#all i want is a friend i can build a life with

[hello-sweetheart]

You know that trope where Person A thinks Person B is just being nice but they’re actually flirting. What about the opposite? Person A misreading their behavior and being the only one falling impossibly in love.

Clumsy in Love Part 2

It’s hard to listen to Eddie talk about this guy the same way Steve wished he did about him. Eddie, already so full of life and words, doesn’t seem to need to take a breather between his praises.

“Can’t believe this guy is actually into me, did you see him? Oh my god!” He groans and smacks his palms against the steering wheel, literally bouncing in his seat.

The van swerves a bit to the left.

“He’s just my type, too. Those eyes, prettiest eyes that have ever graced human existence, and they were looking at me. Me! Wow! The darkest green— I don’t think there’s any precious stone that can compare actually.”

He beams at him and Steve’s traitorous heart still flutters like a wounded bird helplessly flapping its broken wing. Eddie is smiling so hard his cheeks must hurt, eyes crinkled at the corners and teeth on full display.

Steve will close his eyes at night and replay these words, pretending that this excitement and instant adoration is about him. That Eddie’s love-struck smile is for him.

“And, to top it off, he’s a geek. A fucking nerd. He actually knows DnD! What are the chances, Stevie? I’m no religious man, but an angel must have heard mine desperate pleas.”

His name is Adiel, Eddie’s perfect guy.

Steve spends that night feeling the need to cry, the hurt is right there at the base of his throat refusing to spill.

Steve kind of wishes he did, maybe letting everything out would leave him feeling empty instead impossibly full of heartache.

Adiel is blond, a dirty blonde that means he must’ve had light locks as a kid. Face slim and cheek bones prominent, but his features are soften by button nose. Maybe Eddie is right, he looks like the angels depicted in stained church windows, but whereas angels are depicted in white, Adiel wore exclusively black.

He wasn’t decorated in rings and chains like Ed, only a few silver piercings in his ears and a couple on his lips. But it was evident they had much in common, even just by looks. More than Steve could ever say about him and Eddie.

Over the next couple of weeks they share their music, intrinsically understanding what it means to one another.

Getting it.

Getting it the way that Steve never could, even with hours of Eddie breaking it down for him. Maybe Steve never understood, but he loved those moments shared between them. Wonders if Adiel cherishes those moments too. If he takes it for granted.

They share everything with each other and Steve hears every little detail gushed between sickly sweet sighs. He’s trying to be a good friend, to listen and share Eddie’s happiness, but something inside him grows bitter. Angry. He hates feeling this way.

“I met his friends already, they’re a really cool bunch. I really think you guys would get along. They know all the best spots for people like us. There’s a whole world out there, Stevie—“

Stevie. His breath stutters.

“Of people like us with places for us. We could take Robin and Vicky and be surrounded by people that won’t, that won’t think we’re… wrong. And who knows,” he nudges Steve’s side with a suggestive smile, “maybe you’ll meet the one there, huh Stevie?”

“Stop. Just, just stop!”

Steve doesn’t mean to yell. He just can’t take it anymore. Everything that has been building up inside him has reached a point where he just can’t. He pushes Eddie away from him who looks startled. Offended and bothered and confused.

“I don’t want to meet his friends, or least of all him. I don’t get it, okay! I thought—“

What did he think? That one day he would confess to Eddie or vice versa? That they’d kiss and go on double dates with Robin and Vicky? That he would fall asleep each night in love and loved? It seemed plausible at some point. That’s what hurts the most.

“Hey, Stevie—“

“Don’t call me that! You don’t get to call me that anymore.”

“What? Your name? You don’t want me to call you by your name?”

A bitter laugh, “yeah. My name from your mouth.”

“I, You’re not making any sense!”

Steve knows. He knows. But Stevie, Big boy, Ozzy… even his own name, can’t bear to hear them. Not from him. Can’t bare the way his heart squeezes.

Eddie’s looking at Steve with furrowed brows and down turned lips, standing still. Has Eddie ever been still before in his life?

Once. When he was still and pale and red. His chest gone quiet for the most terrifying seconds of Steve’s life.

Steve looks at him, his eyes burn. Steve’s breath from his own chest brought Eddie back to them. Eddie’s lungs still carry his desperation. His ribs healed but the cracks must still be there from the palm of his hands. He’s tasted Eddie’s blood before from his mouth—

He’s kissing him. Steve, dumb stupid in-love Steve, has his lips on Eddie’s once more, but this time they’re warm and full of life and his ringed hands are on him and,

They’re pushing him. Away.

“Eddie,” his sight is blurry, eyes hot, and breath stuttered. “I, it hurts. You with him. I can’t—I just can’t.

And Eddie looks, terrified, dark eyes searching Steve’s face. For what, he does not know. Sincerity, maybe. Truth. Maybe looking to see if he’s really shattered inside.

“I’m sorry, I… I didn’t…I don’t…”

And Steve?

Steve smiles. It’s watery and his lips quiver.

“I know.” And that’s the problem, isn’t it. It’s always the problem. “I know, Eddie. I’m sorry. It’s, it’s okay.”

Eddie leaves Steve there in the living room.

There’s still two cans of Coke half full on the coffee table but only one person left in the room.

Part one < 💛 > Part 3

Tagged: @bananahoneycomb @margaglitterdeath

[rueclfer]

everything is embarrassing // izuku midoriya

when he doesn't know how to take control of his life

a/n: 6k+ words lmao i feel crazzzzzy ok bye

19-year-old izuku doesn't have the privilege of hopping around college parties on the weekends or enjoy the “college experience” like his friends do.

he can barely catch a break to breathe.

monday through friday he's in classes from 8:00am to 4:00pm, and for more than half of the week from 6:00pm to 12:00am, he's working at the campus library- simultaneously shelving returns, organizing files, and scrambling to finish his homework. on the weekends, he'll be at his part time job at the local cafe just down the street from his dorm building.

it hasn't been an easy semester for izuku. he's a year behind his friends and he wants nothing more than to be able to walk across that stage with them by the end of their fourth year, but nothing comes easy when you’ve been out of school for a year, no money, have a scholarship on the line, and a single mother at home to make proud.

he's watching the time go by. his eyes darting back and forth between the ticking needle on the analog clock and you sitting at your usual table with your headphones on, attention glued to your textbook, and the tapping of your pencil growing louder by the second.

occasionally, he'd let himself clock out and lock up about 5-10 minutes early if there was no one lingering around on his floor, and all of the day's work had been completed. no one stays as late in the library as you do. it annoys him. 

5-10 minutes is crucial to izuku.

he could get a head-start on his commute back to his dorm. if he walks quickly enough, he'd be back before 12:15am, be ready for bed by 12:35am, and he'd be able to get at least 6 hours of sleep.

if he's lucky.

but you. you were always there until the very last minute- sometimes even past closing.

it's 12:05am. how could anyone be so careless to not keep an eye on the time? can’t you see that it’s only you two left on this floor? did you not hear the 10 minute closing warning on the intercom?

if he wasn't running on a couple hour of sleep, a poor excuse for dinner, and 6 hours worth of brain numbing work, he wouldn't have the nerves to approach you so casually. he'd be replaying what he wanted to say in his head, stumbling over his words, and hope you wouldn't take offense to it.

"the library's closed." he bluntly says, still maintaining a few feet of distance.

you don't hear him or notice his presence at all. you're lost in that textbook and your mind is fumbling through these terms and definitions staring back at you.

izuku blinks once. then twice.

"hey." he starts again, taking a step closer and setting a hand down on the table right above your textbook.

you look up and catch the library worker’s tired eyes. your gaze immediately flickers to the analog clock hung on the wall past his shoulder.

12:12am

“oh shit!” you exclaim, ripping off your headphones. “i’m sorry. i’m so sorry, i lost track of time.”

you slam your textbook shut, rubbing your eyes against the back of your hand. how long had you been at it like this? studying the hours away in your own corner of the library?

“yeah.” izuku breathily chuckles, a sense of relief washing over him as he watches you haphazardly shove your books and papers in your bag. “sorry, i hate to interrupt a good study session, but i’m kinda tired, and if i stay here for another minute, the shelves might start talking to me.”

“god, don’t be sorry. i get it.” you laugh, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “i’m here, like, everyday. i’m sure everyone who works here is sick of me by now.”.

“yeah, me too.” he sheepishly rubs the back of his neck as you two make your way towards the exit. “here everyday, that is.” he quips, nervously running a hand through his tousled hair.

“look at us, so scholarly.” your voice dripping in sarcasm. you turn your head over your shoulder to meet his eye. “paying so much money for this university to drain us of all joy in life.”

“well, i’m on a scholarship.” izuku mutters. “so i guess i still have some joy left?

“yeah? well that’s actually even worse.” 

“is it?” he cocks an eyebrow.

“you have much more to lose.”

-

the next time you two see each other, he’s knelt over an open filing cabinet, digging through dividers for some sort of paperwork. 

since that night you’ve met, university life has felt a bit less lonely- something about taking a 20 minute walk to your dorm buildings, which happens to be right next to each other, complaining about how terrible of time you’re having adjusting to university life really brings people together.

“hey.” you cough.

izuku looks up to see you sporting a coffee cup in each hand.

“oh. it’s you. hey.”

you hold one out to him, waiting for him to take it, but all he does is give you a blank stare as his eyes flicker between your own and the cup outreached towards him.

“take it.” you chuckle. “i brought it for you. you looked like shit last time i saw you, so...”

the corners of his mouth quirks up into a smile, gingerly accepting the hot cup of coffee.

“...so this is your apology for staying past closing the other night?” he teases.

“oh definitely not.” you scoff. “i’ll be doing it again tonight too, don’t you worry.”

he nods his head, taking a deep swig of the bittersweet coffee. “see you at midnight, then.”

“see you at midnight.” you confirm, sending him a smile as you pull your headphones over your ear and head towards the back of the library where your designated table was waiting for you.

-

at 21-years-old, izuku goes to his first house party. it takes you about a week to convince him to give you one of his saturday nights that he’d usually reserve for studying or catching up on sleep.

“please.” you beg once more. “what are you going to say to your future students? how are you going to say you had the college experience without going to a single party?”

“with a degree?” he chuckles, slinging a rag over his shoulder. “you’re also distracting me. i’m on the clock, and my boss can come back anytime, you know.”

“oh, please.” you roll your eyes. “if toshinori was here, he’d be telling you to put your big boy pants on and get drunk with his favorite customer tonight. and if you agreed the first time i asked, i wouldn’t have to follow you to your second place of employment.”

“i’m sorry, i can’t. maybe next time?”

“please, izuku, just one party. i’ll help you get ready after your shift. we’ll leave anytime you want, but i can guarantee you’ll have so much fun. i promise i’ll never ask you again if you really do end up hating it.”

he can imagine it now- if someone asked him about his college experience, he wouldn’t mention the parties, the professors, or the time spent away from home. he’d talk about you.

izuku has a hard time balancing his life between keeping up with the workload and trying to not let his days blend into a muddy gray, but you had perfectly fit somewhere in between all of the chaos like a fresh breath of air.

izuku was tired, and you were a shot of espresso. how can he say no to you?

“fine.” he sighs in defeat, sliding a cup of coffee across the counter towards you. “but i can’t be out that late, okay? i have to be back here in the morning.”

-

“what the fuck happened?” you slam the door shut behind you, muffling out chatter of the crowd and heavy bass shaking through the walls. 

you twist a wad of toilet paper into a cone before plugging the stream of blood gushing from his nose.

“sorry, sorry, sorry!” he repeats, holding the toilet paper in place with a bewildered look in his eyes. 

“i don’t know what happened,” he starts in a nasally tone “maybe it’s all the smoke in the air or something. i heard that second hand smoke can be really drying for your nasal passages, especially if there’s not a lot of ventilation like in this apartment, i also haven’t been drinking a lot of water today and-”

“aht!” you interrupt, nudging him over with your elbow to rinse your hands off from the bloody residue. “my theory is that your body is shutting down on itself from the lack of proper sleep and nutrition. thoughts?”

izuku pouts. “stop it. i had a protein shake before we came, remember?”

“of course, how could i forget about the most rancid concoction you managed to blend together?” you mutter, wetting a wad of toilet paper and dabbing away the dried blood that had fallen onto his chin and t-shirt.

he cocks an eyebrow at you, holding up the red solo cup containing a questionable blue liquid that you shoved in his hands to hold when his nose started dripping blood. 

“wow, since when were you a chem major? since you know so much about ‘rancid concoctions,’ huh?” he deadpans.

“izuku midoriya, are you getting sassy with me?” you scoff, grabbing the cup back from his hands.

“maybe i am.” he presses his lips together to suppress a smirk. “or maybe i’m just making an observation.”

izuku had finally started learning how to bite back. somewhere within the last year, the skittish library worker who you enjoyed pestering had grown the confidence to return your relentless teasing.

you weren’t sure how to take it- how giddy it made you feel and how much more of it you wanted to draw out of him.

to him, it was all a front. he perfected the line delivery with ease, but at the cost of his chest tightening and stomach turning over the sight of your amused smile and lit up eyes. this made him anxious.

you have much more to lose

everytime he sees you, he’s reminded of your very first conversation together when you were first years. he’s acutely aware of how much he has to lose, but if there’s one thing izuku could not bear to risk losing during the worst few years of his life, it was you.

“uh, why are you looking at me like that?” he nervously chuckles, his ears growing hot from trailing your eyes as they glaze over his face.

“i love you.” you smile, the alcohol finally making its way to your head. “a lot.”

izuku’s breathing stops for a moment. his eyes widen, and the nervous giggles continue pouring out as his facade from minutes earlier crumbles completely.

“why are you laughing?” you chuckle, taking a sip from your cup, choking back a grimace.

“i…i don’t know.” he bites his bottom lip, suddenly aware of his nervous habit. “you’re just being a silly drunk right now."

“what? because i said i love you?” you cock your head with a lazy smile “the L-word got your panties in a twist?”

“don’t know what you mean.” he turns his attention back to the mirror, subtly swiping his sweaty palms on his thighs before unplugging the tissue from his nose. 

for the first time in his life, he’s simultaneously grateful and regretful for alcohol. grateful for the red sheen over his face to mask his blush. regretful for the carelessness it caused you with your words. 

he doesn’t have the time or energy to entertain it. that is the one thing he’s certain of. he wouldn’t be good for you- wouldn’t give you the time and attention you deserved. he loves you too. he loves you enough to not say it back.

“it stopped bleeding. i think i’ll have to leave soon, so let’s get back out there, yeah? i’ll make you a better drink, too.”

he shoots you a forced grin before grabbing you by the shoulders and ushering you two back to the party where you reunite with your roommates and mutual friends. you leave your drink in the bathroom.

-

on the day izuku turns 22-years-old, he finds out that he’s on track to graduate with you and his friends. after stepping out for a quick phone call with his academic advisor, he drunkenly cries into your shoulder mid-birthday party (that his boss at the cafe forced him to take the time off to have).

all of the hard work and courses he packed on during his first two years at university finally paid off. though, that doesn't mean he’s gotten any easier on himself.

he quits his job at the library and starts student teaching part time at the local middle school for college credit.

you barely see him now-a-days. more often than not, your texts go unanswered.

izuku is a busy guy.

you miss him. you didn't realize how lonely it felt to walk back to your dorm from the library at midnight by yourself- you haven't felt this way for a while, not since you met izuku. 

you wished he made it easier for you. your feelings for him never subsides, but instead grows into a longing ache. it’ll be like this until graduation. the occasional text message, running into each other in the halls with quick hello and goodbye, coming into his weekend job just to see him for a few reassuring moments- you know you both needed it.

he talks about you to his students a lot- “my best friend,” “someone important to me,” “my support system,” and etc. he’s always referring to you.

he missed seeing you all the time, but it’s all been so hectic for him he hates to admit that you barely cross his mind when he’s in the midst of a busy day. on top of his regular grueling school work, he has to lesson-plan for the days he’s teaching, grade papers, as well as check in with his professors and mentors.

he doesn’t know how he does it.

working in that library was excruciating, but he missed nothing more than the last half hour of his shifts where it’d just be you two, sending shy glances at one another until it hit midnight. he doesn’t even mind the rest of the 6 hour shift where you’re just sitting in the same spot that you always gravitate towards, head in the textbook for him to look up at every now and then.

you tell him you love him for the second time at the end of your graduation party when all of the guests have cleared out of your half empty apartment.

