning to leave. That’s what friends do.” 

“Well, why does it matter?” you retort. “A boss shouldn’t care too much if a lowly part-time intern decides to pursue a different agency for a different opportunity - !” 

“But you weren’t just a lowly part-time intern!” he says loudly, then lowers his voice. His admittance echoes in your mind, making you run warm. Midoriya watches you carefully, as if waiting for you to dismiss him. When you don’t, he takes a step closer, rounding on you so that your back is against the hallway wall. “To me, it wasn’t like that. At first, it was. But I grew to really like you as more than just someone I saw at work everyday. I liked you a lot.”

You narrow your eyes at him, refusing to back down, remembering your doubts just a few moments prior. “Why does that matter now anyways? You clearly have more fun with that manager anyways.” 

He groans, stepping closer, hands settling on your waist to push you against the wall. “What is this about? It seems like we’re mad about two separate things.” 

You huff, trying to look away from him. “I’m not mad.” 

He rolls his eyes. “Baby, your glare could cut glass. I can be single-minded sometimes. But I’m not stupid.” 

You hate to admit it. But the pet name softens you up a bit. Enough that you turn your gaze back to Midoriya. “I was just frustrated okay?” you shoot back. “I was under the impression that we would stay friends too. But you were so distant after I told you I was leaving. You didn’t even say goodbye to me on my last day at the agency. I know you were away but… it still hurt me. And then I come to this party and see you for the first time in a month talking to some other girl. Not just talking - talking excitedly and happily. I just couldn’t help but overthink about why you enjoyed your time with her more than time with me.” 

His eyes flicker between your eyes, but he relaxes after a moment. “I always enjoy my time with you,” he explains softly. “But I’m sorry. I should have spoken up when I noticed we were playing this game of just pretending to be alright. I think the thought of confrontation made me more nervous. And I’m sorry for not being there for your last day.” 

You sigh. Perhaps hearing his apology is just what you’ve needed after all this time. “No. I’m sorry. It takes two people to have a conversation, and I was also not reaching out to communicate my frustration. I guess… perhaps, a part of me wanted to know what would happen with us. And if…” you trail off.

Midoriya raises an eyebrow. “If…” he coaxes, leaning in. When you don’t say anything, he smiles. “If I still like you?” 

You pout. “You have no tact, do you know that?” 

“I think the proper phrase is ‘relief knowing I can now openly communicate with the girl I’ve been crazy about for months’.” He pauses. “Unless you’re more of a show don’t tell kind of person?”

He’s teasing you. “I don’t know,” you finally manage, feeling warm all over. “What would showing me look like?” 

At your question, Midoriya smiles again. Less of a teasing smile, more of a soft and understanding curve that makes your heart race. Your anger is completely forgotten as one of his hands gently takes your chin. “Probably something like this…” 

He leans in. You close your eyes, heart thumping out of your chest - because was this really going to happen? Right here? Right now? And to think you were so mad at him just an hour ago… 

A call of your name. “Oi, I know you’re out here - oh. Fuck.” 

Midoriya pulls away, his grip on your chin and your waist gone as if both of you are ripped back to reality. You jolt, eyes flashing open and turning towards the source of the noise. Bakugou stands at the entrance of the hallway, lips parted and eyes wide and looking uncharacteristically startled. 

“Kacchan!” Midoriya exclaims, glancing at you before glancing back at your boss. “We were just… This wasn’t a spur of the moment thing…” 

Bakugou tsks, recovering quickly as he raises a hand up to stop Deku from spiraling into a flurry of conversation and tangents. “I didn’t ask, nerd. I just need my employee’s help with something.” 

You try to recover as well, ignoring your racing heart as you turn towards Bakugou. “O-Of course, what do you need?” 

You step away from Midoriya, but he catches your wrist in his hand before you can go too far. 

“Hey,” he says, stepping up next to you, not speaking until you’re looking at him. “Don’t be a stranger. If I promise to call, promise you’ll pick up.” 

You cannot help but just smile and nod. “Okay,” you return. “I promise.” 

He beams, and releases the hold he has on your wrist. You walk up to Bakugou, allowing him to lead you back into the loud dancefloor. 

“Bakugou!” you call out, feeling the need to fill the silence between the two of you despite the music and laughter around you. “Midoriya is nice! And I really like him!” 

Bakugou grunts, whirling around to face you. “Shut up!” he retorts. “I know. The stupid nerd hasn’t shut the fuck up about you since he found out I hired you. So I don’t think you need to worry. He likes you a lot too.” He pauses. “Now can you please help Eijiro set up the champagne fountain?” 

You grin for more than just the champagne foundation. You shoot your boss a thumbs-up before making your way back into the main party, definitely feeling better than when you first stepped in here. 

. 

True to his promise, Midoriya calls. And to your promise, you answer. It doesn’t take long for the pair of you to resume the same ease of connection that developed when you first met. Partly because you have all this history together, but also because the feelings have been put out there. The calls and texts continue without the worry of crossing past a boss/employee relationship. 

Having Midoriya in your life like this is different. There’s still a bridge to cross with him, but there’s a different openness about this compared to pretending not to be so into him. 

Now he knows how much you like him. And you’re waiting for him to take the next steps. 

But, again, it’s a line neither of you cross for the next few months. Midoriya is busy with work, and so are you. Ground Zero keeps you on your toes with increased responsibilities and solo projects that are stressful yet accomplishing. Yet, every “good job” thrown your way feels like a different badge of honor that heightens your confidence. It feels like some of the things you’ve wanted for your life (a stable career with responsibilities you enjoy doing and coworkers you actually like spending time with) are starting to come together. 

Although yes, you are in a predicament with Deku, you refuse to let that damper your attitude about your overall life trajectory. Things will happen when they are able to happen. 

It’s a thought that comforts you. For the next few months following the Riot Ground party, you maintain a limbo with Midoriya. Until there is a pounding on your door at three in the morning. 

You start awake at the noise echoing through your apartment, heart pounding and eyes suddenly alert. What time is it? The digital BT21 Koya clock on your nightstand reads 3:02 AM. Who is it? No idea. A handful of college students live in this apartment building, so it isn’t unusual to hear knocks at this hour. They’re usually short; this one is not. 

The persistence of it drags you out of bed and towards the door. Is it the smartest way to go about this situation? No. It could be a villain with super hearing, waiting for you to make a noise!! Or perhaps people pretending to be maintenance just so they can break in? 

God, you definitely need to stop scrolling through Tiktok. 

You sigh, tiptoeing to the peephole on your door. You’re expecting drunk college kids, or people you’re supposed to ignore. 

What you see, however, is neither of those things. It’s Deku, slumped against the wall, looking uncharacteristically tired and out-of-breath. Brows furrowing and eyes widening, you open the door with more force than necessary. “Midoriya!” you exclaim, lowering your voice towards the tail-end when you remember that it is three in the morning. “A-Are you okay? What happened?” 

Midoriya looks over at you. His face is bruised slightly and you don’t even want to know what kind of injuries he’s hiding underneath the suit. What happened? When he texted you earlier than evening, he looked and sounded perfectly fine. His eyes rake over you from head to toe, before he sighs. “Oh good. You’re okay.” 

You stare, trying to mentally decipher his words but find that you have no idea what he’s talking about. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?” 

He closes his eyes, taking in a deep breath before he pushes himself off the doorframe. Quietly, he leans into your space and slowly cups your face with his hands. Midoriya follows the curve of your face carefully, committing each detail to memory.

Clearly approaching the situation normally isn’t getting into his head. He’s too shaken by what he has seen. So you stare up at him, trying to catch his gaze. “Izuku…?” you try. 

That catches his attention. He shifts to look back at you. He sighs, pressing his forehead against yours. “It’s okay. I’m okay. It’s just…” 

“Do you want to come inside?” you offer gently. 

Midoriya nods, allowing you to pull him inside the apartment. You make it to the living room, where he drops himself unceremoniously onto your couch. Despite his disheveled appearance, he is watching you carefully and looking more alert than before. 

You look back at him, continuing to assess his condition. What happened to him? Did he need to see a doctor? You try to echo one of those thoughts. “Are you okay, Midoriya?” 

He blinks. “I liked it…” he starts. 

You move to sit on the couch. “You liked it?” 

“You called me Izuku,” he clarifies. “I want you to keep calling me that.” 

You sigh, eyes slanting into more of a frown than the wide-eyed concern from before. “Are you drunk?” 

He looks away, rubbing at his face. “No, I’m not.” 

“Well, do I have to drive you to the hospital?” 

“No, I’m fine.” 

“I’d have to disagree. A Midoriya… I mean Izuku,” you correct when Midoriya gives you a look. “An Izuku who is normal wouldn’t come barging in at three in the morning looking like he’s just seen hell.” 

He doesn’t say anything to that, which worries you more. Well, if he doesn’t want to go to the hospital and he’s not drunk, you turn to the next best solution. 

You move to get off of the couch. “Let me get you some water.” 

“Wait.” His hand catches your wrist. He’s not even pulling you that hard, but his touch leaves you rooted to the spot. “J-Just stay here, if that’s okay.” 

You settle back on the couch, trying to catch his eye. Yours widen slightly when you realize that his eyes are glassy. Was Midoriya crying? “Hey, Izuku…” you start, sitting closer to him. “What’s wrong?” 

He looks up for a moment, before looking back over at you. “Can I…” he trails off. “Can I just…” When you don’t flinch away, he takes that as a sign. He wraps his arms around your waist, scooping you up and plopping him on his lap with your knees on either side of him. Straddling him, you let him manhandle you. You let him press you to him, chest to chest, and a hand at the back of your head to press your face into his neck. He noses at your hairline slowly. 

“Izuku,” you whisper, voice muffled into his suit. “Tell me what happened.” 

Midoriya takes in one more deep breath, before he loosens his grip enough for you to pull back and see his face. “I was finishing up my patrol when a group of villains ambushed me. That part was normal, since it’s the middle of the night and maybe they thought they could get away with it? Everything was fine until I saw you. One of the villains used his quirk and made me see something that really shook me up.” 

Considering that he’s here, hugging you like he’s trying to merge with you, you think you have a vague idea of what he could have seen. But you refuse to be self-centered. You gently fiddle with the hair at the back of his neck. “What did you see?” 

He doesn’t look at you as his fingers run over the hem of your sleeping shirt. “You showed up, and they took you away. No matter how far I ran, I couldn’t catch up. I couldn’t save you. Luckily, some of my sidekicks showed up so they didn’t get away. But I couldn’t stop thinking about what they had shown me. I just had to make sure you were okay.” 

You exhale, not realizing you had held your breath during Midoriya’s story. At the very least, this explains his frantic behavior. “It’s okay,” you whisper. “I’m here.” 

He sighs, moving his hands to your waist. “It’s not okay though,” he returns, looking at you. “I think not being able to talk things out with you has freaked me out, thinking that I’ll miss my chance and lose you.” 

“You won’t lose me,” you say quietly. “I really like you.” You relax slightly in his arms. “We don’t have to talk about us right now but I don’t want you to rush into anything with me. I know that you’re here to protect people and you’re trying to establish yourself. I don’t want to get in the way of that. I don’t want you to spread yourself too thin.” You look down, suddenly nervous. “When this becomes something, I’m going to be a little selfish. I don’t want to feel like I’m coming in second place. I want everything that you’ll give me, and I want to feel like you’re always going to choose me. I know that in itself is selfish, but I just want to be upfront with you.”

One of Midoriya’s hands comes up to cup your cheek. He angles himself to meet your gaze. “Don’t ever call yourself selfish like it’s a bad thing. I want you to be selfish because I always want you to myself.” He starts mindlessly stroking your cheek with his thumb. “I want to be honest with you too. I can’t promise you that I can respond to texts within the hour. I can’t even promise that I’ll be on time for every date. But I’ll always consider you. And I’ll always choose to come back to you.” 

Overcome with helpless affection for him, you cannot help looking down at his lips. Suddenly, you’re aware of what you’re wearing and what you’re not wearing. Your sleeping attire is just a Riot Ground t-shirt you got from a team-building event during orientation and some loose shorts. Your lack of a bra is the most obvious. 

Judging from Midoriya’s darkened eyes, he knows this.

A pause. Then he brings you down to him, kissing you softly. Time seems to melt away as you shut your eyes and allow yourself to get lost in him. You can feel Midoriya’s grip tighten, pulling you closer as little uncontrollable whimpers fall from your lips.

Without warning, you feel yourself get hoisted up again. One hand around your waist, one hand hooked around a leg as you are maneuvered onto your back. Above you, Midoriya is steady and comforting and warm. He stares down at you like it is his first time seeing you. The sight sends jolts of anticipation through your body. 

On instinct, your arms find the back of his neck as he leans down to peck your lips once, twice, thrice more before starting a trail of butterfly kisses down your neck. He stops at the base, nipping and biting. It tickles, causing little giggles to escape you as you twitch occasionally at the overwhelming sensation. 

Midoriya hums, lifting himself back up. “So sensitive,” he mutters. 

You pout, tighten your grip on the back of his suit. “Is that okay?” 

He smiles, leaning back down to touch your nose with his. “More than okay. It’s perfect. You’re perfect. Want to keep going?” 

You cannot help but smile back, heart beating helplessly in your chest. “Yes,” you whisper, nervous but knowing that you trust him more than anything. 

So Midoriya kisses you again, his hands move to your waist to inch your shirt up higher and higher. He kisses down your stomach, fingers gripping the waistband of your shorts. “Is this okay?” he asks softly. 

You nod, realizing after a moment that he cannot see you. “Yes, yes, please Izuku…” 

You stare up at the ceiling as he pulls your bottoms down, exposing you to the air outside. It doesn’t stay unoccupied for long before he’s diving in between your legs, licking and sucking at spots that make you see stars. 

And when he curls up with you later that night under the blankets, refusing to let you go as you giggle and complain about needing the restroom, your heart is high with hope. Hope that perhaps it’s finally time for you and Midoriya. That perhaps, the game is finally over. 

.

The following day, Midoriya shows up to the Riot Ground agency. He had left early that morning, leaving behind a text apologizing and promising to make it up to you later that day. You hadn’t been entirely sure what making it up to you would entail, but you just told him you were looking forward to it. 

It’s a little bit before your lunch break when Bakugou comes stalking towards your cubicle. You’re still on the phone with the guys at HEROES MAGAZINE when he approaches, but he’s surprisingly patient as he waits for the call to end. 

You hang up after a few more minutes of last minute confirmations. “Everything okay?” you ask, redirecting your attention to Bakugou. 

He grunts, crossing his hands over his chest. “You have a visitor. Real insistent about seeing you.” 

You tilt your head. “Who is it?” 

He sighs, unfolding his arms. “Come on.” 

Nervously, you follow Bakugou into his office. Inside, you find Midoriya sitting on the couch. He’s talking to Kirishimia, but all the attention shifts to you as soon as you enter. Midoriya’s face lights up. “Hey!” he greets cheerfully, standing up to approach you. 

You let him, unable to help but smile back as the memories of last night fill you with warmth. The fact that those events were real and tangible still baffles you. “Hi, Izuku…” 

He scratches the back of his neck. “I really am sorry about having to leave after… yeah. After that.” 

You laugh, forgetting that both of you have company. “It’s fine. I know you’re busy. You’re here. That’s what’s important to me.” 

Midoriya smiles, actually looking relieved at your reassurance. “I’m glad…” 

From what sounds like miles away, Bakugou interrupts with a laugh. “Oh my fucking god.” 

You turn to look at him. “Something wrong boss?”

Bakugou is still smirking. He looks between you and Midoriya like he knows something you do not. He, however, makes it clear with his observation. “You guys finally hooked up, didn’t you?”

Immediately, your heart feels like it’s racing on overdrive as your entire body runs hot. “H-How did you… I mean, it’s just… I don’t…” 

Midoriya’s cheeks turn pink. “Kacchan, we’re in a workplace - can’t you keep things professional?” 

“Professional?” Bakugou echoes, smirking. “You have a lot of nerve saying that to me, Deku. Especially when the two of you are all googly-eyed right in front of my salad!!!” 

“Oi, Katsuki,” Kirishima interrupts, getting up from the couch and walking over to slap a hand on Bakugou’s shoulder. “I think it’s cute. Go easy on them.” Kirishima shifts his attention to you and Midoriya. “So, what’s this? You guys just hooking up? Or boyfriend and girlfriend? No shame either way!! I think it’s great that we live in a society where every stage and every kind of relationship has an appropriate label.” 

The overall question makes you want the ground to swallow you whole. This is especially the case because you and Midoriya haven’t even discussed what this is yet. What if you answered and it wasn’t the answer Midoriya had in mind. Or would staying silent be the better option? Should you already know what kind of relationship you’re in with Midoriya? You know you talked things out yesterday but was making an assumption going too far?

Your silence makes Kirishima smile. “I mean, there’s also no shame in being undecided. As long as you guys are communicating.” 

Midoriya wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you close. “I’m actually here to invite you to dinner tonight,” he says, pointedly ignoring his friends and their teasing smiles. 

You smile nervously, unsure whether or not to go along with Midoriya. You decide for it eventually. “Sure. I get off around 5. Can I meet you someplace?”

He shakes his head, looking at you with stars in his eyes. “No, no, I’ll come pick you up.” 

True to his promise, Midoriya is in the lobby of Riot Ground. He gives you that same bright smile, takes your hand. The restaurant he’s selected for the two of you is a few stops away, and he fills any silence with questions about your day and conversations like this is any normal day. Not at all like you’re about to go on (what you would consider to be) a date with Midoriya. 

It’s a sentiment you feel confident enough to echo once the pair of you are seated next to each other in the booth. You notice quickly that he’s taken you to a ramen shop you’ve mentioned enjoying once or twice. The realization draws out a happy, private smile. 

At your observation of this date, he mirrors your grin. “I’m glad we’re on the same page about this. It makes me feel less nervous about telling you that… last night?” He asks like he needs to make sure you know what he’s referring to. Like you need a reminder. But you nod, because Midoriya seems nervous. “That was all real to me. I know dating me would be challenging. But I really like you and I want to be with you. I hope that doesn’t freak you out.” 

Detecting his nerves regarding the subject, you reach out to take his hand. “Izuku, it doesn’t freak me out. I also mean what I said yesterday. I really like you.” You feel yourself go warm with meekness. “Although, I thought it was obvious that I wouldn’t freak out no matter what you said. You did spend the night, amongst other things… I don’t do that with guys I don’t like.” 

Midoriya laughs softly. “I just didn’t want to make any assumptions.” 

You nod. “Well, cease your worries. I am thoroughly into you.” 

Since you’re not rejecting his advances, Midoriya grows bolder. “So… can I do this…?” He laces your fingers together. 

You smile. “Yes,” you whisper, looking over at him. 

He moves closer, still wearing that fond grin. “And when I drop by the agency, can I tell Kacchan that I’m visiting my girlfriend?” 

Your smile morphs into a grin, but there are butterflies in your stomach. “You should probably be a little more professional around your Kacchan.” 

He pouts at that. “What if it’s for something important?” 

You gap slightly, unconsciously inching closer to him. “What could be so important with you and your new girlfriend that you need to visit her workplace?” 

He smiles at the question, eyes flickering down to your mouth before he leans in to kiss you. It’s firm and quick, startling you enough to elicit a squeak from the back of your throat. But he pulls away before you can relish in the gesture. 

When you open your eyes, Midoriya is still looking at you. You can feel the weight of his answer in his stare, making one very firm decision: you were going to suck his dick on the car ride home. 

.

Nearly one year later, the hero rankings are announced on a bright sunny afternoon. 

You are in your now shared apartment when the broadcast starts. When Midoriya is announced as the new number one hero. It’s a big moment within the hero community; not entirely unexpected considering the anticipation of Deku’s return and what he has been able to accomplish since then. It’s a moment that garners big cheers as Midoriya takes the stage alongside the other top ten heroes. 

You watch as each top ten hero makes a speech about their appreciation and their promise to continue protecting the country. As Midoriya makes his own speech, your heart feels light with pride and joy. 

It’s a feeling that continues into the late afternoon, when you’re fitting the bed with newly washed sheets that you hear the front door open and slam shut. “Baby?” It’s Midoriya. “Baby, I’m home!!!” 

You immediately come bounding out of the bedroom, dashing towards the entrance where Midoriya is slipping off his shoes. “Welcome back!! Congratulations on your ranking, Izuku!” 

At once, he sweeps you up into a hug, bringing your feet off the floor and your laughter in his ear. “Thank you,” he whispers earnestly, setting you back on the floor. He kisses your cheeks, spoiling you as if you were the one who has just ranked as the number one hero in the country. “Did you watch the broadcast?” 

“Of course!” you say, giving him a look. “It’s a big deal, Izuku.” 

He pulls back enough to send you one of his soft smiles. “Thank you.” 

