#but it's SO funny to watch him just. spiritually i KNOW that man is rolling his eyes. smth smth the cockiness of youth

[hyuniemyunie]

Mob psycho characters reacting to you wanting to paint their nails (platonic, w mob and reigen and whoever else)

A Splash of Color

mob psycho 100 characters x gn!reader

sfw

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(ФωФ):

(　・ω・) hehe

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･

The Con Artist Gets Conned

"Okay, hold on, hold on." Reigen leaned back in his chair, hands raised in mock defense. "Let me get this straight. You want me, a grown adult businessman, to let you paint my nails?"

You nodded.

"For free?"

Another nod.

Reigen squinted. "What's in it for me?"

"An upgrade to your style," you said, waving a bottle of gold nail polish in front of his face. "C’mon, you already wear those gaudy rings sometimes. Think of it as an extension of your fashion sense."

He glanced at the bottle, then at you, clearly weighing his options. The self-proclaimed master of persuasion was, for once, on the receiving end of a negotiation.

"Hypothetically," he said, leaning forward, "if I were to let you do this—totally hypothetically—what color would you recommend for a man of my sophistication?"

You smirked, placing the gold polish in his hand. "This. Makes you look classy."

Reigen turned the bottle over, examining it like it was some kind of ancient artifact. "Gold, huh? That does scream money… power… success…"

"Exactly."

He sighed, shaking his head as if he were making a huge sacrifice. "Alright, alright. But if anyone asks, you bribed me."

You rolled your eyes and pulled his hand toward you. He twitched slightly when you started painting his nails but stayed put, resting his chin on his free hand.

"So, uh, you've done this before, right?" he asked, watching you work.

"Yeah, Reigen, I'm not running a scam," you deadpanned.

"Good, good. Wouldn't want to get a botched job, you know? Presentation is everything in my line of work."

You took your sweet time finishing, knowing full well that Reigen was trying (and failing) to act nonchalant about it. When you finally leaned back, the gold polish gleamed under the light, smooth and flawless.

He lifted his hand, wiggling his fingers. "Huh. Not bad."

"Not bad?" you repeated. "It looks great."

"Yeah, yeah, fine, great." He smirked, admiring his nails. "Maybe I should start offering 'spiritual aura enhancement' sessions where I paint clients' nails. Think I could get away with charging 5,000 yen for it?"

You groaned. "Reigen, no."

Reigen, still admiring his nails: "Reigen, yes."

An Anxious Makeover

Serizawa's eyes widened in sheer panic when you approached him with a bottle of nail polish in hand. His fingers clutched the hem of his jacket, his shoulders tensing like you’d just asked him to commit a federal crime.

"You—you want to paint my nails?" he stammered, already looking for an escape route.

You nodded enthusiastically, wiggling the bottle in front of him. "Yep! C’mon, it'll be fun!"

He glanced around as if hoping someone—anyone—would save him from this situation. Unfortunately for him, Reigen wasn’t here to provide a convenient distraction.

"U-uh, I don’t know," he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. "I don’t think it’s… uh, my thing?"

"You don’t have to love it, just try it," you coaxed. "It’s not permanent, and I promise you won’t die from it."

Serizawa still looked unconvinced, but his resolve was crumbling fast under your relentless persuasion. He sighed, hesitantly holding out a trembling hand.

"Okay, um… just—just a little, okay?"

You grinned, carefully grabbing his hand. His fingers twitched nervously, but he didn’t pull away. You chose a nice, subtle green for him—something calming, something that suited him.

As you worked, Serizawa kept his eyes glued to his hand like it was about to combust. He was so ridiculously tense it was kind of funny.

"You can relax, y’know," you said, blowing gently on the drying polish.

"I am relaxed," he lied, voice an octave higher than usual.

You chuckled. "If you say so."

When you finished, he stared at his freshly painted nails in absolute bewilderment, like he couldn't quite believe this was real.

"...It actually looks kind of nice," he admitted hesitantly.

"See? Told you!"

He let out a nervous chuckle, rubbing the back of his head. "Uh, thanks. I think."

You patted his shoulder. "You survived. Proud of you."

Serizawa exhaled dramatically, like he had just been through a harrowing ordeal. But despite his initial panic, he didn’t immediately run off to remove the polish. Small victories.

Steady Hands, Unsteady Heart

You had barely finished the question before Mob gave you a slow blink, his expression unreadable. His hands, neatly folded on his lap, tensed ever so slightly.

"You… want to paint my nails?" he repeated, as if trying to confirm he had heard correctly.

You nodded enthusiastically, already pulling out your small collection of nail polish bottles. A mix of vibrant and pastel shades clinked together, reflecting the soft light of the room.

Mob stared at them for a long moment, his eyes flicking between your excited expression and the assortment of colors. "I don't mind," he finally said, voice steady.

You could tell he wasn’t excited, but he also wasn’t against it. He was just… Mob. Neutral. Calm. Unfazed by most things.

"Do you have a color preference?" you asked, already grabbing his hand.

His fingers were warm and surprisingly smooth—except for a few tiny calluses on his fingertips, probably from training at the Body Improvement Club.

"Um…" He hesitated, his brows furrowing just slightly. Then, with the same level of careful deliberation as if he were about to move a building with his mind, he pointed at a bottle of dark blue polish. "This one, maybe?"

It made sense. A subtle but nice color, something not too bold or attention-grabbing. A shade that wouldn't stand out too much at school.

As you started painting his nails, you noticed how still he kept his hands, barely moving at all. His breathing was slow, measured, like he was concentrating deeply on something.

"You’re really good at this," you said, dragging the brush along his thumbnail. "Most people twitch a lot when I do their nails."

Mob blinked again, his gaze on the wet polish. "I’m used to staying still for long periods of time," he explained. "Sometimes when I meditate… or when I'm controlling my powers."

That made sense. You chuckled. "Well, I appreciate it. Makes my job easier."

Silence settled between you both, but it wasn’t awkward. Just comfortable. Mob seemed to be… enjoying it, in his own quiet way. You wondered if he’d ever done something like this before.

By the time you finished, the dark blue polish gleamed under the light. Mob lifted his hand slightly, studying it with mild curiosity.

"It looks nice," he said, his voice as even as ever—but there was a tiny hint of satisfaction there.

You grinned. "Want me to add little stars or something? Make it space-themed?"

Mob paused. Then, after a moment of consideration, he nodded. "That would be nice."

He let you carefully dot tiny white stars onto each nail, his expression never changing—but when you finished, you swore you saw the slightest uptick at the corner of his mouth.

Mission success.

The Reluctant Participant

Ritsu gave you a long, skeptical look, his arms crossed.

"You want to paint my nails?"

"Yup!"

A pause.

"I don't know…" He shifted slightly, looking vaguely uncomfortable with the idea. "I don’t think it suits me."

"That’s the fun part! Who cares?" You waggled a bottle of deep red polish at him. "It'll look cool, promise."

Ritsu exhaled, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He looked like he wanted to decline but also knew you weren’t going to give up.

"...Fine," he muttered, reluctantly holding out his hand. "But make it quick."

You grinned, wasting no time in getting started. His hands were noticeably different from Mob’s—tenser, fingers twitching every so often, like he wasn’t sure he wanted to be here.

"You’re so stiff," you teased. "Relax a little."

"I am relaxed," he lied.

You snickered and continued painting. The deep red color looked good on him—dramatic, almost elegant. You figured he might actually like it if he got over his initial embarrassment.

When you were done, he examined his nails with an unreadable expression. He didn’t immediately say anything.

"...It’s not bad," he admitted at last.

You smirked. "Told you."

He sighed, flexing his fingers slightly. "If Teru sees this, he's going to say something annoying."

"Let him," you said. "Bet he’ll be jealous."

Ritsu rolled his eyes, but you swore you saw a tiny smile before he turned away.

Mr. Fashion Icon Himself

Teru squinted at the nail polish bottles like he was judging their worthiness.

"Hmm," he hummed, tapping his chin. "If I’m going to do this, it has to match my aesthetic."

You rolled your eyes. "So you're in, then?"

Teru scoffed. "Obviously. If I can pull off bleach-blond hair, I can definitely pull off painted nails."

Fair point.

You let him sift through the colors, watching as he analyzed them like he was making a major life decision. Eventually, he settled on a gold polish, holding it up with a smug smile.

"This one. It screams style."

You nodded, already unscrewing the cap. "Good choice, your highness."

Teru smirked. "I do have excellent taste."

Unlike the others, he had no issue sitting still. In fact, he was way too into it, watching you paint with a fascinated gleam in his eye.

"You’re surprisingly good at this," he commented.

"Thanks," you said. "You're surprisingly vain."

He gasped dramatically. "Vain? Me? No, no, this is just self-care. You wouldn’t understand."

You snorted but kept painting. When you finished, Teru inspected his nails with a pleased nod.

"Flawless. As expected," he said, flipping his hair.

"You are way too into this."

"Listen," he said, admiring his nails, "if you ever need someone to model your work, I’m available."

You flicked his forehead. "Noted, diva."

He simply grinned.

Chaos in a Small Package

Sho had zero hesitation. The second you pulled out the nail polish, he grinned like you had just handed him a brand-new way to cause trouble.

"Oh, hell yeah," he said, slamming his hands on the table. "Do mine bright red."

You blinked. "No hesitation? No complaints?"

"Why would I complain?" Sho scoffed. "Nail polish is cool as hell. I bet my dad would hate it."

Ah. There it was.

"Is that why you want it?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Nah," Sho said, waving a hand. "But it’s a nice bonus."

You snorted and got to work. Sho, unlike literally everyone else you’d painted nails for, was completely at ease. He drummed his fingers on the table as you worked, barely sitting still.

"You gotta stop moving," you warned.

"Sorry, sorry," he said, clearly not sorry. "I'm just excited. Maybe I should get my toes done next."

"One step at a time, dude."

Sho grinned, watching the glossy red coat settle on his nails. "Man, this is sick. I look awesome."

"You already thought you looked awesome."

"Yeah, but now I have proof." He wiggled his fingers, admiring the way the light reflected off them.

You shook your head fondly. "Glad you're happy."

"I should do this to Ritsu," Sho mused. "Bet he’d be all pissy about it."

"Please don’t give him another reason to punch you."

Sho cackled. "No promises!"

[rannie-moon]

https://www.tumblr.com/enhypendata/783799400065630208/jungwon-desire-unleash-concept-photo-make-ver?source=share

this is insane. I just know heran is jumping his bones.

bro I'm about to jump his bones...

but if that's me then you know heran is multiplying that TEN FOLD!! definitely wasn't able to focus on her own shoot because she was too distracted by him (she's a simp like that). ALEXA PLAY JUNO BY SABRINA CARPENTER!!!

It was supposed to be easy—if anything it was the easiest part of their job. stand in front of the camera, follow instructions, and pose. but it was anything but easy when your boyfriend had the same job—walking around during your shots looking hotter than... god heran didn't even know.

her eyes were fixed on him entirely, the shimmer of something brighter behind the lenses of her glasses. she didn’t even realise how long she’d been staring until her thigh collided—painfully—with the sharp corner of the cold steel table she was supposed to be posing next to.

a sharp clink echoed through the studio.

“are you okay?” the director’s voice called out, half concerned but mostly fighting off a laugh at her full-body jolt and tiny yelp. he watched with amusement as heran dramatically turned to glare at the table like it had personally disrespected her entire bloodline, wiping off an invisible speck of lint on her pants like it was the table’s fault she was down bad.

"okay, you good to get on the table?"

"yup," she said way too quickly. "yup. definitely. totally professional. not at all distracted—" her words died mid-sentence because jungwon had just leaned against the wall across from her, arms crossed, still in his concept outfit—black harness, mesh gloves, that ridiculous chain around his neck like he was trying to kill her with just his existence.

the smile he gave her? Illegal. arrest-worthy.

she inhaled through her nose. "this is gonna be a long day."

heran climbed onto the table, fixed her pose like she was told, stared right into the lens, and whispered under her breath, "god, I'm gonna have to repent after this shoot."

the solo shots wrapped, but heran’s internal crisis? ongoing. unresolved. borderline spiritual.

because now it was time for the group shots. which meant standing next to him. him as in jungwon. jungwon as in her boyfriend. jungwon as in the man currently fixing his sleeves with the rolled-up menace of someone who knew exactly what he was doing to her blood pressure.

“heran, stand next to jungwon,” the director called out casually, like he wasn’t orchestrating her downfall in 4K.

she moved into position, trying to keep her face neutral—chill, effortless, professional. but then he shifted slightly, so their shoulders brushed, and that was it. she was spiraling. girl math was mathing and it equaled death by proximity.

he turned his head toward her and tilted it just a little. “you okay?”

“huh? me? yeah. totally. fine. normal.” heran was blinking a bit too fast, gripping the chain hanging off her hip like it was a stress ball.

he gave her a funny look. “you’re breathing like we just ran laps.”

“I’m fine.”

“you look like you’re about to pass out.”

“I’m not—passing out! I’m—resting my eyes. while open. for fashion purposes.”

he stared.

she turned her face forward again, jaw clenched. “don’t look at me.”

“you’re literally shaking.”

“It’s cold.”

“we’re inside.”

“exactly.”

the camera flashed.

“alright,” the photographer said, “let’s do a couple with jungwon and heran alone.”

heran: 😐

jungwon: 😏

If she made it through the next thirty seconds without combusting, it would be nothing short of a miracle. maybe even a canon event.

taglist: @angie-x3@deluluscenarios @chaeryyeongz @akitoshi39i@sparklydoll444 @yunjiiin @kaitieskidmore97 @yb763@reibelhearts @enhaverse713586

[sirxaibs]

Hello there!

I was hoping if you could write a little oneshot or smth of just angst (with comfort ofc) with Hizashi? I recently got into him and loveeee the works you did of him.

(but I also love my men pathetic) So if you could, at any point, could you do that little angst with comfort thing? I don’t care how you wanna do it trope or situation wise. I love creativity!

HIZASHI YAMADA X READER

Radio Silence

masterlist

Writing this made me realize that writing angst is something so funny and I struggle with making it believable because if man disrespected me I would pummel that man into the earth. So I went with the miscommunication route.

The reader is feeling hella insecure and hizashi is being a little bit of a butt

The smell of buttery popcorn drifted through the air, mingling with the faint scent of takeout fried chicken and the subtle cologne Keigo always wore. His apartment was dim except for the glow of the TV, already paused on the movie title screen, and the soft city lights filtering through the balcony windows. You were curled up in a blanket on one side of the couch, legs tucked under you, a soda in one hand and a chicken wing in the other. Keigo, of course, was sprawled like a lazy cat on the other end, one wing lazily draped over the back of the couch. “So,” he said, turning his head toward you with a cheeky grin. “Did Yamada give you the whole ‘don’t let him flirt with you’ speech again?”