“what?” his eyes go wide, exactly like they did a year ago.

“i love you, izuku.” you ball the sides of your graduation gown, wrinkling the fabric in your hands.

you’re sober this time, which makes it infinitely more painful to say out loud.

his mouth gapes open as if he’s a fish gasping for water. he doesn’t know what to say.

“i have for years.” you fill in the silence, fidgeting with the silky material. “ever since you kicked me out of that fucking library, i think. i don’t know. maybe i’m being stupid, but i can’t help it. i love you, and i need you to know before… you know.”

it’s been three years, and you’ve waited until this night to pour it all out because you knew that in less than 24 hours, you’d be going your separate ways.

in a perfect situation, izuku would tell you that he feels the same. he’d run through an airport to stop you from leaving and beg you to stay with him. you wouldn’t have to go back home. you’d share an apartment. live in the city. start your entry jobs. you’d have time together.

“i’m sorry.” is all he says. “i’m sorry.” he repeats.

tears well in his eyes, and he grabs you by the shoulders to pull you into his chest.

“sheesh, you’re such a crybaby.” you choke out a half chuckle, your eyes running hot now. “don’t be sorry, okay? i get it. i know.”

your arms tightly wrap around izuku’s waist as you two silently sob into one another. his hand runs through your hair, stopping at the nape of your neck to pull you closer.

there’s something much more painful behind this confession to cry about. you’re leaving the city, and you have no reason to stay. for the first time in three years, izuku won’t be within arm’s reach and you’re left with the cold reality of navigating your future without your best friend by your side.

“you know, i..” he begins, pulling you back to look at your face, searching for the right words, or an answer. “it’s not that i don’t feel the same, okay?” 

his cheeks lightly dust over pink. it’s the first time he’s admitted that out loud.

“i know.” you sadly smile, your hand reaching up to wipe away the stray tears left on his cheeks. “we’ll be okay. we worked hard for this, izuku.”

izuku felt like throwing up. he had spent the last three years working himself into the ground with endless all-nighters, black coffees, and missed events to get everything he’s ever wanted for his future, so why does it feel like his world is slipping from between his fingers?

yes, he worked hard, but he wondered if it was all enough?

“i’m going to miss you.” he mutters, connecting your foreheads together. “i already do. you’re everything to me.”

“me more. i’ll miss you more.”

after that night, you don’t see izuku again for a long time. 

izuku jumps into his new position at the local high school in the same school district as the middle school he worked at during his last year of university. he feels a sense of relief everytime he walks into his school building- something that he couldn’t ever say during his years as a student.

you move back home and land an entry job at a startup tech company. it’s boring work, but at least it’s remote and your days don’t mesh into one- you made sure you would never have to go through that again.

you try to stay connected, but work is busy, and you’re both trying to figure out what life is supposed to look like post-grad. occasionally, you’ll send each other a meaningless “thinking of you” message, but you eventually lose contact after a couple of years of trying to plan visits and meet ups- there is just no time. there never was.

-

at 27-years-old, izuku is spending his late afternoon sitting in his empty classroom with one of his students. it’s half an hour past their scheduled parent-teacher conference time, and he’s wondering if he should just reschedule.

“are you sure your mom is coming? did you tell her the right time and date?” izuku sighs, resting his head on a propped elbow.

“duh. what kind of student do you think i am?” they scoff, glancing up at him from their phone.

“judging by your grades, i know exactly the kind of student you are.” he mumbles.

izuku’s trying to not panic, the kid clearly isn’t, but he’s wondering how far back this sets his schedule. he should be starting on the stack of papers to grade by now. he still needs to write out a lesson plan for tomorrow. maybe the kids deserve a movie day? maybe he deserves a movie day.

“don’t freak out.” izuku hears from outside of his door “you’re fine. it’s okay. seriously, chill the fuck out you weren’t interrupting anything, i needed a break anyways. i’m walking in right now. yeah, i’ll let you know how it goes.”

finally.

izuku straightens up, and tightens his tie. he whips open his laptop and pulls up the tabs of grades and assignments to discuss.

“i’m so sorry-” the voice falters at the end as it enters the classroom.

“don’t be, i was just-” izuku glances up from his screen and his throat suddenly closes shut.

5 years later, and the universe leads you back to one another. here. in his classroom.

“izuku midoriya?” you cough out.

for the first time in his life, he doesn’t like the way his name sounds coming out of your mouth. it’s hesitant. it sounds foreign. it makes him question himself for a moment. 

yes? that’s me, right? it’s me, izuku. your izuku.

“what are…uh.. you…here?” he stammers, unable to get the words out.

you take a step forward into the classroom. you could pass out at the sight of him. he still seemed as boyish as ever. maybe a bit broader, and taller, but his hair is still just as wild as it was in university. you can’t help but feel a twinge of insecurity as you wonder if you looked any different as well.

“uh…where’s mom?” your nephew glances back and forth between you two starstrucked at the sight of one another. “we have to look over my grades and stuff, you know.”

“right!” you exclaim. “your mom got caught up at work, so she asked me to come in.” you awkwardly shift in your position, your eyes never leaving izuku’s.

izuku’s face flares up in heat, snapping back into the present as his eyes flicker back towards his student.

“you know what? let’s reschedule that. you can go and i’ll see you tomorrow?” he quickly stands up, knocking over his chair and hitting his knee against his desk in the process.

“really?” they cock an eyebrow at the shift in behavior from the two adults in the room.

“yup! we’re running late and i have a meeting right now, so i’ll just email your mom to reschedule.” he forces a reassuring grin, making his way around his desk. “don’t forget to read over the syllabus to see what’s due, alright?”

“alright, i guess. see you tomorrow then, sensei” they shoot you a questioning side glance as they sling their backpack over their shoulder. “are you taking me home?”

“no.” you say, almost a bit too quickly. “uh, i have some errands to run before your mom gets back home, so you go on ahead i’ll see you at home.”

once your nephew leaves, unsuspecting of the thick line of tension running between his aunt and teacher, izuku quickly rushes over and shuts his door.

“whatareyoudoinghere?” the sentence leaves his mouth in an incoherent string of words. he grabs you by the shoulders and lets his eyes take in your face. every curve, every mark, every wrinkle, old and new.

you feel 19 again. you guess the urge to kiss izuku midoroya never leaves you, after all. 

“my sister just got a new job, so i’m living with her and helping her out with the kids while she adjusts.” you breathlessly stare at him. “i didn’t know you were still in the city.”

of course he’s still here- exactly where you left him after all these years. his grip on your shoulders tightens as a response. he’s scared that if he lets go, you’ll be gone for good, or at least for another 5 years.

“we should catch up.” you smile, grabbing onto his forearms as a warmth crawls up your next “when are you free? i mean, you’re probably really busy, but even a phone call-”

“tonight? how about tonight?” he blurts out. “we can go somewhere?”

izuku reassures himself that it’s fine. the kids can have a movie day, and he’ll spend that time grading papers and catching up on work. the only thing he needs is right in front of him.

seeing your face light up makes him feel nothing but nostalgic euphoria. he never wants to lose this feeling again.

“i’ll text you, then? you still have my number?”

he almost laughs in your face. your text conversation has been pinned to the top since the day you exchanged phone numbers.

“by heart.”

-

“tech? like you work in IT?” izuku’s face scrunches in disgust. he almost spits his drink out. “why the hell would you do that to yourself?”

“shut up!” you rub your face in your hands, snorting out a laugh. “it’s easy, i’m in a senior position, it pays well, and it’s remote. that’s all i care about for now.”

you two meet at a nearby bar. outside of his suit and tie, he looked much younger. he looks like the izuku you knew half a decade ago with his perpetual pink cheeks, slightly too large graphic tee, and red sneakers.

“so you’re now living with your sister… in the city.” he begins, looking into your eyes with a hopeful gleam. “for how long?”

“i’m not sure.” you shrug. “i’m still figuring it out, but my lease back home is up at the end of next month, so either way, i have to see what i want to do by then.”

“you should stay in the city.” the words slipped out of his mouth before he could process them.

“i mean- it’s just, you know, your sister is here, and her kids, and there’s more opportunities and stuff, and your work is remote anyways, and uh-” he stammers, words flowing out in an unstoppable stream.

“-and you’re here?” you tease.

his face flushes red.

“it is a possibility.” you sigh, shooting him a subtle smirk and saving him the embarrassment of coming up with a response. “i don’t know though. my sister wants me to stay too, but it’s a lot to think about.”

“i get it. my mom moved to the city to be near. it was hard for her.” he takes a sip of his drink. “not with me, though! she’s got a townhouse in the outskirts.” he quips.

you laugh. he definitely hasn't changed.

“speaking of, do you want to come back to my apartment? right now?” he shyly asks, avoiding your gaze for a moment.

“right now?” you look down and check the time displayed on your phone.

11:00pm.

“it’s a school night isn’t it?” you cock your head to the side. "i'm surprised you even wanted to meet up this late. thought i'd have to book office hours with you weeks in advance to catch up." you tease

izuku mentally curses at himself for being so forgetful, and so predictable. he doesn’t want this night with you to end, but that 7:00am alarm set for tomorrow morning is inching closer and closer.

“you’re right.” his confidence deflates. “i guess we should get going.”

you two pay your tab and make your way to the exit. you stand facing each other at the corner of the street, taking in each other’s presence once more.

there’s a faint buzzing in your ear from the lamppost hanging above you and your breaths come out in shallow puffs. you don’t know why you’re so nervous all of the sudden. you wish you didn’t have to leave again.

“so, can we do this again? can i see you again?” he asks, shoving his hands into his pockets. 

“you think i’d get to see izuku midoriya from beyond the grave and let you get away? for the second time?”

he feels like he could cry right now, so he pulls you in for a hug instead. you haven’t changed at all- not in the ways that matter anyways. his hand falls against the nape of your neck as he presses his cheek against your forehead.

“i missed you.” he mutters into your hair.

“me more.”

before you go your separate ways, i love you sits at the tip of his tongue. he wants to tell you. to finally say back after all of these years, but it somehow doesn’t feel right- not yet at least.

-

a few weeks later, you find yourself sitting in one of izuku’s classroom desks. the top button of his shirt is undone, his sleeves rolled up, and the soft late afternoon sunlight streaming through his window bathes him in gold.

from over your laptop screen, you see izuku mumbling to himself as he reads through essays while twirling a red pen between his fingers. the look of concentration had been plastered to his face since you were students- dark furrowed brows, unblinking eyes, a twinge of anxiety, and tightly pressed lips.

“you’re staring.” he mutters in between his incoherent mumbles.

his eyes snap up to meet yours.

“no i’m not.” you shrug, suppressing a satisfied smile as your eyes return to your own screen.

“I think i’ve gotten pretty good at noticing after spending all those years with you in that library.” he returns the smile, leaning back in his seat. “you don’t stare often, but when you do, you stare loud.”

“says you.” you roll your eyes. “you don’t think i ever noticed the thousand glances every hour?”

his face scrunches in embarrassment. 

“not like i could help myself.” he mutters, sheepishly scratching the back of his neck. 

“ditto.” you halfway close your laptop and rest your head on a propped elbow. “but you knew that.”

the air in the room thickens between you two. you’ve been itching to have a conversation with izuku about your last moments before you left the city 5 years ago, but there hasn’t been a good time to bring it up. you weren’t even sure if you should at all.

“i don’t think i ever noticed.”

“noticed what?”

“that you liked me.” he pressed his lips together, nervous to bring up the past. “like that at least. i didn’t have a clue before you took me to that party.”

“how could you?” you breathe out a chuckle. “you were drowning in your work and studies, there was no time to even sleep let alone have anything romantic.”

a beat of silence passes.

“sorry.” he mutters.

“don’t be.” you shrug. "i loved you enough for the both of us. you were my best friend, and i wouldn’t change anything. maybe i would’ve forced you to take more naps, though.” you chuckle.

he doesn’t like the past tense termage of this conversation. it makes him feel a bit nauseous thinking that he really did lose it all, even with you here in front of him.

“i told you i felt the same, didn’t i?”

“mmm.. i guess so.” you mutter. “but it’s different. it was a goodbye.”

“i’m sorry.” he says again, with a pout this time.

“stop that.” you launch your pen in his direction, bouncing off of the chalk board behind him. “i’m here now. you’re here. you’re still my best friend. everything’s the same, except we’re a little bit older and have 5 years to catch up on. isn’t that enough?”

you two danced around the conversation for a few more minutes before returning to your work in silence. there was no clear answer as to where your feelings for each other stand now, but he feels just as sick as he did the day of the grad party.

but isn’t that enough? to just have you here now?

on a saturday night in his apartment, just days before you have to go home and sort out your living situation, izuku tells you he loves you for the first time.

you’re staring at him, unsure if maybe you heard him wrong or if it was the television in the background.

“huh?” your mouth gapes open. “what’d you say?”

“i..i love you.” his voice shakes as the words leave his mouth. “i love you, okay?”

for a split second, there’s a sequence of images that flash through his mind. his body would learn to wake up at 6:55am every morning despite his alarm being set for 7:00am. he sees you peacefully sleeping next to him, and he can’t bring himself to let that alarm go off and disturb you.

he’d start the coffee pot- enough for two, obviously. maybe he’d leave a nice note for you to start your day off with. maybe a grocery list if you’re up for the trip, but you’d insist that you go to the market together on the weekend. you’re very distracting, and he knows this, but you’d somehow always meet at the dining room table or his classroom to do work together. 

he’d come home to you softly singing in the kitchen while making dinner. every now and then, he’d surprise you with flowers when he comes home from work, but he’ll brush it off and say it’s “for the apartment” just out of pure nerves. movie nights. falling asleep on the couch together. waking up in the afternoon with a split second of panic- but it’s the weekend and he doesn’t have a class to get to. he’d see the sunlight pool against your face as you slowly wake up from your slumber with fluttering eyelashes. he’d kiss you in that unsuspecting moment. he’d say he loves you with every breath leaving his lungs. he’d always have time for you.

“izuku.” you sadly smile, turning over to the stove and extinguishing the flame. “you don’t have to do this, you know?”

his heart sinks to his stomach.

“i know- no it’s not like that.” he stammers. “it’s because.. i’m saying it because…”

he makes his way around the kitchen island to you, firmly gripping your shoulders. he wants to make sure you hear this from him properly. after all of these years.

“because i love you, and i think i alway have.” he bites his bottom lip. “and i think i always will, and you’re here, and i’m here, and i know it’s hard because i kind of really messed things up in university, but to be honest, i regret everything because yeah i love my job and i’m doing okay now, but i lost you for 5 years and thought i’d never get to see you again and i should've-”

he stops himself when he sees his reflection in your eyes. he’s doing it again- the rambling.

“sorry.” he mutters. “but do you…do you understand?” he almost pleads.

“i understand.” you nod your head, a long exhale following your reply.

for a moment, you’re 22 again, and the tears in his eyes threatening to spill over are no longer apologetic, but now hopeful.

you can’t help but pull him into a hug, running your hand up and down his back as he sniffs back his tears.

“always such a crybaby, izuku.” you muffle into his shoulder. “i love you, too. you know that.”