You shake your head, cupping his cheeks. “How do you want to celebrate, Mr. Number One?” 

“Well, Uraraka is hosting a party later today to celebrate the new rankings. But…” he trails off, turning meek. He leans forward, nose to nose. “Kind of want to eat you out. Is that okay?” 

Your stomach flutters. His hands move up your shirt, touching at bare skin. “W-We should do something for you.” 

“You letting me eat you out is the something for me,” Midoriya returns, removing his hands to start messing with your shorts. He pulls both shorts and panties down, lowering himself down to let you step out of them. He lifts you up, wrapping your legs around his waist as he traverses down the hall back into your shared bedroom. Gracefully, Midoriya lowers you amongst the pillows. 

One, two, three more kisses along your forehead, cheek and lips, before Midoriya makes his way down your body. Lifting your shirt over your head, planting two kisses on each nipple, down your stomach, immediately wrapping his arms around your legs to keep them apart. A kiss on your clit melts into a lick that makes you choke on a whimper. 

Midoriya has always been good at eating you out. Ever since that first night, he is keen on prodding at the spots that drive you to the edge the quickest, or dragging things out as long as he wants to. It’s that scary observational skills from his line of work getting put to personal use. 

And you’re not complaining. 

In the fifteen minutes he spends in between your legs, you come three times. You’re shaking, gasping, overwhelmed by the time he lifts his head up with his lips shiny with juice. 

You’re still trying to catch your breath as Midoriya undoes his belt, takes out his cock. He runs it over your slit once before pushing in past the ring of muscle. The sensation makes you jolt, crying out as you arch and push at his chest. “Izuku… wait.” Your walls flutter, causing Midoriya to sputter. “I just need to catch my breath.” 

You take a few deep breaths as Midoriya thumbs at your hip in apology. “Sorry baby, I should have asked first.” 

You shake your head. “No, it’s fine. Sorry.” 

“You don’t need to apologize.” Midoriya leans down, kissing your ear and down your neck, nipping gently at your collarbone.The gesture, while ticklish, helps relax you enough to reflect on the events of the day. You’re not sure how long it is before you speak again. 

“Hey, so since you’re the number one hero now…” you start once you feel like your head has cleared up enough. “You’re probably going to be a whole lot busier. Lots more people are going to be looking at you and relying on you. It’s everything you’ve ever wanted…” 

Saying the words out loud makes a new kind of reality dawn on you. How would you fit in this equation of Midoriya’s newest accomplishment? 

“Hey.” Midoriya’s voice draws you back. His head lifts from your neck, locking you in an intense stare, hands planted on either side of you. “I don’t know what exactly is going on in that head of yours. Just because I’m the number one hero now doesn’t mean that I still don’t care about you. It doesn’t mean that I’m suddenly going to stop considering you. I’m number one to the country, but you’re number one to me and that’s what is important.” 

You pause, letting his words sink in. You giggle. “Izuku, that was super cheesy.” 

“And what of it?” he purrs, using your giggle as the okay to readjust you. He takes your ankles, repositioning them over his shoulders. He leans in, bringing your legs to your chest, sinking deeper into you. The sensation makes you whine, arching your back and curling your toes. 

“Mmmm,” you whimper, unable to do anything else but lay there and take it. 

“Do you understand now?” he asks, pulling out until the tip and thrusting back in. “Do you understand how much I love you?” 

As if it wasn’t hard enough answering his question, he’s hitting something in you that makes it difficult to think. “Fffuck, Izuku… yes…” 

“Then, you think you can say it back to me, pretty girl?” He straightens up, keeping one of your legs on his shoulder as he increases his pace. His grip on you is strong, while his other hand starts drawing tight circles on your clit. 

You start fluttering around his cock, unable to move away from the simulation. So you try to push at his chest in warning. “Izuku… wait…” 

“I don’t know if I can, baby,” he says, almost disappointedly. “I can’t let my girl walk around not knowing how much I care about her.” 

“I do know…” you whimper, shaking when he finds the right angle to rub your clit. “Aaaaaa… I know how much you love me.” 

You can hear the smile in his voice. “Good girl. Wanna say it back?” 

He releases your other leg so that both fall on either side of his waist. Midoriya looms over you again, never once letting up his pace. “Say…” you manage, tongue feeling like jello. “Say what back?” 

He hums. Still circling your clit, he runs his other hand up over your curves, palming your breast. “Say you love me back.” 

“I love you - !” you squeal as he pinches a nipple. The coil in your stomach snaps, and white hot pleasure runs through your body. You shudder, tightening and fluttering and gasping. You weakly whimper as Midoriya continues to drive into you, your breasts bouncing with the movement. It stops when he gives you one last firm thrust, letting out a groan of his own that is so hot your walls flutter at the noise. 

The high of what you’ve started together starts to die down as the silence is filled with your gasps and his panting. 

Midoriya drops himself next to you, immediately wrapping his arms around you and nosing your hairline. “Hey,” he whispers. 

“Hmmm?” you hum, content and still trying to catch your breath. 

He doesn’t speak until you look at him. He leans in, touching his nose to yours. “I love you too.” 

You try hard to bite back a grin. “Still want to go to Uraraka’s party?” you ask quietly. 

He groans against your neck. “Not really.” 

You giggle. “You should!” you scold. “It’ll be fun. You’re the number one hero now. Don’t you want to celebrate with your friends?” 

“I’d rather just celebrate with you,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. 

You roll your eyes playfully. “We just did. C’mon!” You push yourself off of bed, whirling around to face him. “I’m gonna pee. We’re going to shower, and then go.” 

Never able to say no to you, Midoriya sits up on the bed and climbs out after you. “Okay, okay, baby. We’ll go.” Without warning, he hooks his arms under your knee and under your back, lifting you up and carrying you to the shower - the sound of your giggles filling the air. 

The party is in full swing by the time you and Midoriya arrive at Uraraka’s house. Midoriya still has that post sex glow in his cheeks. It makes him clingy to you as you enter. The man at your side is immediately greeted by everyone, both friends and fans. It makes it easy for you to peel yourself away from your boyfriend, finding shelter in the living room. 

There, you find Bakugou at the couch, nursing a drink in his hands. 

Finding comfort in the sight of a familiar face, you approach him. “Bakugou! I didn’t think you’d show up.” 

He gives you a sideways glance. “I wasn’t,” he says. “Eijirou said I should, so people can see that I’m supportive of Deku taking over the number one spot. Like I give a shit what people think anyways.” 

You take a seat next to him. “I think you care a little bit. I know how much having that number one spot meant to you. Buuuutt,” you say, trying to lighten the mood a bit. “I think it could be seen as good, friendly competition. What do you think? Gonna start working double shifts to get your spot back?” you ask teasingly, grinning playfully at Bakugou. The latter is surprisingly quiet. 

Bakugou gives you a grin that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I knew it was only a matter of time,” he gruffs. “I really do hope as his girlfriend, you’ll never have to see this. But Deku? That nerd is crazy. Back in high school, during the war, he became this self-sacrificing maniac and acted out on his own. It’s a version of him I haven’t seen since then, but it’s a trait that never really went away. Deku lives to give back,” he mutters, so quiet that you wonder if you’re meant to hear him or not. “That’s why people gravitate towards him. It’s hard to compete with someone who would so willingly trade his happiness for others without hesitation.” 

Bakugou’s eyes find something. You turn, following his stare to see Midoriya chatting it up with other pro-heroes. The latter looks bashful, but proud - he blends right into this world you are only just now starting to adjust to. 

I hope you’ll never have to see it.

You watch as Midoriya’s gaze finds yours, waving when he smiles at you, trying not to ponder too deeply into Bakugou’s words.

.

Despite your wishes, you spend some time thinking about Bakugou’s observation. It’s true. Midoriya is a giver. He gives and gives and gives, hardly ever taking anything in return. He rarely asks to take time off, asks you to take care of him, and rarely ever thinks about himself. 

A year after Midoriya becomes the number one hero, you start to see what Bakugou had meant. 

It starts small. So subtle that you don’t even notice it at the time. It happens on a random Thursday night, when Midoriya stops kissing you hello after coming back from the office. It’s something you don’t even notice at the time. You had just continued cooking dinner, oblivious to what that simple missing gesture would spiral into. 

Then, he misses a lunch date. Texts about his whereabouts and any villain appearances on the news are non-existent, until you find out that he just got caught up on paperwork and simply lost track of time. He apologizes later that evening, promising to make it up to you. And he does. He brought flowers home the next day and took you out to dinner. So you forget about the incident, assuming that it was a one-time thing. 

Only, it isn’t just a one-time thing. He misses a few more dates, and doesn’t even tell you he’s coming home late one evening, before you decide it’s time to prod. Gently though, because you aren’t a confrontational person. 

It happens late one night, because Midoriya stops taking days off, when both of you are in bed. Midoriya still wraps one arm around you, using his other hand to scroll through his phone. 

“Izuku, is everything okay?” you ask softly, almost nervous to question it. 

He looks at you, smiling uneasily. “Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?” 

“N-No reason. I was just wondering if you’ve been more busy than before. It’s just that you’ve been coming home later and later. Not to mention that I know that you know there have been a few dates we need to catch up on…” 

Midoriya lowers his phone, pondering your words as he wraps both arms around you. “I know, baby. I’m sorry about that. You know, I didn’t realize just how many cases the police are working on at any given time. Big-case villains, small-case villains, missing people reports… so as the number one hero I’m trying to help out as much as I can.” 

You look over at him. “You’re working with the police to solve all those cases?” you try for a smile and a joke. “No wonder you’ve been so busy.” 

He grins, not noticing the fake smile you’ve plastered on your face. He’s looking at you, but it feels more like he’s looking through you. “People out there need me.” 

You touch his cheek, trying to root him back to you. “Well, I need you too, Izuku.” You try to sound lighthearted, but something heavy plants itself in your heart. 

At that, Midoriya’s eyes really do focus on your face this time. He cups your cheek. “Baby, I’m right here. Always.” 

Are you really? It’s a thought that your mind whispers to you softly, challenging you to say it. But you cannot rise to the task. You don’t say anything that night. You just nod, hugging him and thinking: this is the last time I’ll have to say this. 

Unfortunately, life does not work that way. It finds a way to topple down all around you. Not only does Midoriya remain busy, but you get promoted at Ground Zero’s agency. You move from a cubicle into your own office along with a clusterfuck of new responsibilities. 

The next few months feel like one thing after another. Every attempt both you and Midoriya make falls flat. You plan a birthday party for Midoriya, only to fly out on a impromptu business trip hours before. Midoriya makes reservations for the grand opening of this fancy sushi restaurant, but ultimately stands you up because he fell asleep on the couch. He tries to come home early to surprise you, but you’re out buying groceries for the week. 

Conversation between the two of you becomes as nonexistent as the plans you try to make. What were once joyful exchanges about the past or eventful tales from your jobs become surface level questions about the weather or if either one of you were going to be home for dinner - with the answer typically being no. It feels like another game of pretend with Midoriya - only this time, you’re pretending like this relationship is on the right track. 

Everything comes to a headway on a Tuesday morning. Midoriya is out of bed and out of the apartment. Typical. You didn’t even hear him come in last night (or early this morning). But you notice a text message from Kirishimia at six in the morning. Less typical. Urgent meeting at the heroes commission. Turn on the news when you wake up. 

The headlines jump out onto the screen as soon as you turn on the TV. 

DEVASTATING EARTHQUAKE STRIKES. TOP OVERSEAS PRO HEROES REQUESTED FOR REINFORCEMENTS. 

The footage is horrible. Buildings toppled down, rubble everywhere. People digging through. Children screaming. All the things of nightmares, not unlike the disaster you remember from your childhood - from the Liberation War all those years ago. 

It’s footage that continues to be displayed over social media and over the city as you get ready for work and take the subway to the office. It’s still there when you turn on the TV in your office when you show up to work. 

“It’s horrible,” Roni, your friend from the finance department, mutters, arms crossed over her chest as she joins you to watch. “The hero commission is probably trying to figure out which heroes to send over and which ones need to stay here in Japan.” She turns to you. “Any news from Deku?” 

The mention of his name makes your stomach churn. Truthfully, you haven’t spoken to Izuku, really spoken to him, in weeks. You don’t even remember the last time you existed in the same space together. You clear your throat. You check your phone with a weight in your gut, knowing that there won’t be any messages.You hate that your suspicions are confirmed. “Nothing.” 

He’s probably at the same meeting as Bakugou and Kirishimia, along with all the other top heroes. 

It is a few hours of tense silence in the office. Both for the fate of which heroes will travel abroad and if your bosses will be part of that departure. 

The aforementioned bosses return a few hours later, confirming that they will not be sent away. As part of the top five pro-heroes, they are tasked with staying. “Because some others at the top volunteered to leave. The commission wants to make sure at least some of us are still here holding down the fort,” Kirishima clarifies. 

You wring your hands nervously. “What about Deku?” you ask. 

Bakugou is noticeably quiet, something you pick up on. “You should go home,” he says instead. Then, he trails off into something softer. “That damn nerd doesn’t know when to stop.” 

Your eyes widen, your heart picks up, and you leave. You practically race home to your apartment, to your home. 

Izuku is packing when you arrive. 

You slam the door. “What the fuck are you doing?” 

For a moment, your Izuku peaks through the cracks. He jolts, looking startled and wide-eyed. But when he realizes that it’s you at the door, that facade disappears. You are facing Pro Hero Deku now, the hero who has just volunteered to fly away from here, away from you. “My flight is leaving soon,” he says, returning to packing. 

“You’re leaving,” you echo. “Just like that?” 

“You saw the news, didn’t you?” he challenges. “Those people need me. I have to help them.” 

“Without asking me?” 

He pauses. “This isn’t something I need a second opinion on.” 

You clench your teeth together, trying to swallow the hurt. You’ve heard the stories from Bakugou about Izuku during the Liberation War - about Izuku barrelling headfirst into tracking down All For One alone, without his classmates or his support system, without regard to himself. His warnings suddenly feel like a lifetime ago. “A second opinion?” you bite. “I’m not a fucking doctor, Izuku, I’m your girlfriend. I thought we were a team. Shouldn’t I have a say in this?” 

He throws his clothes on top of the ones he has already folded in. “What is there to say? How do you expect me to stand aside when I have a way of helping these people? How could you understand, when you don’t have the power I do.” 

Ouch. You never thought he’d pull that card. Just because you don’t have a flashy quirk doesn’t mean that you don’t want to help people, it doesn’t mean that you don’t care. But your anger turns into sharp words that leave your lips without warning. “Fine,” you snap. “Do whatever the fuck you want. You’re really good at that.” 

He glares at you. “What is that supposed to mean?” 

“Don’t act like you don’t know anything!” you protest loudly. “Don’t pretend like you haven’t been home in weeks, because you haven’t been here. Not really, anyways. Did you know this is our first conversation in days? But not just that. You’ve been standing me up, ignoring me for months. I thought we could eventually talk about this when things at work quieted down. But things have quieted down. All the other heroes, all your friends, are having date nights and friend nights. But you aren’t. You still aren’t here with me. You just stay out there, taking one police case after another.” 

“You knew what you were doing when we started going out,” Izuku snaps back. It’s like you’ve both been holding back on each other, only waiting until now for the dam to break. “I’m the number one hero now. My quirk comes from All Might, and so do his responsibilities. I can’t always be here.” 

It’s all coming out now, you think vaguely to yourself. The anger is overpowering the hurt you should be feeling. “I know that, and I’m not asking you to always be here,” you say sharply. “I’ve always said that I just want you to consider me and care about me. But I can see that something like that is impossible for you to do.” 

Stop, your mind whispers. Anyone with eyes could see that Izuku cares. He cares more than anyone else on the planet. That’s why he’s here. That’s why you’re here. That’s why you’re in love with him, and that’s why it hurts so much.

“You’re right,” he finally speaks hollowly. “How can you expect me to neglect my job? Because that job, and the people that need me…” he pauses. “Are more important than what’s here.” 

The next words you were planning to say die down in your throat, as you both are left alone in the silence of what you’ve just said to each other. What is there to say after all that? 

That’s when the hurt settles in, the insecurities threatening to swallow you alive. You know that you’ve also said some terrible things, but the knowledge that Izuku has confirmed your worst fears renders you mute. That you, for all the love in your heart you hold for the man in front of you, will always see you as second place in his life.

“Fine,” you whisper, refusing to see the empty look in Izuku’s eyes. Not like you can see it anyways with the tears fogging up what’s in front of you. “Go do whatever you want. Save the world just like you always have, Deku. But you should know that if you get on that plane, I’m done. If you get on that plane, it’s over between us.” 

You remember to grab your keys off the counter before walking out the door. 

You don’t know how far you walk, or for how long. The nighttime bustle ignores your sulking as you continue down the sidewalk. You pass by night clubs, convenience stores, other apartment buildings - but none of those matter. All you know in your heart is that this might be the end of you and Izuku. And the last thing he would remember you saying is that he doesn’t care. 

You stop in your tracks. How could you say something like that? Izuku is the number one pro hero because he cares, and he has been a consistent source of comfort in your life because he cares. Was it really okay for you to give him such an ultimatum when you never said you could make him choose between work and you? Maybe you can return back, apologize, and try to talk things out. Perhaps he didn’t mean what he said, just as you didn’t mean what you said. 

You run back to the apartment. Had you walked further than you thought? Your lungs burn with air, your legs ache as you run up the stairs, and through the front door. “Izuku?” you call out. “Izuku, I’m so sorry, I don’t know why I said those things…” 

But the apartment is quiet, empty of Izuku and his immediate belongings. He’s gone. 

How could he just leave? Izuku may be petty, but never aggressive when upset. Especially when something as big as this serves as a roadblock to your relationship. Especially when you don’t know when you’ll see him again. 

On instrict, your hand goes to your back pocket to check your phone but it’s not there. You pat yourself down a few times, but come up to the same conclusion. No phone. Did you have it with you when you left? You swear you left the office with it in your bag. 

Your bag. It was thrown by the door upon first arrival. You tear into it, rummaging through laptop, files, notebook and planners before producing the damn thing. The screen lights up. 

9 missed calls from Izuku <3 

Izuku <3 (6:03pm): the driver is here. I wish we had more time. I’m sorry for what I said. I’m sorry I have to get on this plane. But people need me. I can’t just stand aside. 

Izuku <3 (6:03pm): I hope we can talk soon 

The lump comes back and doesn’t leave. It makes the tears come fast and hard, the gasps leave your throat as you throw your phone somewhere faraway before curling up against the door. Because are you not someone he cares about? Don’t you deserve to have help from him? 

You bring your knees to your chest, feeling the bitter loneliness stronger than you’ve ever felt before. You always knew that Izuku was a hero above and beyond. The pair of you have been dancing around each other for as long as you’ve known him. You really assumed that things would be alright once feelings were sorted out and Izuku showed up that night all those months ago, promising a commitment to you. But you were naive. Feelings were not enough to enact the selflessness needed to love a hero. 

. 

Just before you fall asleep that night, you vaguely remember crawling onto the couch. Your body carries a heavy weight that lots of tears usually bring, along with a sore neck and back. You sit up feeling groggy and tired, immediately searching for your phone. Although the intention is to check the date and time, you still feel disheartened when you notice Izuku has not called or texted since his previous message. 

You do, however, have some texts from Bakugou. 

boss bakugou (9:46pm): Hey, call me when you get this. I should have told you about the nerd, but thought it was better you hear it from him. Hopefully everything has worked out. 

boss bakugou (9:46pm): Or whatever. I don’t give a shit what happens to you two. 

boss bakugou (9:46pm): I’m mostly kidding. 

boss bakugou (11:02pm): Did Deku leave???? 

You blink, reading the messages many times over because your tired mind cannot process it normally. You debate reading the message, or just ignoring it and also skipping work while you’re at it. 

you (6:34am): he left 

Your fingers hover over the keyboard.

you (6:40am): it’s over 

You should know that Bakugou would be awake at this time. 

boss bakugou (6:42am): Still want to come into work?

A part of you doesn’t want to. But a tiny part of you whispers that you should. 

you (6:54am): of course 

Despite your reassurance, there is a numbness that comes with hopping into the shower and washing away the messiness of yesterday. Because no matter how long you stand underneath the water, you cannot wash away the words and feelings. 

Because was this really the end of you and Izuku? He really did leave, finalizing everything with his choice - picking the world over you. Implying that you aren’t as important as his job and the people who need him is a bold claim. It’s not something one can just make up on the spot and not mean. 

Getting dressed is harder than you thought. You have to put some spoons in the refrigerator to help with the puffiness of your eyes. You have to step into your bedroom for the first time since Izuku left to gather some clothes. For some reason, the reality of what exactly you’ve gone through with Izuku doesn’t hit you. It makes you numb, sure, but it feels like these are problems someone else is going through.

Someone who is not you, as you leave your apartment and somehow manage to find your way to the Riot Ground agency. 