You rolled your eyes, biting into your chicken wing with a little more force than necessary. “He knows you flirt with everyone. It’s not personal.”

Keigo gave a mock gasp of offense. “Excuse you. With you, it’s special. There’s artistry out friendship.”

“Uh huh,” you replied, smirking as you reached for the popcorn bowl. “He also told me if he hears one more ‘bird pun’ coming out of my mouth, he’s legally changing my contact name in his phone to ‘Worm.’”

Keigo snorted, tossing a popcorn kernel into the air and catching it in his mouth like the showoff he was. “Yamada’s just jealous ‘cause I make you laugh more than he does.”

You raised a brow. “You make me laugh. He just is funny.”

“Ouch,” Keigo smiled. “That hurt. You wound me, bug.”

You laughed, shoulders shaking under the blanket. The movie hadn’t even started and already, your face hurt from smiling. These movie nights were a tradition. Every Friday, without fail. It started when you and Keigo climbed the hero charts around the same time both young, both exhausted, both needing a place to breathe. He wasn’t always this open; back then, movie nights were quiet affairs. But now? Now he was annoying in a way only someone you loved like family could be.

“Hey,” he said suddenly, tone softer, as if reading your mind. “Thanks for still coming by. Even with you being all boo’d up with Yamada. I thought I’d get replaced.”

You turned your head and gave him a look. “You’re like the brother I never asked for. That means you’re stuck with me.”

He let out a low chuckle and leaned back. “I mean, I am the hot sibling.” “And delusional,” you added.

He kicked your foot gently under the blanket and grinned. “C’mon, let’s start the movie before Yamada texts to check if I’ve kidnapped you.”

You hit play, the screen brightening as the opening credits rolled. Within a few minutes, you were deep into the movie. The bickering paused, save for the occasional snarky commentary whispered between bites of popcorn. Halfway through, your phone buzzed.

Hizashi 🎤💛:tell that bird brain to keep his wings to himself and don’t let him guilt trip u into watching one of those depressing documentaries again 😤

You stifled a laugh and showed the screen to Keigo. He squinted. “He still calls me bird brain?”

“Only when he’s being polite,” you whispered.

Keigo smirked. “Tell him I’m feeding you well. Spiritually and emotionally.”

You typed back: he says you’re feeding me spiritually and emotionally 🙄

Yamada replied within seconds: i’ll spiritually throw hands tell him next week it’s my turn to hog the blanket

You smiled, heart warm. Between your movie nights with Keigo and your loud, sunny mornings with Hizashi, life was more full than ever. They balanced each other out your goofy, dramatic boyfriend who always made life feel like a party, and your sarcastic, emotionally available bird boy best friend who made it a point to never let you take things too seriously. “Hey,” Keigo said around a mouthful of popcorn. “You know what this movie needs?” You raised an eyebrow. He grinned. “More wings.” You smacked him with a pillow.

As movie still played, but your laughter had faded. Keigo noticed the shift before you even said anything. One minute you were snorting over his impression of the lead actor, the next, you were silent curled a little tighter under the blanket, chewing slowly on a piece of popcorn that had long gone stale.

He paused the movie. “Alright,” he said, turning to face you more fully, golden eyes narrowing slightly, “that was a vibe shift so hard it gave me whiplash.”

You smiled faintly but didn’t look at him. “Sorry. I just… I was thinking.”

“Dont hurt yourself,” he teased, trying to coax your mood back up but when you didn’t bite, his teasing melted into concern. “Y/n, what’s going on?”

You kept your eyes on the popcorn bowl in your lap. “Keigo,” you started, voice soft, barely above the movie’s paused hum. “Do you think I’m… interesting?”

That knocked him back a little. He blinked. “What?”

“Like… as a person,” you said, now fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. “Am I interesting enough? Fun enough? Or am I just… convenient?”

The words settled in the air like dust, too heavy to ignore. Keigo stared at you for a moment, face unreadable. His wing twitched behind him, a barely noticeable movement, but one that betrayed his unease.

“Why the hell would you even ask that?” he finally said, voice lowYou hesitated, but then the words started pouring out.

“There’s this new girl at U.A.,” you said quietly. “She’s around my age. Been helping out with English classes. Hizashi’s been… helping her a lot. Making her laugh. Showing her around.”

Keigo’s jaw tightened. His mind was already racing, piecing things together. The sudden shift in your mood, the subtle cracks in your voice. And now this. “That’s how we started,” you added, barely a whisper. “He was helping me get used to everything. Laughing with me. Staying late to plan lessons that weren’t even his responsibility. And now he’s doing that with her.”

Keigo leaned forward, arms braced on his knees, watching you closely. “Has he done anything? Said anything?”

“No,” you said quickly, because you he has. well better put as he hasnt. shaking your head. “He hasn’t done anything wrong. Still affectionate and loud and obnoxiously sweet. I just… I see them laughing together, and I can’t help thinking what if I’m fading into the background? What if she’s shinier?”

Keigo let out a quiet breath, pushing his hair back with one hand. “Okay,” he said slowly. “First of all, I’m not gonna sit here and pretend that Hizashi’s not a dumbass. Because he is. But he loves you.” You looked at him, uncertain. Keigo’s eyes narrowed with something sharper protectiveness. “And if he’s making you feel invisible? That’s a problem. That’s not your fault. That’s on him.”

“I’m not saying he’s cheating,” you murmured.

“I know you’re not,” he said quickly. “But neglect? That still counts. And for the record? You’re one of the most interesting people I know. Which says a lot, because Im sitting right here.”

You let out a small laugh, wiping under your eye with your sleeve. “I just feel stupid for being jealous,” you admitted. “She’s nice. Sweet. And I don’t want to hate her or anything. I just… miss being the one he lit up for.”

Keigo was quiet for a moment. Then, gently, “Have you told him?”

You shook your head. “Not really. I didn’t want to sound clingy or insecure.”

Keigo leaned back, exhaling hard through his nose. “If anyone ever made you feel like expressing your feelings is a weakness, I will personally dropkick them off U.A.’s roof.”

You cracked another smile. “Pretty sure Aizawa wouldn’t be thrilled with that.”

“He’d help me sweep the sidewalk after.” The mood softened a little. You reached for another handful of popcorn, more out of habit than appetite. Keigo’s voice dropped again, softer now. “You’re not invisible. You’re not convenient. You’re the kind of person people remember loud or quiet, shining or tired.”

That drew a real laugh out of you, even if it was a little watery. You leaned your head on Keigo’s shoulder, and for once, he didn’t tease or wiggle away. His wing gently wrapped around your back like a soft, protective cloak. “I’ll talk to him,” you said after a pause. “I don’t want to assume the worst. I just needed to… say it out loud first.”

Keigo nodded. “Good. And if he brushes you off, I will fight him.”

“…You’d lose.”

He scoffed. “Please. hes an old man.”

You smiled against his shoulder. Keigo didn’t press play again. He just sat there, letting you rest, warm and quiet beneath his wing because sometimes, the best kind of support was saying nothing at all.

♬.ᐟ U.A. was as eccentric as ever. You navigated the halls in your pro hero outfit, arms full of papers Aizawa had trusted you with, the thick stack balanced precariously against your hip as your boots echoed softly across the floor. You were technically helping him with his homeroom class today grading patrol logs, organizing feedback reports, and occasionally stepping in to keep Mineta from launching himself across the room. It was busy, but it kept your mind focused. Mostly. You rounded a corner, adjusting the papers in your arms, and froze when you spotted a familiar blonde just ahead.

Hizashi.

He was standing near the staff lounge, sunglasses pushed up into his hair, chatting animatedly with one of the teaching assistants. You immediately recognized her the new girl. The one you’d mentioned to Keigo. The one who always seemed to find her way into Hizashi’s orbit. She laughed at something he said, brushing her bangs out of her eyes. Hizashi grinned, gesturing with his hands as he spoke, always expressive. Always magnetic. Your stomach twisted, just a little. You lingered for a moment, letting your gaze flick between them. Then, casually calm, composed you made your way over, weaving between students and away from Aizawa’s sharp line of sight. You timed your approach when the hallway cleared just enough for a brief moment of privacy.

Your voice was low, playful flirty in a way you’d mastered just for these little moments.

“Hey, stranger,” you murmured, brushing your shoulder against his. “You ready for tonight?”

Hizashi turned to you with that familiar, blinding smile one that normally made you feel like the sun was looking right at you. But this time… it dimmed. He chuckled lightly, but it lacked the warmth. It was more muscle memory than feeling. “Ah… about that.” You straightened slightly. He rubbed the back of his neck, his sunglasses sliding down as he avoided your eyes. “I gotta cancel.”

“…Oh.”

“She uh,” he gestured vaguely down the hall, “the new girl. She’s still getting settled in. There’s a bunch of paperwork, and she’s shadowing the afternoon classes. Nezu asked me to help. It’ll probably run late.”

Your arms tightened around the stack of papers. “Right,” you said, trying to keep it breezy. “Makes sense. You’re her mentor, after all.”

He smiled apologetically. “We’ll reschedule, promise.”

You nodded once. “Of course. Not a big deal.”

But something in your chest folded in on itself.

You shifted your weight and gave him a small, strained smile. “You’ve, uh… been cancelling a lot lately.”

It wasn’t meant to come out bitter but it did. Hizashi’s smile froze for half a beat before it dropped entirely. He let out a soft breath through his nose and stepped back just slightly, folding his arms. “Is that what this is about?”

You blinked. “What?”

He shook his head, jaw tight. “I’m sorry I’m not on your schedule, Lumine. Things come up. Students, emergencies life. You of all people should get that.”

That one stung. More than you expected.Your mouth opened, but the words stuck.

“I do get that,” you said, quieter now.

His eyes flicked to you, fast and unreadable. He clicked his tongue once, then looked away, a humorless smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “You really think that? After everything?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I’m just missing you being around.”

He didn’t answer right away. He just stood there, expression tight, gaze distant like he was debating whether it was worth arguing. Finally, he said, “Look, if a couple cancelled plans are enough to make you question where we stand, maybe you’ve already decided.”

That twisted your stomach into knots. You wanted to fire back I haven’t decided anything. You wanted him to see through the front and into the ache underneath it all. But you didn’t say any of that. You just took a shallow breath and smiled like a pro hero should. “Good luck with your mentee, Present Mic.”

You didn’t wait for a response. You turned on your heel, each step deliberate as you disappeared into the corridor again. You kept your back straight, your jaw set. The papers in your arms dug into your ribs, sharp and unrelenting. You didn’t argue. Didn’t ask him to stay. You knew how much he valued being helpful, how much he thrived when people needed him. You wouldn’t be the one to make him feel guilty for that. You never had been. You made it halfway down the hall before you had to blink back something hot and helpless from your eyes.

You were still you Y/n or rather pro hero Lumine, pillar of strength. But for once, you didn’t feel all that strong.

The classroom door clicked shut behind you with a soft thud, muting the hallway noise but not the ache in your chest. You took a slow breath, papers still in hand, and walked over to the desk at the front where Aizawa sat, typing something on his laptop with his usual half awake expression. He glanced up briefly, his sharp gaze flicking to your face, then back to the screen. But he didn’t comment. He never commented unless it mattered. And right now, you were grateful for that. You set the stack of papers down and started to sort them silently, slipping into the rhythm of your TA work. The quiet only lasted about ten seconds.

“LUMINE SAN!!” A green blur bolted toward you like a missile. You barely had time to brace yourself before Izuku Midoriya came to a stop in front of the desk, eyes wide with excitement and fingers twitching like he was holding in a dozen questions.

“Can you PLEASE show me the Relay redirection technique again?! The one where you redirected that villain’s energy into a wall and then boosted yourself off it? I’ve been trying to practice but I think I’m transferring the momentum too early and OH what if I added a lateral shift ?!”

You blinked. “Midoriya,” Aizawa said from behind his laptop, not even looking up, “try breathing.”

The boy inhaled dramatically. You laughed, the sound slipping out before you could stop it. “Okay, okay,” you said gently, raising your hands. “One question at a time. And I told you to just call me [Y/n] while we’re in class.”

“But you’re a Top Hero!!” he protested, practically vibrating. “And your Quirk is so versatile I’ve been trying to calculate how you manage the energy redirection ratios without ”

“Lumine senpai!” Uraraka cut in, jogging up behind him, eyes bright. “Can you show me how you did that move where you redirected falling debris and used it like a springboard? You made it look so easy!”

“Did someone say springboard?” Kirishima called from the back of the room, his chair already scraping as he stood. “Yo, I’ve been wanting to spar with Lumine senpai since last week!”

“I WAS FIRST!” Midoriya cried dramatically.

You stepped back, eyes wide with mock fear. “Help. I’m being overwhelmed by enthusiasm.”

“Serves you right,” Aizawa muttered, sipping from his coffee, clearly unbothered.

You laughed again this time, it came easier. Even after months of helping in Aizawa’s class, 1 A still treated you like you were some sort of legend. Not just because of your pro hero status, but because you were accessible. Someone they could ask questions and train with, someone who never acted like she was above them just because she made it into the top ten before twenty one. They just saw you. Their hero.

You smiled and clapped your hands once. “Alright! I’ve got an hour free before patrol, so whoever wants to run some drills, meet me in the training room in five. Bring water and no Midoriya, we’re not testing your One For All output indoors again.”

He looked like he’d just been scolded and praised in the same breath. “Yes, ma’am!” he said, saluting with his usual enthusiasm.

As the students scrambled to get ready, Aizawa spoke quietly from behind his desk. “You’re ok.”

You turned, a little surprised. “At teaching?”

He shrugged one shoulder. “That too.”

Your gaze dropped for a moment. “…Was it that obvious?”

“To me?” he said, eyes meeting yours. “Always.”

You offered a tired smile. “I’m okay.”

He didn’t push further. Just nodded and sipped his coffee again. But as you turned and followed the students out, their laughter echoing down the hallway, you held onto one small truth: Even when your heart faltered… you still had a place. You still had purpose.

♬.ᐟ The classroom slowly emptied, its once electric energy trailing behind as the 1 A students filtered ou “Go get changed!” you called after them with a smile. “Five minutes, then training room! And hydrated, people I’m not dragging anyone to Recovery Girl again!”

“YES, MA’AM!” a collective chorus replied before they scattered like popcorn.