“i feel so stupid.” he chokes out. “5 years is so long, and i feel like i blacked out for the entirety of that time and now that you’re back, i’m alive and can't do it without you again.”

he pulls away, looking back at you with furrowed brows and tear stained cheeks.

“please stay in the city. please.” 

your eyes widen at the request- the same request you wished left his lips all those years ago.

“you want me to stay?”

“selfishly, yes.” he bites down on his bottom lip. “here. with me.”

you take a moment and let your eyes wander around the apartment. you eye the half cooked dinner on the stove, the pile of unopened mail sitting on the counter, the row of dead plants lining the living room window.

izuku follows your eyes. he knows you’d settle in nicely, almost like the final piece in a puzzle. he feels it in his gut. he also feels the panic bubbling in his stomach the longer your gaze lingers at the chaos behind him.

“is that too fast?” he breaks the silence. “sorry. i don’t mean to jump from ‘i love you’ to ‘move in with me’ in the same night.” he awkwardly laughs, releasing you from his grip. “uh, maybe we’ll talk more about that after dinner.”

his face burns into a bright red- snapping out of his love dazed state and back into the reality where he just confessed to his best friend on a random night in.

“maybe after dinner, you can give me a proper tour of the place?” 

for the first time in izuku's life, he feels content knowing that time passes and the world continues to turn.

with you, it feels a bit gentler.

with you, it's worth it.

-

bonus ssrryy i have to be indulgent lmao:

the first time izuku kisses you, you're on your way back from a late night outing from the bars with his coworkers where he introduces you as his partner for the first time.

"you sure you're okay?" he laughs as you rub your hand against the back of his neck from the passenger seat.

"super peachy, zuku." you hiccup, twirling a green curl between your fingers. "a few drinks got nothing on me."

izuku presses his lip into a wobbly smile.

from his peripheral, he feels your stare burning into his side profile, only making him more nervous by the second. he thinks about teasing you and calling it out for a moment, but he remains silent for the rest of the drive back home.

izuku parks the car, shutting off the engine and letting the overhead light dimly illuminated the space between you two.

he leans over to meet your eyes and rests his elbow over the center console, taking a second to silently debrief from the night's social outing.

"thanks for coming out with me." he whispers, reaching down and shyly interlocking his index finger with yours.

"i love a good excuse to drink." you laugh, leaning in and letting your foreheads connect.

izuku only had a single drink several hours ago, but he suddenly blacks out. with his other hands, he reaches up and tips your chin up and lock his lips with yours.

it takes you off guard, but you don't hesitate to reach up and rest your hand on the side of his neck.

when izuku pulls away, his breathing is heavy and face grows red. your finger remains interlocked.

"um. i love you." he coughs, briefly meeting your gaze before darting away. "uh, sorry i should have asked" he sheepishly rubs the back of his neck.

"i love you, izuku midoriya." you say in a teasing tone, leaning further over the center console and into the driver's seat.

izuku leans away until his back hits the soft interior of the car door.

"uh, we should.. we should go in? right?" he starts, eyes widening as you inch closer.

you reach over and grab the collar of his shirt, pulling him into you.

"yeah, we should." you say before crashing your lips into his, feeling him accept the defeat with a nervous laugh as he lets his hands find the soft skin of your cheek and warmth of your neck.

[sashayed]

I haven't said as much about electoral politics this year as I have in previous cycles, because I am exhausted like everyone else and have nothing new or helpful to add. That is still true, so caveat lector I guess lmao!!! Happy American Election Day Fellow Sufferers!!

I have been experiencing an internal backlash the last few years to my extremely Sorkinpilled D.C. private school upbringing -- my childhood spent as a kind of convent schoolgirl in the faith of The System Is Good If We All Participate, which of course has a uhhh let's say generously a minimal engagement with the ways in which many of us are by design shut out of participating. I don't think idealism is necessarily childish, but I think MY idealism certainly has childish qualities, an undergirding of 90s feel-goodism, of civic participation as a subtle ego stroke and of voting -- although I would never have consciously put it this way -- as a way to feel superior to people who don't vote.

Lately there has bubbled up in me a sludgy, adolescent fury at this whole stupid country that has made it very very hard to feel like I should do even the bare minimum. For these people? AMERICANS? The ones that not only want Donald Trump to be president but saw what happened the first time and were like, We love this, do it again but worse? Whatever, fuckos. "I hope you people get your dearest wish and it chews you to death slowly," I may have thought.

I have also thought: why is it so controversial to ask elected officials to stop funding a genocide? Why are we treating people who make that ask, who are watching the current administration directly fund death on a mass scale and objecting to that choice, as if they are being babies and just need to get over it? How are they supposed to get over it? Why is anybody over it?

Anyway all this means that I, a known chipper door-knocker and caller of congresspeople, have been pretty low-key this current cycle. I think that is OK. I don't want to make this a big dramatic confessional about how I didn't write enough postcards or whatever. We all get exhausted and this was my turn.

But it has also been an illuminating cycle in that it's made it clear to me how much at my big age I still want politics to make me feel good, and when they don't, I still have the urge to throw a lil tantrum about it! I can get very superior and intellectual about how right-wing operatives manipulate their voters emotionally WITHOUT EVEN NOTICING that I too have been manipulated, in my case into the feeling that nonparticipation is a kind of revolutionary act.* Just absolute "I threw it on the GROUND" logic happening inside my head. "Maybe if I don't vote I will be doing Quiet Quitting, which is uhhhhh anticapitalist." I'm not a part of your system!!!

Anyway, I am trying to have self-compassion about it, and one way for me to do that is to project my internal experience onto a theoretical reader. That would be you, my imaginary friend who clicked on this post for some reason even though you have already decided not to vote! I just want to tell you that I am more sympathetic to your point of view than I have ever been in my whole life, and I'm sorry I have historically been a glib, holier-than-thou asshole about it in ways that may actually have made you MORE resistant to civic participation.

And you're right: it doesn't make that big a difference whether I personally vote or not, or whether you do. But if there are hundreds of us, and I think there are, then each of those people individually do starts to matter.

I guess I would humbly request that you and I both pay attention to what people who need help are actually asking for. I would ask that we both notice who wins when we abdicate this single responsibility. I would remind us both that participating in the electoral process is not some kind of weird either-or with participating in decentralized community building and mutual aid, and the best people we know do both. Isn't it interesting that somehow, insidiously, without even consciously becoming aware of this belief, we have started to think that you can only do one or the other? Who is telling us that story? Who does it serve?

Anyway. I took the stupid 90 minute round trip to my polling place which was VERY hot for some reason and I stood in the stupid line and some babies waved at me and I cast my vote for Kamala Harris and I'm glad I did it in the same way I'm glad after I do the dishes or take a stupid shower. Doing work doesn't always feel like anything. I also saw a really wonderful small black and white dog that I thought was a cat on a leash. I would not have seen that dog if I hadn't gone to vote. So politics can still make you feel good!!!

*I mean all this analysis is cute and everything BUT ALSO i did switch antidepressants twice in the last year, an astonishingly grueling process that almost made me [affect the trout population]. Could these things be related? hmmmmmmm, don't understand the question, won't respond to it.

[newtlesbian]

urgent list part four

many messages are coming in. i apologize so deeply if they aren’t answered right away. i promise everyone will be given attention.

everyone who sees this please dont scroll away. the people in these lists are in horrible conditions and in desperate need of help. please give something to them it is very urgent.

food is very expensive and they are starving. it is becoming cold and they need warm clothes and blankets. these people need medical treatments. they need money to evacuate. i want everyone to really give something and not only reblog. please.

CLICK FOR PART ONE

CLICK FOR PART TWO

CLICK FOR PART THREE

check back for part five

————————————————————

OLD LIST 1

OLD LIST 2

————————————————————

1. URGENT. please send help immediately to khawla’s family. she is supporting her husband and three young children. she reached out to me saying she has an appointment tomorrow and needs money asap. this is a very serious situation and i want everyone to send something asap.

kawla-gaza05.tumblr.com is her blog please reblog the posts.

please send something now

————————————————————

2. URGENT. abood and his wife maria reached out to me asking for help asap. they need 150 to buy flour as it has become overpriced. if everyone sends some help now they can reach this goal and this family will not have to go hungry.

abood-gaza21.tumblr.com is his blog. please reblog the posts

please send something now

————————————————————

3. URGENT. fahed shehab is supporting a family of 8 people. this family needs your help as they are very close to reaching their goal. send something to them to help reach it now and end the wait.

fahedshehab-new.tumblr.com is his blog please reblog the posts

please send something now

————————————————————

4. URGENT. majed is supporting a family including young children after losing the house they all lived in due to genocide terrors of the occupation. please send help with this link

@majedgerbawi on here. please reblog their posts

LOW. 8k out of 70k

————————————————————

5. URGENT. mohammed salem is supporting his parents and 5 siblings while they all live in a refugee tent together. now his young son is in the hospital with a chest infection and they all need help

@s-sa-mo on here. please reblog their posts

CLOSE. 7k out of 10k

————————————————————

6. URGENT. ahmed totah is supporting his family of 7 people including his parents, disabled grandfather, and sister. they have no blankets or shoes for the winter and are in dire need as the weather gets cold

@ahmedbm on here. please reblog their posts

LOW 85 out of 100k

————————————————————

7. URGENT. muhammad is supporting his family with this link. He and his wife have 3 young children all under five years of age. they need your help to buy necessities like milk and food and to find safety.

@mohamed-resh9900 on here. please reblog their posts

————————————————————

8. URGENT. abdul rahman hilles is the surviving husband of the martyred journalist ola al-dahdouh after they and their young child karam were targeted in another disgusting missile strike from the genocidal occupation paid for by a country you likely read this from. he and karam have been left damaged from the strike and the loss of their wife and mother. please help them recover and find safety together

@abedhilles on here. please reblog their links

LOW. 4k out of 35k

————————————————————

9. URGENT. reem mohammad is supporting a family with young children while displaced and living in a tent. they are struggling with daily necessities and need financial help asap

@reemfamily on here. please reblog their posts

LOW only 30 out of 25,000!

————————————————————

10. URGENT. Amany Ubeid is a 40 year old mother of 3 children ages 16, 14, and 9. they have lost their home and way of life. her husband has a skin disease and needs to pay for treatment. send help to this family asap

@amnyaburas on here. please reblog their posts

LOW. 2k out of 65k

————————————————————

[cranberrymoons]

season one buck you will always be special and dear to my heart. you are so lonely and sad and confused. you haven't seen your sister in years and you miss her like a child misses his mother and you're so worried about her because last time you saw her she was so so scared, and she doesn't even respond to your postcards anymore so you know there's something wrong but you just don't know what to do. and you haven't met the love of your life yet and you can tell there's something missing in your heart and you're looking in all these different places trying to find it, and for a while you think you've got it, but you find out the hard way that you were really just projecting some piece of that longing onto someone who never asked you to and now she's gone and you're all alone again and sad. and you're new in this city and you don't have any friends and you barely know these people who will eventually become your family but you are TRYING, you are trying so hard and you are fucking up so much and so often but you are doing your best and you want so badly to be better and you will! because you are going to figure yourself out and you are going to find your person and you are going to build a life with him where you love his child as if he were your own and there will be homework time and spaghetti dinners and nights on the couch, and you will cry together and hold each other through terrible times and you will love each other so so much, and you are going to help your sister save herself and rebuild her life, and you are going to have a family, and all you have to do is just keep going. okay? i love you.

[ccrisntok]

Your Masterminds, Whit Young, and Ace Markey! (mm! whace au)

(Spoilers lol)

what normal fellas ahahahahaha (I have poured my entire soul into these two there is nothing left of me)

A basic summary of their relationship:

Whit has spent like, over a year manipulating Ace into being complacent in his plans. In his own eyes, Ace is a sorta-stupid lacky, who he's constantly love-bombing to keep obedient. Although, he is a bit glad for the company... it was sorta empty when Ace was "dead" and they couldn't really talk. And maybe Ace almost dying from his fake execution was a bit disturbing. But he's sure its nothing! (He fell in love with him like a moron.)

Ace has fully fallen in love with Whit. He's not happy about it, but it happened. As a result, he's basically ruined any semblance of his own morality, just so he doesn't lose Whit, or the affection he knows is mostly performative. He's more than happy to kill his fuck-face classmates, after a... bit of prodding, and honestly, he'd do anything Whit asked at this point, even die. He'll still complain about it, though.

i tried to be as original as humanly possible, but I'm def giving credit to @talkativeanonymous, @acethehorseishere, and @a-blog-for-kat all for inspiring these two in one way or another (esp. a-blog-for-kat lol).

anyway there's the art, here's the promised lore. warning for like a million words. I'm serious. It's 1,400 words. you can stop here i don't blame you.

also sorry for the odd looking bullet points, didn't realize you couldn't have gaps lol!

This au operates on a probably un-canon assumption that I pulled out of my ass. That is that Mai Akasaki is both a student in the class of 27, and that she is the "time loop" student. She is usually a part of the killing game, but she isn't this time, for reasons I'll explain in a sec.

This specific loop, Mai is attempting to dissuade the (usual) mastermind from wanting to start a killing game in the first place. That mastermind is Whit Young.

She goes about this by trying to curb Whit's main reason for his descent into despair, his resounding loneliness, by giving him championship. Charles hasn't softened up to the others in any regard yet. But that wasn't the main reason, unbenouced to Mai.

In this loop, and this loop alone, Mai sets Whit and Ace up to be friends. She hopes they can help each other, since they usually end up more or less alone in their school life.

Surprisingly, it works. They get along decently well, although a codependency starts to develop on Ace's side.

Around this time, Whit takes up an internship at XF Future, which Mai doesn't realize. He innocently wants to explore other job options, "Matchmaking" not really being a stable career forever.

Obviously FX Future isn't a normal Tech Company. Whit starts to change, in a barely noticeable fashion, the longer he works there.

Ace notices Whit's contacts start looking a lot more vibrant after Whit takes a couple weeks off school for a "company trip." He thinks it's... sort of pretty.

(Whit's time at XF Future showed him a side of humanity he didn't realize existed. Insane levels of greed, using the concepts of "ultimates" to guide a stupid pubic where the Government wanted them, generally a dystopia. It feeds into his existing detachment from humanity, until he hits a breaking point, setting his sights on ending the "Ultimates" concept by killing the newest class in the public eye, including himself.)

(XF Future develops a new sort of technology, prosthetic "eyes" that basically turn you into a living remote control, able to connect to an entire building if its connected via a computer system. Security cameras, doors, fucking air conditioning- everything.

(Whit offers himself as the test dummy, and it goes perfectly.)

Anyway, Mai decides to talk to Ace, since she's starting to realize he's becoming a bit... softer after hanging out with Whit so much? And hopes like, for once, he'll actually accept help for his mountain of problems.

He doesn't take this conversation very well.

Mai, with knowledge from dozens of loops, accidentally brings up an extremely traumatic event, simply mentioning the name "Tyler" once.

In a blinding mix of rage and horror at Mai's knowledge of the event, that Ace has literally never even spoken about in this timeline, Ace shoves her away from him.

She falls backwards, and splits her head on a desk, killing her instantly.

Ace, in a horrified frenzy, calls Whit, literally his only friend.

Whit shows up. Ace expects him to freak the fuck out, call the cops, or something like that... But he doesn't.

Whit simply tells him they were going to hide the body together, not even remotely caring about Mai's death.

yeah that's a little fucking weird, and its terrifying, but going to jail is scarier sooo Ace goes along with it!

After this, Whit wraps Ace into uncharacteristically cruel pranks against some of their classmates and others at Hopes Peak, oftentimes resulting in physical injury.