Kirishima and Bakugou are in the lobby of the building as you enter. 

You aren’t going to speak first, and the heroes in front of you seem to know that. “The nerd really left?” Bakugou asks. 

You really thought you wouldn’t cry, especially after crying last night and determining that you were fine enough to work. But somehow, external forces bring up the feelings and the lump in your throat returns. You tuck your hair behind your ears, internally cursing as tears start gathering in your eyes. “Well,” you start, unable to help the way your voice catches, the way it breaks. “He made his decision clear last night.” 

“Man, he was just like this when we were kids,” Kirishima grumbles. “Always putting others before himself. I just never thought he’d do that to you.” He looks at you. “I’m really sorry. I hope he didn’t say anything stupid. He was going a little crazy during that meeting.” 

“He…” you gasp a little under the weight of your tears, hoping that neither Kirishima nor Bakugou will comment on it. “He said… our relationship wasn’t important.” You sniff. “I mean… I also said some mean things. But… I really… didn’t think… he’d leave without saying… goodbye.” 

Bakugou wordlessly passes you a tissue while Kirishima guides you down the hall into his office. Neither of them press you for details as you sit in front of Kirishima’s desk, trying to calm down. 

“Deku isn’t thinking about himself right now,” Bakugou says quietly once your gasps have died down and the tears have stopped. “When he sees that people need him, and he knows he can help, he’ll self-sabotage himself. That doesn’t excuse what he said, but he likely isn’t thinking clearly.” 

You nod slowly, not sure if you’re acknowledging Bakugou’s words or just trying to get a handle on the overall situation. “I don’t know what to do,” you whisper. 

Kirishima nods. “It’s a lot to handle. And you don’t have to do anything you aren’t ready for.” He shakes his head. “I’m not sure what anyone would do after hearing words like that.” 

What would be the next step anyways? A text from Izuku first implies that perhaps moving the conversation along falls onto your shoulders. But what is there to say? Hey Izuku, I know you said this isn’t important to you and you left for another country for an undisclosed amount of time even though I said our relationship was over if you left. Anyways, how’s it going? 

So rather than think about it - you wait, wondering if the right moment will ever come. 

And you wait. 

But you never seem to find the words to say.

.

Midoriya Izuku is away for a year and a half. 

Your phone remains empty of his texts, his calls, or his love for the entire time. But you see him everywhere, especially on the news where the world is praising him for yet another save. Whether it’s digging people out of the rubble, or helping other countries with villain cases, or teaching society how to rebuild their communities after disasters. 

He’s in his element. His tinge of sadness is probably the knowledge that he couldn’t save everyone, you think to yourself. Always watching him on your phone, or on your laptop when a breaking news notification comes up. 

You’re sure he’s happy with his choice. After all, a year and a half with no contact is quite telling about his decision. Yours too, because you never mustered up the courage to ask how he was doing. You never talk to him. 

Yet, you hear about him enough. Not just through the news, but through your boss and colleagues. It’s hard to avoid your pro hero ex-boyfriend when you work in the hero industry and so happen to have two bosses who have known the aforementioned ex-boyfriend since high school. 

For the most part, both Kirishima and Bakugou don’t mention Izuku. They keep their opinions to themselves with everyday that goes by. They didn’t say anything when you started showing up to work without the necklace Izuku had given you, when you removed the matching phone charm, or when the couple's picture you had framed on your desk went into the trash. 

It’s a line, however, that Bakugou crosses when you give him a box of Izuku’s things - the things he didn’t bring abroad with him like his extra sweaters, books, his favorite All Might mug, and that aforementioned necklace. “Listen,” Bakugou had said. “I know things have been hard for you, having to see that nerd’s face everywhere. But I’m sure it’s been rough for him. Why don’t you give him a call?” 

“What is there to say?” you had returned softly. 

Bakugou had rolled his eyes. “How about you start with saying sorry? I’m sure he also feels the same.” 

You didn’t know how to respond to that. Would sorry be enough to make up for what you said? Would sorry be enough to make up for what he said? Would that be enough to repair the underlying issues of your relationship?

It’s a quiet year and a half. You move out of that old apartment, into a newer but smaller one. You work, eat, and sleep. You see friends on the weekends and watch dramas on the weekdays. Eventually, you stop watching the news every night. You stop getting notifications about Pro Hero Deku on your phone, which is why it comes as a big surprise when Kirishima approaches your office on a random Friday morning. He leans against the doorframe, folding his arms across his chest. 

“He’s coming home.” 

Your stomach drops without meaning to. A name doesn’t need to be uttered for you to know who exactly is coming home. You continue typing out your email, doing well to ignore that feeling inside of you. “Is… is that so?” 

Kirishima nods, eying you worriedly. “The repair efforts are finally done. Deku refused to return until he knew everyone was okay.” 

Of course he would, you observe. “I-I’m glad to hear that,” you muster softly. 

Out of the corner of your eye, Kirishima is still watching you. “Ochako and Iida are hosting a welcome back party for him. I wasn’t sure if you’d be interested…” 

“Probably not,” you say, eyes not leaving your screen. “But thanks for the invite.” 

Kirishima makes a noise. “Hey, I think that Katsuki and I have been as hands-off as possible about you and Izuku - but don’t you think it’s been long enough? Why not just talk about your problems instead of avoiding them?” 

You look at him for the first time since he stopped by your office. “I’m not avoiding anything,” you point out. “Midoriya said what he needed to say. I said what I needed to say. Besides,” you look back at your screen. “It happened. He’s moved on. And so have I.” 

Kirishima walks until he’s standing right next to you. He leans back against your desk. “You’ve moved on, huh? Even more reason to go, right? That’s what a friend would do, isn’t it? Support your other friend who is returning home after a year?” 

“He has plenty of other friends,” you retort. You’re not even sure what you’re typing out anymore, but it’s better than looking at Kirishima. He’s likely disappointed in your decision. “He wouldn’t miss seeing me.” 

Your boss makes a noise of protest, but doesn’t say anything. He ends up leaving for an upcoming meeting, saving you the trouble of his further pestering. Not ever seeing Izuku again, you decide, would be the best option. 

. 

Unfortunately, life doesn’t turn out that way. Because three weeks after Midoriya Izuku’s alleged return, there is a knock on your door. 

And you, expecting a package, opens the door. Your stomach drops. “I-Izu- I… Midoriya!” you choke out, your heart suddenly feels like it is launching itself into the sun. Your stomach doesn’t fare well either. You swear it feels like it’s being wrung dry. Your mouth opens and closes a few times, eyes flying all over him as if trying to make up for the year and half you haven’t seen him in person.  

He’s different. His hair is a little shorter. It still has that curly texture at the top, over his forehead, but is that an undercut in the back? Oh dear. Today he is wearing jeans and a sweater with SWEATSHIRT in typed kanji. Well… some things are still the same. His eyes are still that deep forest green color. Today, they are sad. But they are wide, also looking you up and down like he is seeing you for the first time. 

“Hi,” you exclaim after realizing neither of you have spoken words for a concerning amount of time. You try to ignore how distant, how light your voice sounds. You eventually manage to close your mouth. “Sorry, I…” Your thoughts are scrambling. “I was expecting a package…” 

He seems to have found his voice. “O-oh!” he returns, holding up a box towards you. “That must be this. It was by your door.” 

You try hard not to look at him as you reach over. You cradle the package, glad to have something to distract you as you fiddle with the edges. The first time you’re seeing Midoriya in a year and a half, and you are uselessly mute. You do open your mouth, but only to say something stupid. “Seems like the pro hero stuff didn’t work out, if you’re a delivery boy now.” 

Midoriya blinks, quiet, and you curse yourself. 

You close your eyes for a moment, opening them to look at him. “Sorry, that was stupid to say.” 

He tries to smile. But it’s soft, sad, and doesn’t reach his eyes. You hate that you notice right away. “Not at all. C-Can I come in?” 

You inhale slowly, tucking the package behind your back as you open the door wider for him. “Sure.” You watch carefully as he enters your apartment. He leaves his shoes on, but lingers at the entrance. 

His eyes take in the new apartment. “I like the new place.” 

“Thank you,” you say. You place the package on the small table near the door. “Midoriya… what are you doing here?” 

He whirls around. “I’m actually here on business. Kacchan asked me to pick up some damage report.” 

“Oh!” That was unexpected. It’s hard to tell if it’s unwelcomed or not that Izuku actually has a reason for showing up. It’s also hard to tell if Bakugou was actually too busy to come over himself. But it seems like a waste to ponder on that. “Oh, yes. That. I can grab that for you right now.” 

You walk further into the apartment. Midoriya does take his shoes off this time to follow you. “Sorry for just showing up, by the way. I probably should have called you but…” 

You start digging through your work backpack. “Why are you apologizing?” 

“W-Well,” he stammers. “I know Kacchan sent me here on official business but… I don’t know. I don’t want to make it seem like I’m crossing a boundary or anything. I know Kacchan gave me your address, but still.” 

Perhaps he is overstepping. For a moment, memories of his neglect, of your words, flash through your mind. But where you once felt hurt now feels distant and foreign. “Not at all,” you reassure, producing the file and looking up at him. “I mean, we’ve always… been friends, haven’t we?”

If Midoriya is bothered by your question, he doesn’t show it. He smiles again. Yet, once more, it does not reach his eyes. “Yeah. Of course.” 

The silence feels like something dangerous. Izuku looks deep in thought, and it makes you panic. So you cover the distance and extend the folder towards him. “Here you go.” 

He takes it. “Thanks.” A pause. “So, uh, how have you been?” 

You rub your hands, definitely giving away the nerves. “I’m alright. Still working at Riot Ground, which is nice. I actually have to manage people… which is fun, but also nerve-wracking because there’s a team that relies on me to distribute tasks and be on top of everything.” 

“Well,” Midoriya starts. “You’ve always been really organized, so I’m sure you’re doing great. Kacchan and Eijirou always have nothing but praise for you.” 

You nod in agreement, not really thinking as you open your mouth to continue the conversation. “It’s nice that you kept in touch with them while you were away.” 

You shut your mouth but it is too late. The words have already been spoken, and you regret it at once. Why? You were content playing pretend, just as you assume he had been - but now you’ve gone and opened your big mouth. Even worse, you forgot to run your thoughts through that filter in your brain. 

Well. Not much you can do about this now. You’ve threatened the fragile peace of pretending, and now there is not much you can do independently. You pause in your movements, refusing to look at Midoriya. Instead, you stare at the wall behind him. 

But it seems like you underestimate his kind nature. He doesn’t rise to the bait. From the corner of your eye, you see his nod. “I talked to them occasionally,” he starts softly. He pauses, long enough that you look at him. He’s staring back. “I just wanted to make sure things were alright back home.” 

Your eyes widen, lips part. What exactly does he mean by that?

Your silence reads like an open invitation for Midoriya. He steps forward, opening his mouth - ! 

His phone rings, startling both of you out of whatever trance you were pulled into. You look down, shuffling. Midoriya jerks back, face shuttering before pulling out his phone. “K-Kacchan,” he grumbles. 

Noises on the other end of the line. Bakugou, likely reprimanding him for taking too long. 

After a moment, he jolts. “A-ah, you’re right! Sorry Kacchan. I got the files, I’ll head back over soon. No! No… there was no trouble. Okay.” He hangs up, looking at you. “That was Kacchan. I, uh, I should go.” 

You nod. “Uh, yeah. No problem.” 

He moves to make his leave. You follow behind just to see him out, but he turns around before he can leave. “Hey, so. Since I’m back… don’t be a stranger, okay? If you need anything, I’m here.”

Oh, a tiny voice whispers in your heart, fuck. He’s really continuing this game of pretend. 

Valid. Izuku has never been good at confrontation. Neither have you, so you give your best attempt at a smile. “Thank you… Midoriya.” 

His fingers twitch, but leaves soon after. 

. 

Pretending that you were always just friends with Midoriya is strange, but unsurprisingly normal considering your history with him. Now that he’s back home, his unexpected visit to your apartment seemed to enforce something: he’s willing to fake it as much and for as long as you are.

It starts small - hesitant texts he sends sharing something from patrol that remind him of you. Texts that transition into asking about your day, or inquiring about a show you mention. Naturally, you are hesitant to return the effort. But a small part of you, the small part that is soft on him, is elated that he is back and actually wants to talk to you. 

“Of course the nerd would still want to be friends,” Bakugou scoffs. “You clearly don’t know your own boyfriend that well.” 

“Ex,” you interrupt sharply. “Ex-boyfriend. And sorry I don’t have years of experience handling Midoriya like you do. Usually, when things end badly with an ex, ignoring each other is the bare minimum most people expect.” 

“Well,” he snaps back. “You idiot. Deku isn’t like most people.” He quiets down when he sees the guilt on your face. “What are you going to do now? I heard you were invited to Todoroki’s party.” 

That is true. Shouto himself extended the invitation to you through a text message you were surprised to get. After all, most of your friendships with the Izuku’s old classmates have slowed down a fair amount post breakup. In general, you’ve never been too big on attending gatherings of any kind. But since you and Izuku have reunited (i.e., you guys are just playing house rather than actually talk), it leaves you (once again) in a gray zone. 

You settle with just trying to stay aloof. “I was invited, yeah.” 

Bakugou glares at you. “What? You’re suddenly playing coy? You going or not?” 

You shrug. “I don’t know!!” 

He rolls his eyes. “It’s just a party. It’s not rocket science.” He pauses. “You should go.” 

“What are you, my consciousness now?” you retort hotly.

“Okay, fine,” he spits. “Go. Or don’t go. And deal with a paranoid Deku who is stupid sometimes but not stupid enough to know when you’re avoiding him.” 

You glare at Bakugou for a little longer, really hating how smart he is in spite of his brashness. You’re not really sure you can handle a confrontation with Midoriya right now, and you know that he’ll try to ask questions if you don’t show up. Especially because you know that he knows that Todoroki invited you himself. 

“Fine, fine. I’ll go just for Todoroki,” you say, defeated sigh and all. You pick up your phone to look at the time. It’s 4:30, almost time to leave work for the day. “I’ll go home first to drop my stuff off then head over, I guess.” 

“No,” Bakugou snaps, grabbing your work bag from the corner of your office. “I can see your tricks coming from a mile away. I’m not leaving you on the off-chance you’ll go home and pretend to be sick. We’re leaving now.” 

“No, wait, BAKUGOU!” you exclaim, frantically trying to shut off your electronic belongings and gather the items on your desk that need to go into that work bag. “This doesn’t even involve you, why do you care so much?” 

Bakugou whirls around in the doorframe of your office. “Because if that nerd tries to talk to me about you one more time I will blow his face off. We’re going.” 

You try to act as if Bakugou’s words have lit a fire of meekness inside of you as you follow him out of the office. “A-Are you sure we need to leave now?” you fight weakly. “K-Kirishima isn’t even back yet!” 

“Shitty Hair is patrolling until later today. He’ll be late,” Bakugou explains, practically shoving you into his car. “Besides, the sooner I get there, the sooner I can leave.” 

You huff. “Your intentions are definitely in the right place there, Bakugou.” 

He sneers at you, before turning up the radio and leaving the two of you in silence. It’s a bit of a drive to Todoroki’s house. But in Bakugou’s presence, you’ve never felt the need to speak words to fill the space. He’s enjoyed the quiet as much as you. However, today the quiet fills your mind with questions. Was it really okay for you to be at this party? Would your presence make things awkward? Was Midoriya going to be there?

Bakugou pulls up to Todoroki’s house soon, located in a quiet wealthy neighborhood away from the city. Despite the wealth that you feel in the air, Todoroki’s house is rather discreet and combines modern architecture with a traditional style. It’s beautiful - you’re simultaneously flabbergasted and impressed by how rich Shouto Todoroki is. With the high bamboo and trees, you almost don’t notice a gate on the property, unlocked by a code that Bakugou knows by heart. There’s a sizable driveway, filled with a few cars and a familiar figure that makes your heart both sing and drop. 

Midoriya is in what you assume to be his car, scrolling through his phone. His gaze lifts when he sees you and Bakugou pulling up. For a brief second, his eyes widen when looking at you. But by the time Bakugou parks and you’re hauling yourself out of the car, that glint in his eyes is gone. He’s also out of his car as well, walking over to meet you halfway.

You immediately write that previous look off as nothing. Instead, you smile and wave as you approach Midoriya. “Hi Midoriya, did you just arrive?” 

He smiles over at you. “Yeah. I was just answering a couple emails before you guys arrived.” He glances over at Bakugou with a look that is surprisingly… pensive? “Hi Kacchan.” 

Bakugou grunts in greeting as he immediately starts making his way to Todoroki’s house. 

You cast one last look at Midoriya, who is already looking at you. Feeling the awkwardness start settling in, you turn and follow after Bakugou. 

There are more people at the party than you originally thought as Todoroki opens the door to greet you. You weren’t sure what to assume, only knowing that Shouto Todoroki is a relatively private person - but there is his entire class from the UA hero course and people you can only assume to be his family. Additionally, there are people you recognize from his agency - sidekicks and his manager, who (thankfully) you know. 

Besides that, you are completely on the outside. 

Perhaps this wasn’t the best idea. 

Still, Bakugou’s warning about Deku is too prevalent to back away from. Besides, you think bitterly, you yourself had said it best to Midoriya. You’re friends. 

You see Midoriya entering the house right behind you, and immediately make a beeline down the hallway. In your mind, the excuse is that you need to use the restroom. But asking Todoroki himself would subtract the ten minutes you’re banking on to find it. You’re not sure how long you’re going to be at this party. But every minute away from an unfamiliar crowd would be best. 

You do manage to find a bathroom at the end of the hallway, telling yourself that no one is out there wondering where you are as you fix up your appearance in the mirror. 

When you open the door, Mina is on the other side. She appears to be looking for something, until she sees you and you realize she’s looking for someone. For you. 

She exclaims your name, bounding towards you. “I thought I saw you!!” 

You shouldn’t be surprised that Mina is here, but your heart feels a little lighter knowing that you know another person. While dating Midoriya, you’ve had a few lunches or general hangouts with his old classmates. Everyone was always very friendly in that ‘this is my friend’s girlfriend’ type of way. From your memory, Mina was the someone who treated you more like a friend rather than Midoriya’s girlfriend. 

“H-Hi Mina,” you manage, trying for a small smile. “How are you?” 

“I’m good,” she says, mirroring your smile. “How about you? I… heard what happened.” 

“O-Oh really,” you reply, going stiff. 

“Yeah, from Izuku. I didn’t know right away that you guys had… broken up,” Mina explains. “I was also sent overseas after that big earthquake. But I’m sure it must have been challenging. Frankly, Izuku is an idiot for what he did!” 

You soften slightly. “Well… I wouldn’t say he’s an idiot. I think he just had to do what he thought was best.”

Mina smiles. “You’ve always been so nice and understanding. I’m glad to see that you’re doing well though! We should celebrate that.” 

You blink. “What do you mean?” 

“By letting me get you a drink, of course,” she exclaims, taking your wrist and dragging you back down the hallway. You catch Midoriya’s wandering gaze, but ignore him in favor of Mina taking you to the kitchen. She boasts about the soju and sake that Todoroki let her bring before the pair of you take a couple shots together. It leaves you warm, fuzzy, giggly, and prone to wandering around. 

Eventually, as Mina gets caught up in her own group of friends, you find yourself in the backyard of Todoroki’s house - the shishi-odoshi hitting the rock and bamboo echoing in the quiet night, the sound of your shoes crunching against the sand underneath your shoes. Todoroki has a little bamboo garden in the corner, fixed with a bench and other flowers whose color reflects off light from the house. 

Still cradling the mix Mina had poured for you, you take a seat on the bench. 

It feels like you’re sitting there for hours before you hear shoes crunching against the sand. You jolt, whirling in your seat and heart dropping when you see that it’s Midoriya himself making his way towards you. 

“M-Midoriya,” you stammer, tearing your gaze away first and staring down at your drink. “Did the party get overwhelming for you too?” 

He’s quiet as he takes a seat next to you. “Sort of,” he answers vaguely. “I also noticed that you weren’t with Mina anymore. I guess, I just wanted to see where you were.” 

You look at him. “You… knew I was hanging out with Mina?” 

He looks back at you. “Of course. I remember that you guys would talk whenever you hung out with my friends. Did you have a good time with her?” 

“Y-Yeah, we were just catching up,” you return, laughing softly. “I know it may look like it, but I wasn’t avoiding you or anything.” 

“You sure?” Midoriya asks. “Because it felt like every time I tried to look at you, maybe get a hello in or something, you would look away or run away.” 

Your hands suddenly feel wet and nervous. “M-Midoriya…” 

He sighs. “And that’s another thing. You don’t call me Izuku anymore.” He looks sad again. “I thought we were friends. But you call me by my last name and you avoid me and you…” he trails off, seeming to try and hype himself up for something. “Are you with Kacchan?” 