The second the door shut, a familiar presence stirred beside you. Aizawa. You didn’t look up right away you were too busy organizing the leftover papers on the desk, trying to keep your mind on something that wasn’t Hizashi’s dumb apologetic smile from earlier. But then a firm flick landed square on your forehead. “Ow!” You recoiled, rubbing the spot as you looked up with a playful scowl. “Rude.”

Aizawa, expression neutral as always, merely raised an eyebrow. “What’d the idiot do?”

Your lips twitched, but you played dumb. “What idiot?” He gave you a flat look. You cracked first, shaking your head and giving a soft laugh. “It’s nothing, Shouta,” you said lightly. “Seriously. It’s not even worth saying out loud.”

He crossed his arms, studying you for a beat. He didn’t have to say anything for you to hear it loud and clear: You’re not okay. You didn’t cave, though. You just glanced down at your boots for a moment and then back up at him with a tired smile. “…Kind of funny,” you mused aloud, “how in such a short amount of time, you’ve gotten weirdly protective.”

“Protective?” he echoed, feigning innocence.

“Mhm,” you nodded. “Looking like you’re ready to toss Hizashi into traffic.”

“I wouldn’t toss him,” Aizawa said dryly. “I’d aim better.” You snorted. He didn’t smile, but his tone softened. “You know I won’t push. But if he’s still being an idiot…” You looked at him. “…Punch him,” he said simply. “If you won’t, I will. I’d even enjoy it.”

Your smile returned, a little stronger this time. “You’re such a softie, Shouta.”

“If you tell anyone I am, I’ll deny it.”

“Your secret’s safe with me.”

He nodded and turned back toward his desk.

“You coming to the training room?” you called after him as you grabbed your things.

“I’ll be there,” he said without turning. “Wouldn’t miss watching you show up my students.” You gave a mock salute, stepping toward the door.

♬.ᐟThe soft light of morning crept in through the edge of the blinds, painting the bedroom in muted gold. You stirred slowly beneath the covers, warmth still tangled around your limbs as you blinked your way into consciousness. But the bed was… too still. Too quiet. Your hand reached out instinctively to the other side empty. The sheets were cool to the touch, already long vacated. And that’s when your brain caught up with your heart.

He wasn’t here.

You frowned faintly, turning onto your back with a soft sigh, staring up at the ceiling as your fingers reached for your phone from the nightstand. Maybe he’d left a message. Maybe there was a silly gif, or a “good morning, sunshine,” or even just one of his chaotic all caps texts.

But your lock screen blinked back at you in silence. No new messages. No missed calls. You stared at the screen for a second longer than you meant to. Then let it drop to the bed with a soft thud and a louder, more exasperated one of your own as you fell back into the pillows.

“Seriously?” you muttered aloud, dragging a hand down your face. It hadn’t just been this morning. For the past week he'd made himself scarce in all ways that mattered.

The silence in the apartment pressed down around you. It wasn’t uncomfortable exactly it was familiar. But… different this time. There had always been something between you and Hizashi. A current. A rhythm. And one of the key things that had made this relationship so easy so safe was his open, borderline excessive, communication. When you started dating, he would text you before and after missions. Call you in the middle of his commute just to hear your voice. Even if you were both busy, there was always a quick note left on the counter, a kiss to your temple before slipping out, a “see you later, babe.”

But this morning? Nothing. for some reason, that silence echoed louder than any shout. You forced yourself out of bed, tugging on your hero uniform piece by piece, tying your hair back and brushing off the creeping sense of disappointment. You were overthinking it. Hizashi was probably just busy. Or running late. Or forgot his phone charger again. Still… You found yourself moving slower than usual. Checking the door. The kitchen. The counter. Any sign that he’d left something for you. But no note. No keys missing. No trace of his usual whirlwind departure. Just a few dishes in the sink and his jacket slung over the back of a chair. You picked it up without thinking, holding it for a second before setting it gently back down.

Okay. Focus.

You glanced at the clock. You still had time before your shift at U.A. But you hadn’t moved to grab your bag. Or your water bottle. Or your shoes. You just stood there. The quiet wrapped around you again, a little heavier than before. “…Where’d you go, Zashi?” you asked the silence. No answer. You sat back down on the edge of the bed, uniform jacket and let yourself pause. Just for a moment longer. You’d leave soon. Just not yet. You could hear the faint hum of traffic outside the apartment window, the occasional bird call, and the steady ticking of the clock. But your phone remained silent. Still no word from Hizashi. The longer you sat there, the harder it was not to spiral. You weren’t someone who got clingy. You weren’t. But this wasn’t just anyone. This was him. And he never went quiet. Not with you. You blinked down at your phone again, about to toss it aside for good, when it buzzed in your hand sharp and sudden. You jumped.

Incoming Call: Birdbrain 🐤

You didn’t even hesitate before answering. “Keigo?”

“Good morning, sunshine,” Hawks greeted, voice bright, breezy as ever. “Didn’t think I’d catch you before your shift. Lucky me.”

“…Aren’t you supposed to be in Kyushu?” you asked, brows raising.

A pause. You could practically hear the shrug on the other end. “Got a mission down here later today,” he replied. “But figured I’d make a pit stop first. Y’know check on my favorite best friend before jumping into action.”

You blinked, a small smile tugging at the edge of your mouth. “I’m your only best friend.”

“Exactly! Makes the title more prestigious, don’t you think?” You let out a soft laugh, the first real one of the morning. It felt like exhaling something heavy. “Need a ride?” he added casually. “Wings are stretched, air’s fresh, and my back’s not sore yet. I’ll carry you like a princess if you say please.”

You snorted. “I hate that you know I’d actually enjoy that.”

“Of course you would. Who wouldn’t want to be swept off their feet by a pro with great hair?”

You glanced around the apartment one last time, empty and still. Then back at your phone. “…Fuck it,” you muttered with a grin. “Sure. Fly me to work, Birdbrain.”

“Atta girl.” You heard the whoosh of wind pick up through the line he was already in the air. “Be there in five,” he said.

“Bring coffee.”

“Already got it.”

You grinned. Of course he did. As you finally stood up and zipped your jacket the rest of the way, you felt something shift. The wind whipped past you as Keigo soared through the sky, arms securely around you while his wings sliced effortlessly through the air. You leaned back slightly in his grip, head resting against his shoulder, the city below a blur of rooftops, blinking signs, and morning rush hour. Flying with Hawks was always surreal. Liberating. Peaceful.

“You know,” Keigo started, voice raised slightly over the wind, “I seriously miss you on missions.”

You tilted your head to look at him. “You just miss me kicking your ass during recon.”

He laughed. “Exactly! It’s humiliating flying solo without someone smarter and prettier pointing out my blind spots.”

You grinned, letting your eyes fall closed for a moment as the wind rushed past your cheeks. “…I miss it too,” you admitted quietly.

He glanced down at you, golden eyes narrowing slightly in the light. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “Being out there. Doing real hero work with you. I mean, I love teaching the kids and it’s been good. A change of pace. But…”

“But you’re not built to stay still,” he finished for you.

“Exactly.” You let the wind carry your next words gently. “I’ve got a few more months. Then I’m back full time at my agency.”

He let out a low whistle. “The countdown begins.”

“Not that I haven’t appreciated Aizawa throwing erasers at my head like I'm back in school.”

Keigo chuckled, adjusting his grip around your waist as he dipped low, angling toward the UA skyline in the distance.

“Hey,” he said suddenly, his voice softer now. “When you’re back on the field… let’s pick up some joint missions again. Just you and me. Like old times.”

You looked at him, the wind tangling through your hair.

“Deal,” you said with a small smile. “But I’m still better at recon.”

He smirked, eyes gleaming. “Debatable. But I’ll let you believe that ” The two of you laughed, the tension of the morning lifting, carried away on the breeze.

Keigo’s boots touched down lightly at the front of U.A., wings folding behind him with practiced ease as he set you gently on your feet. You wobbled dramatically on landing, half for show.

“Wow,” you teased, “you didn’t even crash us into a wall this time. I’m so proud my little boy is growing up so fast.”

He gave a bow, hand over his heart. “Only the best service for my favorite pro hero slash part time TA slash caffeine addict.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t keep the smile from stretching across your face. The morning had shifted completely, and now you were practically bouncing on your heels at the sight of the building. In such a short amount of time it became your second home. Keigo noticed. He always did. “Someone’s excited,” he said with a smirk. “Look at you, grinning like a nerd on the first day of hero school.”

You bumped his shoulder. “Shut up. I missed the kids.”

He chuckled, but then his voice dropped just slightly, lightness giving way to something quieter. “…So,” he asked, hands in his pockets, “you talk to Hizashi yet?”

Your smile faltered just for a second. You covered it quickly with a dry laugh. “Jeez, Keigo,” you said, feigning casual. “We were just flying over Tokyo like cool anime characters and now you wanna get emotional?” He gave you a look. You turned away. “You wanna go grab ramen later or ”

“Nope,” he interrupted, stepping in front of you before you could bolt inside. “You’re not changing the subject.”

You huffed, an actual honest to god huff, arms crossing like a five year old who’d been told “no” at the toy store. Keigo raised an eyebrow, amused. “Really?”

“I’m not ready to talk about it,” you muttered.

“Why?” he asked, voice still light, but his gaze was sharper now. “What’s he done?”

You hesitated. Then shrugged. “He cancelled our date last night.”

Keigo blinked. “Seriously?”

“Yeah,” you said, eyes on the front steps. “Said he had to help that new girl again.”

“That’s the same one from the other day, right?” He asked, You nodded. He stared at you a moment longer. “So how many times has he rescheduled on you lately?”

You went quiet. “…A few,” you said finally. “Okay, like four? Five? I don’t know. It’s been a couple of weeks now.”

You didn’t mean to say that last part out loud. It slipped, like a cracked dam suddenly letting out a little more water than intended. Keigo’s entire expression changed. “…A few weeks?”

You winced. “Keigo ”

“No, no, no what?” His tone lost all its usual teasing. “He’s been ditching you for weeks, and you didn’t say anything?!”

“It’s not that simple ”

“Not that simple?” he echoed, feathers twitching behind him like they had a mind of their own. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to him, and he’s acting like he’s got something better to do?”

You rubbed your temple, sighing. “I didn’t want to jump to conclusions. He has been helping her adjust to the job and ”

“And what?” Hawks cut in, his voice sharper than before. “He's out here pulling the same setup with someone new and canceling dates like it’s no big deal?” You opened your mouth. Closed it again. Because he had a point. Keigo noticed your silence, and while his expression stayed hard for another moment, he eventually softened with a quieter sigh. “…You deserve better than being second place,” he said, his voice low. “Especially to someone who’s supposed to know how lucky he is.”

You looked away. “…I know.”

He touched your arm gently. “Just… don’t let him keep brushing you aside. You’re not some placeholder until the next exciting thing shows up.”

You nodded, swallowing thickly. The warning bell rang in the distance. You cleared your throat and forced a smile. “Thanks for the ride, Birdbrain.”

He gave you a nod, expression still laced with worry quickly throwing in a hug. “Text me if he does anything else. Or if you need a getaway flight. Or if you wanna get drunk and complain.”

“I’ll take you up on that last one.” You stepped away, boots clicking softly on the pavement as you made your way toward the doors shoulders a little heavier than before. But Keigo stayed at the front gate, eyes narrowed, watching you go. deep down, one thing was certain: If Hizashi didn’t get his act together soon, he wouldn’t just be answering to you. He’d be answering to Hawks.

The second floor hallway of U.A. bustled with its usual morning rhythm students rushing to class, teachers reviewing notes, assistants scrambling between assignments. Hizashi stood near the railing, flipping casually through the clipboard in his hands, scanning a few last minute lesson updates. It was supposed to be a normal start to a normal day. Then he glanced down and froze. There, just outside the front entrance, was you and Keigo.

His arms were wrapped around you in one of those easy, familiar hugs like it wasn’t the first, or the fifth, or even the hundredth. You were laughing, head tilted back slightly, eyes bright in a way Hizashi hadn’t seen in… weeks. Maybe more. Keigo said something, and you nudged his shoulder like you always did when someone got too sappy. It shouldn’t have bugged him. It really shouldn’t have. He wasn���t the jealous type. Never had been. He trusted you. But watching you down there with Keigo with someone closer to your age, someone who’d been with you through the grind of agency life and knew every beat of your rhythm before he ever had the chance to learn it himself it hit him in a place he wasn’t used to feeling vulnerable. He couldn’t look away. You looked good with Keigo. Comfortable. Natural. Too natural. He exhaled slowly, pressing his tongue against the inside of his cheek.

“Yamada san!” The voice snapped him out of it. He turned, quickly adjusting his sunglasses as the assistant teacher the new girl, the one who’d been shadowing him for the past month hurried up beside him, papers clutched in her arms. “I’ve got the updated attendance lists and the quirk progression charts you asked for!” she chirped, slightly out of breath.

Hizashi blinked. “Oh yeah. Great. Thanks, kiddo.”

She gave him a bright smile. “Ready to take on the day?” There was a brief pause. Hizashi cast one more glance down toward the entrance, but you were gone. The moment had passed. He smiled back at the assistant, all charm.

“Let’s get ready to rumble.”

He turned on his heel and walked down the hall toward his classroom shoulders squared, grin plastered on. But behind the tinted lenses of his shades, something flickered.

The clock ticked lazily in the teachers’ lounge, the midday lull settling over the space like a fog. The aroma of coffee mingled with bento boxes and the low hum of casual conversation. You sat perched on the edge of a table, half empty cup of coffee in hand, deep in conversation with All Might, who listened with that usual warm, encouraging smile. You weren’t talking about anything serious. Just stories old hero missions, students’ quirks developing, the chaos of balancing teaching with fieldwork. But you were laughing, smiling, leaning into it with a relaxed energy that hadn’t been there this morning.

Because after hours of stewing, reflecting, and repeating Keigo’s words in your head… something clicked. You were a goddamn pro hero. You’d saved lives. Busted entire villain rings. Been on high level missions. You were in the Top fucking 10 for a reason. And you’d been moping around like some side character waiting for crumbs of affection from a man who wouldn’t even text you “good morning” anymore. No more. You were done letting his silence eat you alive.

So when the door creaked open and Hizashi stepped in, voice echoing his usual “Yo~!” across the lounge you didn’t even glance his way.

You kept talking with All Might, laughing about how Mineta once tried to “spy” on the staff meetings by hiding under the table and sneezed so hard he gave himself away. You didn’t break your smile. Didn’t shift. Didn’t even pause. But Hizashi did. The moment his eyes landed on you, his steps faltered. You were radiant. Confident. That familiar glint of fire in your eyes, the one he used to love bragging about to strangers “That one? That’s mine.”