He acts like these are completely normal and funny, while Ace is both freaked out by it, and sort of enjoys enacting pain on people he didn't like.

Along the way, Whit notices Ace starting to fall for him. Horrible news for Ace, since Whit plays into those emotions by becoming much more physically and emotionally affectionate. Which he doesn't enjoy, like, at all... not a bit...

Whit convinces Ace to assist him in greater and greater acts of violence until Whit just straight up kills someone (not a classmate, a stranger.)

Ace is of course tied into everything way too deep to stop now, and after all this... he doesn't really want to. So he stays as Whit's accomplice for months, up until Whit's weirdo behavior arrives at the idea of the killing game. He references the "First Killing Game", which Ace had never heard of.

The idea is a bit intense for Ace, but at that point, he didn't have anything beyond Whit. If it took this to stay with him... He'd do it. Even if in the end, they both were going to die.

So they get to work!

Ace had been taking engineering classes at Hope's Peak in hopes of getting out of jockeying, and he'd helped his family build sheds and shit since he was a kid, so he focused on the construction and executions.

Whit wired the building an all-encompassing computer system he could control, as well as stealing "Mono-TV" from XF Future, a robot he can fully control to be the "host" of the game.

He also steals the "mind wiping" technology from XF Future. It's weirdly easy to steal stuff from this company, hm? It's almost like they aren't protecting it...

Whit also uses another piece of experimental biological technology... on Ace.

A screen connected to his brain, a lottt less invasive than Whit's eye surgery. It doesn't impact Ace mentally, it just gives him the ability to produce visible projections for easy construction, communicate with Whit remotely, (and give Whit a way to always know what Ace's condition.)

The screen is unclipped when the game starts, but the brain implant is still connected to Whit, so he can detect Ace's condition.

After kidnapping the class of 27 and wiping their memories... It all starts. A killing game, streamed live to the entire nation.

Whit and Ace start off as a part of the class, interacting with the others like normal, a pretty decent show. Things go roughly as planned, putting everyone in the positions Whit wanted them. Untilll... chapter 2.

Ace gets his ass jumped, and almost dies prematurely. This is fine, Whit privately makes sure the wounds properly cleaned, but it does fill Whit with an... ominous feeling.

Ace still kills Arei, a part of the plan, and gets "executed", so he can more easily upkeep the executions and such behind the scenes.

After the screen playing the fake execution turns off, Whit checks to make sure Ace didn't get injured in his running around... but can't detect anything.

At all.

Ace's heart wasn't beating.

He actually, seriously, had a fucking heart attack.

(Ace's heart attack was for a combination of reasons. Firstly, his heart was actually in pretty bad condition as a result of his eating disorder, something Whit had figured was "over" by now. It wasn't!)

(Second, in that moment, the idea that maybe, just maybe, Whit could have been double-crossing him came to Ace. What if Whit loaded the guns? What if Ace's use was done, and Whit was finally getting rid of him? It was terrifying because he could die, and terrifying because... It'd make sense. It was all that ever happened to him.)

So he had a heart attackkk lameeeeee

This makes Whit tweak the fuck out, internally. (lol pretend his spooky ass sprite happens AFTER the execution, not before. shh its all made up its all pretend)

After Levi gets taken to the infirmary, Whit drops Charles off at his room as quickly as he can, then fucking BOLTS IT to a hidden passageway in his room to the like... Mastermind area, with the execution chamber.

Whit manages to resuscitate Ace in time, barely. And even after that, he's in pretty bad condition. But he's conscious and mobile.

Whit gets him as comfortable as he can, and after spending the night, he sort of... has to leave. He does some tweaks to Ace's brain screen thing, creating a functional heart monitor that Ace (and he) can watch.

As often as he can, Whit sneaks off to the Mastermind area at night to make sure Ace doesn't fucking die in his sleep. But Ace gets... decently better quickly, and returns to his duties overseeing the killing game.

Whit still visits almost every night to make sure Ace wakes up, which he can't really explain to himself. Ace was... supposed to be disposable anyway. Why would it matter if he died?

Anyway yeah the rest of the game happens. No clue there.

In the end, Whit and Ace come out as masterminds (happy pride).

I have a comic planned for how the end goes, soooo... that's it!

holy fuck! my fingers! hi the whole 2 people who made it down this far... uh... did you like my lore.....? do you want me dead now for having you read 1,400 words of two evil homsexuals...? 😅 love you thank you im sorry.

[kevindavidday]

i love that neil considers jean as part of the family he wants to protect. i will elaborate this time because

if you think about it, neil spent book 1 trying his best not to build a connection, book 2 trying to break down the walls ending with confirming from nicky if they were friends, and every second after that deliberately doing whatever was in his goddamn power to keep these people safe and happy. going to edens for andrew, keeping the truth from them, getting the letter back for kevin, reminding kevin that he owes jean a conversation after all that's happened, fixing the twins' relationship, spending time with them even though he knew he would leave. in his mind, what he was doing was selfish because he was going to die soon and they didn't even know it.

he doesn't die, though and he comes back with even MORE fight in him than before. he meets his uncle once and although his mother hadn't wanted him to be involved in one gang after another, he doesn't give a single flying fuck. the hatford's existence is just another resource for him, a way to hurt those who have hurt his family. stuart already killed his father, so what's it matter if there's a few more - protecting him means protecting his family. if the fbi had any clue about the power neil actually holds over the hatford's they would all willingly eat their hats tbh.

so the first thing he does when he sees his uncle again? despite knowing that ichirou is close-by? he tells him to kill proust.

hell, even the moriyama's are nothing to this man if i'm being honest. he isn't afraid of them, he knew the rarity of ichirou's visits which made him wary when he got into the car to talk about bargaining their lives and i truly do believe ichirou moriyama was fucking relieved neil didn't ask for more than that. there is that strange, dead look in his eyes that he's inherited from his father which unnerves the fuck out of everyone who doesn't know him. and when he bargained for his life and kevin's, he remembered jean too.

which is fucking insane. he spent only winter break with jean moreau, ONLY. i know there's extra days at the nest, but i'd kill to know what happened between jean and neil during that time for neil to have such unflinching loyalty towards his 'forever partner'. i want to know their conversations, i want to know what they suffered through together.

and the casual way in which jean dropped the news about grayson to neil, after hiding it away from everyone for so long. he admitted the truth to neil straight up, like of course neil should know, it's neil. jean's mind is still haywired to remember him too even though they were only together for a few weeks!!!

what is it about them?

and then the entire time otw to the diner, neil's plotting again. he's scheming. he's thinking. and he knows what to do. and its asking for local work because fuck anyone who has ever hurt his family. he literally only ever needs a fucking name, bro. 'my first memories are of people dying.' i think we can tell...

wymack saw that leadership potential and made him vice captain. god bless neil only cares about playing exy because if he had even a second more interest in crime he would've floored everyone. i can see it so clearly.

anyway, hope he takes a hit out on tetsuji moriyama next 🙏

[overnightheartbeats]

Laurel couldn't pinpoint why she trusted each word he said. He said it himself, they were still (more or less) strangers, yet she found herself nodding along to what he was saying. She believed him. "No, I do." She shook her head in response, trying to stop that train before it went further. "Believe you, I mean. Can't explain why, but I trust what you're telling me. I'm...kind of wrapping my head around it still, and it's a lot." Processing the fact that her friend was saying such horrible things about her, and bullying others on campus? It made her feel so stupid for not seeing it earlier. She lived with this girl, how could she not? A laugh spilled past her lips at his statement, telling it like it is. Yes, Laurel could attest to that. "Yep, I got a taste of that earlier. Probably why I believe you, you have no trouble just laying it all on me."

The feeling of his fingertips against her eyelids was soothing. Was it wrong that her heart was beating with anticipation? Just like it had that day their lips met. Containing her smile was an impossible mission, not that she wanted to, but she could feel the corners of her lips turning upwards. No one else, he confirmed; it mattered to him enough to clarify. "A vacancy, I like that. Might need to submit my application soon," she hummed in thought, as if considering. Knowing damn well her mind was made up. “Oh no, wouldn’t dream of competing with your sister. That’s a whole other league.” Family was completely different, she knew that much, and he had made that clear earlier too.

His question amused her, because the answer came to mind fairly quickly. “Hm, yes and no. I had seen you here, in this building, a few weeks ago. My physics class is also here, but just saw you really quickly. I think I was going up the stairs and you were going down. Figured you were new, you had that look we all did back at orientation. But, party was first time I really saw you. Lucky you were gaining all that attention with your party trick or I might’ve missed you that night.” It was something she had been pondering over, how easily she would’ve missed seeing him, especially running around the party with Jenny. “I got lucky you gave the devil a chance,” she dared to nudge him slightly. “My turn, and hm I’ll ask the same thing.” Talk about lack of creativity. “Did I just barge into your life at the party?”

Jenny was trying to maintain her composure, but she couldn’t help the glare that she threw his way. What the actual fuck. “Wait, you’re not coming back to the room?” All her questions directed at Laurel. Hearing from Eli was bottom of her priority list. “We find times to have fun, don’t worry,” she finally directed at him, biting her bottom lip to keep herself from rolling her eyes. One exaggerated sigh later, Jenny conceded realizing there was no way to beat this one. For now. “Okay, well I guess you’re finding new friends. Honestly, you guys can just use our room to study! Especially if it’s an all night thing. Safety and all.” No, he was determined. She could see it in his eyes. “Ugh, well fine. Lau, just be super safe. Wouldn’t want to see you on the campus news! Kidding, kidding. Take care of her Eli,” struggling to say his name without seething.

“Jenny, come on! I’ll be perfectly fine, I trust him. But thank you, and sorry about lunch. I’ll pay you back for it,” Laurel offered, but Jenny had already turned on her heel and was walking towards the building exit. “Were you serious about all night? Because it looks like I might be locked out of my room for the day.”

"I'm not swaying you to believe me. I know how people can be different for everyone. But I know a snake when I see one. I'm also not trying to scare you. I want you to see it for yourself. I figured that you wouldn't believe me if I told you without any proof." Eli wanted her to come to her own conclusion before it was too late. His eyebrows furrowed slightly at hers searching his but nonetheless gave her a small smile. "I don't like to lie. Usually tell it like it is." There was also the deal where he didn't like liars. But that was neither her nor there. He left it at that. Now it was up to Jenny to hopefully slip up and show her true colors when she let her guard down. He did tell her game on but he wasn't going to do the work for her. Bullies fell on their own.

His thumbs caressed over her eyes and hummed softly at how warm her skin felt. Memories of their shared kiss two weeks ago came to the forefront. It was like he had searched for a love he never had and could finally stop looking. "There's no one else." he confirmed. Somewhere deep inside him he hoped she believed that. "You do have competition though with my baby sister she's very needy."

"Was the party the first time you saw me?" he asked, wanting to start slow. An easy question if she will. Eli wore a semi smug smile on his lips as he started to play with her hand. Seeing Jenny try to tame her inner rage was funny to him. He knew the more he poked her the more it'd build up for her and she was bound to trip up.

"We're going to be busy all night actually." He knew how that came off but he didn't explain. "Homework and all that. Interesting to be paired up for class and having this big project we have to work on. Seems like school is getting in the way of your fun." Eli exaggerated his word knowing how that'd get her fuming and had zero qualms about it. Looking at his watch he sighed. "You know, we better get going if we are to get started on that project. Always a pleasure Jenny."

[rispwr]

Hate you - chapter 1 teaser - J.JK

Pairings : ex! Jungkook x ex! Reader

Notes : currently in chapter 6 rn. the chapters of this fic will be posted in my free time. every 2 weeks.

Genre : Ex2L, angst, slow burn, fake dating, slice of life, fluff, e2l, corporate rivals, smau, smut

Sypnosis : ‘You were always told that hating someone is the only way it doesn’t hurt but what if you can’t hate him? No matter how hard you try your heart will always find it’s way to his’

2 years after breaking up with your boyfriend of 2 years you were finally on your way to become the ceo of your family’s company your rival turns out to be your ex.

Contents/warnings :

Misunderstood break up, insecurities, mentions of self harms or mental health issues, jk is mean at the start, yelling, sensitive language or words, mentions of family trauma, corporate au, smart (both), mentions of yoongi x oc, mentions of cheating, soon to be ceo! Jk, soon to be ceo! Oc, oc is still named Y/n or {__}, corporate rivals?, fake dating, lack of communication, death of a character, mentions of suicide attempt, platonic relationships with other members

NSFW contents : specified in chapter

Namjoon quickly made his way to your house, arms loaded with a tub of your favorite ice cream and a bottle of alcohol. He was your closest friend, practically a brother, and he always seemed to know how to comfort you when you needed it most. The familiar sound of his knuckles tapping against the door echoed through your silent apartment.

“Y/N! I’m hereee!” he called, his voice bright and cheerful, trying to cut through the heaviness of the moment.

“It’s open! Just come in,” you managed to reply, though your voice cracked, betraying the tears you had been trying to stifle. As soon as the door swung open, you felt a fresh wave of sobs building in your chest.

Namjoon rushed in, his expression shifting from playful to concerned in an instant. “What happened??” he asked, worry etched across his features as he approached your room.

You couldn’t find the words, the emotions overwhelming you as you sat on the edge of your bed, crumpled tissues littering the floor around you. Instead, you just continued to cry, your heart breaking all over again.

“Do you want me to call Jungkook??” he offered, but at the mention of his name, your sobs intensified. The thought of hearing his voice was too painful, too fresh.

Namjoon paused, taking a moment to assess the situation. He knelt beside you, turning your head gently to meet his gaze. “Did you guys fight?” he asked softly, as if trying to piece together the fragments of your distress.

You shook your head, tears spilling down your cheeks. “Worse,” you finally managed to reply, voice trembling. “Joon… he fucking broke up with me. He fucking—fuck. He dumped me.”

The air felt heavy with the weight of your confession, and Namjoon’s eyes widened in shock. “Why?? What happened??” he pressed, his tone a mix of disbelief and concern.

“Exactly... I don’t know what I did wrong,” you sobbed harder, the floodgates opening. “How can he just throw away our memories like that? All those moments... all those plans we made...” Your words trailed off, and you buried your face in your hands, unable to contain the wave of sorrow crashing over you.

Namjoon instinctively pulled you into his arms, wrapping you in a comforting embrace. “Hey, it’s okay. Just let it out,” he murmured, gently rubbing your back as you tried to cool down.

After a few moments, you pulled away slightly, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand. “Let’s go to a club later, Joon. Maybe I’ll find someone better there,” you suggested, the anger in your voice barely masking the hurt.

“No, Y/N. You are not getting knocked up or catching dirty diseases from filthy men in clubs,” he replied firmly, though there was a hint of a smile at your reckless idea. “Let’s just drink or hang out today, yeah?”

You considered it for a moment. “We can bring friends too if you want,” he suggested, gauging your reaction.

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[n1ght0f-nyx]

mha boys with their quirkless au! jobs- Headcanons

i got bored and im procrastinating actual fics so here this is ig!! characters- izuku midoryria, katsuki bakugo, shoto todoroki, denki kamanari, ejirio Kirishima, fumikage tokoyami, koji koda, mezo shoji, tamaki amajiki, hanta sero, tenya iida

Izuku Midoriya - Detective or Analyst

Majorly detail-oriented, he over-prepares and strategizes with backup plans for his backup plans.

Known for highly detailed reports; they’re both impressive and a tad overwhelming.

Can get totally absorbed in research, like spending entire days analyzing social media for clues.

Frequently says, "The clues were there—you just had to look," as if narrating a detective show.

Runs on coffee and protein bars, completely invested in his cases.

His desk looks chaotic with notes and photos scattered everywhere, but he knows exactly where everything is.

Becomes the “did you know?” person at social gatherings, sharing obscure trivia.

His obsessive streak makes him revisit case files repeatedly.