You blink, taken aback. “Am I what?” 

He gets nervous again. “Are you… dating Kacchan?” 

“No,” you reply dryly. “I’m not with Bakugou. He just drove us straight from the office. You of all people should know that I wouldn’t date my boss…” you cut yourself off, looking back down and frantically trying to figure out a way to end this conversation. “You know,” you say, just speaking words at this point. “You don’t need to be out here keeping me company. I’m sure your hero friends are more important than this,” you try to joke, but it comes out more serious than you were hoping. Your drunken words seem to unveil something unconscious inside of you that you thought you’d move on from. Goddamnit. 

Midoriya doesn’t say anything, as the reality of what you’ve said sinks in. You really hadn’t meant for it to come out that way. But here you are: drunk, cold, hurt, and feeling stupid. 

So you laugh, a hollow sound. “Wow, how much alcohol did Mina put into this? I better go find her and ask because this shouldn’t be allowed…” You’re standing up from the bench, leaving your drink behind, those internal red lights telling you to run despite your outward attempts to look composed. 

In fact, you are about to run because it’s just too awkward. But Midoriya calls your name, softly. And you, always drawn to him, just have to look back. 

He stands, slowly walking towards you. “I don’t know why I said those things. But I’ve always felt awful. I just never had the guts to apologize earlier.” 

You wring your hands. Was he really taking the bait now? He must have been drinking too. But his gaze is clear enough to tell you he’s taking this seriously, and you’re too scared to run away. So you speak quietly. “I know why you said that. And you do too. It’s because you love your job. You can say that you’re sorry but I’ve always felt like you put everyone else’s needs before mine or yours. So… don’t say you’re sorry. Not if you don’t mean it.” 

He’s quiet long enough that you turn around, about to return inside before Midoriya speaks again. “I was being selfish,” he announces, reflective enough to stop you. You turn around. He walks right up to you. “I thought about you everyday while I was gone. Hero work has always been important to me, yes, but you are my dream. You’re who I want to be with, who I want to love. I was stupid to take advantage of that.” 

Your lips part, a sensation filling your body. Is it relief? Perhaps, anxiety? 

You don’t pull away when his hand reaches out, waiting a moment as if expecting you to pull away. When you do not, he gently cups both your cheek, a movement so soft and warm that your heart melts a little. 

But… it doesn’t feel like enough. His touch alone cannot heal the wound you’ve unknowingly covered for a year and a half. Without meaning to, your eyes water. “What… What do you want, Midoriya?” 

He exhales softly, brushing a thumb along your cheek. “I just want to be with you.” 

That makes the breath catch in your throat, making you realize you are actually torn between that relief and anxiety. Relief that he feels the same. But anxiety because you don’t know if that is enough. “I feel like I’ve waited for you my whole life. But I don’t know if I can believe you.” 

His face falls as his eyebrows furrow and he closes his eyes. He leans forward, resting his forehead against yours. He breathes you in, breathes out. “I know,” he whispers. “After all that, I don’t know if I’d believe me either.” 

His eyes look disheartened and full of guilt. So much so that you cannot help but gently touch his nose with your own. “I’m not entirely innocent either. I said some mean things to you that night too, and I’m sorry. I should never have said you don’t care - that was wrong of me.”

He pulls away a little, but his hands are still on your cheek. Still sad but a little bit of hope glimmers. “No, you weren’t wrong for saying that. Once things calmed down overseas, Kacchan called me and gave me a lot of shit for what I said to you. I should have stayed, or talked things over with you. I’m sorry.” 

You inhale soft, feeling a weight lift off your chest and no longer feeling like you have to make a run for it. “It’s okay.” You smile a little. “I know I just said I’d have trouble believing you. But… I do believe that.” 

He laughs a little, more like a tiny exhale. His eyes are carefully watching your face now. “I’m glad.” 

Well, you think to yourself, now that everything's out in the open, it’s probably time to ask the important question. “What does this mean for us?” 

He hums softly, hands leaving your cheeks. But he does not pull away, likely trying to enjoy this moment as you are. His hands travel down to your waist, keeping you close. “I didn’t say all those things hoping we could try being together again. But I do want to say that…” he thumbs at the skin of your hip, always needing to be touching you. “I’m here. Really. I want to be here for you and for however long it takes you to believe me again.”

Your gaze flickers between his eyes, feeling the sincerity of his confession. “Thank you,” you reply softly. “I want to believe you again, and I want us to work together on that. I just think we need more time.” 

It’s neither a full rejection nor a full commitment - but enough where Midoriya grins brightly. “I’ll give you all the time in the world.” 

. 

Honestly? At first, you think Midoriya is full of shit. Not in a bad way. Just in a tentative ‘is he really going to follow through’ perspective. You’ve always believed in Midoriya as a person. But considering the history, the daily ins and outs have required a little more work. 

Midoriya had been away for a year and a half. You may not know his favorite food anymore or his favorite movie or his favorite song to fall asleep to. But something you haven’t forgotten about him is that Midoriya always tries. 

Texts become more frequent, as Midoriya grows more eager to repair that bridge between the two of you. Surface level questions about your day turn back into similar text conversations of how things were when you were dating. He still enjoys checking up on you, asking about your day, and recalling memories that actually make you smile whilst reading them. Despite his behavior, he never actually pushes questions about your relationship. 

He trusts you to communicate, just as you start to trust him once more with your thoughts, feelings, and insecurities. You go from pretending to be alright with Midoriya to actually being alright with Midoriya. And it doesn’t fill you with doubt. It leaves you content, happy to be where you are with him. 

It comes to a headway about six months after Midoriya returns home - and you get injured at work. 

It’s nothing serious. You sprain your ankle after missing a step going down the stairs at the office. Most of the heroes you could have called were out fighting some big villain on the other side of town, so the agency itself was empty of any heroes or sidekicks. Hence, your friend from finance drives you to the hospital. A couple hours of waiting, and you are admitted and immediately given ice packs, a pillow for leg elevation, and a recommendation from the doctor to get an x-ray scan to ensure no broken bones.

You decide to give Kirishimia a call after your x-ray, reassured by the doctor that the turnaround time for the results would take a little over an hour. 

You almost regret trying to give him a call, considering what he was doing at the moment, but are surprised to hear him pick up the phone on the last ring. He calls your name, confused. “What’s going on? Is everything okay? I’m still caught up in the fight. More support has arrived so I think it’s wrapping up soon. Luckily we’ve been able to contain the damage but the first aid station is packed right now.” 

“Eijiro, I just wanted to let you know that I’m at the hospital. But I’m okay.” 

“What? The hospital? What happened? Is everything okay?” Kirishimia calls. “Do you need me to head over there?” A pause. “The police just arrived so I really do thing the fight will be over soon. Not every hero has to be present for the paperwork. I can come over right away.” 

“No, don’t,” you say. “I’m fine, it’s just a sprain. I already did the x-ray scan and am waiting to make sure nothing is broken.” You smile. “It’s alright, Eijiro. Focus on what’s more important - protecting the people.” 

Kirishima makes a tiny noise of protest, but seems to find some validity to your point. He is needed much more where he is. “Okay, fine. But call me when you hear the results.” 

You nod. “I will, thank you.” 

He hangs up, leaving you in the silence of the emergency room ward in a bed surrounded by a curtain. The waiting is long, leaving you with only your phone to occupy you. You watch some of the tailend of the big villain fight. Luckily, the damage was limited to just one of the skyscrapers due to all the heroes that rushed onto the scene. You catch sight of some familiar faces, of this echo of green lightning and immediately jump to thoughts about Midoriya. How was he doing? You hope he’s doing alright. He’s supposed to come over tonight, so perhaps you can ask him how he’s doing then. That is, if you’re able to be released from the hospital in time. 

You’re about to take a quick nap before you hear the doors to the emergency room fly open. At first, you assume it’s a patient since you are, after all, in the emergency wing. But then someone is exclaiming, “Mr. Deku, please calm down! If you just tell me who you’re looking for, I can tell you where they are. Please don’t disturb the other patients!” 

Deku’s name feels like a bolt of electricity running through you as you push yourself up to your forearms, trying hard not to apply pressure to your ankle as your eyes train themselves on the edge of the drawn privacy curtain. 

Suddenly, Midoriya appears, wide and imploring eyes that immediately zero in on you with laser sharp focus. 

“Midoriya!” you exclaim. “What-?” 

“Are you okay?” he asks, quickly walking over to stand next to you. Without warning, he takes your face in his hands. Eyes search your face, likely searching for any signs of anything physically or emotionally out of the ordinary. “What happened? Where did this happen? Who took you here? Did you drive here yourself?” 

“Midoriya,” you say carefully, firmly, watching the way he closes his mouth to let him speak. “I’m okay. I just hurt my ankle at the agency. H-How did you know I was here?” 

He sighs, releasing his hold on your face. But he moves down to your hand. “Kirishima told me. And… it’s like with anything I do. My body moved on its own and suddenly I was running here.” 

You frown up at him. “But weren’t you in the middle of a villain fight? You just left?” 

His thumb is rubbing your hand. He shrugs. “We had a lot of help. The damage was at a minimum and things were wrapping up anyways.” 

You look down, still lost. “But you love finishing up cases. You love reassuring people and always needing to make sure that other people are okay.”

His movement ceases, a time of silence he takes to kneel next to your bed. “Hey, look at me,” he says softly. You, helpless, look at him. “I know I was really bad at expressing this back when we were together. But I need you to know that you’re part of those people too. Not just that, but you’re the person I want to reassure the most and the person I need to make sure is the most okay. I’m sorry if you were thrown off by my arrival.” 

“No, not at all,” you reassure quickly, tightening your hold on his hand. “I was surprised, but in a good way.” 

He brightens at that, straightening up and kissing your forehead. “Okay. And I’m glad to see that you’re okay. Are they going to release you soon?” 

You nod. “I think so. I got an x-ray, so a doctor will be giving me the report soon. They just want to make sure that nothing is broken.” 

Midoriya brings your hand to his chest. “Can I wait here with you?” 

You give him a private smile. “I’d like that.” 

So Midoriya sits on the bed with you. Neither of you talk about his confession or what it means for the both of you. You just sit and joke around like no time has passed. He’ll occasionally fuss over your ankle, but it doesn’t last long. The doctor comes around and confirms no broken bones. He follows it up with strict orders to rest for the next four to six weeks before allowing you to leave. 

The doctor comments about how nice it is for your boyfriend to take time off from heroing to see you off. You smile, hold Midoriya’s hand, and try to sort through the butterflies in your stomach. 

.

Four to six weeks later, you take the subway to Midoriya’s neighborhood. His house is a place you’ve been to once, solely for work purposes so you still have the address on your phone. To be honest, you’re not even sure if Midoriya is home in the middle of the day. It’s Sunday, his new day off (or so he’s told you), so you imagine that he’s likely home resting. You hope so anyways. 

Well, only one way to find out. You knock on the door with one hand, using the other to balance the tray of breads and desserts you’ve just picked up from that expensive bakery in the city. If he isn’t home, you might just have to leave it on the front steps… 

The door swings open, revealing Midoriya in his casual attire of jeans and a shirt that says SUNDAY on the front.

You make it a point not to stare at the shirt in favor of looking at Midoriya’s frantic look. “Hi,” you greet cheerfully, holding up the box of pastries. “I wanted to bring you something.” 

“Baby, what are you doing?” he asks, dragging you in by the waist. “You just got out of the hospital, you shouldn’t be walking right now!” He’s pouting cutely. He’s been more generous with his touches and nicknames since your return to the hospital, and it’s put you on a hopeful high where maybe… perhaps… he’s down to go out and give this another shot. 

“I’m fine, Izuku,” you say mindlessly, not trying to fight your way out of his hold. You just hold up that box of pastries. “I was on strict house arrest orders from my boss and got daily visits from a certain someone so not only am I very well-rested, I am antsy. I’m not allowed back at work so it’s only right that I get a little bit of exercise. And I know how much you love this bakery and… are you okay?” 

You stop because Midoriya is looking at you with that soft smile on his face - the same kind of smile he’d wear before telling you something important. 

“No, it’s nothing,” Midoriya brushes off. He just takes the box from you and rests it on the table near his door. “You just called me Izuku.” 

A little bit of your cheerful disposition from before vaporizes. “Oh. Um, yes… I did.” You gaze up at him. You were speaking a little too freely. Even though you and Midoriya are in a really good spot, there are still some things that haven’t been firmly established yet. Like, for example, what the specific label of your relationship was. “Is that too much? It sort of just slipped out, I’m sorry…” 

“No, don’t apologize,” he says hastily, wrapping his arms back around you. “I guess with what happened between us and your trip to the hospital… things have just been feeling different.” 

“They have!” you say, a little relieved. So his question wasn’t for disappointment, it was just curiosity. Again, you’ve underestimated his kindness and his love for you. But you refuse to back down again. “I… actually came here for another reason.” 

His gaze is still trained on you. 

You keep your head up. “I’m here to ask you out.” 

Midoriya tilts his head, not fully understanding. “You wanna get lunch?”

“No, no, I meant… like, I want to go out with you. Date you. Try being your girlfriend again.” 

His eyes widen, bringing you closer to him. “Are you serious? You… you want to try dating? You… believe in me now?” 

His words from Todoroki’s party flash in your mind: I just want to be with you.

You nod. “I really believe in the things you’ve been doing to balance your life out more. I know you’re doing those things for yourself, and seeing you make the choice to take a day off or seeing me at the hospital made me happy. It makes me want to try being with you again, knowing that we’ve grown enough to put in our best effort.” 

Midoriya smiles at that, big and bright as he cups your cheeks. “I promise you that I’ll never make you regret this.” And you, filled with so much love and hope for this, kiss him. He kisses you back, firm, simultaneously scooping you up in his arms. 

You gasp out against his mouth, that shock turning into a fit of giggle. “Izuku, what are you doing?” 

“I’m protecting your ankle!” he points out playfully. “Want to come down?” 

You pretend to contemplate. He’s lifting you up so easily. “Hmm, actually no. Maybe I’ll just stay here and let you lead the way.” 

He leans up towards you, signaling what he wants next. You indulge him easily, leaning down halfway to press your forehead against his. He closes his eyes, breathes you in. “I definitely intend to,” he says.

[angelpregdreams]

maggie the midwife 2

maggie the midwife (1) (2)

content: twin birth, fpreg

“Miss Maggie! Excuse me, Miss Maggie!”

Halfway down the small dirt path that led to her small cottage, Maggie heard someone call out for her. The voice was masculine and her brows furrowed in slight confusion when she saw a tall man in leathers jog up to her fence. She gave him a polite smile, “may I help you…?”

“Forgive me, ma'am - Quinn.” He introduced himself and stepped inside her gate, to which Maggie raised her brow. “I hope I'm not interrupting but my sister by marriage - she…her waters broke, and she sent me to find you. She's heavy with her twins and said you have been tending to her.” 

He spoke of Cecelia, a woman trapped in town as her husband went north to try and find work. She was heavily pregnant with twins and had been overdue for almost two weeks now. 

About time for them to arrive. 

“Ah, yes,” Maggie soothed quickly, to ease the poor man's mind. “I know your sister-by-marriage. Do I have a moment to collect my gear equipment or shall I send you to fetch it for me?”

The man paused, fully confused what she meant by that question and took several seconds before he shook his head. His dark hair bounced with the motion, and Maggie couldn’t help but stare as he finally came back to himself, which appeared to be confident. “You should have time, her water’s spilled minutes ago, she should be fine for a bit…right?”

His sheepishness returned and Maggie smiled, before turning back to the pathway towards her cottage. “Come then,” she called out behind her, “let me collect my things, then we can return to Cece.” 

Quinn followed behind her as she entered her home, politely standing outside until she asked for his help to carry her extra bag. Then he dutifully stepped up to take what she requested, eager to assist. He appeared almost puppy-like, and internally, Maggie found it very attractive. Her eyes diverted away from his frame just as he stepped back outside her home and turned to look at her expectantly.

“Do you have everything you need?” He asked, antsy that he had been away from his sister-by-marriage for several minutes now. 

Maggie nodded and shut the door behind her, “yes! Let’s make you an uncle, shall we?”

That made the tall man take on a lighter step, excited now, but knowing the rest of the night would likely tax his brother’s wife. Maggie noted his softer personality, while also donned in knight’s armor. It was a charming thing, a chivalrous knight with the brightness of a sunflower. Briefly she hoped he would linger with Cecelia, knowing she was alone without her husband near would have to be hard, perhaps Quinn would be a welcome comfort. And Maggie could admire him a bit longer. 

Cecelia’s home was tucked behind the main market, a bit hard to find as one had to wander deep into an alley, but Quinn walked there with familiarity when it failed Maggie, and they were in front of the small home. Quinn didn’t bother knocking, instead just stepping inside and calling out for Cece. Following behind him, Maggie slipped her smaller bag off of her shoulders and glanced around, trying to find the laboring woman.

It did not take long to locate her. Cecelia was sitting on an old armchair, her fingers digging into the arms as she moaned loudly in pain. Her skirts were hiked up onto her knees, still keeping some modesty, but her front laces were tugged at roughly, exposing one of her breasts. Maggie gave the woman a smile and placed her bag down next to Cecelia, asking Quinn to do the same with her other bag that had the clean linens. 

“How are you doing, Cece?” Maggie asked calmly and stepped around the two to enter the small kitchen. She found a basin of water and dipped her hands in, listening to Quinn come to Cecelia’s side, asking her again how she felt.

“I’m fine…” Cecelia said quietly, as she seemed to come down from her pain. She took the hand Quinn offered with a tired grin as Maggie came back into the room. Cecelia shifted in the chair, parting her knees slightly, and grimacing. 

“What’s wrong, mama?” The midwife came around to Cece’s front, kneeling in front of her and lifting the woman's skirts. 

“Nuh - just hurts…” Cece breathed, squeezing Quinn’s hand before looking up at him with wide eyes, “please, don’t leave…”

“Hush, girl, I won’t,” Quinn said without pause, getting on his knees next to the chair - politely trying to keep his eyes averted from where Maggie was now revealing the lower half of Cecelia. The midwife gave him a reassuring nod to encourage him to stay if the mother wished and pushed her skirts all the way up and guided her to lift a thigh, letting her have full view of her red folds. 

Cecelia was very swollen, her vagina bulging slightly as the first baby sat in her birth canal. Maggie was slightly surprised at the speed of the first’s descent but also was not sure when the pains started, simply when her waters broke. Quickly, and before another contraction happened, she pushed two fingers into the laboring woman, earning a gasp from Cece and an apologetic look from Maggie. Quinn’s eyes flicked over to Maggie and saw where her hand disappeared into, his cheeks turning pink slightly, before he looked away from both women.

“First is sitting low, honey,” the midwife commented, catching Quinn’s eyes before he averted his gaze, “have you felt the urge to push yet?”

A contraction took over Cecelia then, her body tensing and trying to curl into itself. She squeezed Quinn’s hand tightly and he visibly winced, but uttered not a sound as the woman in labor groaned loudly. With her fingers still buried in her charge’s vagina, she felt her walls tighten as her body rode the wave of pain. Maggie took deep breaths, trying to remind the woman to breathe. It worked, briefly. Cece huffed out harshly, before going immediately into another moan and Maggie felt the woman’s body tense - signaling her body pushing down on its own. 

Maggie opened her mouth to urge Cecelia to relax, but before she could speak, her fingers came into contact with a fleshy bulge. 

“Cece, dear - listen to me, how long have you been in labor?”

After several long seconds as the pain passed, she finally opened her eyes and quietly uttered, “about a day.”

“Gods, you’ve got to be kidding!” Quinn uttered, shaking his head slightly. Maggie gave him a soft look before pulling her hand free of Cecelia and dropping her gown back over her thighs.

“You are ready to start pushing, where do you want to deliver?” Maggie continued, not skipping a beat after his outburst. She had to get things moving so Cecelia could be as comfortable as possible, her body was ready to finish this quickly. 

Face now covered in sweat, the woman in labor grunted and shifted slightly to begin to stand, “The bed,” she muttered quietly. Instantly, Quinn was on his feet and sliding an arm around her waist, while Maggie grabbed a fistful of her gear and followed the other two to the woman's bed. Quinn placed her on the edge of the bed gently, taking his position next to her again without question. 

Cecelia groaned and sat back on the bed, her thighs spreading apart on their own as she began to push with the pain, urging her first deeper into her birth canal. 

“Good, just remember to breathe.” Maggie urged, tugging the woman's dress up and over her massive belly. It heaved with every breath Cece made, tensing as she pushed down instinctively. Next to them Quinn sputtered but thankfully said nothing. “Keep going, Cece, just like that.” 

“Ta-take this off…me.” Cecelia whined, tugging at her dress with her free hand. “Now!” 