Except today, you didn’t even look at him. And Keigo’s hug from this morning flashed in his mind like a spotlight. He hovered near the coffee machine for a second, like he might approach you. Say something. Anything. But instead, he turned toward the worn out couch tucked into the corner of the lounge. Aizawa was there, dozing under a blanket he probably swiped from Recovery Girl’s office again. Hizashi walked over and plopped down next to him with a sigh that lacked its usual theatrics. Aizawa cracked one eye open, groaning. “You’re breathing loud.”

“Love you too, Eraser,” Hizashi muttered, slouching down, arms folded.

He didn’t look at you again. And you didn’t look back. You were too busy being exactly what you were: a damn powerhouse who didn’t need anyone to feel whole, especially someone who didn’t see your worth until someone else reminded you of it. The rest of the day dragged on with the weight of things left unsaid. You were professional, sharp, efficient, and composed. But everyone who knew you well could feel the subtle shift in your demeanor. Your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes, and your answers to certain people came clipped, short. One person in particular.

“Hey, babe uh, I mean,” Hizashi stammered as he caught up to you in the hallway, quickly correcting himself when a student passed by. “Yo! Partner in education crime! You see those evaluation forms I left in the ?”

You didn’t even stop walking. “Nope.”

His brow furrowed. “They were on my desk. I thought you wouldve ”

“I said I haven’t seen them, Mic,” you replied, a little sharper this time as you adjusted the clipboard under your arm. “You might wanna check the staff mailboxes. Again.”

He blinked, surprised by your tone, but tried to keep things light. “Alright, alright. No need to bring the villain voice out, sweetheart.”

You didn’t respond. You just turned the corner without looking back. It continued like that all afternoon. He’d call your name when you were helping a student your answer would be short, eyes not even meeting his. During the joint sparring drills between classes, he tried to crack one of his usual dumb puns to lighten the mood. Normally, you’d groan or throw a water bottle at him. But today? Nothing. You didn’t even acknowledge it.

By the time the last bell rang and the students were released for the day, the tension between you two was thick enough to choke on. Even some of the kids were looking between you both, unsure whether to say anything or stay far, far out of the blast zone. You were organizing the equipment closet alone when you heard Hizashi’s footsteps stop at the doorway behind you.

“Hey,” he said, trying again, voice lower this time. “You okay?”

Still facing away, you carefully set down the box of training gloves you’d been stacking. “I’m great,” you replied coolly.

“Because you’ve been… kinda short with me today,” he added with a nervous laugh. “Like, ‘Eraser without coffee’ kind of short.”

You slowly turned to face him, arms crossed now, brow raised. “Maybe I’m just tired of being an afterthought,” you said, tone calm but edged.

His eyes widened slightly. “Wait what?”

You didn’t wait for him to respond. You walked past him, the door brushing his arm as you stepped out into the hallway. “I have agency paperwork to file,” you tossed over your shoulder, not looking back. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure your assistant can help out.”

He stood in the empty room, the weight of your words slamming harder than any punch you’d ever thrown at him. And for once in his life Hizashi Yamada, the voice hero, the man who always had something to say couldn’t find the words to stop you.

♬.ᐟYour apartment was quiet that night. The usual rhythm of week night movie night at Hizashi’s place, takeout containers on the coffee table, his exaggerated reactions to every jump scare was nowhere to be found. Instead, you were wrapped in a hoodie two sizes too big, hair tied messily back, sitting on your couch with your legs tucked underneath you and your phone face down beside you. The silence buzzed. Your eyes flicked toward your phone when it lit up for the third time in under two minutes.

[Hizashi 🤘🎤]: Wait why aren’t you staying at my place tonight?

[Hizashi 🤘🎤]: Please just answer. One minute. That’s all I’m asking.

[Hizashi 🤘🎤]: I’ll come over if you want. I’ll just wait outside

You groaned, snatched the phone, and jammed your finger against the Do Not Disturb button. The screen went dark, and the buzzing stopped. For a few seconds, at least. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to hear from him. it just felt like it was too damn late. Now he cared? Now after weeks of canceled dates, silence in the morning, no “good luck” texts, no late night “are you home safe?” messages? Now, when he finally noticed your absence, he wanted to show up? You flopped back onto the couch with a huff, your arm draped dramatically over your eyes. The ceiling spun lazily above you, and your thoughts churned with every unread message he’d never sent during the nights you waited. One night. You gave yourself a single night away and suddenly, he’s reaching out like the world’s ending. Like he didn’t have the chance time after time to keep you close.

The hypocrisy stung.

Your jaw clenched. You didn’t want apologies. You wanted consistency. You wanted the man who made you feel like a damn priority, not someone who remembered you only when your silence became louder than your presence. Tired physically, emotionally, and of being the only one chasing you grabbed your pillow off the couch and trudged into the bedroom. No more waiting by the phone. You crawled into bed, pulled the covers over your head, and let the silence swallow everything else.He could talk tomorrow. If you were in the mood to listen.

♬.ᐟIt was an unusually sunny Wednesday morning as you strolled down the corridor toward Aizawa’s classroom, arms full of lesson materials and training schedules. Your hair was tied up today, your pro hero outfit layered neatly under a casual jacket, and your energy despite the stress of the past few days was surprisingly light. Probably because you had finally slept. Probably because you didn’t answer a single one of Hizashi’s texts last night. You were halfway to 1 A’s classroom when a familiar cluster of students came bouncing up beside you Ashido, Hagakure, Jirou, and Yaoyorozu, to be exact.

Ashido had that mischievous glint in her eyes. “Sooo… sensei…” she started, drawing out the word, walking backward just to face you.

You narrowed your eyes, instantly suspicious. “Mina…”

“We may have seen you getting dropped off yesterday morning.”

“By Hawks,” Jirou added casually, though the raised brow and amused smirk said otherwise.

Yaoyorozu chimed in politely, “It was quite the scene, actually. Very cinematic.”

“And very cute,” Hagakure giggled, even if her floating uniform did all the emoting.

You groaned, dramatic and loud. “Are you serious right now?”

Ashido bumped your arm with her shoulder. “C’mon, you can’t just land from the sky on a weekday morning with the number two hero and expect us not to notice.”

You snorted. “You say that like Todoroki doesn’t walk you all to school every other week. That’s way more suspicious.”

That was the wrong thing to say. “YEAH BUT THAT’S TOTALLY DIFFERENT!” Ashido squealed.

“Oh my god,” Jirou muttered, “I once saw him brush his hair back and three first years passed out.”

“I swear the wind only ever blows when he’s around,” Hagakure added with a little clap.

“He once said ‘good morning’ to me and I tripped over my own shoelaces,” Yaoyorozu admitted, cheeks faintly pink.

You stopped walking and stared at them like they were part of a cult. “…Okay. You all need therapy.”

Ashido grinned. “Probably. But we’re not the ones flying to work with Hawks like some high speed romcom couple.”

You sighed. “Hawks is like my brother. You know that, right?”

“Sure, and Todoroki’s like a school bus, but I still turn into static when he talks to me,” Jirou deadpanned.

“That metaphor was wild,” you muttered.

Ashido looped her arm through yours as you resumed walking. “Point is you looked good with him. Are you two ?”

You flicked her forehead lightly. “You should be more concerned with your combat scores than my love life.”

“Deflection noted,” Jirou sing songed.

“Suspicion level: Maximum!” Hagakure chirped.

“Honestly, I don’t even ship you two,” Ashido said, squinting thoughtfully. “But I’d still read the fanfiction.” You let out a laugh real and unguarded as you opened the classroom door and ushered them in.

The halls were packed with energy as students shuffled from one class to the next, conversations echoing through the corridor like a constant hum. You stood beside Aizawa near the end of the hallway, reviewing the updated training roster for the next practical block. He looked particularly grumpy this morning, but you’d known him long enough to tell he was more tired than annoyed. You handed him the finalized list, voice steady. “I made a few changes based on their last evaluations. Should be more balanced now.”

Aizawa nodded, taking the papers with a grunt of approval. “Good. We’ll go over it in the lounge later.”

You glanced over your shoulder as the doors to the second floor UA staff corridor swung open and that’s when you saw them. Hizashi walked in laughing at something, his voice bouncing with that usual exaggerated energy. next to him, just a step too close, was her. The assistant. The new girl. She beamed up at him, clutching a binder to her chest, clearly saying something funny something meant just for him. But then her hand reached out and wrapped around his arm. he didn’t move. Didn’t shrug her off. Didn’t even look surprised. Your eyes locked on that moment the contact, the ease of it. A strange tightening pulled at your chest, like someone was wringing the breath out of you.

“Hey,” Aizawa said, brow furrowed now as he followed your gaze.

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. You turned before Hizashi even noticed you standing there, your footsteps brisk as you began walking in the opposite direction. Aizawa called your name, just once. But you waved your hand dismissively in the air behind you without stopping. You didn’t trust yourself to stay. Didn’t trust yourself not to show just how much it bothered you. Because that hand, that grip that had once been yours. And he let someone else take it without even flinching.

You didn’t even remember which hallway you turned into. All you knew was that your feet moved before your heart could catch up. One second you were standing by Aizawa, and the next, you were alone tucked in a quiet corner of the school, behind one of the lesser used stairwells near the staff garden exit. The morning light streamed through the glass, warm against your face, but it couldn’t cut through the chill sitting heavy in your chest. You stared at the floor, arms crossed tightly, your breath coming out a little too fast. Why did it hurt so much? Why did that moment her hand on his arm bother you more than all the canceled dates combined?

“Hey.” You stiffened. You knew that voice. Aizawa. You didn’t look up, not at first. Your throat felt tight. Embarrassed? Angry? You weren’t sure which emotion was trying to win.

His footsteps were quiet, but the low call of your name pulled your eyes up, just a little. You turned around slowly. Aizawa stood there, hands in his pockets, gaze steady. “What’s going on?” he asked, voice low.

You forced a smile. “It’s nothing ”

“No, it’s not.” His tone didn’t shift, but it firmed. “Talk to me. Not as a colleague. As a friend.” You bit the inside of your cheek, your vision blurring at the edges. Your tongue tried to find a lie, something to deflect, but it caught in your throat. Aizawa took a step forward and, without warning, placed a hand on your head. It was steady. Warm. Familiar in the way only someone who’s always been there can feel. “Be honest,” he said. “You don’t have to carry it all by yourself.”

Your lips trembled. Still, you didn’t speak. You couldn’t. So instead, you went off the only direction you could sideways. “I think I messed everything up,” you said, voice small. “I mixed my personal life and my professional one, and now it’s all bleeding into each other. it’s not supposed to be like that. Maybe I was never supposed to try doing both.” Aizawa didn’t interrupt. You continued, rambling now, unraveling. “ I’m just not good at balancing this. it’s time to stop pretending I can handle the teaching side of things. Go back to the field. Focus on patrols, rescues. Punch villains. Easy things. Clear lines. Nothing messy like… like feelings.”

You laughed dryly at yourself, wiping your eye quickly before a tear could betray you. He watched you for a moment, his hand still on your head, grounding you. “You’re not the one messing things up,” he said quietly. “And it’s not weak to want both.” Your breath caught. “But if someone’s making you feel like you’re not enough just as you are?” His tone sharpened ever so slightly. “Then they’re the problem. Not you.”

You didn’t respond. You didn’t have the words yet. But just standing there with his hand on your head and no judgment in his eyes. The quiet settled for a moment after Aizawa spoke, his hand still resting gently on your head. It was strange comforting, frustrating, and vulnerable all at once. You should’ve pulled away. Said you were fine. Gone back to class and pretended everything was okay like you always did. But you didn’t. Instead, you let the silence fill the space before your voice slipped out, brittle and unsure.

“…Why are you being nice to me?”

Aizawa blinked, not moving. “What?”

You finally looked up at him fully this time, brows furrowed, your voice tighter now. “You know what this is about. I mean c’mon. The only reason we’ve gotten this close is because I’m dating your best friend. Your best friend.” He didn’t respond immediately, but you could see the muscles in his jaw tighten. “I’m not your responsibility,” you said quietly. “You could just brush this off. Dismiss it. I wouldn’t even blame you.”

Aizawa sighed softly through his nose, the kind of exhale that said he wasn’t surprised you’d think that way. “I’m not dismissing you,” he said, voice firmer now. “I never have.” You looked away again, the sting of his sincerity making it harder to hold your ground. “I know Hizashi,” he continued, dropping his hand from your head. “I know he’s an idiot a lot of the time. But he means well. He gets caught up in things, he overextends, and sometimes he forgets to look behind him.”

You folded your arms again, your voice bitter. “Then why does it feel like he doesn’t care anymore?”

Aizawa didn’t flinch. “Because sometimes, when you care too much, you don’t notice what you’re taking for granted.” He looked at you directly. “It’s not an excuse. But it’s what’s happening.”

Your heart sank a little. “So what… I’m just the one he assumes will always be there?”

Aizawa didn’t answer right away. The silence was heavier this time. You shook your head. “It hurts, Shouta. It really fucking hurts.”

“I know,” he said quietly. You weren’t expecting that answer. You didn’t even realize how much you needed it until he said it. Aizawa stepped back, just slightly, giving you space but not walking away. “you’re not crazy for feeling this way. You deserve better than to be left guessing how loved you are.”

That nearly broke you. You laughed under your breath, but it was shaky. “Wow. Remind me why I’m dating him and not you?”

Aizawa smirked, and for a split second, you saw the hint of warmth beneath all that fatigue. “Because you couldn’t handle any grumpy man in one lifetime.” You snorted, brushing away the mist threatening your eyes. “C’mon,” he said, already turning. “Let’s go get some coffee. If you’re gonna rant, might as well do it properly.”

You hesitated for a second. But then quietly, and just a little steadier you followed him.

The teachers’ lounge was warmer than usual, filled with the low hum of voices and the faint scent of coffee brewing from the corner. You stood beside Aizawa, trying to act normal trying to keep yourself grounded. Aizawa was, as always, the silent anchor next to you, sipping his drink like he wasn’t watching you carefully from the corner of his eye. The door slid open behind you with that all too familiar whoosh, and you felt it before you even turned. That rush of wind, that burst of enthusiasm like it belonged on a radio broadcast.

Hizashi.

“Yo!” he called, striding into the room like nothing had changed. “Hope everyone’s awake because I’m here to make your afternoon ten times more exciting!”