Gets overly excited about new gadgets, especially anything with a “zoom and enhance” function.

Katsuki Bakugo - Personal Trainer or Chef

Commands with intensity, whether grilling someone in the gym or grilling steaks in the kitchen.

In the gym, he pushes clients to their limits, which they both dread and love him for.

He’s as knowledgeable about nutrition as he is about weightlifting—skip his advice at your peril.

Takes skipping leg day personally, calling it "a disgrace to all athletes."

Wins every cook-off but hates it when people compliment his food; he’s all business in the kitchen.

Runs his kitchen like boot camp—there’s no messing around under his watch.

Works out even on his days off; he’s fueled by the grind.

Secretly rolls his eyes at fitness influencers but will do a protein shake tutorial for cash.

Yells, “Do you want to stay weak?!” if he catches anyone cheating reps.

“Self-care” to him is just a mental strength exercise; you toughen up or move out.

Shoto Todoroki - Lawyer or Therapist

Reserved and perceptive, he’d be a formidable lawyer, calm and unshakable in court.

Not overly enthusiastic about his work, but he knows he’s great at it.

While people think he’s distant, he’s actually very empathetic and insightful.

Straightforward yet gentle, his clients appreciate his no-nonsense therapeutic approach.

As a lawyer, he’d specialize in taking down the unjust, handling high-stakes cases with ease.

Owns a vast collection of ties, barely noticing the variety himself but others sure do.

Prefers listening, making his quiet presence seem mysterious.

Treats himself to something small after big victories, like a quiet solo ice cream celebration.

Misses jokes occasionally, but people find his delayed reactions endearing.

Known for offering thoughtful advice, especially to those questioning life choices.

Denki Kaminari - DJ or Social Media Influencer

Natural at hyping up a crowd, making DJing feel effortless.

All about good vibes, even if it means playing crowd-pleasers more than deep cuts.

Boasts a huge social media following, constantly interacting with fans.

Always a few days behind trends but plays it off like he’s an innovator.

Gets sidetracked on live streams, responding to comments like he’s hanging out with friends.

Calls his fans “Denki-squad” and treats them like his close pals.

Buys flashy gadgets that he half-understands how to use, just for the aesthetic.

Always “goes live” if anything remotely exciting is happening around him.

Knows every meme song, dropping them like he's got an internal playlist.

Excessive with hashtags, yet somehow it works for his brand.

Eijiro Kirishima - Firefighter or Construction Worker

First in line to respond to an emergency, he’d run into a burning building without hesitation.

Embodies responsibility, always ready to go above and beyond.

Dedicates free time to community projects like building playgrounds.

Known for drinking multiple protein shakes daily to keep up his strength.

Takes pride in being reliable, volunteering for extra shifts to support the team.

Appears in firefighter calendars, where his popularity skyrockets.

Has a small following of neighborhood kids who adore him.

Constantly cracks dad jokes, his hearty laugh always filling the room.

Gets good-natured ribbing from his friends, but his solid character makes it easy to take.

Saves lives like it’s just another day, then heads to the gym for an after-work workout.

Fumikage Tokoyami - Poet or Author

Writes in dim, cozy coffee shops with dark, atmospheric vibes.

Known for abstract poetry that sometimes only he fully grasps.

When he’s not writing, he’s buried in gothic literature.

Runs a mysterious blog where he posts poems and eerie stories.

Takes his coffee black, no sugar—anything else would compromise the flavor.

Friends think he’s enigmatic, though he’s simply introverted.

Dresses like every day is a moody poetry reading, favoring dark attire and unique accessories.

Quietly garners a following for his “haunting” works but never tells a soul.

Rarely performs live, but when he does, he’s met with enthusiastic finger-snaps.

Keeps a journal that’s practically sacred—he won’t let anyone read it.

Koji Koda - Park Ranger or Vet Tech

Gentle with every creature, treating each animal encounter like a treasured interaction.

Knows endless animal facts, stopping hikes to point out specific birds and plants.

Considers the forest a second home and refers to animals by names he’s given them.

Animals instinctively trust him; he’s practically an animal whisperer.

Loves natural remedies and can talk about herbs like they’re magic.

Has a way of convincing people to adopt pets because they’re just “so cute.”

Blushes when praised for his kindness; it’s just who he is.

Popular with kids who love his animal knowledge and gentle nature.

Known for leading long, informative nature walks, always taking his time.

Prefers animals over people most days and has countless photos of rescued animals.

Mezo Shoji - Wilderness Survival Guide or Youth Counselor

The “quiet giant” on outdoor trips, guiding with a protective watch over everyone.

Preps gear meticulously, never forgetting a single item.

Has a knack for discovering secluded, scenic camping spots.

Amazing with kids, his steady nature makes him a beloved camp counselor.

Has a calm, reassuring vibe that draws people in effortlessly.

Knows endless survival skills; always has a tip or trick in his back pocket.

Enjoys nighttime hikes, talking about constellations in a thoughtful, poetic way.

Treats each trip like an important bonding experience, bringing the group together.

Carries spare marshmallows because he knows someone always forgets.

Compassionate and patient, especially with less outdoorsy folks, quietly setting them at ease.

Tamaki Amajiki - Marine Biologist or Florist

Thrives quietly in his element, tending to ocean life or delicate blooms.

Committed to preserving marine habitats, he’s passionate but too shy to boast.

His deep knowledge surprises people when he speaks up, making an impact.

Friends are amazed by his niche knowledge—he could ramble about coral reefs for hours.

His floral arrangements are carefully crafted, almost reverent in their precision.

Quietly determined to protect the environment, joining cleanups or advocacy events.

Adds hidden messages to flower arrangements, though few notice the subtle artistry.

In marine biology, he’s published numerous papers on sea creatures, always under the radar.

Works with kids effortlessly, they love his gentle explanations.

Finds joy in rare plants or marine life, though he blushes if anyone mentions it.

Hanta Sero - Event Planner or Stunt Coordinator

Organized to the last detail, he keeps his events running like clockwork.

Can handle last-minute emergencies with a calm, “I got this” approach.

In the stunt world, he’s dedicated to safety, while making things fun and exciting.

Adrenaline junkie, he loves ziplining, bungee jumping, and anything that feels risky.

He’s a great listener, always taking others’ ideas to make events inclusive.

Stays cool under pressure, adapting quickly to whatever comes his way.

Good at making tiny changes on the fly, never losing sight of the big picture.

Finds the best deals for supplies, he’s got a knack for party logistics.

Ensures killer sound systems, knowing good music elevates any event.

Somehow pulls off a laid-back vibe even while he’s juggling a million tasks.

Tenya Iida - Professor or Physical Trainer

The professor who hands out a 20-page syllabus but genuinely believes it’s necessary.

Known for his strict yet fair approach, he challenges students but offers support.

Obsessive about lesson plans, updating them constantly for “maximum efficiency.”

In the gym, he’s relentless about proper form and discipline.

Can’t handle slacking, probably shuts the door precisely five minutes after class starts.

Students tease him, but they secretly appreciate his rigor and dedication.

Motivated by improvement, he’s always seeking ways to upgrade his methods.

Hyped to offer inspirational speeches that are almost intimidating in their passion.

Puts extra time into student support; he’s the go-to for anyone serious about self-betterment.

[richarlotte]

something on your mind?

Time to talk about love.

My friends, my good friends who are in Chicago, D.C., Montreal, Philly, and New York and who are in amazing relationships, share one thing: they focused on bettering their lives and themselves, and good men fit into the picture they were focused on painting. There was no “I’m going to find a good man and do the work later,” and there were no excuses made as to why they were neglecting themselves in favor of finding someone to take care of them; there were many distinct efforts made to better themselves, and when the right people came along, things fell into place naturally on both sides and progressed smoothly.

 

There’s a lot of focus on whether someone will fit into your life on Tumblr, but not a lot of talk about what’s going on on the other side. If you’re unhealed, uneducated, emotionally unstable, and unfit for a relationship, do you really think that you’ll find someone who’ll want to stay with you and do the healing for you? I say this not to be unkind but to be realistic. In order to form a strong, long-lasting relationship with someone, you have to be healthy and ready to deal with the conflicts and disappointments that occur in anyone’s life. If you have never had to deal with the things that can arise in any romantic relationship and you’re not mentally prepared to in the first place, you’ll find that it’ll be harder for you to keep things together and remain stable when life feels hard.

 

I have been in relationships before—healthy relationships—and I have thrived in them. But I’m also a person with trauma, and I know how that trauma presents itself and I know my triggers. It took me plenty of therapy, lots of listening to myself and acknowledging my feelings, and tons of breakups before I recognized both what I needed and what I was subconsciously seeking out. All of my friends who have made their longterm relationships last know what they’re looking for, know what they need, and know themselves well enough to walk away before things end on bad terms. Self-work must be done if you want to truly thrive in life, and you must have the ability to reflect on the things you could have done better.

 

Myself and the people I’ve known who’ve gone from struggling to thriving in relationships all share one common denominator: we’ve done the hard work associated with success, and we’re all willing to continue doing the work needed to get what we want. It’s incredibly hard and very damaging to one’s psyche to go through life with a clear image of what you want in your mind but a lack of awareness that limits you from getting what you want. It’s important to understand that you can overcome the obstacles in your own path and you can also overcome being an obstacle yourself. There are effective ways to heal, books you can immerse yourself in, therapists you can see, and things you can do to build yourself up so that you can thrive and feel more confident in your love life.

TL;DR:

You have to be willing to do the inner work before you seek out a romantic partner. A relationship won’t repair you if you feel broken; only you can heal yourself and fix your trauma. It’s an important part of finding yourself and finding a love that lasts and feels healthy.

[desmon1995]

Female Warriors, Broadway, and the American Dream.

The Warriors have been out for about 2 weeks now and it's slowly but steadily building up a pretty passionate following.

I think one of the biggest changes that have been rough for some long time over years 79 fans is that the Warriors are now female, which some argue ruins the point of the original and or softens the story too much.

While I do respect everybody's opinion when it comes to artistic criticism, I do think that dismissing the concept album just because it features women is a little short-sighted IMHO.

Regurgitating the original male cast just in musical album form would not only be repetitive but would make it no different than other Broadway show that focus on gang violence like West Side story or now The Outsiders.

We have so many shows that focus on brotherhood, kinship, and just masculinity not even within film but also on Broadway, but we hardly ever see the same for female characters.

The Female Warriors are very rough around the edges, foul-mouthed, violent at times, and in the case of cowgirl, lustful.

They're also different body types, present themselves differently, and are all played by BIPOC.

I've seen a lot of Broadway shows in my 30 years of living, and we just don't get diverse female characters like this a lot if at all.

If any female character had the above traits they would likely be presented as being the less than ideal woman or flat out villainous.

The girls have flaws, but these are just things they picked up because of how rough the world has been to them, and at the end of the day they're not only friends but a family.

That's a big difference between the female warriors and their male counterparts from the movie and novel.

The Male Warriors are supposed to be seen as what ends up happening when youths get tangled up in gang culture and how it turns them into monsters.

When the police arrest Ajax in the film it's because of how unruly and savage he was acting and likewise Fox getting killed along with Cleon is supposed to be seen as a consequence of them even being a part of this culture to begin with.

I've said it before, but I think while the intentions may be good it's viewing these marginalized groups through a very White and conservative lens.

Nobody wants to be a part of a gang or run away from home but sometimes living in poverty, an abusive household, or just being crushed by the system forces people to do desperate things and more often than not that's banding together with like-minded people.

Another thing is that most of the Warriors in the original film are White and that's largely just due to the fact that an audience back in the 1970s would be less willing to watch something that didn't at least feature several white main leads otherwise they'd be uncomfortable and uninterested.

From a modern-day perspective, a person like male Ajax would likely get away with his sexually aggressive behavior because of the color of the skin ( you can look at a certain orange politician to see that in present day) and we now know thanks to things like BLM that the police do not always operate in good faith nor to protect the people.

I think that's why the concept album is so good and culturally relevant despite having being created nearly a few years ago.

The Warriors consisting of a group of marginalized women that banded together to support one another to conduct a world that really doesn't care for them is a story you really get to hear not just on Broadway but in Hollywood in general.

Luther being a white gang leader and killing a black cultural figure like Cyrus in cold blood to stop any semblance of progress is the tale as all this time and how he mocks the AAVE the non-white groups he surrounds himself with after making life hell for them is especially painful.

Luther and Crosby literally don't have to worry about ever being hounded by the police because of how they look which allows them to get away with literal murder, but it is very telling that he ends up crumbling the moment he's confronted and called out for his misdeeds.

The cops themselves are also completely reworked for the concept album as opposed to them just being the boys in blue doing their job to get rid of the trash that is the Warriors like the original film, they're essentially the biggest antagonist even more so than the Rogues.

Both police officers that appear in the album have a cat calling motif which doubles as sounding like police sirens just to illustrate how dangerous and cancerous they are not just to the Warriors but to the community as a whole.

Captain Victor and Barnes abuse their power and end up nearly subduing the Warriors by killing Fox and sexually a harassing and later arresting Ajax.

In Derailed Victor even tries to kill the warriors with his squadron before they run away to the cemetery and all of this is done because they can.

The fact that these two are portrayed by people from the 1979 Warriors film sort of acts as a double entender because in the original, the Warriors themselves are supposed to be seen as monsters and what happens when kids fall too deep into the sins of the world, so the cops view the women as nothing more than street rats who need to be exterminated .

The Warriors are guilty because they're marginalized women and that's enough for them to be blown away as far as society and the system is concerned.

I think in some ways, the Warriors is basically the reverse of LMM's other work Hamilton because it shows that the American dream isn't really for everybody and that sometimes you have to find another means to live by.

The system very much failed the Warriors so they had to rely on themselves to make it through the world because nobody else would bother with them.

It's for this reason why I'm sort of against the idea that this album needs to be radically changed in order for it to move the Broadway.

Doing things like giving Luther more complex feelings, adding in things to help the predominantly white audience and critics understand how Urban culture works, and rewriting the characters themselves just to be more stage appropriate seems like it undoes what the musical was trying to say.

I think this story as it is is one worth telling and beyond maybe a bit of polish I don't really think it should be tempered with too much.

If Lin and Eisa were to doll the Warriors up too much it would basically be a completely different story altogether and what we would have is just another Broadway musical that allows the audience to digest certain things that they may not understand nor possibly want to hear.

I think we as a society have moved beyond watering down things so that people who aren't even from the community that these stories come from can sleep better at night.

I think that's why this album and the original movie have dedicated fan bases to them because it does speak to a generation of people.

[scrollonso]

Angel — Pierresteban (+ Kika)

Pierre has dreamed of this moment for a long time now, if he’s honest with himself.

He’s had a thing for Esteban for as long as he can remember, and they’d had brief encounters here and there when they were younger and single and just reckless enough to mess around with a coworker and close friend without worrying about all the ways it could backfire. But those moments were fleeting, far too rare to ever truly satisfy Pierre — if he could even be satisfied at all.

He’s greedy, and he knows it.

He’s with Kika now, and he’s happy. Absolutely head-over-heels for her, and their love life — and sex life — leaves him wanting for nothing. But, damn, Esteban is hard to ignore.

Especially lately.

Esteban was attractive back in the day, sure. The shaggy hair and lean build, the boundless energy, and his unfailing patience with Pierre, even when he was being difficult, were undeniably appealing. But now, Esteban’s matured into stronger, more masculine features, adopting a polished, well-kept look — even at his most laid-back — and a broad-shouldered build that makes even Pierre feel small. His kindness, however, hasn’t changed. If anything, as they’ve grown closer over the years, Esteban’s tolerance for him has shifted into open affection; especially since Pierre’s softened a bit himself, no longer hiding behind snarky remarks and finally accepting the care and appreciation Esteban offers him — albeit a little reluctantly.