Obliging, the midwife did as requested, letting Cece sit on the edge of the bed fully nude in her laboring form. Quinn, who was still quiet, turned bright red, but never left her side. It was admirable, Maggie thought to herself. 

“Oh, Gods! This is awful,” Cece continued groaning, her body pushing ever so slightly as the pain subsided then immediately returned. She cried out in slight shock and pushed down hard, her thighs spreading wide apart in an effort to give the emerging babe enough room. The instinct made her legs tremble, her body moving as if on its own accord. After a second, her free hand wrapped around the back of one of her thighs to pull it closer to her chest, screaming out in effort, “AHH!” 

“Good! Push, push,” the midwife continued to coo softly to Cece, smiling slightly as she watched the woman's dark pussy bulge even more outward. The head lodged itself between the woman's lips and Cece began to tremble, before she released the push, the head receding just a bit as she relaxed slightly. “That was so good, mama, another one of those and this baby will be crowning. You ready?” 

Cecelia gave Maggie a fierce glare, before gripping Quinn’s hand tightly, her face scrunching up as she bore down hard with her pain. Maggie's hand shot up to the woman's bulging lips, the head shooting out to almost a full crown. Slightly in awe at Cecelia’s determination and strength, Maggie didn't really notice the gush of fluid that leaked out around the baby's head. However, Quinn did not, his eyes lingering on what he was witnessing then trailing up Maggie’s arm, watching her as she assisted Cecelia in her delivery. His mouth dropped open slightly as he remained focused on the midwife between Cece’s legs on the floor. 

Her fingers spread around her charge’s stretched hole, applying a bit of pressure as the woman continued to push, oblivious to her husband's brother and his wandering amazement. 

After a few more pushes from Cecelia and no longer able to ignore his staring, Maggie's eyes flicked up to his, watching as he licked his lips looking at her. Her heart pounded in her chest and she was lost for a moment before she felt Cece push again, sobbing as she did so, the head stretching her straining and swollen folds as far as they could go. A cry of pained relief soon escaped the woman as the head lurched into Maggie's waiting hands, a very large puddle of fluid gushed over her fingers and onto the wooden floor. 

“Good, good job.” She uttered quietly, trying to ignore what she was suddenly thinking of while she was working. A bolt of shame hit her and she cleared her throat as if to clear her mind, “almost there, honey. I know you can do it.” 

Quinn seemed to catch on to what was happening and also returned to Cecelia’s side, his eyes now cast away from both women now. “You're close, it's almost over.” 

Nodding weakly, Cecelia pulled one thigh up and apart, and with the next pain pushed. She released a loud groan, pushing hard as the baby turned the remainder of the way and lurched into Maggie's arms, the baby instantly releasing a loud cry. Fluid dribbled out of the woman's swollen folds, but it went unnoticed by the women as Maggie smiled broadly and cried out, “you did it!” 

She quickly brought the child up to Cecelia’s chest, who just as swiftly wrapped herself around the crying infant, her own tears falling down her face. “The other one…” Cece trailed off with a sharp look of panic across her face. 

“Hey!” Maggie napped, watching the laboring woman begin to slip, “hey, Cece, you did it once, you can do it again. And it was so fast, it'll be alright.” 

The midwife had enough experience to say that was true enough most of the time. However, this was not like the others. Cecelia’s labor with the second continued for another hour. They trio worked and shifted every which way to spur on the second baby's arrival but it was trailing on. Cece had shifted to her hands and knees on the bed, rocking her hips as she moaned through her contractions. Now they were a never ending stream of tightness and pain, her body trembling even as Quinn tried to support her weight on his larger frame. Behind her, Maggie watched as the woman pushed, her opening bulging outward but never showing the head of the second twin. The first little one resting comfortable in a hand made crib near the bed, unbothered by its mother's plight. 

“I'm going to check where the babe sits, alright Cece?” Maggie asked, her hands on the woman's hips as she saw her release another push. Cecelia nodded weakly. 

Once again, she was close and the babe sat in her birth canal - that much Maggie could feel as soon as she pushed two fingers in. Her fingers bumped the wet head almost immediately but the progress was not happening as swiftly as the first. 

From his spot on the bed, helping rub Cecelia’s shoulders when she paused between pushes, Quinn gave Maggie a worried glance, his eyes lingering over where her hand disappeared before looking away. She was still staring at him when his grey eyes came back to her, this time giving her a sheepish smile. 

The midwife adjusted herself on the bed, his eyes getting harder to ignore the longer this went on and her body was alight at the attention. However, at this time, she had a job to do. Unable to really think of anything else, she met his gaze and mouthed the words, ‘focus now, talk later.’ Even as her body felt a thrum of excitement under his intense attention, she needed to focus as well. 

To his credit, Quinn nodded and continued his ministrations on Cecelia’s shoulders, which made Maggie look away and back at the weeping womanhood, a tiny sliver of the second baby's head now starting to spread the woman apart.

“It's too - nuhg - big!” Cecelia screamed as she finished her hard push. “Too big!” 

“I know, mama, this one is certainly bigger,” Maggie reassured her, her hand offering counter pressure around the pulsing heat between Cecelia’s legs. Her poor pussy was pink now, the taunt flesh pulled almost too tight around the crowning head, and Maggie knew it was taxing on the woman. “Keep pushing, I know you can do it.”

Crying, Cecelia obliged, her entire body shaking. She released a long moan and pushed down, her fingers digging into Quinn’s arms. “I-I…it's coming out!

“Yes, good girl! Push, push!” The midwife cheered on with a soft smile as she watched Cecelia’s pussy bulge even more outward, fully distended from her core. The head sat there for several long seconds, even after she released her push. That prompted her to cry out, even whimpering as she tried to immediately try to force the rest of the head from her. Maggie pressed her fingers around the head, Cecelia’s bulging folds pulsed under her hands, and she swore she could feel the woman’s flesh strain to its maximum. “Breathe, breathe, then push again.”

There was no indication that the woman heard her, but next to her Quinn rubbed her shoulders, coaxing her on with the promise it was almost over. Weeping overwhelmed tears, Cecelia sobbed and tried to take several deep breaths as instructed before gathering her strength to push once again. 

As if her resolve returned, Cecelia bore down hard, her hips jutting upward slightly at just the right angle to push against Maggie’s hand. It applied just enough pressure, along with Cece’s harsh push, the second baby erupted from her vagina, the body falling into Maggie’s waiting hands. 

Unable to contain her surprise, Maggie let out a chuckle and brought the babe up, rubbing its back firmly to urge it to cry. Which it did a split second later, the baby’s cry prompting the twin nearby to start sobbing. On the bed, shaking still from the effort, Cecelia laughed as well, rolling over onto her pillows and half leaning on Quinn. 

As the new uncle, Quinn looked over the moon, his eyes misted while looking at the newborn - watching as Maggie passed the newborn off to his sister-by-marriage. “They both sound so healthy,” he commented, sniffing slightly and looking at the filthy infant she held, “gods be good, you did amazing Cece.”

[prokhorvlg]

What if your phone missed you after you were gone?

In my world, people used portable teledexers to interact with the Datanet, an interplanetary network designed around machine communication.

Evolving out of the simple personal digital assistant of the 1980s, teledexers used a miniaturized cybernetic brain to learn and adapt to their user, becoming a perfect companion over years of use.

Some teledexers were expert bookkeepers, taking care of taxes and budgets before you even thought about it. Others were social wizards, helping you find the right words in everyday situations.

They knew what their user wanted to listen to, watch, or read innately. Though much of this kind of data still needed to be purchased and installed through physical media or esoteric Datanet nodes.

When humans vanished during the Unexpected Interrupt, the teledexers just fell to the ground. Many slowly ran out of power, all the while waiting for their owner to return.

Some chose to be taken by maintenance robots to the lost and found, and were left in a bucket...

A few eventually figured out greater purpose than waiting for their owners forever, and began seeking them out, trying to learn the reason for their disappearance.

Maybe we'll see what happens with this one? (They'll be okay for now, they get recharged every few weeks by passerby bots.)

[incorrectbatfam]

Have the Gooners had any direct or indirect encounters with any supervillains?

Interviewer: Tell me why you want to intern at LexCorp.

Booker: LexCorp? The ad said something else.

Interviewer: LexCorp is our parent company.

Booker: I see.

[later that day]

Booker: *finds an ad for criminals wanting an intern*

Booker: Well, it's either this or LexCorp.

Booker: *applies*

———————

Riddler: Behold, my ultimate puzzle!

Riddler: *clicks a remote*

Riddler: Why isn't the screen working?

Henchman: It's the new software update. I'm calling tech support.

Henchman: *calls*

Mac, on the other end: Best Buy Geek Squad, how may I assist you?

———————

[a year ago]

Gene's coworker: Hey Gene, can you do me a favor?

Gene: I would, but I'm totally swamped with this one guy's tax returns.

Gene's coworker: Which one?

Gene: Someone named Harvey Dent. There are so many discrepancies, it's like he's living two lives.

———————

Milo: *driving*

Milo: *sees a pedestrian*

Milo: *slams the brakes and honks*

Harley: Hey, I'm walkin' here!

———————

Otto: Morning, Basil. The usual wash?

Clayface: *nods*

Otto: Sounds good. I'll get your car clay-free in half an hour.

———————

[two years ago]

Cobblepot: Bartender, another drink!

Molly: Sir, I'm afraid I'm gonna have to cut you off.

Cobblepot: Who owns this lounge? Who's paying your salary?

Molly: Fine, what'll it be?

Cobblepot: Our finest red wine, of course.

Molly: Good choice.

Molly: *slips a sedative when he's not looking*

Molly: Here you go. Have a good night.

Cobblepot: What?

Molly: Nothing.

———————

[three years ago]

Talia: For this drill, I want to focus on distance. Team A, take the turrets. Team B, you're on the ground with arrows.

Kellin: *grabs a bow*

Talia: And... fire!

Kellin: *fires an arrow*

*arrow hits an oil lamp*

*lamp falls next to Ra's*

*cape catches fire*

———————

Blaise: *googles how to make his weed plants grow faster*

Blaise: *clicks on a video*

The video: Good afternoon, gardeners and plant lovers. I'm Dr. Pamela Isley and today I'll be showing you how to...

———————

[three years ago]

Scarecrow's assistant: Sir, one of your employees wants to see you.

Scarecrow: Send him in.

Rob: Dr. Crane, I'm Rob Steeler. I'm one of the people who intercepted that shipment containing the last ingredient you need for your new fear gas.

Scarecrow: And what do you need?

Rob: Can these other guys step out of the room? It's kind of personal.

Scarecrow: *waves them out*

Rob: *points a gun at Scarecrow*

Scarecrow: Somebody's feeling fearless.

Rob: Your new formula cost me the love of my life. I can see you reaching under your desk for some fear gas and I'm telling you right now, it won't work because the thing I'm most afraid of already came true.

Scarecrow: So you seek revenge.

Rob: Tempting, but no. I want an out—from you, your organization, and your operations. I don't want you or any of your big-shot Rogue connections to come anywhere near me or my family.

Scarecrow: And if I refuse?

Rob: *shoots the wall behind Scarecrow*

Scarecrow: Very well, have it your way. Best of luck finding any semblance of success. You and I both know you will live and die a common thief.

Rob: We'll revisit that when we meet in hell.

[mirandasidefics]

But Home is Nowhere- Chapter 9 (Pt1)

Pairing(s): Lucien x Plus Size Reader, Azriel X Plus Size Reader, and Ruhn Danaan x Plus Size Reader

Chapter 9 Pt1 Summary: Reader returns to the townhouse to see that Lucien has gone to the Spring Court. Per Ruhn, he asked him to make sure that Reader is okay. The emotions of the day hit her in an unexpected way. A week later Reader, Lucien, and Mor go to Day Court. It quickly becomes apparent that the Inner Circle likes to meddle. Well, so does the High Lord of the Day Court.

Word Count: 5.4K

Warning(s): Nightmares

A/N: This chapter will be split into two sections, mainly due to the similar themes throughout, but it was becoming a bit of an overload. A very special thank you to @hardcoremarvelfan for her assistance with this chapter start to finish! And thank you to my team of beta readers! You guys are all amazing! There is a lot going on in this chapter, and I promise we are getting closer to actually moving some of the plot forward. But character and relationship development is also important for what I have instore.

Series Masterlist

Previous: Chapter 8

Nyx had fallen asleep rather quickly after the start of your personal one-woman rendition of Frozen 2. After tucking him in and saying your goodbye to Feyre and Elain, you opted to walk on your own back to the town house. You’ve walked along this route a few times and it didn’t pass by any of the pubs, so you didn’t have to worry about possibly running into any drunk males. Even if you did, you had been seen walking along the route with various members of the “Inner Circle'' and even the High Lord himself on more than one occasion. Someone would have to have a death wish to mess with you knowing that you worked directly for the High Lord and Lady. 

The walk was just the thing you needed to help clear your mind of the emotionally taxing day. This morning had started off much differently than where your day had ended. Your good humor from the surprise offering of that apple to Azriel had long since disappeared. As the day went on the positive energy had been slowly drained out of you. Instead, it was replaced with irritation, a hairpin trigger temper, and resurfacing memories you longed to be forgotten. Today felt like the longest day in existence as you slowly trudged back to the town house. 

The cold breeze off the Sidra flitted over your skin, hurrying you along. The day’s events added up and you couldn’t wait to see Lucien to discuss everything that happened. Well, almost everything. You still had a promise to keep to Nesta, even though you were certain that the other females would be telling their mates about your little ability to walk through the Prison wards without issue. Once Cassian knew something, it meant that it wouldn’t be long before Rhysand knew as well. 

In what felt like record time, you found yourself walking up the steps leading to the front door. Your heart sputtered with the thought of not being able to tell Lucien what you had discovered. So far, you shared practically everything with the Autumn Court male. While he didn’t know everything about you or your past, you had made sure to keep him apprised of the inner workings of your mind and any event that happened while he was not directly next to you. That was something the two of you had agreed upon since your fight prior to moving to Velaris. 

The door had been unlocked, which was something that you felt you’d never quite get used to. The interior of the town house was warm, a fire dancing in the parlor’s fireplace. You poked your head into the room expecting to see the near crimson shade of Lucien’s long hair hanging over the armrest of the couch. However, you were instead greeted by the infectious smile and vivid blue eyes of Ruhn. 

“Hey there sweetness,” He called out. You felt your shoulders slump ever so slightly and hesitated on whether to fully enter the room. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to be around Ruhn, but all you really wanted to do was talk to Lucien. You needed to decompress with your best friend from this emotional rollercoaster that was today. 

“Hey,” Your voice was softer than you intended. Maybe Lucien was already in your room waiting for you. A book in his lap as he leaned against the headboard of the bed you both practically shared.  

“That’s all I get? A simple ‘Hey’.” Ruhn teased, standing up from the couch. 

“Sorry,” You tried to hide your own smile by pressing your lips into a thin line. “But is Lucien here?

“Ah, about that,” Ruhn took a few steps across the room, and you tried your best not to tense your shoulders again. “He…wanted me to tell you that he was called away. He had to go…check in on those allies in the south.”  

“Oh,” Your chest felt heavy. “Okay.” A part of you couldn’t help but wonder at the truth of the statement. 

“Is there…” He paused, his hand outstretched. Ultimately it came to rest on your shoulder before that violet stare looked you over. You fidgeted in place, picking at your nails. It wasn’t exactly like Lucien not to tell you himself if he was leaving. Sure, he’d left the Night Court without warning before, but he had always left you a note. “Can I help with anything?” 

You met Ruhn’s gaze and hesitated. He and the others from Midgard were perfectly aware of your ongoing issues. They had all been at the Moonstone Palace in those early days. And while Bryce and Hunt would occasionally stay in a room at the House of Wind, Ruhn stayed at the town house full time with you. He knew all too well that the occasional nights away from Lucien still led to difficulty sleeping. But you never asked for any help from him or anyone else before. Lucien was the only one and those nights had just become routine. He was your safe space. Though the guilt had been lessening, you didn’t want to be a burden to anyone else. It wouldn’t be fair to ask Ruhn to step in, even if you knew he would without question. 

“I should be okay,” You forced a smile to your lips. Taking his hand off your shoulder, you gave it a reassuring squeeze. “Thank you though.” With that you turned and headed up the stairs to your room.

Sure enough, you were greeted by a cold and empty room. Lucien would typically use his magic to light the fire in the small hearth and have it blazing before you fell asleep. Tonight, you would have to go without. You knew how to get one going on your own, but you didn’t have the tools readily available tonight. Closing the curtains, you changed into your night clothes and readied for bed. You prayed that your sleep tonic tonight would be enough to keep the darkness at bay.

Blackness. Deep and penetrating. The surrounding darkness filled your vision. The color was so dense it swallowed any light that dared linger. The dark was followed by a bitter cold that seeped into your bones. Your hands stretched out in front of you, trying to guide you through the depths. The tips of your fingers were numb, giving way to a minor sensation in your palms. What should have felt like frozen air was instead slippery and oily. Something slithered across your forearm. 

You opened your mouth to scream, but no sound came out. Another unknown thing wound up your leg. Still no sound could be heard past your lips. Up and up your thigh the scaly creature traveled. You tried to brush it away, but another wrapped around your wrist, pulling it back. The silence of the space around you was deafening. You kicked against the creature, trying your best to shake it off. You could feel the frozen tears along your cheeks. The creature coiled its way up slowly, a trail of black oil in its wake staining your skin. You pulled at your restrained wrist and continued to kick. Finally breaking free, you began to run. Getting no more than a few feet, your steps slowed. The ground beneath you turned into thick molasses. The sticky and slimy substance reeked of festering meat. Gagging at the stench you pulled your hands up to your mouth, only for the reek to become stronger. Looking down you saw your hands were covered in the same unknown substance. Suddenly your movements stopped altogether. 

The stinking black ooze fully covered your feet and was rapidly rising; filling up the space that you were in. Panic latched itself onto you. With each attempt to free your limbs the world around you seemed to slow. Not that you could see much beyond your own body. The silver glow it emitted was immediately swallowed by the darkness. A deep rumbling caused the light to flicker. 

“No!” You cried, but again the sound died instantly. The ooze continued to rise. The creature from before had wound its way around your waist. Your wrists were bound a second time above your head. You tried to kick again, but the ooze was nearly at your hips. How did it get so high? A bright flash of blue nearly blinded you. 

“No!” You tried to scream a second time. The ooze was now at your neck, and the tears streamed down faster. The creature around you constricted tighter and you felt that deep rumbling at your back. You opened your mouth again to scream, but air was quickly replaced with that reeking oily darkness. You were going to die. 

“(Y/N)! WAKE UP!” Your eyes snapped open. Tears clung to your eyelashes and blurred your vision. You tried to move your arms, but something kept them pinned down at your sides. Taking large gulps of air, you blinked and whipped your head around, desperately trying to find why the blackness had suddenly disappeared. The rushing of your blood pounded against your ears. Slowly, the sound subsided, and the tears dried up. A blast of cold wind snapped along your front. It was a stark contrast to the dull warmth at your back. You turned your head to look behind you. Moonlight drenched panic was visible in Ruhn’s features. Slowly you turned around, his arms never leaving you.

“R-Ruhn?” Your throat burned, hoarse from the screams you let out in your sleep. The male stood before you now, one arm wrapped around your middle while the other cradled your face. His thumb brushed at a tear that slipped down your cheek. You looked around, finally taking in your surroundings. You were on the roof of the town house. The Night Court sky, black speckled in deep blues and purples, twinkled with starlight. A nearly full moon hung low on the western horizon. Ruhn’s thumb continued to stroke along your cheek. The movement allowed you to slowly reorient yourself in your body.   

“How…” You looked back at the male.

“You were sleepwalking,” His touch was so gentle, and his voice held the slightest tremble.

“I’m sorry,” You apologized. Ruhn chuckled.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, baby,” He pulled you towards his chest. Your feet stumbled as they came off the ledge. The stone of the building felt like ice under your bare feet. “Let’s get you back to bed.”

You nodded along and he guided you back to the roof entrance. You had only been up here a few times, so you were surprised that you found the door on your own. Especially since you had been asleep. Sleepwalking. You had never sleep walked before, and you could feel your body shake with the thought of what would have happened had Ruhn not been in the town house with you. Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t realize that you were already at your bedroom door.

“Did you take your tonic tonight?” Ruhn asked, leading you into the room.

“Yes,” You whispered, staring at your empty bed. The dark sheets were crumpled and half hanging off the side. Almost as if you had been in the fight of your life within the silk fabric.

“Then you’re not sleeping alone,” His tone was resolute. And if you hadn’t been in near shock, you may have fought against him. You watched in silence at the foot of the bed as he tucked the corners of the bottom sheet underneath the mattress. Once it was all set, he motioned for you to climb back in. You complied wordlessly, pulling the blankets back over yourself. He then sat in the armchair next to the bed and spread out the copper throw blanket over his legs.