You flinched. Just slightly. But Aizawa caught it. “Hey, Lumine,” Hizashi added with that same grin, voice lowered as he passed behind you. You didn’t answer, pretending to be too focused on the papers in your hand. He didn’t notice. Or maybe he chose not to. Instead, he turned to the room, plopping down into a nearby chair. “You guys seriously, my assistant’s picking things up so fast! Her English is practically flawless now. She’s practically correcting me! Can you believe that?”

You froze. Just for a second. The breath caught in your chest. The smile on his face wasn’t cruel. It wasn’t even directed at you. That made it worse. Because you had been practicing. You had been studying English late at night, trying to keep up not because it was required of you, but because you wanted to help him. Because it mattered to him. Because you mattered to him… or, at least, you thought you did. You hated how his words stung. How they felt like invisible arrows aimed straight at the spot you’d been trying to patch up. Your grip on your papers tightened.

“Oh, yeah?” All Might asked politely, clearly trying to make conversation. “That’s impressive!”

“She’s super sharp,” Hizashi said brightly. “Picks up tone, nuance, everything. Honestly, I wish some of my colleagues picked it up that fast.”

Your ears rang. You bit the inside of your cheek so hard it almost bled. And in that moment, all the embarrassment how small you felt, how stupid you felt for even trying rose up like bile. You didn’t want to cry in front of him. You didn’t want to crack in front of anyone. Your feet started moving before you fully realized it. But you didn’t get far. A firm tug pulled you back. You halted in place as you felt fingers grab the back of your jacket. Aizawa. You turned slightly, enough to see him staring at you out of the corner of his eye, still leaning against the counter, mug in hand.

The teachers’ lounge had emptied slowly, the casual chatter dying out as each staff member slipped out the door, one by one. All that remained were the three of you Hizashi by the window, fiddling with a stray button on his jacket, you near the table with your arms crossed tight against your chest, and Aizawa, who had just drained the last of his coffee. He exhaled a tired breath and stepped close. Without a word, he placed a firm hand on your back just enough pressure to ground you, to say he was there. Aizawa had already patted you on the back and left, muttering his warning “Remember, if you don’t punch him, I will.” Then it was just you and Hizashi.

You didn’t look at him. Not at first. He chuckled nervous and uncertain, trying to find solid ground in the minefield he’d helped create. “So,” he started, leaning on the edge of the table, casual and offbeat like always. “You and Hawks? Flying in together like you used to. Laughing. Hugging. Thought I’d need shades with how bright that smile was.”

“What does that mean?” you asked, not bothering to look at him.

“Nothing,” he said quickly, but that stupid grin stayed. “Just y’know, flying in together, laughing a lot, hugging in the courtyard… He’s always been close to you. Just didn’t realize how close.”

You turned slowly, finally meeting his eyes. “You serious right now?” He blinked at your tone, grin faltering. You laughed once, bitter. “That’s rich coming from you.” You scoffed, crossing your arms. “Well, maybe you should’ve been a little more observant these past few weeks. Might’ve noticed your girlfriend slowly feeling like she doesn’t even exist.”

He blinked. “You actually can't be serious”

“I’m not doing this,” you muttered, turning.

“No hold on,” Hizashi stepped forward, voice rising slightly, hand reaching but not quite touching you. “Don’t twist this like I’m the bad guy here. I’ve been helping a trainee. You remember what that was like? I thought you’d understand.”

“I do understand,” you snapped, whirling around. “That’s how we met. That’s how we fell in love. Do you get that? Watching it happen all over again, only now I’m on the outside looking in? Yeah, it messes with your head a little.”

“Are you even hearing yourself?” he asked, frustration creeping into his voice. “You think I’m replacing you? That I don’t care about you just because I’m doing my job?”

“You cancelled on me for weeks to help her!”

“She needed me!”

“So did I!” you shouted, and the silence after it was deafening.

You stared at each other, breathing unevenly.

Then you said it, quieter: “And then, to top it off, you go and say you wish the staff knew better English… Knowing full well I’ve been trying for months to learn. For you. To help you.”

He ran a hand down his face, stepping back like the words physically struck him. “That wasn’t about you ”

“God, you never think it is, do you?” you bit out. “But it always is.”

“You’re not the only one with shit going on!” he snapped, and it shocked you enough to shut you up for a second. “You think this gig is easy? Juggling hero work, students, helping someone new find their footing? I’ve been tired, stressed, and yeah I dropped the ball. But I didn’t stop caring.”

“You have a hell of a way of showing it,” you muttered.

He narrowed his eyes. “Right. But it’s totally fine when you get flown into work by Keigo, right? When he’s got his hands all over you, and you’re laughing with him like nothing matters?”

You let out a humorless laugh. “Don’t you dare throw that at me. You’ve known since day one that Keigo’s my best friend. I told you from the beginning, and I’ve never made you feel second to him.”

“Doesn’t look that way from where I’m standing.”

“Oh, fuck you,” you snapped, and there it was the final crack in your voice, the pain boiling over. “I’ve watched you push me aside for weeks. I’ve stayed patient, understanding. But the second I don’t jump when you suddenly remember I exist, now I’m the one in the wrong?” He looked away for a second just a second. You took a sharp breath. “You don’t get to be mad now. You had weeks to fix this. You said nothing.”

“That’s not fair ”

“It is exactly fair,” you snapped. “You don’t get to throw jealous fits over me and Hawks when you’ve been prioritizing a trainee over your girlfriend.”

There was a silence then one that felt like it had weight. Like it was pressing down on your ribs. Hizashi didn’t have that easy smile anymore. “I didn’t realize how bad it was,” he muttered.

“That’s the problem.”

You grabbed your bag from the floor, slinging it over your shoulder. “I need air,” you said, voice strained and low.

He stood there, frozen in place, your anger still ringing in his ears. His throat was dry. His hands hung limp at his sides. That wasn’t how he ever wanted you to look at him like he was someone you had to defend yourself from. You weren’t just upset. You were hurt. And it gutted him.

“Shit…” he muttered under his breath, dragging a hand down his face again. “What the hell did I do?”

“You acted like an idiot.”

Hizashi jumped actually jumped as Aizawa’s voice drawled from behind the couch. He turned slowly to see his best friend leaning against the doorframe with a look that managed to be both deadpan and mildly disappointed. “Seriously?” Hizashi said weakly. “Were you just hiding in here this whole time?”

“Didn’t want to interrupt the fireworks,” Aizawa said dryly, stepping fully into the room. “But now that the explosion’s over…” He tilted his head, gaze sharp. “You okay?”

“No,” Hizashi admitted, voice cracking the tiniest bit. “Not even a little.”

Aizawa said nothing for a moment, letting the silence do its job. Hizashi slumped into a chair, elbows on knees, head in his hands. “I messed up, Shouta.”

“Yes,” Aizawa said plainly. “You did.”

“I wasn’t cheating,” Hizashi mumbled. “I never would. I just… I didn’t realize she felt like I was pushing her away.”

“You weren’t cheating,” Aizawa agreed, “but you were neglecting her. And letting some new girl hang off your arm like a pet cat in front of your girlfriend? Real genius move.”

“I wasn’t thinking ”

“No,” Aizawa interrupted, “you weren’t” Hizashi flinched, the words hitting harder because they were true. He had promised. That night in bed, years of friendship turned to love between them, he had whispered that he’d never be the kind of man who left her questioning her worth. But that’s exactly what he’d done. “And now,” Aizawa said, walking past him toward the door again, “you get to fix it. If she lets you.”

Hizashi’s head lifted, face hollow. “You really think she believes I… that I’ve been unfaithful?”

Aizawa paused, one foot out the door. “She believes whatever you showed her was more important than her. What else is she supposed to think?” He looked back at Hizashi. “Figure out how to remind her she’s your priority. Or don’t come crying to me when she stops waiting around.”

With that, he left. Leaving Hizashi alone again with the ghost of your tears, the echo of your words, and the sharp realization that he had become the very man he swore he’d never be.

You sat on the low stone ledge near the far side, legs lazily crossed, arms resting against your knees, and a cigarette between your fingers. The familiar burn in your lungs wasn’t comforting. Not really. But it was something. The crack of the courtyard door opening didn’t startle you. You didn’t even turn your head when you heard the familiar footsteps louder than necessary, like always. He wasn’t sneaking up on you. But he was hesitating.

“I thought you quit,” Hizashi’s voice said softly behind you.

You took a long drag instead of answering. The cherry tip glowed brightly, and when you exhaled, the smoke curled upward toward the slowly darkening sky. You didn’t look at him. Not yet. “Yeah?” you muttered, eyes still focused on the horizon. “I didnt know you cared.” Your voice was flat, not accusatory but sharp all the same. It cut more than you probably intended.

He flinched. There was a beat of silence, heavy and filled with unsaid words. Then Hizashi took a slow, cautious step closer. You could hear the way his breath hitched, how he struggled for something anything to say that wouldn’t just make it worse. He didn’t find it. So instead, without asking, he came up behind you and slowly wrapped his arms around your shoulders.

His warmth bled through the tension in your back. His cheek brushed the top of your head, breath stirring strands of your hair. His hands didn’t grip you tightly he wasn’t holding you hostage. He was holding you like he was afraid you’d vanish if he let go. You didn’t move. You just stared out into the sky, eyes glassy and blank. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

You didn’t reply. Not right away. Eventually, your cigarette burned down, and you flicked the butt into the gravel. “Don’t say sorry if you’re just gonna do it again,” you said quietly. “We are barely new, how am I supposed to know its true”

He let the words sink in, and for once… he didn’t rush to defend himself. He didn’t pull away either. He just stood there, arms around you like he was still hoping you’d lean back into him again. Hoping that this wasn’t the end. That your silence was only temporary. “I don’t know why I made you feel that way,” Hizashi said after a long moment. “But I believe you when you say I did.”

You finally tilted your head, enough to glance at him from the corner of your eye. The look on his face was miserable eyes rimmed red, lips pressed into a thin, regretful line. You sighed, voice rasping from the smoke. “I didn’t want to light one. Just… felt like if I didn’t do something, I was gonna explode.”

“I should’ve been there before it got to that point.”

“Yeah,” you muttered, turning back to the horizon.

His arms tightened just a bit, and you didn’t stop him. You didn’t know how long you two stood there. His arms were still wrapped around your shoulders, but you hadn’t leaned into them. Not yet. You weren’t ready. He was warm familiar. But familiarity didn’t erase what had happened. Not this time.

Your voice broke the silence again, quiet and tired, with something bitter tangled between the words. “Why did you let it get to this point?”

Hizashi stiffened, just barely, but you felt it. “I mean…” you continued, your gaze still cast toward the purpling horizon, “I never hid anything from you. When I worked with Keigo, when I spent time around other people I always kept you in the loop. I never gave you a reason to doubt me.” He didn’t say anything, so you pushed forward, the words thick in your throat now. “But then she shows up and suddenly I’m… background noise? Like the only difference between me and her is that I made the effort. And it didn’t even matter.”

Hizashi’s arms dropped away from your shoulders. Not because he was pulling away but because what you said landed too hard. He stepped around to face you now, his expression full of something raw and unfamiliar. His mouth parted, trying to find something to say anything to fight back with. But he didn’t have it. “I…” he began, then faltered. “I didn’t mean to forget you.”

“That’s the thing,” you whispered. “You didn’t forget. You chose not to see me.”

That stung him more than anything you’d said. His eyes dropped to the ground as his hand dragged through his hair, pushing his sunglasses up into his forehead. “I thought I was just busy. You know?” he said, his voice shaky. “I kept telling myself that. That I had a lot on my plate, that she needed help, that things would go back to normal. But… I wasn’t that busy.” You watched him watched the guilt crawl over every inch of his face like a slow, crushing weight. “I don’t know why I didn’t check in with you. Why I didn’t stop to notice how far we were drifting,” he said. “I was so used to you being there. To us just… working.”

You looked down at your hands, arms crossed now over your chest like a barrier. “That’s the thing, Zashi. You didn’t even notice when I wasn’t anymore.”

He flinched. “I thought you were fine,” he murmured.

You laughed, bitter and hollow. “You hoped I was fine. There’s a difference.” The wind picked up around you both, ruffling your hair. You shoved your hands into your jacket pockets, jaw tight. “I know I’m not perfect,” you said, quieter now. “I know I get emotional and I overthink and maybe I even get a little jealous sometimes. But I try. I tried so damn hard. And it just felt like… the second someone shiny and new came along, all of that meant nothing.”

“I never meant to make you feel like you were replaceable,” Hizashi said, his voice cracking around the edges. “Because you’re not. You never have been.”

You finally looked him in the eyes, and his heart ached at what he saw there. “I used to believe that,” you whispered.

Hizashi reached out like he wanted to hold your hand. You didn’t move. Not yet. He just stood there, heart in pieces, wondering how the hell he let the best thing in his life feel forgotten. His silence had stretched too long, and your chest hurt from how hard you were holding everything in.

So you said it. You just let it fall out. “I’ve been thinking about moving back to Kyushu.” Hizashi’s head snapped up. His eyes searched yours instantly, like maybe he didn’t hear you right. “I don’t know if I can keep doing this,” you continued, voice barely steady. “Teaching. Trying to build something here when everything feels so messy. And painful.” He stared at you in stunned disbelief. “That was my dream, y’know?” You tried to laugh but it cracked in the middle. “Helping kids, being here, standing beside you guys and showing students there’s more to being a hero than fighting.” Your voice dipped low. “But now, when I walk down the halls, I feel like a shadow of myself. I feel like maybe… I wasn’t meant to be here after all.”

“Don’t say that,” Hizashi breathed, shaking his head slowly.

“You think I haven’t thought about it?” you went on, sharper now. “Kyushu’s where my agency is. It’s where I started. I could just go back. Do solo work. I wouldn’t have to feel like I’m chasing something that doesn’t want me anymore.”

He looked wrecked. The words hadn’t even fully left your mouth before tears welled up in his eyes, spilling over as he took a small, broken step forward. “You can’t,” he said, voice cracking. “You can’t leave.”

“Hizashi ”

“No ” he cut in, his voice trembling with something desperate now. “Don’t don’t go. Don’t leave because of me.” You opened your mouth, but he rushed forward this time, taking your hands in his. “I’m the reason you’re thinking of walking away from something you love, and that’s not okay,” he whispered. “I promised I would never hurt you, and now you’re standing here thinking you don’t belong in the place you made your home.” His voice was a whisper now, heavy with tears. “I’m so sorry.”

You blinked, your own throat tightening.

“If you go back to Kyushu,” he said, “I know what that could mean. And I’m scared, because I don’t know if I deserve to ask you to stay.” You stared at him Hizashi Yamada, usually so loud, so confident, now trembling as he cried in front of you. “But I am asking,” he said, breath hitching. “Stay. Please. I’ll do everything anything to fix this. I’ll support you in whatever you need. Just… don’t go. Don’t leave me behind.” The silence between you throbbed.