So yes, he’s very much greedy, and he knows it. But he thinks it’s justified when Esteban looks like that. When Pierre remembers just how good he was in bed, how attuned he was to Pierre’s body, and how he could say exactly the right words to make him lose control. He misses it. Misses being held down, told what to do, misses the thrill of it all.

That’s why he brought it up to Kika, after a lot of careful thought and some very cautious phrasing, so she wouldn’t get the wrong idea or think he was hiding his true self or using her as a cover.

No, Pierre isn’t gay. Bisexual, yes, proudly so, but not gay.

And, no, Kika isn’t a cover for anything. He loves her more deeply than he’s loved anyone in his life.

Whatever. He’d unpack all those feelings later. For now, he just needed to tell Kika that maybe he wanted to open things up a bit more, take their relationship a step beyond the bedroom.

Preferably not while he’s on all fours, as bare as the day he was born, waiting for Kika to do something.

“God, we should’ve done this sooner,” Kika says. Pierre can’t see her, of course, but he feels the warmth of her breath fanning over the back of his bare thigh. “You’re a sight to behold like this.”

Kika’s fingers start grazing the backs of his thighs with delicate, teasing touches that make him buck his hips back, trying to get more—more pressure, more heat, more anything—but she’s quick to step back entirely, a small, derisive sound escaping her throat to remind him he’s already getting ahead of himself.

There’s a natural confidence in the way Kika takes charge that’s always left Pierre a little awestruck. He should’ve brought this up ages ago — his desire to be dominated and put in his place every now and then. It would’ve saved him plenty of rushed, unfulfilling sessions in the shower, biting his fist to keep from making too much noise.

So when she finally places her hands on his ass, kneading at the flesh the same way he often does to her, his legs nearly give out.

“Might have to fuck you myself sometime soon. Not fair that Esteban gets to have you like this and I don’t.” The pout in her voice is one Pierre knows well — the one she uses when she’s aiming to get the upper hand, as if she doesn’t already always have it. The fact that she’s using it now, when he’s given himself over entirely to her, borders on absurd.

"You like it when I use my strap on you, don’t you?” Pierre moans in response, any hope of articulate speech long gone, and Kika takes his sounds as the affirmation they’re meant to be. “Hm. Maybe next time, I’ll make you fuck me with a dildo inside you. Can’t let you have all the fun, you’ll end up spoiled.” Her fingers start tracing his spine, her perfectly manicured nails drawing shivers down his back.

“Yes. Yesyesyes. Whatever— whatever you want, just— yes. Please, yes.”

“God,” Kika chuckles, breathless and a bit amazed, but Pierre couldn’t care less that she’s seeing just how needy he is. She’d better get used to it anyway. And quickly, considering Esteban’s due to join them soon.

Kika takes a moment to collect herself after hearing the full force of Pierre’s begging, her hands wandering over his back, pressing down just enough to tease him further. He wants nothing more than to be pinned into the mattress, held in place so he has no choice but to take what she gives him. But when she’s ready, she lets him know by dragging her nails down his back a little harder, and Pierre can only wonder why he hadn’t thought to ask her for this sooner.

Her hands slide around his waist, fingers pressing into his skin, nails leaving small indents that make him grip the pillow under his head even tighter.

“I see why Esteban didn’t hesitate to say yes,” she murmurs. “You’re so pretty like this, I don’t know how he’s gone all these years without having you bent over for him.”

Pierre, spurred on by her words and by all the teasing she’s put him through since they’d talked with Esteban weeks ago, tries to grind down against the sheets.

But Kika is quick to pull him up by his hips, delivering a slap to his thigh that leaves a lingering sting and a sharp echo in the room.

It’s the first time Kika’s done anything like this, and if Pierre were a simpler man — or just a bit more desperate — he’d probably come from that alone.

But he’s got a little more pride than that; a decade’s worth of experience being roughed up — properly roughed up — has taught him restraint.

Still, he can feel himself already leaking, and the whimper that escapes him as the sting fades into a warm burn is shameful in a way that only makes him ache even more.

“God, Pierre. I knew you were a slut but a pain-slut? That’s extreme even for you.”

She gives him only a second of reprieve before she brings her open palm down on his asscheek this time, her free hand already at his hip so he doesn’t even think about sinking down onto the bed. Pierre's breath hitches in his throat and he bites down on his lip from the surprise, tasting blood almost immediately.

“Kika,” Pierre says, voice already hoarse.

“What is it, baby?” there’s an abrupt shift in her tone, worry seeping through it loud and clear. “Want me to stop? Slow down?”

“No, no, please don’ stop, I just— Do that again, please.”

Kika doesn’t answer, not really, just hums in acknowledgment and waits a second before striking him again, a little more forcefully so Pierre knows she has committed to giving him what he wants. Pierre can only whine, biting his already abused lip harshly, because he is a painslut.

Kika presses a light kiss over the offended skin and steps away, the empty air behind Pierre immediately feels colder and he whines, high and needy, to try and get her back near him. 

She’s standing next to the bed now. Pierre knows, not because he can see her since his face is half-pressed against the pillow and his eyes are clenched shut, but because she’s running her fingers through his hair as a reassurance.

He doesn’t have to see her to know what she’s doing, either. The sound of their nightstand drawers as they open and close is something Pierre could recognize in his sleep, much like its meaning. So he’s not surprised when he hears Kika uncap the bottle of lube or when he feels the cold drag of the metal plug as she traces the outside of his thigh with it.

This is familiar territory for both of them.

One of the first things Pierre had asked for when their relationship was in its earlier stages and he was starting to feel the restlessness of wanting more was for her to finger him. She’d taken it in stride, as she did with everything else Pierre asked for. He is really fucking lucky to have her.

The first time they tried it at all it’d taken a lot of instruction from Pierre. A lot of “Hold on," and, “Alright move,” and, “Curl your fingers right there,” until Kika muttered a comment about it not being much different from fingering a girl which prompted Pierre to raise a brow in an unspoken question Kika managed to avoid answering by hitting his prostate just right and making him forget all about it.

The first time they used a plug came only a little after that.

Because, although getting fingerfucked by his girlfriend was something straight out of his fantasies, Pierre always found the lingering sensations from it to be yet another tease about something he couldn’t have; not without a lot of conversations, ones he hadn’t felt prepared for yet.

They didn’t even have to buy the plug. Pierre had it stored away with some other toys Kika had eyed with glee when he showed her his little collection. It's always been his favorite thing. A heavy, stainless steel plug that managed to keep him floaty and grounded at the same time with how full it made him feel. It’d been Este's favorite thing too, back in the day. He loved to plug Pierre right after coming inside him, and Pierre was never one to say no to a good deal. Kika, too, took a great liking to it, openly declaring to him how amazed she was that he could take so much, how he was such a good boy for it.

However, it was the first time she was going to be doing all of this when he was in such an obscene position when he knew what would come later.

It was hotter, too, because of that.

Kika starts like she always does, with soft touches all over his ass and just toying with him further. Pierre shoves his hips back towards her, moaning loudly when his naked skin meets the rough fabric of her jeans.

Kika isn’t happy at his antics and she lets him know by smacking him on the side of his thigh, harsh and unforgiving, before stepping away from him once more. Pierre feels like he’s about to cry with how much he wants and how little he’s being given. Kika sighs, much like she does when Simba makes a mess she’ll have to clean up, and lets him just wallow for a moment without saying anything.

“If you’re so hellbent on getting what you want then you probably don’t even want my help, do you?”

Pierre is about to respond, to plead with her, really, not to stop touching him — that he’ll take whatever she wants to give, even if it’s just incendiary touches and nothing else. But Kika is already grabbing one of his wrists, pulling it away from the pillow he’s been white-knuckling for a while, and covering his fingers messily in lube.

“Go on, then. If you want to be full so badly that you can’t even wait for me to do it, you should open yourself, baby.”

She drops his hand over his ass, and it falls like dead weight, Pierre too boneless to exert any control over his limbs.

“Go ahead and make it interesting for me, since you and Esteban are having all the fun tonight.”

The reminder of what’s to come pulls him out of his stupor, and he’s rushing to fill himself with his fingers. It takes less than two minutes before he’s got two fingers inside himself, thrusting wildly — he’s never been fond of moderation.

Kika laughs sweetly behind him.

“You’re gonna make yourself come before me or Esteban even get our hands on you. Is that what you want, babe? To be already fucked out and useless when Esteban gets here? Won’t be too fun for him, I bet.”

Pierre tries to shake his head but is still pressed tight against the pillow.

“Maybe he’ll fuck me then, and we’ll just make you watch,” she says conversationally. Pierre whines, somewhere between a protest and a plea. “No? Are you going to be a good boy, then, and wait for Esteban to fuck you? Or are you so needy that you just can’t help yourself, baby?”

It takes Pierre a moment to push past the fog of his arousal, his brain sluggish with want, and it’s only when Kika yanks his hand away and presses it harshly against his lower back that he realizes she’s asked a question.

“Pay attention, babe,” she says softly, but the underlying warning is unmistakable. “Are you gonna behave or not?”

Pierre tries to fight her hold, but his body already feels like jelly, and his thrashing only makes Kika dig her nails into his wrist, making him bite down on his cheek to keep from squealing.

“I’ll be good. I promise. I’ll be so good, please, just let me— I need—”

Kika rewards him with a light slap to his thigh. “I know, babe, I know. I’ll give it to you, yeah? And then Esteban will too, but for that, you need to stop being so needy, okay?”

Pierre nods as best as he can, and thankfully it’s response enough for Kika, who lets go of his hand but stays hovering over him.

“Go on, then. Open yourself for me.”

And he does, to the best of his ability while Kika distracts him with soft touches and murmured praise, the heat of their bodies echoing between them and searing Pierre’s skin. He’s three fingers deep and dangerously close to coming when Kika stops him again. She silences his complaints with tender touches and light kisses pressed between his shoulder blades.

“Good boy, look at you. You’re doing so well for me, baby,” she says. “Gonna get the plug now, okay? Do you still want it?”

Pierre babbles his affirmative, and Kika kisses his shoulder once more before getting up. His thighs are starting to strain, and he’s so hard it hurts, but he wouldn’t change a thing.

Kika sits back on the bed, and Pierre hears the lube uncapping again. He tries to breathe, hoping not to come just from the idea of the plug.

He gets no warning before Kika presses the cold metal against his hole. This time, when Pierre tries to rut against the mattress, Kika doesn’t stop him.

She has her fun, fucking him slowly with the plug, letting it get to the widest part before taking it back, only to do it all over again. Pierre isn’t sure he can handle much more; he’s already so spaced out, and Esteban hasn’t even arrived yet.

“Kik—Kika, ‘m gonna—”

“No, you’re not,” she says dismissively, finally pushing all of the plug in and immediately stepping away.

Pierre could cry.

“Stay still now, babe,” Kika commands. “I’ll go get Esteban, yeah?” She doesn’t wait for his response before she leaves.

Kika, damn her, knows exactly what he likes and where his limits lie. This whole “stay just like that while I go do something else” shtick is one he’s well accustomed to. It’s a test of his obedience and a tease for his exhibitionist side.

And he’s never failed a test of obedience before — not unless he did it on purpose, that is. So, he stays mostly still, shifting a little on his knees to get more comfortable and rolling his head on the pillow so he can press his forehead against it.

Waiting isn’t hard. He’s been waiting for years.

Pierre only knows Esteban has stepped into the room because of his familiar giggle.

He and Kika exchange pleasantries, and Pierre knows, from Esteban’s tone and Kika’s barely concealed laughter, that it’s only to mess with him. He’s so focused on not moving an inch that he doesn’t notice Esteban next to him until his hand maps out his back. Pierre keens at the sudden touch, and Esteban shushes at him.

“It’s alright, mon ange, it’s alright,” he says, “I’m right here. Gonna give you what you want, yeah?”

“Please, oh, please, I’ve been good, I’ve been so good, please—”

“Oh, really?” Esteban says, his hand stopping right at his nape. “That true, Kika?”

“A bit needy but yeah. I’ve seen him do worse.”

“He’s probably just excited. Right, doll?”

Pierre wants to tell him — both of them, really — that he’s been waiting for fucking years for this, but all he can manage is another choked moan that gets a laugh out of Esteban.

“Use your words, baby, c’mon,” he says, and Pierre realizes the one thing he didn’t miss about Esteban was that fucking phrase. “Tell me how badly you want me,” he adds, a little lower.

“Want you so bad, Esteban, please, please, s'il vous plaît—” he starts babbling, but Esteban just tuts unappreciatively.

“Didn’t ask you to beg, honey. Y’know I don’t like it when you’re a slut, yeah?”

“Sorry, ‘m sorry.”

Esteban chuckles, “That’s not good enough, doll. D’you remember how we show we’re sorry?”

And, oh, he does remember. But the apology Esteban is demanding from him is not something he ever thought Kika would see. Sure, he knew he’d get fucked in front of her — that was most of the appeal — but for Esteban to ask this of him…

“Yes, sir.”

Esteban’s hand leaves his nape and leaves him untethered. He has a second to ponder on what he should do next before Esteban solves that for him, saying, “knees.”

It’s a well-practiced command. One of the many single-word instructions that made up most of their vocabulary back in the day; when there wasn’t enough time for proper dirty talk and details. Pierre remembers every single time Esteban dragged him into a dressing room or a bathroom or a supply closet and said the exact same word. Knees. Pierre doesn’t dwell on how the timber of it has changed, doesn’t have time when he has to regain control over his muscles and shove himself off the bed, landing in front of Esteban on his knees, his eyes fixated on Esteban’s boots — just how Esteban likes it.

He regrets his carelessness when his knees hit and drag on the carpet floor, knowing he’s going to be feeling the pain for weeks on end, but he thinks the burn of them is worth it when Esteban pets his hair soothingly.

“You ever have him like this, Kika?” Esteban asks. Kika doesn’t say anything, but she must shake her head because Esteban continues, “Shame. I think you’d like it. He’s so pretty on his knees.” Pierre keens. “C’mere.”

Kika’s heels appear right behind Esteban’s boots.

The next command he gets isn’t spoken. Esteban only has to tap the base of his jaw for Pierre to look up.

The image of both Esteban and Kika towering over him, Esteban smiling softly and Kika looking intrigued, is one he burns into his memory.

“Hi, mon ange,” Esteban murmurs softly, “Fucking missed you.”

And then Esteban’s bending down, his hands cradling Pierre’s face, guiding him into a kiss that feels years overdue. He lets himself be kissed, his own hands coming up to hold Esteban’s wrists in an attempt to stabilize himself.

Esteban’s kisses, if possible, are better than Pierre remembers. So easy to sink into. So good he’d be content with just this — Esteban’s lips on his, kissing him like it’s his life purpose — and nothing else, tonight and forever.

“Really fucking missed you,” Esteban muses a little breathlessly when they part.

Pierre can’t take the adoring look on Esteban’s face for too long. It sets him alight in a gentle fire that feels placeless in this scenario and makes him restless for another thing he can’t have — not yet anyway. So, he looks past Esteban’s shoulder to see Kika already looking at him, equally as fond as Esteban, but the affection doesn’t feel as uncharted when it’s written over her face.

Whatever he did in a past life to earn himself this pair, he doesn’t know, but he’s incredibly grateful for it.

Esteban is the one to snap him out of his trance, turning Pierre’s face so their eyes meet again.

“Look at me, doll. Don’t go getting distracted now,” he says, his fingers digging into the permanent baby fat in Pierre’s cheeks.

“Sorry, sir.”

“Second time you’ve said that today and I only just got here, mon ange. Is that how you’re gonna be all night? Messing up at every turn? Another sorry, sir every five seconds?” Esteban has a talent for sounding demeaning while keeping his voice soft and low. It makes Pierre whimper with how overtaken he is by the need to do better, be better for him.