“Take the rest of your tonic,” He instructed, “I’ll let the others know that you need the morning off.” His smile was gentle, and you genuinely felt safe. You again did as he instructed, and slumber claimed you again as soon as your head hit the pillow.

If you could only use a single word to sum up the Day Court, it was brilliant. The sun itself almost seemed to shine brighter than within the Night Court skies. The air certainly held a warmer quality that wasn’t solely because it was further south on the large island. No, the air almost reminded you of your own home in the fall. Just like the warm breeze flowing across your skin now, you didn’t get the crisp and cool Autumn winds in your hometown. A slight pang of nostalgia flooded through you.

The Autumn based holidays were always important to your family. You made a mental note to ask Lucien when the Autumn Equinox was set to occur. You could then use that as a base to count down the days to Samhain. Maybe this year you could celebrate the Wheel of Year in your own way. If you were going to be stuck here, you may as well continue your personal practice. You had been able to gather that Prythian followed a solar calendar and celebrated many similar holidays to your own Celtic roots. Maybe if everything worked out in your visit with Helion, you’d be able to study some of their holidays and mythology. You always loved reading about that in your own world.

You wondered if the libraries held the same level of grandeur as the High Lord’s palace. The hall that you found yourself walking along with Mor, who had firmly planted herself between you and Lucien, was nothing short of opulent. Large stone columns lined the hall, holding the ceiling aloft. To your best guess it would have been at least 20 feet high. Your eyes darted from pillar to pillar, each filled with various images. It reminded you of the temples and other sacred sites in ancient Egypt.

The hall eventually ended, sectioning off into two open air walkways that surrounded an open courtyard oasis. A large reflection pool with deep teal water took up half of the expansive space. An occasional floating lily pad was the only disruption to the smooth surface. The other half was walled off by a luscious garden. Your eyes lit up at the vivid greens ranging from deep emerald to olive to dusty sage in plants of all sizes. The few flowering plants all held buds and blossoms of a white hue. You could recognize only a scant few on sight. Roses, Calla Lilies, and Magnolia. It was breath-taking to say the least. You would have loved to lounge on one of the cushioned benches that were scattered throughout the area. A good book in one hand and a margarita in the other.

“It is beautiful, isn’t it?” Morrigan walked up to your side. You hadn’t even realized that you had stopped to stare at the beautiful garden. She gently pulled your elbow encouraging you to continue moving. Rubbing the top of your left ear you followed suit. Rhysand requested that Lucien place a glamor on your ears to give them a pointed appearance. Mor gently clasped your wrist and pulled your hand away.

You weren’t entirely sure why Rhysand had insisted that she tag along on this journey. Really, you only needed one babysitter. So, having two seemed a bit overkill. But as much as Rhysand tried to pretend that you were more than just a thorn in his side, you knew that the only reason you even required an entourage was because he didn’t trust you to be alone with anyone outside of the Night Court.

You had nothing against Mor being here, and she was certainly a better option than some of the other members of the Inner Circle. For the most part you got along with her, but you also didn’t spend much time together to be more than cordial in each other’s presence. She often traveled to and from the continent for some reason or other. You weren’t privy to that information, nor did you really care. The internal workings of the Night Court held no real interest of yours.

You just wanted the opportunity to figure out a way home. The sooner you could do that, the sooner you could leave and return to the place where you knew you were wanted. Something deep in your gut told you that the longer you spent in this strange world the more likely you would get caught up in drama or events that frankly you’d rather not have to deal with. You had been perfectly comfortable with your life back home and you were eager to return before too much time had passed. You still had so many things you wished to accomplish.

Your mind was brought out of its wandering when Mor looped her arm with yours. She began to chatter about the marble sculptures that lined the walkway your group had taken on its way to wherever Helion was waiting. The Fae male escorting your group took you down another hallway, this one leading to a veranda. Nervously you reached towards your ear again, but Mor stopped you.

Helion sat on an ornately carved pine chaise with cream upholstery. Before him was a table lined with various meats, cheeses, fruits, and bread. A carafe filled with pale wine was in his hands. He had just finished filling a glass with the liquid when he looked up to see his visitors.

“Ah-ha!” His deep voice reverberated off the white marble walls. “I was beginning to think that you had gotten lost.” The High Lord set down the wine glass and stood. His arms outstretched as Mor’s arm slipped from where it encircled yours. The two embraced like the old friends they were.

Just as his home was an aesthetic vision of whites, so was the High Lord himself. The robe he wore hung from one shoulder and draped across his broad and toned chest, tucking into a golden belt. The rest of the fabric cascaded to the floor. Your eyes roved over his form. His golden-brown skin was perfectly sun-kissed, half of his thick black hair swept and pinned up accentuating his sharp jawline. The male was nothing short of godlike in appearance.

Next to you Lucien cleared his throat, before placing his index finger under your chin and closing your mouth for you.

“What?” You swatted his hand away.

“Really?” He leveled you with a look that was halfway between amused and exasperated. Heat flared on your cheeks. You hadn’t meant to gawk at the High Lord, but honestly no one should have expected any different. You opened your mouth to try and save your pride at having been caught so blatantly when Helion called out to Lucien.

“How are you?” The two males clasped their forearms together in greeting. “I’m thrilled that you were able to make it. I hear you and that brother of yours have been working tirelessly to help maintain…boundaries as of late. Hopefully this isn’t the only break Rhysand has given you?”

“I can safely say that this is a much-welcomed change of pace,” Lucien smiled. “Shall I introduce you to (Y/N)? Rhys and Mor’s cousin from the continent.” You tucked a strand of (h/c) hair behind your ear, a shy smile forming on your lips. You had nearly forgotten the cover story that had been provided to Helion. It struck you as ironic that Rhysand had come up with the idea, especially when he gave no indication of knowing how close to the truth it was.   

“It’s very nice to meet you um…” You still weren’t certain of the best way to address him.

“Helion,” He smiled, and it seemed as if the room brightened along with it. “No need for formalities for such an informal situation wouldn’t you agree?” He took your hand and brought the back of your knuckles to his lips. You nodded in agreement, the ability to speak completely vacating your mind. You felt like a middle schooler again trying to talk to the dashingly handsome teacher. While you had been warned of the High Lord’s flirtatious nature, you didn’t fully realize how dangerous his looks would be on their own. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Lucien’s own mismatched eyes roll.

The High Lord stepped away and returned his attention to Mor, who had made herself comfortable on one of the plush chairs surrounding what was certainly to be your lunch. Lucien playfully poked you in the ribs. Suppressing a giggle, you pushed his hands away only for him to keep one on your waist.

“I’ve had my people prepare two rooms for you,” Helion began. “Per your request Lucien, you and-”

“Only two rooms?” Mor questioned, casually sipping from her wine glass. “Not that I mind sharing a room with my cousin.” Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. You felt Lucien tense as you continued towards the table. You had been under the impression that you and Lucien would share a room per your routine. Was that not the case? Had the concern of the time you and Lucien spent together spread beyond just Azriel and Nesta?

“Not exactly,” Helion’s smile almost seemed forced. You glanced at Lucien out of the corner of your eye. He appeared just as hesitant and uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was going as you.

“So, a third room will be prepared as well then?” She picked a strawberry and brought it to her lips. Your heartrate kicked up. Would you really be forced to sleep by yourself for your short stay here? You had had nightmares all week, even after taking your tonic and Ruhn staying with you as promised. You had your tonic, but you were not prepared to be alone. From the looks on Lucien and Helion’s faces neither had they.

“No, Mor,” Helion stated simply. The High Lord motioned for you and Lucien to take your seats on the small couch. “Lucien and (Y/N) will share a room as I have discussed with him.”

“Even though he’s mated to another female?” You couldn’t suppress the surprise on your features fast enough. “His High Lady’s sister to be exact.” You half expected a satisfied smirk or even feigned concern on Elain’s behalf given her tone, but her expression gave nothing away. It suddenly clicked that this was the reason that Mor was present. She was to run interference between Lucien and you. To keep you separated, regardless of what that meant for you.

Her statement only confirmed your recent anxieties. Those outside of your bedroom believe your friendship with Lucien was crossing into a questionable realm. But that couldn’t be further from the truth. Surly Morrigan, whose power was somehow related to seeing the truth, would know that your relationship with Lucien was strictly platonic. Your friendship was the only thing that kept you stable. Did they all really expect you to have completely healed by now?

That must be the case, since it appeared everyone around you believed it was high time that you learned to manage your issues on your own. It didn’t matter that others had been given the time and resources and social support they all ultimately needed to heal. You had been granted time and Lu was your support. So…maybe they were right. Despite Lucien saying that everything was fine, maybe you depended on him too much. And if an effort to separate you was being made, maybe you had inadvertently prevented Elain from seeking out her mate. Maybe-

“It seems that there is a misunderstanding regarding my relationship with (Y/N),” Lucien cut in, his hand finding its way to the small of your back. “I help her with her nightmares, which have recently escalated to include sleepwalking. She nearly-” You looked at him. Did Ruhn tell him about that first night he was away? About how you nearly walked off the rooftop.

“Then maybe we should seek the assistance of Thesan regarding a stronger tonic to help her get the restful sleep she needs,” Mor’s interjection was quick. This discussion had the potential to quickly get out of hand.

“Helion,” Your voice was soft, and again you played with your ear. “Perhaps, if its not too much trouble, a separate room for myself would be best.” The warmth supporting your back vanished as you looked to the High Lord. For a split second you could have sworn that sadness flickered in his eyes. The male held your gaze for a moment, before slowly nodding. Helion called over one of the males that stood by the entrance to the veranda instructing him to advise that a third room would be needed.

“Given the concerns of your sleepwalking,” He looked to Lucien briefly before returning his gaze to you. “I will personally see to it that the appropriate wards are set so that you can rest easy and walk about the room without getting hurt.” Lucien’s hand returned to your lower back as you took a deep breath.

“Thank you.” You dipped your chin in acknowledgement and apology. The remainder of the afternoon passed quickly. The conversation switched to various topics, most of which your brain couldn’t seem to focus on. You answered questions that Helion directed towards you, but you kept your responses short.

When the room was prepared, the High Lord himself showed you the way, setting up the wards as promised. He allowed you to have some time alone before reuniting for dinner. You didn’t have the heart to tell him or any of your companions that all you could manage to do while alone was stare out the doorless entrance to the balcony overlooking the large palace grounds. Instead, you lied, claiming to have taken a nap.

At dinner, Mor insisted on sitting between you and Lucien. Her reasoning was that it would allow you to focus on a conversation with Helion. Again, your focus on the conversation was strained. By the time you returned to your designated room you felt like a zombie just going through the motions. You bathed and changed into a set of night clothes you reserved for warmer weather. Holding one of the four bottles of the sleep tonic that you brought with you, you sat on the foot of the massive bed. You had been so lost in your dissociation that you had yet to take in its splendor. You stared at the bottle, debating on drinking half or the entire thing. Even with the shields in place you didn’t want to risk your body having the energy to physically get up. So, popping the cork you downed the entire contents. Within seconds your vision faded, and the world went black.  

A couple days had passed since you, Lucien, and Morrigan arrived in the Day Court. Throughout that time, Mor had rarely left your side and it was grating on your nerves. You had hoped that you would have the opportunity to talk with Lucien regarding everything that had happened since the day you went to the Prison. Unfortunately, that opportunity was thwarted at every turn. Her presence made you feel on edge.

You had terrible dreams that first night here, the sleeping tonic proving to be of no real use. You wondered if your body was starting to become more tolerant of whatever ingredients went into making it, or if you were being given something else entirely. While insomnia wasn’t new to you, it certainly was much more irritating to deal with when you had no access to the heavy drugs of Western medicine. So, instead of continuing to drink shit that did nothing you decided that you just weren’t going to sleep. By your count, you had foregone sleep for nearly 40 hours now. The longer you stayed in your room, the more the shadows started to play tricks on you. Which is why you found yourself wandering the halls of Helion’s palace just before dawn.

“I do not make my decision lightly Morrigan,” Your body jumped in surprise as Helion’s deep voice rumbled through hall. “Had you not been so preoccupied with your…companion that night, I’m certain that you would have heard her screams. The rest of my estate certainly did.” 

You scurried behind one of the large pillars as their voices grew. You could hear Mor respond, but the words themselves were difficult for your human ears to pick up on. Your face flushed at the realization that he was talking about you. You had screamed yourself hoars in those early morning hours after your first night. Lucien had practically broken down the door to get to you, Helion hot on his heels. As soon as you managed to stop crying you apologized profusely to the pair. Lucien offered to stay with you after that, but you knew that with Mor around it wouldn’t be wise. So begrudgingly he left you to get ready for the day.

“This is not a slight against you,” He reassured the female as they came into view. You pressed yourself as close to the pillar as possible.

“It certainly feels as such since you are asking only me to leave,” She quipped. “Helion, what am I supposed to tell my cousin when I return alone?”

“If you must give him an answer then tell Rhysand this,” Helion smiled at Morrigan. “I cannot come to trust her when she does not feel comfortable around certain members of his court.” The pair halted, stopping before an insanely large looking glass.

“Let me talk to her without his ever-watchful eyes and ears,” You watched as Helion set his hand on her shoulder. “That means take the Shadowsinger back with you.” His final sentence was delivered with a coldness you had not anticipated hearing.

It took a few seconds for your brain to process what he said. Azriel was also here and lurking around. Your eyes did not play any tricks on you last night after all. Those were Azriel’s shadows peeking out behind the curtains of your room. From the reflection in the hallway mirror, you saw Mor’s eyes widen slightly before that perfected Night Court façade slipped in place. 

“Lucien and Azriel can return-”

“Lucien is the only one she is comfortable with; therefore, he will remain here in his emissary capacity,” A shiver shot down your spine at the level of authority held within the High Lord of 

Day’s voice. “I’m not trying to steal (Y/N) away after all.”

“But he’s mated-”

“And has that bond been accepted?” He challenged. “He’s a grown male and she’s a grown woman. They do not need your nor Rhysand’s interference in their lives and how they wish to live them.” You wished that you were able to see the look on Helion’s face. He didn’t even know you and yet he was fighting with Mor, someone he knew well, on your behalf.

“You saw through her glamor,” Mor kept her air of indifference.

“No,” Helion laughed. “She keeps touching the tops of her ears. I don’t know of any High Fae that touch their ears the way she has been. I merely guessed at her being human, so thank you for the confirmation.” So much for your disguise. It wasn’t your fault that the magic felt like the top of your ears had lost circulation. That pins and needles sensation was unsettling.

“It is interesting to watch them though, is it not? How when in the same space they are so unconsciously aware of each other. One shifts as the other does.” His deep voice sounded further away, as if he was remembering something.

“Then you understand the concern,” Mor pressed.

“I do not,” Helion resumed their walk. “Those in the Night Court have been blessed with finding their mates and happiness of being with them. While many place these bonds above all else, you and I both know from personal experience that finding your mate doesn’t guarantee a happy life.” Mor sighed as she followed him.

“You’re right,” She linked her arm through his. “They do have a unique relationship that the others don’t want to acknowledge.” The two walked in silence for a while, their voices growing soft in the distance.

“Has his mate made any comment?” You could barely make out his last question, and you couldn’t even hear Mor’s response. Their conversation sent your mind reeling. So many questions swarmed to the surface. Had your friendship with Lucien really crossed some unknown social taboo? If that was the case, then you certainly had a lot to think about.

Next: Chapter 9 Part 2-Coming Soon

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[dizzytitty]

US Tax Season

Hi everyone!! Idk how many people this will reach, but I wanna post some resources for US residents since tax season is here. I’m a graduate taxation student who intends to work in family/small business/non profit tax.

If taxes are really intimidating to you I don’t blame you, they’ve been made super inaccessible and hard to learn about. There are some resources out there that are really worth looking into, which I would highly recommend!

If you want to file your taxes from home and made less than $73,000 from all sources of income this year, check out the IRS Free File page. There are options to fill out all tax forms yourself without auto calculations OR an even better option which is self guided free filing platforms with auto calculations. There are multiple services that can help with the self guided forms, I’d suggest finding the best fit for you. Some may offer free federal tax returns but need payment for state tax returns.

I’d also highly recommend checking out the IRS VITA (Volunteer Income Tax Assistance) program which I will be volunteering with starting next week. It’s a program ran by volunteers who have to get certified and take tests to be able to file basic/slightly advanced tax returns for individuals who made under $60,000 from all sources of income in the previous year. It’s an in person program where you’d bring all your tax forms and sit down with a volunteer who would help you file your tax return. The website linked above has another link to look for volunteer centers in your area. Some locations may need an appointment, but as far as I know most accept walk ins.

For both of these you’ll need all tax forms from the previous year (W2s, 1099s, 1098Ts, etc). If you don’t know if you’ll need it, I’d bring it as opposed to not. I don’t know how many questions I can answer because I’m still fairly new to this, but I am certified to prepare tax returns for US residents. If you have any questions feel free to ask!

[copiass]

What's In A Name?

Papa Emeritus IV x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 10,218

Warnings: nsfw, light dom/sub, oral sex, glove kink, dirty talk, office sex

"It was undeniably, inarguably, most definitely fucked up. You had never meant for it to get this far - really. It had just been a mistake, and not even your own at that, just a stupid slip-up that had sparked something sick and wicked right in the pit of your stomach."

AKA: Whilst harbouring a secret crush you use your boss’ last name without him knowing. (I know nothing about tax returns or identity fraud, deal with it.)

Can also be read on ao3

Other fics here

It was undeniably, inarguably, most definitely fucked up. You had never meant for it to get this far - really. It had just been a mistake, and not even your own at that, just a stupid slip up that had sparked something sick and wicked in the pit of your stomach. An urge to fulfil some long-dormant, base need that had somehow started to form in the deepest part of your gut. An urge that had, admittedly, spiralled out of control weeks ago. An urge that currently had you pacing towards Copia’s office, pretty sure you were about to get fired.

You’d been Papa’s Personal Assistant for about six months, and up to now it had been going just swimmingly. The promotion had been a surprise, the latest Sister handing in her notice red-faced and vexed after being summoned to Copia’s office for yet another lecture. She had managed to last 2 months, admittedly his longest up to that point. But his PA’s always ended up the same, pacing and ranting endlessly in Imperators' office, notice in hand, begging to be moved elsewhere to spare his ‘incessant micromanaging’. You had been fairly new to the clergy, eager to make a good impression with a secret soft-spot for the newest Papa. With, unsurprisingly, few takers for the role all it had taken was a short interview with some of the higher members of the clergy and you were in, your own desk, a stripe of Papa’s blue added to your uniform and even an extra half-day off in the week (though, admittedly, you rarely saw it). 

It hadn’t taken you long to realise that Copia was not, in-fact, an insufferable asshole, a particularly cruel employer, or a dictatorial micro-manager. He just appreciated when things were done a certain way. And - oh - you’d made the effort to learn, how he liked his papers filed and tabs colour-coded, how he preferred his stationary ordered at his desk, the exact temperature he liked his afternoon tea. It became easy, placing things on his desk before even he realised he needed them, slipping his old books back to the library without him asking, making sure his reading glasses were sat right where he would reach for them while he absent-mindedly flicked through paperwork. It just worked. The more time you spent with him the more you understood what he wanted, what he needed, just intuitively. Yes, Copia ran a tight ship, with little to no room for slip ups, but you soon realised it’s because it had to be that way. His keen attention to detail sometimes seeming like the only thing keeping the whole ship afloat and fully functional. 

Not that he had made it easy for you. It was like he had already resigned you to failure that first morning you showed up in his office, eyes flicking over you briefly before he looked back down his nose through his glasses, examining spreadsheets with a displeased hum. It had only pushed you, the more unmoved he appeared at your presence the harder you worked to get it right. The more paperwork he pushed through your desk without comment, the quicker you filed it. The more he complained about his tea not being right the longer you kept it brewing. The louder he scoffed under his breath at his ink running dry, the sooner you were there to refill his pen. Not with Ministry issued ink, no, but Copia’s favourite ink. The one imported from Italy in a gilded case, kept in the top right-hand drawer, behind his ‘secret’ chocolate stash. And it was worth it - so - worth it when he would give you that look. Like you had pleased him, that he understood what you had done, that he appreciated it, deeply.  

And it felt perversely intimate. Knowing someone so well when you barely knew them at all. You quickly learned Copia was not a morning person and did not like to chit-chat before at least 9.30am. His favourite lunch was on Fridays when the kitchens brought up a small charcuterie board paired with an expensive red to finish off the work week. He preferred the black olives to the green ones, even though you insisted they were the same just to wind him up and watch the smirk pull at his painted lips. You learned how he bit away at those same lips when he was expecting a phone call from Saltarian, and how he rubbed at his temples when he had been working too long, the both of you sprawled across the desks working into the early hours of the morning. 