♬.ᐟIt was the kind of morning that almost made you forget the ache in your chest. Almost. But not quite.After yesterday’s storm, today came gently. The first message you saw on your phone wasn’t a cancellation. It was a simple “Good luck today. I love you.” And that… was something.

You pulled your pro hero coat on, adjusted the hem. Today, you were helping out with the Big Three. As you approached Training Ground Gamma, where they were already warming up, the sight of those three familiar faces made your heart ease a little more.

“Hey, hey!” Neijire waved with both arms, practically hopping in place. “You’re our coach today?! We’re so lucky!!”

You laughed as she barreled into you with an enthusiastic hug, nearly knocking the breath out of you.

“Yup,” you grinned, ruffling her hair. “You are lucky my little birds.”

Mirio appeared beside you in a blink. “Since when are we stealing Hawks lines?”

“ Hey I dont have a thing yet let me build up” you replied simply.

“Youre too pretty for that, you dont need fun phrases to be cool” Neijire teased.

The warmup didn’t last long. You didn’t need to ease them into anything “All right,” you called out, stretching your arms as you stood in the center of the sparring zone. “Three on one. Real time decision making, teamwork, and pressure. Hit me like I’m a villain you’ve got one shot at stopping. Go.”

“Exciting!” Mirio grinned as he jogged up beside you, practically glowing in the sunlight. “Man, it’s been too long since we trained together. I thought you were getting all fancy and forgetting about the little people!”

You gave him a look. “You three are the most unforgettable students I’ve ever met. I’d lose sleep before I forgot any of you.”

Mirio moved first as he phased into the ground and launched himself up at your back. You twisted, touching the concrete and storing the kinetic energy from your spin, and when he appeared behind you, you redirected that energy straight into his gut with a palm strike that launched him skyward.

“Woah!” he laughed mid air. “She’s not pulling any punches!”

Tamaki’s tentacles shot toward you from the left, sleek and glistening with octopus suction. You dropped low, sliding beneath his attack, then popped up just in time to absorb Neijire’s energy waves with your quirk. You winced her spirals hurt but you ground your foot into the dirt, storing the force. “You’ve gotten stronger,” you grunted, eyes sharp.

“You told me to go all out!” Neijire beamed, spinning mid air for a second shot.

“Good girl,” you smirked, and then unleashed your stored momentum in a sudden leap, clearing her wave entirely. The field crackled with motion. Tamaki conjured hardened crab claws this time, clashing with the side of your foot as you redirected him. You weren’t sure who was more shocked when your movement launched him backwards into a pile of barrels. Mirio reappeared, this time more careful. He phased through a shockwave you fired and managed to tag your shoulder with a solid punch.

“Nice,” you hissed, turning with a grin. “One point for you.”

He disappeared again. Typical. Neijire kept her waves steady now, switching between close quarters spirals and long range bursts. You deflected most of them but caught a few on your arm, gritting your teeth.

“ just a little too slow!” she teased.

“You’ve been practicing,” you said through clenched teeth.

“I always practice when I want to beat you!”

The match went on. No one slowed down. The sun blazed over your sweat slicked backs, and every clash hit harder than the last. You were keeping up but they weren’t holding back, and neither were you. The fire in your chest that had dulled these past weeks now burned white hot. This this was the version of you that you missed. Not the heartbroken one. Not the uncertain one. This was the pro hero. This was the reason you were still here. The match kept going, the four of you now panting between hits. Neijire’s hands glowed bright, Tamaki was shifting forms faster, and Mirio finally looked serious.

You cracked your knuckles. “One more round.” You smiled, eyes glinting. “Let’s go.”

None of you noticed the figure that entered the observation booth above the field. Leaning silently against the railing, Hizashi Yamadastood watching, his usual boisterous presence replaced by a quieter approach and he was staring only at you.

You were electric. He saw the way you danced through the fight, not just surviving the storm but bending it around you. You met Neijire’s blast with a redirected spiral of your own, stealing her momentum and turning it back on her forcing her to adapt midair. You took a hit from Tamaki’s hardened tentacles and used the recoil to leap back into Mirio’s blind spot.

His heart beat loudly in his ears. You were incredible. His incredible. He blinked slowly, guilt and awe washing together in his chest. He didn’t even realize he’d sent his TA off to help a few of the other staff until moments ago. Didn’t realize that his feet had carried him toward Ground Gamma, guided by instinct.

But now that he was here he couldn’t look away. God, how had he forgotten what this felt like? Watching you be a hero. You moved like you were born for this. Hizashi swallowed hard. His chest ached.

She’s been like this the whole time, he thought bitterly. I just stopped looking. Below, Mirio finally landed a solid punch and you slid back across the field with a grunt but you were grinning. “You guys are holding up better than I thought,” you said, breathless but playful. “Still not good enough, though.”

“Are you kidding?” Mirio panted. “I’ve never had so much fun getting beat up.”

He smiled faintly at that. She was glowing. She always did when she fought with heart. And right now, she was absolutely radiant. From his vantage point, Hizashi didn’t make a sound. All he did was watch with aching pride, the kind that twisted around the parts of him still hurting for how distant he’d been. All he thought was ‘That’s my girl.’

You were holding your own hell, you were more than that. You were commanding the field.

A flash of movement caught your eye from the far side of the field. You glanced toward it instinctively, adrenaline still high

and your heart stuttered.

Hizashi.

He was there, standing at the edge of the zone, partially obscured by a support pillar. No microphone, no shout, no big wave. Just standing there, watching you with a look on his face you hadn’t seen in weeks.

It made your chest tighten. Your foot caught awkwardly on the edge of a cracked panel beneath you as your balance shifted, breath catching “ Hey, Lumine, heads up!”

You didn’t even get a chance to react before Mirio’s boot collided with your face. You hit the ground hard, eyes wide, air punched straight out of your lungs. Pain radiated up from your cheekbone. You blinked at the sky, stunned. “ Shit, I’m so sorry!” Mirio said immediately, “Are you okay?!” Before he could even reach you, another figure bolted across the gym.

“HOLY SH ! Y/N!” Hizashi’s voice cracked, panic laced through every word. “Move Mirio, move!” The blonde teen scrambled out of the way just as Hizashi dropped to his knees beside you, hands shaking as he cupped your face.

“Hey hey, baby, talk to me. You okay?” His sunglasses were long gone. His eyes were wide and frantic as they searched yours. “Did you hit your head? Can you hear me?”

You blinked slowly, brain still catching up. “…I got kicked. In the face.”

Hizashi let out a relieved breath, half laughing, half aching. “Yeah, sweetheart, I saw that.”

“I’m okay,” you mumbled, sitting up slowly. “Not my best moment.”

He touched your cheek gently, fingertips brushing over the forming bruise. “Dumbass.”

You smiled weakly. “You distracted me.”

His face shifted guilt slipping in with the edges of a smile. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know,” you said, quieter now. Your hand found his on your cheek and held it there, grounding both of you.

Around you, the Big Three stood awkwardly nearby, exchanging looks and beginning to step away to give you space. Hizashi didn’t let go. He helped you up with careful hands, still watching your face like it was the only thing that mattered in the world. Hizashi let out a breath, shaky and soft. His thumb brushed along your cheek, careful of any sore spots. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to throw you off. I just wanted to see you.”

you closed your eyes again, let him hold you for a little longer, and said nothing. None of them moved or even breathed too loudly. It was as if they were watching a scene they were never meant to see, something so gentle and intimate it made them feel like they’d stepped into the middle of a movie they hadn’t been invited to. Hizashi was crouched low, leveling his face with yours, and his voice had dropped to something soft and warm that none of the three had ever heard from him before.

“You sure?” he asked, still brushing hair out of your eyes. “Not dizzy? Not hurt anywhere?”

You giggled, breathless but amused. “Stop hovering, Mic. I’m fine.”

“Lemme hover a little,” he murmured, smirking.

You gave his chest a playful shove, and he exaggerated a wobble backward, laughing under his breath before leaning forward again. You reached up, cupping the side of his face briefly before pushing it away with a grin. “Seriously. You’re embarrassing me.”

Hizashi leaned in just enough to nuzzle your forehead before standing up and offering his hand. “Good. Just makin’ sure my girl isn’t dying out here.”

Still absolutely silent, the Big Three watched the scene unfold like statues. You took Hizashi’s hand, stood up, brushed yourself off, and gave him a quick wink. He smiled back, proud and clearly still watching you like you hung the stars. The moment ended as quickly as it came Hizashi stepped back and gave the three students a casual wave. “Yo, thanks for not breakin’ her too hard. She’s got, like, paperwork later.”

Neijire blinked, looking like she’d just watched a unicorn kiss a dragon. Mirio gave a delayed thumbs up. Tamaki still hadn’t moved. No one said a word and no one would. But something in the air between them said. Oh my god… they’re dating.

The heat of the spar had passed, and the students were off in the distance now, still trying to process what they’d witnessed. You leaned into him slightly, your body still humming from the match, muscles warm and buzzing with residual adrenaline. Hizashi’s arm was draped casually behind you, fingers absentmindedly threading through your hair, brushing along your scalp with a soft touch that completely contradicted the whirlwind of movement you’d been doing just minutes before. His attention wasn’t anywhere else but you. His eyes were on your face, his touch grounding.

You let the silence stretch between you for a few heartbeats before breaking it with a quiet voice. “You know…” you murmured, not quite looking at him, “Just because you’re being all soft and knight in shining hero right now doesn’t mean I’m not still mad at you.”

His hand paused for only a second. Then he gave a quiet, grim laugh one without any real humor, his chest rising with a long exhale. “Yeah,” he said, voice low. “I figured.”

“You were…” he began, his voice lower and softer than usual. “You were unreal out there.”

You blinked, turning to look at him. “What?”

“You were amazing,” he said with a breathless laugh, eyes full of something warm and wide. “I couldn’t stop watching. You moved like… I don’t even know. Just damn.” He let his head fall back a little as if replaying the whole match in his mind. “How did I get so lucky?” he turned toward you, more serious this time. “I don’t want to hide this anymore,” he said suddenly, voice full of conviction. “I don’t want to keep pretending we’re just coworkers in public. I want to be able to brag about you to everyone, hold your hand in the hallway, kiss you whenever the hell I feel like it.”

You blinked again, a little stunned. before you could stop him or even try he leaned in, cupped your cheek, and kissed you. Right there, no hesitation. The kiss was firm, soft, everything you’d been missing from him in the last few weeks. this time, it wasn’t just a stolen moment. It was real.

“OH MY GOD!!!” Neijire’s voice echoed across the field like a firecracker.

You both froze, lips still just parted, glancing sideways to see Neijire bouncing up and down with both hands on her face, practically vibrating with excitement. Tamaki had clearly shut down and turned away in secondhand embarrassment, while Mirio just grinned and gave you a double thumbs up.

Hizashi groaned, but his smile didn’t fade. In fact, it grew. He pulled you closer, both arms wrapped around you now, chin resting on the top of your head. “Welp. Cat’s out of the bag.”

You snorted into his chest. “You really didn’t want to ease into this?”

“Babe, easing in is for the uncool and uncommitted,” he murmured, tightening his hold on you. “I’m going all in.”

[kit-williams]

So I finished Space Marine 2

Space Marine 2 Spoilers and a post about a certain character

I also watched Bricky's review and I have to agree with him on the writing... it was close to being something more in a good way! Just moments of greatness but I was happy with the writing because it was campy in a good way

Hubby and I started laughing at the very end when it was a very cheesy victory screen but like it felt 100% Warhammery so over all I really liked it

I was bad at the combat and the soundmixing needs some work

I loved the characters they all felt like they could exist in the universe. Even Imurah and his final fantasy xiv ass final battle

GOD was this game GORGEOUS at times Like there were moments I just stood in awe of the scenes and the cinematics at the end were AMAZING

So also that last "Calgar" right after Imurah is defeated... Hubby and I don't think that is Calgar because 1) the voice is too deep 2) I dont think in this situation would call Titus a "Son of Guilliman" in this moment 3) That voice was right in his ear and Calgar was approaching out of hearing range

Conclusion from Hubby and I was it was probably the Emperor

So it ends in a really funny way with Titus saying his faith in brotherhood has been restored and then literally he comes face to face with LEANDROS

So I had been GUSHING to my husband and some of you about the Chaplain and his drip and just he was a bit of a hardass but a chaplain's job is to make sure there is cohesion within the chapter amongst his brothers he is both the keeper of the spiritual and mental wellbeing of his brothers so his job is important. SO like it was weird he was a hardass vs idk trying to reintegrate Titus smoothly.

So Like he did his job and did it WELL so I figured that maybe he was just concerned at this rogue ultramarine returning.

BUT NOPE I HAD BEEN

L U S T I N G

AFTER MOTHER FUCKING

LEANDROS

That broke me a little last night at like 12 midnight

So I'm gonna defend Leandros a bit... it has been 100 years and it feels more so that Leandros doesn't trust TITUS so his paranoia is directed at him. Though I find it funny that the man who was a fucking stickler for the CODEX became a chaplain because I take it as his roll is that he needs to be able to be flexiable and interpret things

So honestly I do want to know more about how Leandros grew during the 100 years Titus was away and just HOW he became a chaplain

[amaroadriana]

@aviv-kasyanenko

For once, the weather in London seemed to have settled down. Maybe it was because the spiritual aspect of Halloween wanted the air to be filled with fog and lights instead of the usual rain. It offered a sort of a gentle embrace of the night.

When Adriana walked outside, the fresh air hit her face in a welcoming embrace. It was stuffy and warm inside, and the conversations never seemed to be ending. Usually she was fine with it, usually she enjoyed it to the fullest. After all, parties and events had always been a part of her day-to-day life. But tonight it was harder. Seeing Yvonne with her new man, seeing Lara happily together with Henry... It brought a sort of ache to her heart. It felt as if there was something missing, as if there was supposed to be someone by her side. But there wasn't.

Maybe, she was meant to be alone all along. Maybe, the part she was supposed to play in her life was just to have her siblings be happy. Not all of them were, but at least things finally seemed to be moving in the right direction.

Perhaps it was something to be proud of, that for once, instead of reaching for the needle, she reached for her phone.

Can I see you?

Adriana messaged the one person who was always in the back of her mind. That seemed to have settled in without her own permission. How the fuck did that even happen? When did she get so naïve to not even notice how deep that man went?