He tries to shake his head but Esteban’s grip on his jaw tightens, and he can’t do much more than whine another, “Sorry, sir. ‘m sorry, I’ll be better, please,” that makes Esteban scoff and let go of him again.

Pierre falls forward, his hands land on Esteban’s hips, and he looks up pleadingly. Esteban doesn’t even extend the courtesy of meeting his eyes, looking back at Kika over his shoulder.

“I swear he didn’t use to be like this,” he says, like Pierre is just a restless pet.

“He forgets his place sometimes,” Kika says with a sigh. Esteban tilts his head in understanding and looks back at him. Pierre’s grip on his hips tightens a bit, trying to express the plea that he knows Esteban won’t want to hear.

“He better learn quickly, then,” Esteban says. “Belt. Be quick about it.”

Pierre fumbles, his unsteady hands not making the process of taking the belt off of Esteban any easier. Esteban throws his head back, groaning theatrically.

“You’d think he’d be faster with how eager he is,” he says to Kika. Pierre pouts, still fighting a war against the belt loops that seem to be conspiring against him.

“Not all sluts are good sluts, Esteban,” Kika says, making Esteban chuckle.

Pierre finally gets the belt off. He folds it haphazardly and offers it to Esteban with both his hands. Esteban’s looking at him unimpressed. “So you can follow instructions. Good.” Pierre doesn’t quite know what to do with himself, stuck between loving the dismissive edge to Esteban’s voice and chasing after whatever praise he can get. “Go on, you know what to do.”

Pierre nods, his hands going back to fumbling with the button and zipper of Esteban's pants, vaguely registering how the leather belt is tracing the skin on his shoulders. It’s making him shudder, making his job clumsier all the while. It’s a ploy he knows well; Esteban will give him an instruction and then try to distract him from it — genius in a very evil way.

“You know, Kika?” Esteban says. Kika hums, but it sounds further than before. “I’ve always thought he’d look pretty with a collar. What do you think?” Pierre is just about done with his job when Esteban taps the underside of his chin again. He’s barely lifted his eyes to meet Esteban’s when the belt is wrapped loosely around his neck; Esteban fastens it so the excess hangs from his hand.

“I can see the appeal,” Kika says, sounding disinterested as ever. “Maybe one with a dog tag and a leash.”

Esteban chuckles at that. “He’s already our bitch. Might as well make him look the part.”

“Please,” Pierre whimpers.

“Yeah?” Esteban pulls on the leather around his neck, bringing Pierre closer. “C’mon, finish the job that you started.”

Pierre quickly pushes Esteban’s pants down and pulls his dick out, his mouth watering at the sight. He sticks his tongue out and leans forward a little, showing Esteban he's ready and looking up at him for approval.

"Go on," Esteban encourages, "show us you can be a good boy."

Pierre submits to his control easily, allowing Esteban to lead his mouth onto his cock. The weight of Esteban’s dick in his mouth is yet another thing he missed, and he shows his appreciation for it by pulling out all his old tricks — the ones that helped rush their clandestine meetings along.

“That’s good,” Esteban says, his voice smooth and patronizing. Esteban’s praise, though laced with mockery, is more than welcome. Sadly, he doesn’t get to properly cherish it before Esteban gives his next command. “Enough. Stay.”

Pierre stops moving, Esteban’s cock halfway in his mouth. He drops his hands, holding them behind his back without waiting for Esteban’s instruction. He lets his eyes flutter closed, diverting all his focus to keeping as still as possible and being mindful of his breathing and how he’s starting to drool around Esteban’s dick.

It almost feels like a gift. Getting to sit there just holding Esteban's cock in his mouth, finally able to relish it properly now that there's no rush or threat of anyone walking in on them. Pierre pushes away the thought that maybe he's always been a little too into Esteban, and how he's already missing this even as he's right in the midst of it.

A pair of hands on his shoulders do away with those thoughts, though. He can tell it’s Kika by the softness of her palms, meeting at the base of his neck. She takes the belt that's still wrapped around his neck and pulls back toward her, eliciting a whine out of Pierre, making him squirm under the pull of the makeshift collar and the urge to stay still to please Esteban.

“So you just have him sit with your dick in his mouth?” Kika asks.

Esteban nods, carding his fingers through Pierre's hair. “He's an overeager little thing. Kept stepping out of line and saying sorry. Until I got tired of sorry and told him to put his mouth to better use. But then, since he loves sucking cock so much, I thought he could just sit there and take it for a bit, learn a thing or two about patience.”

Esteban forms a fist with his fingers tangled in Pierre’s hair, pulling on his scalp just enough to make it sting. “And it seems he has learned. You’ve done so well for us, pet. I think it’s time you get taken care of. What do you think, Kika?” Pierre whines around Esteban as Kika hums noncommittally.

Pierre's eagerness, if possible, burns even harder within him.

Kika delivers his next instruction, far more polite than Esteban, “On the bed, babe,” with another tug on the belt.

Pierre's dizzy with want and excitement, and he jumps to kneel on the bed before Kika's even done telling him to. He’s confused and a little saddened when only Esteban is with him on the bed, Kika sitting a couple of feet away from them on the chair he had brought up earlier for this exact purpose. He’d been enjoying Kika and Esteban’s teamwork so much, the mixing and mingling of their voices and touches, that he’d forgotten Kika is here only to watch him get fucked.

He’s about to bring out the pout and start begging when Esteban's hands start lighting fire across his skin again.

“Sir, please.”

Esteban’s hands are all over him, running over his back and sides, caressing his stomach but avoiding Pierre’s hard dick. Esteban tuts derisively when Pierre shoves his hips forward, trying to get some contact.

“Thought you were going to be a good boy for me.” Esteban places his hand on the middle of Pierre’s back, his fingers light as they tickle over his skin.

Pierre nods again, ever desperate to please. “I’ve been so good, sir, please. I’ve done everything you’ve asked.”

“Suppose we can’t expect much from a slut like you,” Esteban muses, his hand trailing down Pierre’s back, slipping between his cheeks and pressing on the end of the plug. Pierre holds back a whimper, biting on his lip, clenching his hands. He wants to beg for more but he also wants to behave; he has to be good for Esteban to get what he wants. Esteban plays with the plug some more, pulling on the end and teasing him with it before letting it slip back inside Pierre.

“Why are you so quiet all of a sudden, doll? I want to hear you.” Esteban reaches a hand around Pierre’s torso to grab his dick, jerking him off steadily. Pierre cries out loudly, hanging his head, his arms shaking to hold him up. It's very little but it's also too much. The onslaught of sensation after coasting by only on light touches, mixed with the still rising anticipation, is enough to have him on the edge in seconds.

“Fuck. Fuck, I’m going to come, sir, please.”

Esteban chuckles a bit, “You’re not allowed to come until Kika says you can.”

Pierre can’t tell what Kika’s response is, too lost in the pleasure washing over him. He’s started fucking forward into Esteban’s hand, too far gone to stop, small pained sounds falling uninhibited from his mouth.

“You’re so good to me, Este baby, I feel so good, please just, fuck—“ He tries to move away from Esteban's hand, feeling his orgasm coil in the bottom of his stomach, closing his eyes as the heat threatens to take him over. “Kika please, let me— fuck, Esteban. I—“

Pierre cries out again, and just before he feels he is going to come he hears, “Go on, babe,” and then he’s releasing all over Esteban’s hand and the bed below him, pained sounds falling from his mouth when Esteban’s hand continues to move over his sensitive dick. He squirms to move out of his grasp but Esteban doesn’t let him, holding him tighter.

“It’s— huh— it’s too much. Fuck.”

Esteban's response is a dangerous thing, whispered right next to his ear. “Oh, I’m not done with you yet, doll. Gonna fuck another out of you. D'you want that? Want to sit on my dick and ride me? Show Kika how pretty you are when taking my dick? I bet you look great stuffed full and with your thighs shaking. Imagine the sounds you’ll make, what a pretty show you'll be for Kika."

And Pierre is making more of those sounds now, cut-off whines, choked by the next sound rising from his throat. Esteban presses a kiss to the side of his neck.

“Let’s give you a little break, yeah?” Esteban says, taking his hands off Pierre. There is another pair of hands on him, cool to Pierre’s hot skin, tucking against his waist and rolling him onto his back. Pierre smiles up at Kika when he falls back into the pillows, closing his eyes when she pets his cheek.

“Do you need anything, babe? Some water maybe?” she asks.

Pierre loves that she's checking in on him. It’s the perfect balance to being roughed up by Esteban.

He shakes his head, gently grabbing her wrist and kissing the palm of her hand before turning to look at Esteban who is still partially dressed, his hands pushing his pants down the rest of the way. Pierre licks his lips, eager for what’s going to come next, shifting a little on the bed to feel the plug inside him. Kika’s hand leaves his face, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze before moving away.

Pierre watches as Esteban unbuttons his shirt, slipping it off his shoulders, glancing up at him. He looks almost shy when their eyes meet, some of his dominant persona fading away. Esteban had always been gentle with Pierre afterward, kissing him softly, offering quiet reassurance before they had to leave each other, always making sure Pierre knew he was cared for.

Once Esteban has fully undressed, he climbs up on the bed beside Pierre and cups his jaw with one hand, pulling their lips together. Pierre melts against him, pressing his hands against his chest and waist, elated to have Esteban again after so long.

They linger like that for a while, kissing mindlessly, simply for the sake of kissing and basking in each other’s presence.

It’s both everything Pierre had missed and something entirely new. It’s Esteban, yes, but in a way Pierre had never really had the chance to experience. It’s Esteban giggling into their kiss and tracing his skin, pulling him closer even when their fronts are already molded to each other.

Pierre lets himself sink into it all: the featherlight touches, Esteban’s rushed breathing, and the slide of their lips together. He only realizes he’s been grinding his hips against Esteban’s own when his movements are halted almost forcefully.

Esteban pulls back, and Pierre can see in his face, even before he speaks, that they’re back on track. “I want you to ride me, doll. Do you think you can do that?” he asks, looking for assurance in Pierre’s eyes.

“Yes, yeah, I wanna,” Pierre responds, breathless and eager, his words running into each other with how quickly he's trying to get them out.

Esteban smiles and kisses him again briefly, moving away to settle against the headboard. “Come on, on my lap.” He beckons him with a pat to his thigh, like you would a pet, and Pierre flushes as he crawls towards him.

Esteban stops him. “Ah, aren’t you forgetting something?”

Pierre whines, confused, stopping just shy of Esteban’s lap. He hates this little guessing game Esteban plays sometimes, preferring clear instructions. It’s cruel of him to make Pierre focus on anything other than getting what he needs, while looking pretty for Kika.

Esteban smiles and pets Pierre’s cheek lovingly, but when he speaks, it edges on mocking. “You’ve gotta take that plug out, baby.”

Pierre nods and leans in for another kiss, wanting reassurance. Esteban obliges briefly before guiding Pierre’s hand back, smoothing it over the curve of his backside. Pierre tries to balance himself with one hand on the mattress as he pulls out the plug, biting his lip as he pants, doing his best to follow instructions, even though the bed feels like water beneath him.

“Good job,” Esteban’s voice grows distant, almost disinterested, making Pierre shudder, caught between wanting to earn back his attention or protesting.

“Turn around for me, doll. There you go.” Esteban helps him turn, maneuvering him a bit onto his knees, his legs straddling Esteban’s thighs. “Yeah, facing Kika, just like that. Wouldn’t want her to miss out on how pretty you look.”

Pierre glances at Kika now, pristine as always, sitting at the foot of the bed, legs crossed as she watches intently. Her steady gaze makes Pierre blush a deep red, turning his head instinctively.

Esteban pulls him back, their hips meeting as Pierre whimpers from the contact, reveling in the warmth of Esteban against his bare skin. Esteban’s hands start at his hips, holding him close, then travel up his sides, exploring his skin. Pierre squirms as one hand teases his nipple while the other strokes the sensitive skin inside his thigh. Esteban hasn’t forgotten any of his weak spots.

Pierre glances at Kika again. Her intense gaze amplifies everything he’s feeling; if Esteban doesn’t take him soon, he might lose himself from the teasing alone.

“Sir— let me, please,” Pierre begs, almost delirious, needing more. He tries to stay focused — this is his chance to prove himself, to both of them, he can’t let himself falter now.

“Already falling apart, and we haven’t even started yet,” Esteban murmurs against his shoulder, his smile pressing into Pierre’s skin.

“Please.” Pierre’s voice sounds desperate even to his own ears, and he looks away from Kika’s face as he sees her smirk at his vulnerability.

“Alright, mon ange, we’re going to give you what you need.” Esteban tugs him gently, guiding him. “Sit up for me? There we go, good pet.” He helps Pierre position himself so he’s hovering just above him, and Pierre bites down on his lip when he feels Esteban’s readiness pressing against him.

Pierre sinks down slowly, bracing his hands on Esteban's thighs as he does, shuddering and hanging his head when he bottoms out. He leans back against Esteban slightly and moans at the stretch. It’s not that he hasn’t had a dick in his ass in years; it's that he hasn't had Esteban's dick inside him in years. It still feels as perfect as the first time. Esteban has always filled him up so well, right on the verge of being too much, making him feel proud of himself for being able to take it so well.

Esteban grabs Pierre’s jaw, his fingers pressing into his cheeks as he brings his line of sight back to Kika. Pierre keens at the suddenness of the motion. “I want you to look at Kika while you ride me, think you can do that?” Pierre nods his assent as best as he can with Esteban’s hand gripping his jaw while he shifts back, already trying to fuck himself.

Esteban holds him steady, his lips pressed behind Pierre's ear. “Alright, mon ange, show me you can be a good boy. Fuck yourself on my dick for us.”

It’s a crude show, he thinks, to see him chase his own pleasure so brazenly; the way he can’t find a grip on himself or anything around him, holding onto Esteban’s arm like it’d bring him any balance. He’s never been too careful with sex, always overeager and doing his best to fulfill his cravings.

This is no exception. Pierre sets a frantic pace from the get-go, bouncing eagerly on Esteban's cock, trying to make up for the years of having this need remain unsatisfied.

That was mistake number one. It doesn’t take long before his thighs are straining, and he’s falling forward, barely staying upright. He's too into this, enjoys the feeling of being fucked far too much to try to please anyone but himself. Greed is his fatal flaw, and Esteban doesn’t hesitate to point it out.

“Come on, if you’re gonna be a greedy bitch—" he doesn’t even sound winded as he speaks, "—I think you can do better than that,” Esteban chastises, and Pierre shakes his head, his eyes teary as he rocks himself down, gasping when Esteban grabs his hips and holds him there, his hold punishing when Pierre tries to grind back against him.

“What? You’re tired already? How disappointing. You get so weak for a dick in your ass that you can’t even show Kika how well you take it. What should we do about that then? Hm?"

Pierre really hates the constant questioning. Maybe next time he’ll ask to be gagged, see if that keeps Esteban's conversation at bay. He's here to get fucked, not to be quizzed on how he wants to get fucked. He tries to convey his frustration by shifting his hips some more, letting Esteban know that he doesn't care how; he just wants him.

It does the trick well enough, though Esteban sighs like he’s tired of him.

“Wanna get fucked so bad but you won't even work for it. Spoiled fucking slut is what you are,” one of Esteban’s hands lands between Pierre’s shoulder blades and pushes him down until his face is smushed against the mattress. The change in angle pushes Esteban's cock further inside him, and Pierre keens at the feeling, squirming under Esteban, who's kneeling, tall and proud, behind him. “Can you tell Kika how you feel while I fuck you, or will that be too hard for you, too?” Esteban doesn’t seem to be actually waiting for a response if the way he continues to manhandle him is anything to go by.