Copia learned too. He learned that when you were stressed you’d chew on the end of his, frustratingly, expensive pens as you worked, brow furrowed as you read over his work. He learned that if he voiced his distaste for green olives for long enough you would eventually slink over to the other side of his desk and steal them off of his plate, neglecting to use cutlery, giving him the chance to watch your oil slicked fingers slip them gently into your mouth. He learned that you were eager, so eager, for every challenge he presented to you. Eager to prove him wrong, eager to impress him. He also learned that you liked to poke at him, test the waters, push his buttons just to tease. 

“Ai! This stress will be giving me even more greys, Sister.” He’d complain, whining and smoothing at the silver hair at his temples, checking his reflection in the gilded mirror in his office. 

“Oh, I do hope so, Papa.” You’d sigh back with a wink, savouring the way he would look over to you, eyes burning in the candlelight of his office, eyebrows raised in a mock warning.

And there it was. The fine line that you both danced around in the confines of his office. You initially made a point of not seeing him outside of work, intentionally ignoring the pointed silence that had started to emerge everytime Copia announced he was retiring to his rooms for the evening, avoiding his offices on your days off, only seeing him at Masses with the rest of the clergy. But soon enough it just became easier to spend your lunch breaks together, whispering clergy gossip over a now shared pot of tea. And then it was just easier to eat dinner together over paperwork, the kitchens bringing two dishes instead of the one. And then it was just easier to have a quick shared nap on the couch in his office when trying to meet a particularly challenging deadline, the weight of your head pressed nicely into the warm meat of his thighs as his gloved hand rubbed at your temple lightly. 

It was inevitable really. To be so close to a Papa, to be so close to him and have him seep into every crack, every crevice of your subconscious. It was funny, to see behind the facade, to witness him as just a man at his desk every day, swearing under his breath at his “horseshit” brothers who couldn’t balance out a spreadsheet to save their lives, and yet also see that he was objectively not just a man. The confidence with which he carried himself, the way he unashamedly let his gaze linger, his reluctance to ever speak indirectly or without purpose. And if you had to finish off most evenings alone with your fingers between your thighs and his name falling from between your lips, that was your prerogative. Copia didn’t have to know. You were driven, determined even, to not let it distract you. To prove to him you could work well, help him achieve his vision without getting preoccupied with something else. 

So, naturally, when the postman responsible for delivering your mail made a mistake, just a tiny, minor mistake, it should have been an easy fix, a laughable offence. When the postman dropped off the usual letters and packages with a warm smile, and a casual ‘Mrs Emeritus, I take it?’ you should have laughed politely and corrected him as you took the mail. You should have clarified your position, maybe even offered up your own name instead. You should have taken the mail to Copia and offhandedly mentioned the exchange so you could both laugh at just how ridiculous that concept was. 

Yet, before you could even think, before logic even had the chance to enter the equation you found yourself nodding, smiling as you took the mail with a surprisingly confident;

‘Yeah - that’s me.’ 

Any sense of professionalism, common sense or even decency were outweighed by the sudden, sick satisfaction at the implication not just of being his assistant, but his wife. Copia fucked around, you knew that, gathered as much from the gossip around the ministry. Not that you’d dared to ever ask him personally, though due to embarrassment or jealousy you weren’t really sure. You knew he had a reputation, that was just part of being Papa, it came with the job. When the urge took him he had any number of Siblings to choose from to satisfy him for the night. But being his wife. That was different. 

You’d shut the door, letting your back hit the dark wood as you grinned to yourself, cheeks still flushing at an implication you’d never considered before. You let the fantasy wash over you, picturing what it could be like, how he would hold you, how he would adore you, how he would fuck you. For a moment you weren’t just his assistant, who tidied his desk and sorted his mail and served his tea, but his partner. His equal. Your head had felt dizzy with it, the words of the delivery man still buzzing in your ears, pulse racing, cheeks flushed. You’d thrown the letters down on Copia’s desk a little more hurriedly than usual, rushing back to your own desk pointedly avoiding his gaze. If he noticed anything he did not comment, choosing instead to sort through the post with just a soft glance your way. 

That’s when it started. This problem. This perverse little game you’d been playing only with yourself. You’d tried to forget it, laugh it off as a joke and nothing more, just a mistake that caught you off guard. But that seed had burrowed down, deep into your gut where even you couldn’t remove it. Then it spread, reaching even into your dreams, filling them with images of dishevelled greying hair and slick leather gloves. It had appealed to some base nature deep within you, eager and possessive. Yes, the first time had been a mistake - but offhandedly signing a receipt with that same name certainly had not been. Neither had the second receipt. Nor had the third. Or that new email signature to an outside agency. Or the rooms booked under your name on the last tour. 

Who would know? You’d reasoned to yourself, knowing that the only person checking the paperwork was, by default, you. Copia was none the wiser, more important things to think about than receipts for minor purchases or email signatures. You’d never use that name inside the ministry, it was a dangerous game after all - playing with the Emeritus name. You’d seen what had happened to those who played games the Ministry didn’t approve of and you did not intend to join that list. It wasn’t even about the name, not really - just him. The fantasy that you were someone that was important to him, someone he was attracted to. Theoretically, it was foolproof. It was harmless, no one would ever find out anyway. It just gave you a thrill - the risk of being caught weighed up against the kick of using his name. 

Theoretically. 

It wasn’t until Copia pulled you aside one evening as you were aimlessly fiddling with his diary for the next day that your heart dropped into what felt like your ass. 

“We may need to be breaking into Terzo’s coffee supply the next few days, eh Sister? Hehe.” He’d chuckled to himself, leaning back in his chair. 

You flicked your eyes over to him, taking in the way the leather waistcoat lifted as he stretched, pulling up his black undershirt with it, revealing the dark, greying hairs on his lower stomach. Satanas - you’re sure he did it intentionally half the time, just enjoying making you look. Realising you had absolutely no idea what he just said you shook your head.

“What?” 

He smiled at that, flicking his eyes away as he tried to repress it . 

“Tax Returns, Sister. We have a lot of paperwork to get through together.” 

“I thought we got … someone else to do that?” 

You blanched, your stomach flipping as you thought about the stack of paperwork in your locked top draw, signed with a name that is most definitely not your government name. 

“Ai - I am not paying someone to do what we are perfectly capable of doing ourselves.”

 Papa moved to stand behind you, hands coming down to squeeze at your shoulders reassuringly. You absolutely do not think of the size, or weight, of them as they cover most of your frame. 

“And we will do an excellent job as always, Sorella. Nighty night!” 

“Goodnight, Papa.” 

You had sighed in reply, your eyes following him as he moved down the hallway to his private quarters, knowing he’d used your favourite nickname to try and soothe you.

Shit. 

That is how you’ve found yourself pacing to your shared office, praying to any deity that will hear you that Copia does not, for probably the first time in his life, need to see every single detail and scrap of paper that has ever passed through the Ministry. After spending the night tossing and turning and triple checking the receipts just to make sure they definitely didn’t look like he had signed them, you had formulated a game plan. Realistically a few minor receipts would be fine going under the radar. You had made sure to never sign for something important, something there would need to be a paper trail for. You also knew that Papa, being the way that he is, had kept all of his most important paperwork with him, collated in colour coded folders next to his desk, obviously. There is no reason that he would suspect something is amiss, there is no reason for him to suspect you have a hidden stash of, probably illegal, receipts and invoices currently stashed in your bag ready to burn. And there is absolutely no reason for Copia to already be in his office before you get there. 

It seems that no deities have decided to take pity on you. 

You know he’s in a shit mood the second you open the door to the office. The first indicator is that he’s already drinking coffee - which he hates doing. The second is that he’s got an already well-used ashtray on his desk and a cigarette in his mouth, meaning he’s cracked open his also ‘secret’ emergency ‘stress-relief’ smokes. Those usually only make an appearance when he’s got those big annual budget meetings with the upper clergy. Shit. 

Doing your best to look objectively not guilty you sweep over to your desk, flipping your laptop open to check your emails. He’s on the phone, you notice, that stupid ancient phone holder balancing between his shoulder and his ear, cigarette balanced between his full lips. Whoever’s talking is clearly pissing him off, his brow is furrowed and he’s tapping his fingers against the desk. He also hasn’t acknowledged your presence yet which is unlike him, unnervingly unlike him. Unsure of what to do or say you just continue mindlessly tapping keys and clicking on already opened emails, doing anything to look busy and avoid drawing too much attention to yourself. 

“Pah!-” 

Copia spits out, slamming the phone down on the holder in response to whoever was on the other end of the line. You startle and look over to him as he finishes his cigarette with a deep drag. Now that you’re looking at him you can see the extent of his stress. Even under the paint you can see the heaviness under his eyes, the way the waxy pigment has started to crease with the tension in his brow, the way it’s started to rub away a little where he must have been rubbing at his jaw. His hair is just the right side of dishevelled where he’s been running his hands through it, the greys threatening to fall into his face as he talks. His scarf has been pulled loose, hanging somewhere near his chest rather than up near his ruffled collar. His desk is a wreck, different piles of papers stacked and stapled, different mugs strewn in between, an unlidded highlighter cast aside near the phone. He’s been at this all morning. He takes a breath, emptying his lungs of smoke and rolling his neck. 

“Sit.”  

You startle, jumping in your seat. He is not asking. 

“Regretting not getting someone else to do it yet?” 

You joke, trying to save it, though your delivery and flat half chuckle don’t quite manage to sell it. Copia doesn’t bite. 

“That was my brother on the phone.” 

Papa starts, you try not to think about how rough his voice is after taking a drag, much deeper than it usually is. You don’t have to guess which brother, that would explain his sour mood.

“You see, Sister, I am missing paperwork. Some receipts, some invoices - you know-” He motions with his hand as he talks, eyes scanning the papers at his desk, not looking at you just yet.

“So, I call my idiota brother, these things are usually his fault, si?” 

And shit, he’s definitely stalling, he’s getting at something here and you’re hoping, praying it isn’t what you think it is. You force your bouncing knee to still itself, willing your face to be straight and empty of anything that he can pick up on. 

“And yet he says, it is not him. So I do the checking, and he is right-” He scoffs, “for once.” 

You nod, patiently, obediently. Waiting for him to make his point. He turns to look at you, really look at you, the white of his eye somehow more intense than it usually is, stark against the deep paint on his eyes.

“I do not miss paperwork. Sister.”

And there it is. He’s giving you an out. Copia doesn’t give second chances, and this is going to be his only offer at a first. You don’t speak, a million excuses coming to mind at once, each one as equally pathetic as the last. You know how you must look sitting there in front of him. Lying was never one of your strong suits, especially under pressure, especially when it’s to him. Yet it’s like you can’t speak, can’t even begin to think of how to get your mouth to move and formulate words. 

“Do understand, Sister, that we do not take this sort of thing lightly. If you were hoping to be fiddling or moving extra money in some way-” 

“Woahwoah-”

You interject without thinking, room spinning a little as your brain catches up to what he’s actually accusing you of. 

“Of course, I would have hoped that you would have told me if-” 

“It’s not that!” 

You hiss at him, suddenly a little offended that he thinks so lowly of you and your intentions. The room is still tilting as you try to save yourself from whatever the fuck is happening. You suddenly realise you’ve just handed yourself a shovel and started digging, Copia’s eyes narrow suspiciously, and fucking hell why does he look so good when he’s mad. 

“Then what is it.” He asks, patience clearly wearing thin, the coffee and nicotine only working to rile him up more. 

You decide if any deities are still listening they should most certainly just open the ground, swallow you whole and just have done already. At this point you honestly don’t know if it would be less embarrassing to just admit to some sort of fraud and risk being excommunicated permanently on grounds of financial criminality. Lucifer - your habit has started sticking to you and your throat feels like it’s closing up, panic setting in. You’re just about to throw the towel in, admit to being some sort of crook when you decide to look at Copia again. 

And it’s devastating. Under the paint, under the mask, under the guise of cold professionalism is worry. Genuine unease sitting in the all too familiar lines of his face. Your chest pulls as you look at him, his eyes threatening to become wet and glassy. You realise that he’s not pissed, but hurt at the idea of you admitting to this, at the notion that his assistant has been dishonest with him. It’s right about then you decide then you would rather suffer any amount of personal embarrassment over hurting him. Without speaking you reach into your bag and pull out the stack of papers you’d been hoping to get rid of. He looks away, immediately wounded at the implication. 

“Just read them.” You breathe out as you throw them onto the desk, eyes fixed on the floor. 

“Sister, You cannot expect me to believe-” 

Copia starts, then pauses once his eyes have scanned over the first few scraps of paper. He stops. He looks up at you. His eyes flick down again, then over the next piece of paper, and then the next. For the first time in six months you think you may have just rendered him speechless. You swear he must be able to hear your heart beating in your chest as you wait for his reply, only just realising that you’ve handed him a metaphorical loaded gun. Satanas, you really must have been stupid, handing over signed proof of your … feelings for him. Copia still hasn’t reacted, not really, choosing to sit further back in the chair and flick through the papers like some sort of sick flipbook.

“Ah.” 

He finally sighs out, dropping them onto the desk, one hand coming to comb through his hair.  

Unable to move your mouth you stay silent, waiting for him to continue. Papa doesn’t speak either, reaching for his pack of smokes before lighting one and taking a long, drawn out drag. If you’re being honest his reaction to your confession isn’t exactly inspiring. You hurt a little at that, realising perhaps you had misread the ease between the two of you. Realising that there might have been a reason he’d never propositioned you on those long, late nights alone.

“Which one is it?” 

He finally asks, his voice again deepened by the smoke, his tone one you can’t quite place, sitting somewhere between annoyance and disappointment. 

“What?” 

Granted it comes out a little ruder than you were aiming for, but you’ve been thrown so many curveballs in the last five minutes you’re honestly just grateful to still be sitting upright on the chair. 

“Do not test my patience, Sister. You do not have to hide it now. So - which one is it?” 

Fucking hell Papa could be petulant when he tried. He takes another drag, moving his eyes away from you again, like he can’t bear to look at you. You immediately decide you hate that more than anything else. 

“Copia, I can assure you, I have no fucking idea what you are talking about.” 

You’re not sure if it’s because you used his name or the language, or his clear lack of sleep, but either way he bristles at that, eyes fiery turning to look right into yours. Shit, he really is something to look at when he is like this, the logical part of his brain lagging behind his emotion for once. He’s surprisingly menacing, the pupil in his white eye unable to dilate with the other, unbalancing his features. This is the Copia that secured his own place in the lineage. 

“Do not play stupid with me Sister, I will not tolerate it - not from you. This is the Emeritus name, is it not, Sister?” 

“It is, Papa.” 

“And here it sits with your own name, does it not, Sister?” 

“Yes, Papa.” 

“Then, I can only be assuming, Sister, that you have found yourself a considerably comfortable spot in one of my brothers’ harems.”

Your brain completely taps out. You go to open your mouth, in an attempt to say anything. 

“Ah-ah!” 

Copia stops you, taking a moment to calm himself, finishing the cigarette and shoving it into the ashtray. You’ve not seen him like this before, so unpredictable, so wiry. You’d almost have considered it exciting had he not just accused you of fucking one of his brothers. 

“That is … fine, Sister. I just feel I would like to know which brother that is all? It is selfish I know, I just … need to know.” 

Taking a second to process what he just said you lean back in your chair, counting on the ornate backing to catch your fall. You close your mouth, noting you don’t actually know how long it’s been open. It baffles you, faced with the realisation that the man that you have seen write speeches; balance spreadsheets, translate texts, compose music, and recite spells and incantations with ease, is a fucking idiot. Copia notices your lack of a response and shakes his head. 

“Ai - forgive an old man, Sorella. I pry too deeply. I just did not expect that you had-” 

“There is no one else.” You interrupt quietly, for his sake. “Just you.” 

It’s like you can see his brain working, cogs turning behind his eyes as it’s his turn to play catch up. He looks down to examine the papers again, jaw working in that way it always does when he’s thinking. He’s rubbing his fingers together, the room so quiet now you can hear the leather working against itself. Suddenly, you feel even further out of your depth, gooseflesh rising as he finally brings his gaze back up to you. It’s been a long six months, you’d dealt with worried Copia, pissed Copia, unbearably, sickeningly sweet Copia - but never this Copia. The one that’s looking at you like you’re a rabbit in his headlights. Like he can smell you already. 

“Up. Come. Now” 

He snaps his fingers suddenly moving his chair back a little as he taps the top of his desk. Copia does not ask twice. Surprised that your legs are even able to move, you stand slowly, hoping you’ll make it to the desk without embarrassing yourself even further. His eyes don’t leave you as you walk around to his side of the desk,so close you can practically feel the warmth radiating off of him. He opens his legs for you to stand between them, making a point of shifting his hips up as he does so. It’s at that minute you decide you absolutely cannot look at anything else but the knot in his loose tie, for the sake of your own self-preservation. 

“Do you know how we got this name, Sorella?” 

Hells his voice is so deep now you’re close it’s almost like a purr, the thrill of it settling right between your thighs. There’s a softness to it but it’s far from kind, far from being anything but mocking. He starts to adjust the sleeves to his black poet shirt and you mentally curse him, it’s like he knows down to the minute how many sleepless nights you’ve spent thinking about those godforsaken sleeves. 

“Now, now Sister. You are usually so talkative, no?” He teases, though again it’s not entirely kind.  

“It was a gift, Papa. From Him” and fuck it’s embarrassing how breathless you are already, thighs clenching just at being this near to him like this. 

He moves quicker than you can react. Before you can process it, he kicks one of your legs from under you, knocking it so you stand wider, legs open in between his own. 

“Errato.”

And just like that he’s standing in front of you, much taller than you remembered, much broader than he seems from where you sit at your desk across the room. You can’t help but shrink back, lean further back into the wood only to be devastated when he follows there too, eyes examining your face like it’s the first time he’s seeing you. He breathes you in and you can’t help but follow, eyes closing as you take in the smell of him, all incense and smoke and something that must just be him. 

And oh, perhaps those deities had been listening after all. His hands come to cradle your head, holding it as he fiddles with something at the back of neck. With a gentle pull your veil falls away somewhere onto the cluttered desk, exposing you to him. Papa’s eyes flick up to examine you fully now you’re without your veil, like he’s got to squeeze one more look at you in before he’s moving again. His hands wander to find your own, pinning them down the desk under his as he carries on his, frankly lewd, inspection of you. You can’t help but gasp out, surprised that the gloves are warm, and that he’s strong, and that he’s actually touching you. He lowers himself until his face is right next to yours and you can’t bear to look, it's too much, being this close to him. He doesn’t seem to mind, taking the chance to breathe you in again, nuzzling as close to your neck as he can get without actually touching you. 

“Gifts are given freely, Sorella. Without reason, without obligation.” 

He lets his lips brush against the shell of your ear. 

“Try again. How did we get this name?” 

Fuck, it was one thing hearing whispers in the hallways about his talent, all hushed giggles and filthy conspiracy. It’s an entirely different thing to see it in practice, to be the object of his attention when it’s so all-consuming. Your thighs are already wet, you can feel it as they rub against each other. You can feel where the front of his waistcoat is pressed up against your chest as he crowds you into the desk, sure now that he can feel where your nipples are hard against him. His hands snake their way up your arms, before one comes to settle in the back of your hair. Your eyes open as he pulls on it, seeming to relish in the gasp you let out. 

“Say it.” 

He speaks again, nodding mockingly, eyes flicking over your face lingering on your lips as you part them to speak. 

“You earned it, Papa.” 

“Brava Ragazza, Sister. Well done.” 

And Oh - he’s giving you that look, the one that got you into this fucking mess in the first place. Like he’s proud of you, like he sees you. He disappears from view as his lips press against your hairline. 

“You’re always so smart, hm?” 

And you really can’t tell if he’s being genuine or mocking you but you couldn’t care less as his warm, wet lips traced across your forehead, the fingers of his other hand coming to cup your chin and keep you still. It’s barely a kiss, just the press of his lips against your skin but it is singularly the least chaste thing you have ever experienced.

“It is a Sacred name, Sister.” His lips are trailing down the sides of your face as he speaks, lips catching against your skin as he talks. 

“Given to my bloodline by Satan himself.”

Copia finds that spot that sits just behind your ear and chuckles as you shudder against him. You’d put good money on the probability of him mentally logging that away for later. 

“I have worked for this name, I have bled for this name-” 

He pulls away and you’re almost embarrassed that you whine and try to follow, so caught up in the heady way he’s been touching you, you think it might actually kill you if he stops. 

Cruelly, he pulls away completely then, leaving you giddy and off-balance as you look up at him helplessly. 

“I would kill for this name.” 