There were no guards around her today, which made it easy for her to escape any eyes that may have been watching. Eve if they were looking for her, they knew she was eventually going to go to the Italian's - see the party there. So if anyone wondered, they'd check there first.

Would they really think she was going to see him? Not after what she did, or rather, tried to do.

She probably shouldn't have been driving, she probably should have gotten a cab at the very least. But waiting wasn't something she was used to. So what if she had a few drinks? Her mind didn't seem to be blurry, her thoughts were still as set as if she was sober for the past year. It wasn't a long drive either, to the place where he said he'd be.

He'd be waiting.

What did she even want to say? There were no words that could turn back time, there wasn't even anything she would have done differently. Sure, maybe she wouldn't have played Russian Roulette with him, but the fact that it didn't work? Wasn't that the answer from above on its own?

Just look at him, five, maybe ten minutes and then she would go. Then she would leave him to his own life and she'd do the same. She'll drive ti the Italian party and have her drinks, her conversations. But at least she'd know she saw him. At least there would be a part of her that would be calmer, more at ease without all these fucking thoughts in her head.

It was better to see him that get fucked off her head again, right? This was the more sensible thing to do. Right?

The rain. It actually came, falling on her windows as she drove. How funny that was, when only moments ago she praised the weather. But Adriana was near, near where he said he'd be waiting.

Just five minutes, she told herself, five minutes and I'll go. Five minutes and it will be enough.

As Adriana made the last turn she could finally see him. Standing there, waiting for her. Even with all the shit she put him through, he still came. Did she even deserve it? Probably not.

She slowed down, making sure she wasn't driving into him.

He was fucking there. Why that was surprising? Because he didn't have to be. Adriana laughed to herself, as a tear rolled down her cheek. Happy tears? Sad tears? They were both the same at this point. But her heart fluttered, not in the way of butterflies, but in the way that happiness consumed her whole body. Just like the drugs would have.

Just a few meters and she can get out.

What Adriana didn't see, was the other car driving towards her. What she didn't notice was that she was moving slowly through the crossing. Too slow for the weather conditions, while the other car was moving too fast.

The hit came suddenly, too, as if it was out of nowhere. One moment, Adriana was looking at Aviv and the other, as if in slow motion, she turned to her right to see a car coming directly at her. There wasn't even a moment for her to steer the wheel. Just a split second to recognise the lights coming towards her.

A split second to mumble, I'm sorry, as the car went directly into her.

[reservoirreputation]

I'm maybe a half hour into Holy Smoke

And I can't stop thinking about how hot Harvey Keitel is.

Jesus fucking christ that man can get it 25/8 366 days out of the fucking year he's so unbearably hot I knew this was gonna happen I can't be normal while watching a movie with him.

Also, the movie's great, so far!

Kate Winslet singing along to You Oughta Know is so fucking cute, I love her so fucking much.

That one character that just let the kid faceplant because she was too distracted by Harvey Keitel? That's me. I don't know if I've ever related to a character more, goddamn.

On the one hand, 'good for you girl, knowing what you want (PJ's dick) and going for it, (blowing him)' but also going 'he's not your therapist girl, get help. This is a little sad.' Breathe through it, indeed. Also, what's sadder than writing yourself love letters that are so convincing that your boyfriend thinks you must be cheating?

Kate just read him to filth, this is great. The slurping was a nice touch. You can tell it really hit a nerve with him.

The more I watch, the more I'm convinced Campion's written another 19th century drama, but it's set in 1999. The whole 'breaking a woman's spirit to show her the light' but it's really about getting to know her and listening to her and letting her rage, yell and scream. About two stubborn as hell personalities clashing and coming together.

The reveal of 'HELP' spelled out in rocks absolutely sent me. Also, canon bi PJ?

Girl, you've thrown out the bad shit and immediately want to fill the void.

This is why the family can't get involved. You spend 10k on getting her help and want to fuck with that? And the driving, jesus it's spiking my anxiety.

The first sex scene ended so abruptly and hilariously, that this second one's making my mind melt. Good on you Campion, having Harvey Keitel go down on someone in two movies.

When the voice of reason shows up. Also, thank you, again, Campion, for gifting us Harvey's titties. Appreciate you <3. Also, everyTHING IS NOT FINE

NO ONE. TOLD ME. THAT SHE'D BE PUTTING LIPSTICK ON HIM. GETTING HIM IN A DRESS THAT SHOWS OFF HIS TITS. NO ONE TALKS ABOUT THE INTIMACY OF IT AND HOW HE LOOKS AT HER WITH *THOSE* EYES. TUMBLR YOU'VE FAILED ME.

Side note, PJ wearing pants under the dress was 100% me in ballet class when I was six. The second time I've felt seen in this movie.

The whole 'BE KIND" scene, ow. Ow ouch owie. 'I'm heartless. No one can be around me, no one even likes me' good fucking lord, this is really getting to the heart of what it means to be someone vulnerable to this type of brainwashing, huh?

This is definitely a comedy of errors.

OH MY FUCKING GOD SHE'S IN THE TRUNK

HE JUST TURNED THE RADIO ON

'I'M NOT IN YET' I LOVE THIS MOVIE

Is this the epitome of 'I can make him better' 'I can make him worse'

Nothin' better for the soul than a spiritual awakening/heat stroke.

The way they're with other people, living their separate lives, but have each other's love, even from across the world? Fucking hell, Campion.

And roll credits.

What a realistic, yet weirdly hopeful ending. Movie as a whole, just the right amount of heartfelt, dramatic and funny. Truly never seen anything quite like this. Would watch again if I'm in a very specific mood, easily.

[leclerical]

01: Reflections on the Australian GP

Something of note about me: i love journaling. This is usually contained within physical journals, but i feel like the point of a tumblr blog is to do silly, goofy garbage like tracking my first F1 season in the most chaotic way possible.

I'll find a nice tag for this so any of my...approximately 3 followers can mute if they'd like. Convenience! Your regularly scheduled lestappen posts will resume shortly ❤️💙

This was an odd one, as i easily could have been lucid for the quali and the race itself, but good god, moving from the lowest f1tv membership up the the live race coverage is a bit more than i'm willing to throw out the window rn (i won't even get into that or how ficking crazy sky memberships are. christ.) all so i could be awake at 5 am on Sunday. No, thank you. I made the executive choice to follow this one a bit late with some replay coverage.

Needless to say, we decided this morning to hold off on the replay footage until later. I will definitely watch the whole thing eventually, but i don't know, i would like for my first full race to be one that i'm either completely dialed into live or can be assured is going to be a good, auspicious start for me. Maybe i should watch Monaco 2024, just to generate some good vibes? There's some positive stuff in the GP at hand, most notably Max pulling more inshallah than should be humanly possible, some real moments of brilliance from Charles (that's all i will focus on at present, thank you), Alex proving yet again he has the juice, Hülk just...idk how did he get here???? But uhhh i'm definitely still working through how much Lando's happiness and success makes my blood boil. Given that George is probably my other least liked guy on the grid, you can tell why i'm not going out of my way just yet. You know. (i could probably write up a nice essay on why they, in particular, raise my ire, but for now, just know i have My Reasons™)

What's funny is that i had a dream that woke me at 6:40 in the morning, and in it, i saw the last moments of the race. Charles was in the lead, but just before his front tires hit the finish line, his engine fucking exploded. The cars behind just blew past him, and there he was, a sitting duck. My first thought upon waking up was that physics don't work like that, he'd still likely cross the line just fine with an exploded car, but my second was that at least P8 is better than exploding. A small consolation, but i take whatever i can get from this cruel world.

Over the course of my morning, as i read through the strategy notes, live reactions, media clips, and all that, my mind kept rolling back to Boyang. Beloved Tian Tian. I chose him as my favorite skater, my sweet potato medalist, just as he went from a front of the pack jumping bean to a headcase who couldn't even land his signature jump in competition afterwards. I kept thinking: is my love a cursed thing? Do i bring misfortune? Or perhaps, is being born in October of 1997 cursed instead?? I hope not, on all fronts. But i wasn't born lucky, i know that, so maybe i need to pop down to Italy to be spiritually cleansed by a priest or something, just in case. Couldn't hurt.

Man, though, i think i was born perfectly shaped to be tifosi. These results are...oof. But there's no defeat or doom in me (which might just be a rookie error, but please, god, let me be a Kimi-style rookie, just this once). Who knows, maybe this is the result of me writing that my priority this week is, "focus on what you can do, then do that." I will continue to believe that the red car will be fast and beautiful once more, and i will continue to support Charles, because he is deserving of that and so much more.

Charles had so much hope and speed and control in normal, dry conditions, so i guess i'll just be praying for a drought for the next however long. Forza, forza Charles sempre.

fic updates:

fic B had its notes printed and is ready, but i'm still waffling on POV just a little. This one is so fully formed in my head, that i might start drafting it just for fun, idk. We'll see how i'm feeling (0)

fic C is sitting at over 7k in just 3 days!! And that's with a library day in the mix! I will write out my feelings if it fucking kills me!!! (7,552)

fic S is constantly getting new inspo and deets, but i really need to get my thoughts in order for acts II and III. It all seems rather open right now, but maybe i just need to watch some vintage races? (0)

[harrisonarchive]

Happy 80th birthday to Eric Idle! (Pictured with George at the premiere of Splitting Heirs in 1993; photo by Richard Young/Shutterstock.)

“I felt like I’d known them [Monty Python] all for years, because I’d watched all the programs and had had them on videotape. So it only took ten minutes before we were the best of friends.” - George Harrison, Rolling Stone, April 19, 1979

“Even when we first met I felt like I’d known him forever. Not the Beatle George, he never seemed like that to me, nor the bearded garden gnome George, but the man, the real man with the deep, dark eyes and the crooked grin and the loud laugh. I never knew a man like him. It was as if we fell in love. His attention, his concern, his loving friendship was so strong and powerful that it encompassed your entire life. You felt comfortable and secure. We would stay up all night and talk for hours about our lives, about the hurts and pain, about the groups we had been in and the trying emotional strains and problems that being in such groups entails. He was always full of spiritual comfort, counsel, and advice. He saw everything from the cosmic point of view. Our deaths were natural and unavoidable, and he viewed everything from that perspective. […] [We had] long and deep conversations about everything in our universe: life, death, love, the nature of religion; hours of sharing and ‘catching up’ as he called it, as if he too felt he’d known me before, and his apothegms and memories and jives and rants enlivened my life for almost thirty years.” - Eric Idle, The Greedy Bastard Diary (2001)

Q: “Who inspired you the most in life and why?” Eric Idle: “George Harrison. because he befriended me when I needed a pal, and encouraged me, and discussed the very basic questions with me.” - Reddit ama, 2013

“Eric Idle is incredible. Michael Palin too. He is very funny. They all are. [Monty Python] filled that empty space for me; after 1968, 1969, they really kept me going, you know. What should have happened is that the Bonzos and the Beatles should have turned into one great Rutle band with all the Pythons and had a laugh.” - George Harrison, I Me Mine (1980)

“I loved Monty Python, I couldn’t explain how much I liked it. The rut that television gets into, and people’s lives, Python just blew all that away by making fun of everything.” - The Globe and Mail, 1987 (x)

“Eric Idle was there one night [in November 2001]. When Eric walked in, George just beamed. He started laughing, and he raised his hand to Eric and held his hand, and was actually laughing. I will never forget that moment in my entire life. He was such a huge Eric Idle fan. Just the thought of Eric made him laugh. He was always quoting Eric. And so to see Eric walk in and have George just brighten up like that and start laughing, it was just fantastic.” - Jim Keltner, Rolling Stone, January 17, 2002 (x)

Plus, Rutland Weekend Television, December 1975.

Performing the "Lumberjack Song" with Monty Python in 1976: read more here.

Funding Life of Brian: read more here.

[taffybear]

random funny headcanons for the bay boys cause I have nothing better to do ❤ part 1 cause I ran out of steam

part 2

to everyone who has sent in an unanswered ask: oMG I KNOW I'M LATE Y'ALL I'M SO SORRY BUT I SWEAR I'M WORKING ON EM THANKS FOR WAITING SKSK

Leonardo

Rock-a-Bye Bivalve is his favorite Spongebob episode. It just needs to be said. He loves the concept that Spongebob and Patrick agreed to take equal responsibility of Junior and instead the workload gets tossed on Spongebob. He can relate to an extent, as he feels like a motherly figure to his own family. He also laughs at every. Single. Joke. While you're sitting there watching it next to him you can't help but giggle when he empatheticly nods as Spongebob's problems are stated. "What?" "... I am concerned why you can relate to this so much."

Can sing SO WELL? He just doesn't know his own potential. He will refuse to sing aloud to ANYONE but at the off chance you catch him when he thinks he's alone, it's a spiritual experience. I mean obviously he's a great singer, he literally has the voice of an angel. He doesn't get all belty or loud when he sings, it's always just quiet bits and pieces--like he's normally talking but with a rhythm. Mikey is secretly jealous. When Leo thinks you're asleep he whisper-sings lullabies to you.

Binged all of The Office and Parks and Recreation with Donnie. It took a month in total. They got really into it and devoted like 3 hours a day holed up in Donnie's lab to watch it (what a bonding experience 😚). Leo prefers Parks and Rec but Don is The Office all the way. They still get into heated brawls.

Has secretly named his Bonsai trees. He didn't even mean to--he just subconsciously started referring to them by names. His favorite trees are called Chloe, Esmeralda, Big Oscar, Jacqueline, and Artimus (they're his children so he loves them all equally ofc, but these are star performers). He tries so hard to keep it a secret but sometimes he'll just blurt out a name. "Aw darn, I forgot to clip Arty's bad branch this morning." Then he'll clap his hands over his mouth after he realizes he just exposed his plant's identity; but ofc everyone only makes it a big deal because he makes it a big deal.

Does not curse often, and instead just says the most hilarious shit when something doesn't go his way. "Oh, fiddlesticks!" "What poppycock!" "This is hogwash!" "Balderdash!" "This really ruffles my feathers!" This man unironically exclaims, "Ah, shucks!" Raph is not okay.

Is actually the best dancer. Apparently years of training his body to obey his will has turned him into a specimen of grace. This guy can do 4 flips in a row and then land into a split without having to catch his breath, so ofc he can rock Just Dance. He won't actually dance confidently in front of anyone, but he will dad-dance for laughs. He'll dab and floss to make Mikey shriek in agony. But he has hidden talent. In an ideal world he's lead singer and does his own choreography 😔

Carries a scent of tea and lavender. At night he'll light lavender incense to relax, and thus he smells like... a meditation class? He smells like he rolled around in manners. You can't put your finger on it but he just smells... charming.