Pierre feels like things are starting to fall back into place, though he’s not entirely sure when anything went missing at all. Still, there's something just beyond his reach, close enough that he can taste it, right behind his teeth, but he can't sink his hands into it. Esteban is giving him everything he’s wanted — or everything he thought he wanted. And it's good. Amazing, even. It's bringing him to the edge of delirium, but he can't help but still crave for more.

Maybe if he could have this more often. Maybe if he didn’t have to miss it. Maybe if he could always have it. Maybe if Esteban wasn’t a novelty brought into his and Kika's bedroom for a couple of hours, only to leave again. Maybe if Esteban was a permanent fixture in their life. Maybe then he’d be satiated.

Esteban lifts his hips a little higher and starts to fuck him hard, driving his hips against his own with vigor; it’s all Pierre’s wanted for years now. He's white-knuckling the sheets, letting Esteban do whatever he wants to him, not caring to hide the pathetic sounds that are getting punched out of him with every thrust, sounds that lie somewhere between moans and cries.

Both Kika and Esteban stay quiet, and the backdrop of silence it creates makes the lewd noises E

[yullalightk]

Mr. Puzzles' 5⭐️Rivals AU design/lore✨

Okay, I was originally going to just post an explanation about his design and make a different post all about his lore in my AU. But, I changed my mind since I don't have a lot to say about his design so I thought it would be a good idea to combine them both into one post instead! hope you'll enjoy this simple yet long explanation of my version of Mr. Puzzles!!

Design👔

For his design, I based the pants off of the 1980s ones and his coat being from the 1960~70s. Since in my hc I think he was born around the mid 1950s or 70s 'cause Disney world was built in 1971 so It would make sense for him to be born around that time period!

I also went with a ringleader-ish design because in his original design, he looked like a circus performer than a movie director which is clever btw! 'cause it shows how he prioritizes his first dream of building an amusement park! Anyhow, I didn't really change much just adding some minor details. Like his hands with multicolored wires wrapping his hands. It would show that he isn't a human anymore and it wouldn't cause so much confusion if he's a robot or not😂

And uhhhh..... yes, I added high healed shoes 'cause, C'MON!! HE WOULD TOTALLY WEAR THOSE!! AHSKDHLJKKBSH

Mr. Puzzles' backstory

So, not sure if you all remember this but, I already made a lore/backstory for Mr. Puzzles. But ever since the new episodes leading up to WOTFI 2024, I changed a lot of Puzzles' backstory! And this isn't complete by any means! I'll change stuff or remove stuff that I think isn't necessary for his character. Until then this is his backstory for now. And I'll make a better Mr. Puzzles' backstory post. I swear I'm cramping in so many things at once it isn't funny anymore😅

The things I changed were that both of his parents are horrible people. But, both of their reason for being harsh/abusive on Adam(Puzzles' human name) is pretty different.

Puzzles' backstory in my AU is that, when he was child his dreams were uncommon, childish, "Not Normal". He was told at a young age by his father that his dreams were unrealistic and that he should be a doctor or something more successful. When Puzzles' didn't listen, he would get beaten by his father emotionally and physically.

His mother on the other hand couldn't care less about who or what he wanted to be but, focused on what she wanted him her to be.

A girl. She never wanted a son she wanted a daughter who would be raised to be just like her, the thing is both of her parents push what they want their son to be, Rather than listening or try accepting their son for who he wants to be and what he likes, they and the people around him treat him like nothing but a freak, someone who doesn't belong to the place that was supposed to be his "home"

He wanted to prove his father wrong that no matter how childish his dreams is he can be successful, and once he was successful enough, he would create a new world where nobody is alone. He will create a world where anybody can be anything! without having anyone to tell them what to be. He took many drastic measures to make his dream a reality though, like cutting off his head and torturing his victims just for the viewers entertainment. And once he was famous he will have enough power to make his own world.

Long story short: He lived a horrible life in a horrible world, and he wanted to create a better world where nobody will suffer again, and at the same time prove to his father that he can be successful in life no matter how childish his dream may be. And gain friends along the way.

I'll come up with a better backstory... this one is just full of my hcs, too many hcs.

[fohatic]

don't mind if i do.....

there are still beautiful things by @meidui

The day Tony takes Steve home from the New York Army National Guard is the best day of his life.

the hope that kills you (series) by @meidui

Steve used to go on so much about freedom and choice. If we sign this, we surrender our right to choose. Some of the freedom he loved was big, big enough for him to lay his life down for over and over, and some of the freedom he loved was small, like the wind in his hair when he took his motorcycle out, but now he has to sob and take it when Tony sucks a deep flowering bruise where his prison uniform couldn’t possibly cover and whispers in his ear, “Who’s gonna help you now? Where are you gonna run?”

The Prize by @sabrecmc (HOWWWW IS THIS NOT ON ANY OF THESE LISTS YET)

Steve ends up as a concubine in the royal harem.

Deep End by @festiveferret

SHIELD has found a way to make Project Rebirth work - something Tony's father was never able to accomplish. An unexpected side effect has Fury begging Tony for some rather unusual help: the painful procedure has put their volunteer, a sub called Steve Rogers, so deep into subspace he can't come up on his own.

Tits Aren't Just For Ladies by Dr_Amuly ( @everybodyilovedies)

Tony fucks Steve's tits (man-tits, no genderswap or implants or anything).

(Not for) Public Consumption by Poose

“Can’t you like, I don’t know, do a little pirouette for me, sweetheart?” He shuffles backwards cautiously, glancing over his shoulder to avoid hitting the wall. There’s a chair back there, he should sit in it before his legs give out. Steve cocks his head, hand on his hip. He puts his front foot at angle to the one in back and executes a tired swing around. You’d think he’d like the attention a bit more. Tony may have to goad it out of him. “Steve, seriously, you’re like a bored stripper.” And then, suitably affronted, Steve takes another turn, more slowly, so that Tony can pan down and zoom in on his ass from a slightly lower angle.   *** Or, Steve and Tony make a sex tape. Exactly as sophisticated as it sounds. A non-powered AU of another AU that I haven't written yet. Contains zero plot.

Surrender Yourself by xWinterDreamsx

Tony has Steve tied up in ropes for some kinky fun.

Some Great Reward by @kiyaar

After the events of Captain America: Civil War, Tony and Steve come to an agreement. It doesn't involve affection.

Come on Closer by @epiphanyx7

[[... porn.]] Or, the one where Steve wants to talk to Tony about something important.

Leave Your Marks Written Upon My Skin by blue_jack ( @some-blue-jack)

“I want you to keep your hands right here, alright?”

Keep Us Warm, Tonight by @copper-mouth

Steve and Tony often keep late hours together when sleep won't come to either of them. Tonight is shaping up to go a little differently, however.

Working Late by @tinystark616

Some nights, Tony stays up late, building and rebuilding and upgrading his suits, until Steve walks into the workshop, usually already in his pajamas, and wraps his arms around Tony, kissing him until he forgets what he was doing and then dragging him to bed. A fill for the prompt "Steve sits in Tony's lap and rides him" from last year's Community Gifts prompt list. Because there's really not enough bottom!Steve in the world.

Ship to Shore by @mserm

The Avengers beat Thanos. Everyone is safe. (If you don’t count those five days they thought Natasha was dead.) All that’s left is to return the stones, a feat that Tony is sure will end his new friends-with-benefits relationship with Steve.

Consecration of the Virgin by @dracusfyre (sequel to The Penitent Man)

Steve gives his body into Tony's keeping. For the good of his soul, of course.

In The Springtime of His Voodoo by shaenie

“I’m removing Captain Rogers from this base, but not from active duty. I want him as SHIELD’s liaison to Stark Industries first and foremost. He’ll report directly to me,” Fury says. “As it is, your identity as Captain America is not public knowledge and it will remain that way until I say otherwise. That said, if you think you can get Tony Stark to work with you if you disclose that information, you have permission to do so.”

heyyy！i just saw u reblog an ask and it just happened to be the exact same thing I wanted to ask👉👈 do u have and recommend stony fics that are top Tony/bottom Steve 🥺

you know i do!! see also k's rec list and bulky's rec list, i tried not to rec any that were already on their lists <3

Jackpot by @elcorhamletlive

It’s not always like this.

Tony leans back on the bed, assessing his view. Near the door, balanced on his knees, Steve stares at him with half-lidded eyes, blue eyes darkened under those beautiful eyelashes. His blonde bangs stick a little to his forehead, where a glimmer of sweat is evidence of how long he’s been in that position: knees firmly planted on the rug of Tony’s bedroom, naked aside from a pair of cotton black briefs, hands tied up behind his back, exactly as Tony left him this morning. He breathes heavily, his muscular chest going up and down as he watches and waits.

Doubling Up (Steve) by @elcorhamletlive

“Well,” Tony drawls, his gaze going from the bed to where Steve, and, uh, Tony are standing, next to the small pile where Steve’s shirt lies along with his trousers. “This is awkward.”

Chamber of Reflection by @thahiree

A few years after retiring, Steve and Tony get a surprise visit from another Steve. Steve Rogers from Earth 1610 is lost, grappling with the new century he’s been unceremoniously dropped in, with confusing feelings for his new teammate, with himself.

Steve and Tony decide to get involved.

A Proportional Response by @mserm

Steve doesn't have a reason for cock-blocking Tony.

No reason, whatsoever.

It's Hard To Look Right At You, Baby by Albuss

“Woah,” Tony says, “slow down. Take it easy. Hold your horses.” He can be forgiven for saying the same thing four times because he is already completely, utterly wrecked.

“Fuck me,” Steve whispers. “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.”

Five Times Steve Woke Up Early (And One Time He Didn’t) by @airlocksandaviaries

Steve's not actually a morning person, despite his body's insistence. It's quite possibly the one thing about the serum he's not immensely grateful for. Forcing himself up and on a run to burn through the overwhelming, restless energy that builds bright and early would be much more tolerable if it were a few hours later. Tony decides to do something about this.

Underneath it All by @hollyandvice

Steve's finally ready to indulge Tony's fantasy of seeing him in a thong. He just has terrible timing when it comes to implementing sexy times. But that's alright, Tony's a master of making the best of a (not actually) bad situation.

the year you were mine by @areiton

The night that changes his life forever, Steve is on a date with another man.

Or: Steve is a pricy escort and Tony buys him for a year. Neither of them are doing this for love.

a thousand things you call me by @areiton

He calls you a thousand things, and you love them all, count them all and guard them close, because with each he calls you mine.

Your Reputation Precedes You by @vanilla-shoes

Tony agrees to watch the desk for the salon next door to his garage as a favor -- but when he meets the salon owner's fiery best friend Steve, maybe the favor is for Tony after all...

Brooklyn After Dark by darefanny

”I could do that”, Steve had said before his brain could catch up to his big, stupid mouth. He had leaned over Tony’s shoulder to look closer at a photo of a man in lingerie on his tablet.

Slow Burn Fireworks by felisnocturna

Tony fucks him incredibly slowly this time.

praise you like I should by @firebrands

steve gets de-serumed for a hot second, but tony's pretty quick to reassure him of all his lovely traits. (made even better by having to sleep in a shitty motel with a mirror on the bed.)

Suds 'n Studs by @fohatic

Tony didn't mean to hire some super hot, young guy to take his clothes off for money -- honestly! He just wanted somebody to wash his cars! But accidents happen when you let your AI do the hiring for you, apparently. Now the recent divorcee has an awkward apology to make. He also has as an invitation to subscribe to Steve's OnlyFans. What he doesn't have is any clue what he should do in this situation.

In Too Deep by @fohatic

Steve knew that he was asking for trouble when he agreed to let the gallery auction off a date with him for charity, but he needed to get in the director's good books if he wanted to make it as an artist in this cutthroat town. He never imagined that his participation would ignite an outrageous bidding war, or that the infamous, billionaire ex that he hadn't seen since their sudden breakup two years prior would show up and stake his claim.

the thorn in his side by @fohatic

It had been there from the beginning. There was no end to it, that mutual wanting between them—forever unresolved—that had grown so terribly soft and unbearably romantic with age...

But there was an unspoken rule between them, as well: an understanding that they could never act on it.

That is, until an alien parasite's brood nest gets violently dislodged from its Chitauri Leviathan host during the Battle of New York, dispersing its contents directly over two time-jumping tourists who are very much in the wrong place and the wrong timeline.

pull me down by breakeven

He doesn’t mean to pull, is just brushing through the locks there as a means of comfort, to show Steve that he’s still there and present with him, that Tony is just as affected by the wet grasp of Steve’s hole as Steve is by the insistent pressure against his prostate

wind me up by breakeven

Steve hadn’t known it, but apparently Tony could tell after the first time they ever fucked. He could see in Steve the need to please, the need to be of some sort of service, and had known that it would translate perfectly in sexual desires, even when Steve hadn’t had a clue himself.

honey from your hive by meidui

"Steve, stop that," Tony says, sounding strangled as his grip tightens and Steve stops, letting Tony grab his face and tilt him up. "You're kind of scaring the crap out of me. What is it? What's going on with you?"

"We blew up the lab," Steve manages, and something dawns on Tony's face. "Everyone had a reaction 'cept me. Think 'm having it now."

Blushes Per Hour by @blossomsinthemist

Steve chewed on his bottom lip. “Well, no,” he said. “Um, but.” He was breathing heavily now, through his nose. “Rachel liked it when I did it, because she has, uh, she has sensitive breasts, and I, um, err. Sometimes I’d pull on my own nipples during, or, or after, on my own, and. And I’d imagine—wonder, really, if I was. If I had enough, or—”

“Are you saying you’ve fantasized about this?” Tony said, and he couldn’t help the pure delight that came through in his tone, because had he actually stumbled onto one of Steve’s kinks, here? He’d never let on at all before, not at all.

Please Please Me by @blossomsinthemist

Steve looked so beautiful flushed and wanting, on his knees, begging.

Failing To Not Fall by @nvrthlessthsun

Steve was failing to not fall in love with Tony Stark.

AKA the one where Steve thinks he's Friends-With-Benefits with Tony, and Tony thinks he's dating Steve.

Paint Job by @valdomarx

“You want me to what?” Steve looked incredulous. “I want you to detail my car,” Tony said with a smirk.

Relax, Darling by @valdomarx

Steve is stressed and tense after a hard mission.

Luckily for him, Tony and his tongue are available to relax him in a variety of delightful ways.

Two’s Company, Three’s a Crowd, Four’s a Party by @valdomarx

How to satisfy the secret desires of a horny supersolider:

Ults Steve gets gangbaged by Tony from four different universes (Ults, MCU, AA and 616).

Mark Sixty-Nine by @everybodyilovedies

Tony is irritated that Steve's first hug-and-fly wasn't with him. As the source of many of Steve's other "firsts", Tony has a brilliant idea of how he could take one more. Specifically, Steve's first time being fucked by a machine.

Afternoon Delight by @greyduckgreygoose

Tony watched with narrowed eyes as Rogers nodded politely to Natasha. They exchanged quick, familiar smiles, which suggested that they knew each other better than the acquaintances they seemed to want Tony to think they were. Up close, Rogers was even more attractive than he had appeared on camera, a touch of blonde stubble along his jaw, large square hands.

He also had a nice ass, not that Tony was particularly staring.

“Mr. Stark,” Natasha said, as they both stood before Tony’s desk. “May I introduce Steve Rogers? Or, if you prefer, Captain America.”

The Sixth Time is the Charm by @onemuseleft

The fifth time Steve tried to get Tony to fuck him (and failed) is when he started taking it personally.

Your Kind of Love by blue_jack

The first time they have sex, Tony isn’t really hoping for much.

[feyriejane]

yall don't know platonic yearning like I do 😤