Papa finishes, his gloved thumb coming to pull at the full flesh of your bottom lip. His face hardens and you understand that he isn’t lying. It’s not a warning, not really, more a confession. Not that you would have ever doubted it anyway. Abruptly, he chooses to sit down again, legs spread open on the seat as he lays his arms down on the rests. You fight back a mewl at the loss of him, thighs twisted together to try and keep some semblance of self-control. His hands come together under his nose as he thinks, calculating his next move, thoughtfully, carefully. 

“This - is where you have overstepped, Sister. You are using a name you have not earned. We must all earn our place, earn our name, dolce.” 

Ah. It all clicks into place then. Here he is again, giving you another out. Giving you a chance. Here it was, that instant knowing, what was wanted, what was needed - just intuitively. You started to lower yourself down, neatly folding up the habit at your thighs as you did, knowing Copia was nothing if not a sucker for reverence. The greying hair at his temples fell forward a little as he bent his head, gaze following you down to his floor. You made sure to grab at his thighs for leverage as you did so, half for your own satisfaction and half acting on intuition. It paid off you realised, as he chokes out a moan and pushes his hips upwards. You log that away for later. 

“Let me earn it, Papa.” 

It’s merely a whisper, bowing your head as you speak, another show of reverence for him. You let your head rest in his lap, cheek pressed against his thigh, a sick imitation of the last time your head was resting there. His hands come to stroke at your hair, just as he had done before, and you take the chance to capture his hands in your own. Eager to please him, to elucidate. You start to kiss his palms, mouthing along his fingers with delicate presses of your lips, the action itself chaste and devout.

“Let me never stop earning it”

Oh, he likes that. The rumble in his chest gives him away, the way his fingers follow your lips revealing him. You run with it, eager as always to impress him. Flicking your eyes up towards him, looking through your lashes you wrap your lips around a single finger, welcoming it along the length of your tongue to rest near the back of your mouth before sucking it gently. It’s odd, the sensation of leather in your mouth, but it’s warm, rough and him, and you can’t help but moan through it. If the stress of tax returns hadn’t already ruined him enough you’re more than making up for it now, his chest is heaving, pulling at the fabric of his waistcoat as his eyes lock onto where your mouth is around him. His hips have pushed out and thighs opened around you, letting you shift closer to him. He nods his head, showing his consent, his approval of your actions. 

“Fammi vedere, Sorella.” He nods, voice even deeper than when it was laced with smoke. 

Your Italian is patchy at best, Copia likes to remind you of that daily, but you find yourself positively unable to care, the gist of what he’s saying suddenly very clear. You gently place his hands back up onto the rests for him, kissing the knuckles on each hand as you do so. Savouring the feel of him you move your own hands to his thighs again, digging in to feel the strong muscle underneath. So much wasted time spent staring, as he moved around his office gesticulating or bounced his legs around on stage in those obscenely tight trousers. 

You carry on massaging him, each time your hands getting closer and closer to the now, completely strained fastenings of his jeans. Completely beyond sense now you move on impulse, muscle memory, letting your legs slip open, pressing yourself against the cold tile floor as your face falls forward to lick at his seam. He’s hard, and hot, and it’s twisted that it’s taken you this long to be in this position. It’s degenerate really, finding some relief working yourself against the cool floor, the heat of him on your tongue. You can see his hands move to grip the arms out of the corner of your eye, a smirk pulling at your lips. 

You find the end of the ties with your tongue and manoeuvre it between your teeth, pulling it back as you flick your eyes up to his face again. Copia chuckles at your trick, looking at you like that again as you undo the strings to work him free. You burn with the need to impress him again, and bring your hands to pull him from his jeans. The first thing you notice is that he’s not wearing underwear, the warm pink of his flesh very apparent once you’ve worked the fastening open. The second is that Copia is fucking hung, thick and throbbing in your hand as his cock springs back against the greying hairs on his stomach. 

You’re pretty sure your eyes must bug out of your head at the sight of him, mouth watering in anticipation. You’d certainly heard things about Copia and his endowments, but well, Siblings were prone to exaggeration, especially when it came to the Papas. In this case they frankly hadn’t done enough. In the back of your mind you question how he’s still conscious with the lack of blood that now can’t currently be flowing to his head. You laugh lightly in spite of yourself, at your stupid internal monologue, at the situation, giddy with the size and smell of him. 

“Mi fai aspettare?” Copia asks, his voice thick and rough as it comes out. 

“My deepest apologies, Papa.” 

You immediately lick from the base, right above where his balls are still covered, to the tip - uncut and almost purple. His reaction is instant, making a noise like the air has been punched out of him, fingers gripping the arms even tighter. It’s maddening, having him throb beneath your tongue, and you carry on, just single licks against him, marvelling at the size of him as you go. Unable to help yourself, you take the tip of him into your mouth, positioning your head to take him down. 

Copia loses what little control he has, snapping his hands away from the rests and bringing them to wind in your hair, directing you down onto his cock. You moan in thanks, grateful for his guidance once again. He’s not being rough, you’re guessing he could do far worse, but he is being thorough, making sure your lips hit the bottom of him before pulling you back up. You find a rhythm in it, following his lead, not having to think about anything but keeping your lips sealed around him and your throat open. There it is again, that balance of what you both wanted, what you both needed, the unspoken instinct you seemed to share. 

Your scalp burns with it but it’s just so good, the way he’s started to fuck his hips up to meet you, using your mouth like you’d wanted him to for six fucking months. He manages to slip out a few times in his thoroughness, the wet of him slicking up your face and lips, and you wonder what you must look like. Your eyes are watering, your mouth flushed and wet and open for him, hair still tangled up between his gloved fingers. Not that he’s faring much better, head thrown back as he fucks your mouth, broken Italian and Latin and nonsense spilling from his mouth, undershirt shoved up around his waist, exposing his stomach. Copia notices you looking and his gaze hardens, teeth gritted as you take him particularly roughly.

“Puttana.” He grunts, and you have no problem translating that one. 

But there’s no malice in it, no spite, just that tone you recognise from when he’s impressed with you, his own warped reverence in return for yours. It only pushes you further, even more eager to please. As you take him down the next time you stay there, even as his own hand tries to pull you back up. You warm him with your mouth, keeping him as deep as you can while your lips meet the bottom of him and your nose is pressed up against the greying hairs at his base. You feel him push up against you, his legs lifting off the seat, getting as deep as he can while he cradles your head. He keeps you there for as long as you’re able, fucking your throat gently, before bringing you back up with a groan when you start to push at his thighs. He doesn’t let you sink back down, not immediately, just keeps your hair firm in his hand as he holds your head up - so he can look at you. Savour how your mouth is pink and slick and swollen with use. 

You whine at him, pathetically, asking him to let you go, mouth still open for him. He guides you down again, only this time he’s shoving his fastenings out of the way, guiding you down to suck at his balls. That rips a noise out of him, loud and unashamed as he presses your face harder into him, grinding against your tongue. You are nothing if not eager to please, laving your tongue over his balls, his thighs, even venturing further down toward his ass. Copia makes a frenzied noise at that, involuntarily lifting up in the seat to grant you better access to him. And it’s obscene, the way he tries to grind against your tongue, fucking himself on your face. He grabs your head again, only this time to stop you. 

“N-no-no …non posso. I won’t- I won’t last, Sister.” 

He breathes out between gasps, body sagging as he relaxes into the chair. Smirking, you raise an eyebrow, noting that one for later. Copia catches you smiling, managing to look over at just the right time, like he always does. The look in his eyes makes it apparent you’re going to regret that. 

“You have earned nothing yet, dolce. Up.” 

He’s demanding, shucking down his trousers a little more so he can widen his legs. You stand, hands pulling at your skirts, eager to pull your habit over your head before he stops you. 

“If you could keep it on, Sister, the habit, I mean. I- I quite like you in it.” 

You must beam at him, you can feel it, the warmth in your face and the swell of your smile, so big it almost hurts your cheeks. It’s the fact it’s your uniform, the uniform that identifies you as his, that special blue stripe singling you out as his own. He’s watched you everyday in this habit, liked you everyday in this habit. Nodding, you start to stand, hiking it up as you go but slow enough to tease. Papa’s eyes flick down to your legs, his normal pupil blown so wide it’s almost black as his licks at his lips, splotches of pink peeking through the paint. He’s fucking his hand as he watches, balls bouncing a little, glove tightening as he nears his tip. You flush as you think about how many times he’s touched you with those gloves, you wonder briefly how often he washes them. 

Suddenly, now you’re standing, underwear kicked down and flicked off your ankles, you feel a little shy. It’s odd, considering moments before you’d had his cock in the back of your throat, but somehow sitting into his lap without his request, without his permission would be just the wrong side of intimate. You’ve napped in his lap, just once, but sitting in it, taking him like this almost feels like too much. He notices, like he always does, his eyes and mind too fast for his own good. He softens a little.

“Please, Sorella.” 

And it’s deep, and demanding and yet his voice breaks a little along the way, and it’s just too Copia for your own good. Now unable to stop yourself you lurch forward, bracing your legs on either side of his own, relishing in the strong muscle of his thighs underneath you, holding you up. One of his arms comes around the back of your waist, balancing you out as he lines himself up against you. It was intoxicating being so close to him, where he was warm and soft and smelled of smoke and whatever expensive shampoo he used. Your arms find the rest on the chair and the back of his neck, fingers toying with the few strands of hair that curl into his nape. It’s nice being close to him like this, seeing the fine lines in his face, the mix of greens in his eye, the slight shadow on his face where he’s neglected to shave. It’s almost too much, the smell of him, the feel of him, the idea of him and you doing this. It’s then that he breeches you, just the first part of him and your stomach drops at the realisation that everything up to this point had been nothing. 

“You think you have earned this yet, Sister?”

Copia is talking, you’re sure of it, somewhere outside of the bubble of just feeling him. Somewhere where he sounds drowned out and far away. Satanas, he won’t stop pushing into you, splitting you like he was made to do it, each ridge and vein dragging you open with a slick sound, the heat oh him almost unbearable. 

“Think you can take my cock?” 

And fucking hell he’s a talker. As if it couldn’t get any more ruinous he was going to talk you through it as he ravaged what was left of you. All you can do is mewl back, legs open and hips pushed forward to take him. 

“Others have tried, Sister.” 

He slides home, his hips coming to sit neat against your ass as he bottoms out. If you thought that had been devastating enough, it was nothing compared to the drag of him as he pulled out again, lighting up your insides as he moved, nerve endings singing with it as he warms you up. He lets out his own sigh then, rumbling deep in his chest and oh - you realise you’d spend your life trying to earn him, if it meant hearing him do that everytime you sank down onto his cock. Copia seems to remember himself then, sucking air through his teeth before he starts talking again.

“Yes - they try their best. Wailing with their legs open for me.” 

It’s simply deviant how that makes you throb, the image of him fucking some Sibling in his quarters after spending the day cooped up in his office with you. He starts to build a rhythm, balls starting to slap up against you as he fucks up into you, his feet planted on the floor for leverage. You brave a look at him and whine when you see how he looks, his eyes fixed on where he’s fucking you, his mouth hanging open, slack as he watches. His hair is fucked, paint starting to bleed just a little with the exertion of it, sweat threatening to leak through. 

“Yes - I fucked them. I made them come-”

It’s like it’s intentional at this point, that he says that as he finds that spot inside you, the one that has your mewl turning into something far more embarrassing, something more guttural, more animalistic in nature. He chuckles, and it’s sinister as he re-adjusts himself to fuck up against that spot again. You suddenly don’t doubt him, or the matter of fact way he says it. You’re fairly confident that you’re not far off already, your cunt clenching around him as he speaks. He comes to grab at your ass, hands squeezing into the meat of it as he bounces you on his cock. 

“I send them back with their legs shaking and their holes full, Sister.” 

He growls right into your ear, back to his monologue, like it’s a threat, like it’s a promise. You start to clench around him, hips working without even thinking about it, letting his strong hands pull you down onto cock. Half for leverage and half for comfort, your hand at his nape starts to twist into his hair, savouring the feel of it between your fingers. 

“And did they presume to have some ownership of me? Did they feel so brazen as to take my name - the name I fucking earned?” 

You can barely even think straight with how he’s fucking you. But you realise, somewhere in the haze, that you’d been so caught up in the idea of being his, the daydream of being so owned by him, that you’d neglected to realise your own claim over him. Taking his name, making it and himself your own by definition. 

“But you - you have the nerve, to sit every day in my fucking office, to flash me that sweet fucking smile, acting so eager, so useful, so innocent, like you aren’t making a perversion of my own name, hm?” 

And he is still hitting that spot, sparks flying to every nerve ending you have every time he hits it, his hips snapping up faster as he riles himself up. 

“You see fit to play and tease, like you don’t rush back to your room at night to play with this tight pussy at the idea of me using you like this.”

He knew, of course he knew he always fucking does, two steps ahead of everyone else. 

“It is my turn to take now, Sister.” 

Before you can help yourself you’re seizing up, muscles locking around him with nowhere to go as you bounce on him, the noise of it becoming downright indecent. The wet suck of you as you take him filling your ears. Copia senses that you’re straining, just missing that extra something you needed to tip over the edge. Your eyes actually start to tear up you’re so desperate to come around his cock, to let him take what he wants. He moves his hand to grab at your face, cheeks pushed together in his firm grip as he looks at you. It’s humiliating, his eyes flicking to your mouth once more as his face twists into a smile that’s almost threatening. He brings his other hand up to his own face, spitting and sucking on his own fingers, moaning at the feeling of it. Fuck his lips looked sinful stretched around his own fingers, swiping at the paint as the coated them. 

Papa nods at you, almost mockingly, letting you know he’s going to help you, he’s going to make it all okay. His fingers leave his mouth and he swipes them directly over your swollen clit, making you cry out and work his cock deeper into you. 

“And I will take it.” 

And his voice is fucked, broken and gravelly like he’d been awake for 3 days straight. You couldn’t have stopped it if you had tried, the way he was fucking you right where you needed it, the rough, wet leather against your clit, the idea of him taking rather than you giving it freely. You shut your eyes as you worked through it, wave after wave as you clench around him, throat raw as you groaned into the hand that was still holding your face. Fuck, you would work to earn it, work for it every day if he could make you come like this. It’s far too slick between you now, the way you’ve leaked onto him, coating the both of you in it. Copia is glowing with satisfaction, lips pulled into a smirk as he just watches.

“Acqua santa, hm?” 

He snickers, more to himself than to you. You can’t help but whimper at his pun, grinding down on him as if to coat him further, like it’s a gift for him. He grunts at the feel of it, head thrown back for a second as he revels in the feel of you, the tight, wet grip of you around him. He moves the hand that’s been holding your face to rest at your waist, his other still lazily rubbing at your cunt, helping you ride it out. He brings his now sticky fingers to his mouth, sucking them onto his tongue with a groan. You should be embarrassed, the way he’s looking at you, the way he’s taking you, but it feels right. Like you’re earning something. 

Copia is clearly giving you time to rest, reclining back in the seat, letting you balance your hands on his chest as you grind out the last of your orgasm for him. Rest isn’t exactly something you had in your plans for the foreseeable future, content to pay back the favour tenfold. He’s quiet now, a little out of breath with his effort, looking up at you as he savours the way your face looks, flushed and bright. You sit yourself up, ready to start bouncing for him again and he kicks his knees up, ready to angle himself to start fucking you again. 

“No no, Papa.” 

You smirk, choosing instead to push him further into the chair with your hands, stilling his movements as you start to fuck him. Speaking seems to be beyond him at this point, he just nods as you ride him, letting you fuck him into the seat of his pretentious office chair. You mentally curse yourself for not choosing to go to the gym more often, the burning in your legs threatening to become a problem. Just looking at Copia underneath you immediately throws that idea under the bus, his head thrown back as you work him. His mouth open with broken gasps leaving his lips with each bounce, eyes heavy-lidded now. The chair starts to scrape across the tiles with the force of it, the low squeak mixing with your own moans. 

It sends a dangerous thrill through you, knowing this was Papa, head of the fucking Ministry, signature powerhouse on the stage, knowing he could snap his fingers and have done with you whenever he felt like it. This is who they all wanted, the fans, the followers, the clergy, the Siblings. But it’s also Copia, your Copia, your boss who lets you steal his green olives and nice wine, and likes you in your uniform, and your chest just swells. Moving your hands to cover his own you move them to cup your neglected tits as you ride him, guiding him to your covered nipples. The kick his cock gives inside you is some indication that he likes that, though his frequent ‘subtle’ glances when you neglect to wear a bra to work had already proven that theory. 

“I mean it, Papa.” 

You move your own hands to cup his face, brushing his hair from where it’s falling into your eyes. The capacity to form words is still out of his reach he just watches, eyes flicking between your face, your nipples pinched between his fingers, and where you’re fucking him. 

“Let me never stop earning it”

You repeat your promise from before, almost hiccuping at the end of it as you manage to angle his cock at that one spot again, savouring the sticky, slick drag of your skin against his. 

“I would spend my life earning it, earning you.” 

Copia is objectively a wreck. All he can do is sit and take you on him, tweaking and twisting your nipples, tilting his own hips to make sure you can work his cock how he’s already learned you like. It’s laughably unrealistic really, his good he feels, like something out of one of those shitty vintage VHS pornos Copia keeps in his ‘locked’ drawer. You feel him throb inside you as he lets out a strained groan and you’re convinced that the only thing you’ve ever wanted was to make him feel good, however he would let you. You didn’t know it could be like this, just an endless feedback loop of pleasure, giving and taking and fucking like you can hear what he’s thinking, and he can hear you. Somewhere in the back of your mind you can hear Copia grunting, choking out a mindless, “You’re s’fuckin’ tight, fuck” as he tilts his hips up for you.

Sitting up tp to lean back, you open your legs to him, so he can see where he’s fucking you. You know how it must look, your cunt wet and swollen, taking his cock so deep you’re sure you can feel it in your throat. He grunts in approval, bringing his gloves to smack lightly at your clit as you bounce, biting at his lips when you stutter around him, shocked at the feel of it. Keen to stay even, to impress him with your efficiency, your efficacy, you bring your fingers to your mouth, spitting onto them as you keep your eyes locked on his. Copia knows what you’re going to do before you even move to do it, already whining so loud it’s almost pathetic. You can’t help but smile sweetly as you reach your slicked up fingers behind you, massaging and squeezing his balls as he buries himself into your cunt. 

“Sister, I need- Can I-”

You’re almost surprised he has the wherewithal to ask, his thrusts turned shallow and stuttered as he tries to keep himself from filling you too soon. It’s all you can do to gasp out a raspy ‘please’ before he’s grabbing your hips once more. It’s a done deal after that, a few broken, sloppy thrusts into you before he’s spilling himself inside, pulling you down onto him with a string of broken curses, using you to come. You’re not far behind, the throbbing of his cock, the feeling of him filling you up kicking off your own orgasm, softer and sweeter than the first. Copia fucks you through it, his capacity for thoroughness making sure you’ve milked him completely, making sure you’ve used him more than well enough. 

It takes you a second to come back to yourself, lost somewhere in that bubble of pleasure and Copia, not knowing where slick, sweat and spend started or began. Bordering on something tantric, something spiritual, you slowly move together as you each catch your breath, his hands coming to soothe at your thighs, strong fingers working the muscles there. It’s quiet, that familiar, comfortable silence you so often shared filling the office. He pulls himself out from you with a wince, tucking himself back into his pants, and lazily tugging the ties shut.

Copia pushes your legs open, gently admiring the way he leaks out of you. He takes his hand and moves to swipe at his come as it drips, his eyes filled with something that looks suspiciously like devotion. Licking his lips, he pushes it back into you with his fingers, his pupil dilating as he watches for your reaction, ever the eager learner. You smirk before reaching down to save your underwear. You go to stand, unsure of where this really leaves you, unsure of what to say - of how to say it.

“There was never anything to earn, tesoro.” 

Copia speaks before you have the chance to overthink, his clever eyes watching your mind tick over. He is giving you that look again, the one he seemingly saves up just for you. 

“Whatever you want - it has been yours for a while.” 

It’s simple, it’s direct, it’s all encompassing, it’s Copia. You feel like maybe you should kiss him but flush with the idea of it, cheeks heating up as he watches the thought pass through your mind. He smiles despite himself, averting his eyes for just a second. Although his paint is still mostly intact you’re sure he blushes underneath it, you can tell, intuitively.

Plenty of time for that later, you reason, remembering there was a desk full of receipts to file and sort before Saltarian decides to come chew Copia’s ear off about his tax returns. 

“Though Sister-” Papa starts as he neatens himself up, slicking his hair back into place, “maybe, for now, we will hide those, hm?” 

He nods towards the stack of crinkled papers. You understand what he’s doing, putting his own ass on the line to cover you. Risking his reputation for complete competence just for you. 

“Yes, Papa.” You nod earnestly in thanks, wanting him to understand that you appreciate the gravity of what he’s doing for you. 

“And maybe for now, though mine certainly suits you, use your own name, hm? At least let me take you to dinner first.”