Raphael

Such a sore loser. Raph plays games to win. Whatever it is; a board game, video game, sparring match, staring contest, if he loses he will literally hold a grudge against you for the rest of the day. No rematch, he'll just come up with an excuse for your win and then go through the five stages of grief.

Watches Golden Girls every Saturday night with Splinter (yes father son bond time!). Firmly believes this is peak comedy. Loves Sophia with a passion. Can recite the theme perfectly.

Sings in the shower. ALL Disney princess songs. Starts off really quiet, but eventually works up to like passionate belting. Ofc he'll shut up the second someone comes into close proximity.

LOVED Dora the Explorer as a kid. He watched that show religiously. Actually learned a lot of Spanish too. He thinks he's forgotten all the vocabulary he learned when he was 6, but every now and then if someone's speaking Spanish on TV or something, he can actually translate like 70% of it. Mikey teases that Raph had the hots for Dora... he's not wrong.

You know he really likes you when he knits you something. A sweater, blanket, scarf, whatever. Ofc it takes a long time to make it, but it takes him even longer to give it to you. Or anyone, for that matter. He'll get into a really sentimental mood about his brothers at some random time, knit those feelings out, then just take months to get the courage to give it to them. He'll make things for Splinter shamelessly tho. He also repairs anything torn up he can get his hands on. Needle and thread is his second language.

Snores very loudly. Like Mikey is mad he doesn't have ears to put earplugs in, loudly. Not all the time though, and maybe just in one position, but when he snores it is v i o l e n t. He also talks in his sleep, and surprisingly most of the time it's really cute stuff. "Thank you, Mr. Bubbles, I would love some marshmallow taffy." Like, where did these dreams come from? But then someone comes out with a chainsaw. And the other half of the time it just sounds so normal; he's just quietly talking about his day or asking where the orange juice is. You'll think you're in a conversation with him and it's awkward when you realize he's just blabbering in his sleep.

Is a very gifted break dancer 👌 aND he can do the moon walk

[chimielie]

just keep on winning

summary: Oikawa x Figure Skater!Reader. He wonders why everyone warned him about the Olympic sex-fest; he thinks he’s in far more danger if he’s developing a crush this bad after approximately half an hour of interaction. Sequel here.

word count: 3.6k

cw: swearing, sex jokes, one self-indulgent reference to favor the brave, reader speaks All The Languages

a/n: per anon's request! i got totally carried away and did so much research and then i didn't want to throw away half the fic because i'd done all that research ahaha so. three thousand six hundred and thirty something words [crying emoji] enjoy!! i had a lot of fun tbh so i hope you do too

Oikawa is getting tired of having condoms thrown at him.

It’s funny the first day, when he arrives in Olympic Village, when the staff member showing them around points to the freely available contraceptives— a veritable mountain of them— and his teammates nudge him, smirking.

“Hardly enough for the whole team,” they all laugh raucously. “Hell, Tooru alone’ll be burning through those in the first week.”

“I’m here to win,” he says sternly, making a show of grabbing a few packets and tossing them in the air, catching them with his other hand and tucking it neatly behind his back. “But it’s always best to be safe.”

“Now he’s concerned with his well being,” comments Bruno.

“I’m in top health,” he snaps his wrist back and sends one of the foil packets spinning through the air. It lands squarely on his friend’s forehead, and he catches it only after it bounces off. “Improve your reflexes before you tell me I work too much.”

The guide looks both awestruck and like she’s trying not to laugh. He winks at her and she covers her squeak with one hand.

It’s still funny that night, when he’s settling into his dorm and walks into the hall, only to be pelted with foil packets.

“Please, please, I know I’m attractive, but there’s no need to beg for my attention like this,” he laughs. “Watch the face! Aye, those corners are sharp!”

He can barely sleep that night, partially because of jet lag and partially because he lies awake, staring at the ceiling, thinking I’m at the Olympics I’m an Olympian holy fucking shit I’m an Olympics holy shit holy shit holy shit!

If you were a mind reader, his thoughts would sound like a series of exclamation marks.

He gets a scant three hours of sleep before he’s awoken a full half hour early by the obnoxious, familiar smack of his best friend.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” Iwaizumi says, folding his arms. Oikawa rubs his eyes.

“Awoken by my true love,” he says breathily, and gets smacked again.

“I forgot you were a morning person,” Iwaizumi grumbles. “Sick in the head, you are.”

“I missed you!” Oikawa throws his arms around the shorter man. “And I’ll pretend those weren’t your first words to me in person after nine million years of not getting to experience my winsome face-to-face presence.”

Iwaizumi’s arms come up to squeeze Oikawa just as tightly.

“Yeah, I missed you too.”

They go for a run together, and Oikawa finds that he’s gotten faster than Iwaizumi. Sure, he was slightly impaired during their last year of school, but it’s still something to gloat about.

“I can’t even be mad, Olympian,” Iwaizumi holds out his fist when they’re done. Oikawa bumps it, then dashes for the meal center.

“Race you!” He calls over his shoulder, and he can feel Iwaizumi’s eyes roll, like, spiritually, but he follows nevertheless.

“—You were like whoosh, and scree! And then BAM!” Comes a familiar voice, and sure enough, when Oikawa swings his head around, the sound effects are emitting from a bright orange shortstack.

“Small fry!” Calls Oikawa, dashing over and lifting him into the air. “How’s it going?”

“I’m at the Olympics!” States Hinata enthusiastically. Oikawa laughs.

“This is true. So am I!”

“Did you see all the condoms?” Hinata drops his voice to a loud whisper. “I saw them and thought of you.”

Oikawa blinks and receives with not a little amusement another few foil packets.

“You messing with my team?” Iwaizumi looms up behind him and Oikawa laughs, handing him the condoms.

“Chibi-chan here was just trying to help me out, I guess,” he says. “I have more than enough already, you know, my team was throwing them at me yesterday. Wasteful, honestly. I’m not planning on getting lucky with anything except my match with them.” He jerks his chin towards the gathered Japanese National Team. “And that won’t be luck,” he finishes, a prideful feeling swelling in his chest as his eyes land on his own team, sitting together and digging into their own morning meals.

Three days after arriving in Olympic Village, it’s not so funny anymore.

“We’re not in high school anymore,” he whines when he sits down next to a grinning Iwaizumi, who’s holding a bowl of condoms. “I’m not a flirt, I’m just good looking.”

“Lying is a sin,” says Lopez piously, grabbing a few for himself.

“Premarital sex is a sin,” Oikawa says, snatching the bowl back. “Get your own.”

Five days in, he’s adjusted fully to the new time zone— better than most of his teammates can say, but what can he say? He’s never had much trouble with moving around, or with forcing his body through grueling regimens.

Oikawa may not be in high school anymore, but he may still have a slight problem with overworking himself. Slightly.

“Tooru,” Coach Blanco calls, walking in. “You’ve been at it for a little too long. Take a breather.”

Oikawa tosses the ball in his hands up in the air and hits it hard, watching it flatten on the opposite side of the court with no small satisfaction. The bang echoes in total silence.

“Last one, Coach,” he says cheerily as he walks past Blanco to collect his things. “You know we’re at the Olympics, yeah? No such thing as too much training.”

Blanco tosses the ball back to him, all the way across the court.

“Don’t let your anxiety control the way you play,” he says simply. “That includes injuring yourself through overwork. Blow off some steam. Use some of those condoms, or, better yet, go see one of the massage therapists.”

Well, he has no intention of using the condoms.

He’s supposed to meet Iwaizumi in the spa, but when he gets there, his friend is already in conversation with someone.

“Behind you,” he taps the athletic trainer on the shoulder. Iwaizumi’s conversational partner, who had been turned around, pointing at something, spins on their heel, and—

Oh.

Your smile is the first thing he notices, huge and infectious and wildly attractive. He can feel citrus bursting on his tongue, looking at that smile. He can feel the Argentinean sun on his skin, looking at that smile.

“Oh, you’re the one Iwaizumi is meeting! I’ll let him go, then, I’d hate to keep you—” you direct the you at Iwaizumi— “from your hot date.”

“He’s passable at best,” Iwaizumi says.

“And I’m here for a massage! I would hate to be the one to take Iwa-chan from his girlfriend when I set them up,” he throws an arm over Iwaizumi’s shoulder and is promptly shrugged off.

“You barely set us up,” he says. “Barely.”

“All my work,” Oikawa tells you. You throw him a bone and nod conspiratorially. “You look familiar. Do I know you from somewhere?”

Iwaizumi snorts.

“I just have one of those faces,” you say, deadpan, but a new smile, mischievous and close-lipped, tugs at the corners of your mouth. “You said you needed a massage?”

You pass by him in line for lunch the next day, after he’s gotten an excellent massage and a good night’s sleep. He was barely even sore this morning— and despite all his protesting, he knows he should have been barely able to move after his excessive-even-for-the-fucking-Olympics training regimen of the last couple days. Sure, their early arrival and need to adjust to Japan Standard Time means that their schedules are a little more lax than they will be in a week, but he knows that he’s been grating on his trainer’s nerves.

You smile at him, orange peels and sunny skies, and he grins back, his grip on his plate nearly slipping.

“My favorite massage therapist!” He cheers, and a split second of confusion crosses your face.

“I didn’t give you a massage?”

“Yeah, but you are one, right?” He gasps. “Unless you’re an athlete, oh my God, I just assumed, which event are you competing in? I’m so sorry—”

“Hey, don’t worry, don’t worry,” you wave him off with crinkled eyes. “I’m not competing in the 2020 Summer Olympics,” you deepen your voice and make jazz hands. “I still didn’t give you a massage, though.”

“There’s time yet,” he tells you. “I didn’t even get your name, gosh, I’m all sorts of scrambled.”

“No worries, it’s stressful to have the Games coming up,” you say. “Uh, right?” He nods. “It’s Y/N L/N, and I don’t know your name either.”

“Tooru Oikawa,” he says. “I’d shake, but my hands are full, sorry.”

“No worries,” you say, and graze your cheek along his. Tooru doesn’t blush as easily as he did when he lived here, but he can still feel his face filling with red. “You’re Argentine, yeah? Hope that wasn’t weird.”

“Yeah,” he says. “You know our customs so well, you should come sit with us. Me and the team.”

“Hmm,” you say, twisting your lips to the side. “I don’t know, will Iwaizumi be there?”

“Uh,” Oikawa flicks his eyes towards his team’s area. “I can’t see from here.”

“It doesn’t matter,” you say, turning towards where he’s looking. “He has a girlfriend, and I think you’re more attractive anyway.”

When you look over your shoulder, he’s still staring at you, an embarrassed, delighted expression making its way over his face.

He wonders why everyone warned him about the Olympic sex-fest; he thinks he’s in far more danger if he’s developing a crush this bad after approximately half an hour of interaction.

Evidently, there’s no need to introduce you to his team, or at least one of them.

“Y/N!” Beams Garcia, and as soon as he’s standing you’re dapping him up, then going in for a one-armed hug. Oikawa’s not sure if he’s more jealous that you evidently know his teammate or pleased that you gave him and not Garcia a cheek kiss.

“How have you been?”

“I’d be better if you’d text me back!” You laugh at him, patting the pocket your phone is evidently in.

“I’m busy,” you tell him. “And you haven’t texted me for, like, half a year.”

“You know each other?” Oikawa asks, deliberately keeping his tone light. “Tell me, Garcia, why didn’t you introduce me sooner?”

You giggle, and pride swells in his chest.

“We met at a party a couple years ago,” you tell Oikawa. “I wrecked him at beer pong once, too.”

“Some party,” Garcia snorts.

“What,” Oikawa looks between you two, bewildered. “What kind of party was this? Like?” He makes some obscene gesture— he doesn’t even know what he’s miming, honestly. For a renowned flirt in Japan (and alright, he’s had his moments in the years since he left), he’s found that he’s considered hilariously prudish to some people. Culture is a funny thing.

Garcia merely roars with laughter, while you keep looking at Oikawa for a little while longer. Your eyes on him are altogether too much for him, and he drops his hands, feeling heat rise to his cheeks once more. He shovels rice into his mouth and hopes that he doesn’t choke.

“No,” your face dawns with realization. “Oh, no, not at all.” Your laughter is as intoxicating as the rest of you, charming and undiluted by any emotion other than simple, pure happiness. You lean on him for support, your hand burning through his jersey and right to his skin as you continue to be overcome. He’s sure his teammates are taking note of his sickening, schmaltzy expression, and he’s sure he’ll get unprecedented levels of shit for it later, but you look up at him, bent at the waist, eyes sparkling and little noises of mirth still escaping your chest as you try to get your breathing to stabilize, and, wow, he has to swallow his rice fast or he really will choke.

“It wasn’t that funny,” he defends.

“You didn’t see yourself. What were you even— even—” and he’s sent you off again, peals of laughter ringing through his head and leaving it stuffed with cotton.

“You leave Oikawa speechless,” Lopez says when all the hysterics have finally died down. Oikawa sits, arms crossed, pouting. “We like you. Come to our practice today.”

“My schedule’s clear,” you shrug. “If it’s okay with you?”

It takes him a second to realize that you’re talking to him.

“Of course, I’d love it if you come,” he says, folding his hands.

As you poke his cheek— and so does Garcia, on his other side, but he’s not concerned with Garcia— he thinks— it’s too much like high school.

In high school, he liked having his girlfriend watch him practice (she hadn’t liked it so much). He’d dated people since then, too, but none of them (save the one volleyball player) had ever been asked to practice, and the v-ball player had been critical instead of cheering him on, and that was just weird. Thus, after practice, he’s a little nervous.

His crush is barely a crush and he suffers no illusions about that. But so early on, there are signs that you’ll get along with him, and your reaction to the love of his life, his cruelest mistress, his reason for living (he could go on), is certainly one.

He knows you’ve seen volleyball before, since it had been asked on your way over.

“...What did you think?” Is his leading question, you having sped to the front of the group as they all walk back for free time and dinner.

“So cool! Volleyball looks fun— well, I wasn’t any good at it, back in middle school— and you’re incredible.” You gush, and he swears all the muscles in his body release their tension right then. “I didn’t even want to cheer while you were playing, I was too nervous— you looked so focused.”

“You could’ve cheered,” he ducks his head and scratches the back of his neck. “I wouldn’t have minded.”

“I’ll be cheering during the games,” you say confidently.

“I’ll keep an ear out,” he says, knocking into you by accident. You just knock him back, though, and it’s easy. You get me, he thinks.

The two of you form a casual friendship over the next week— you’re often hanging around the spa, and Tooru gets sent there more often than he’d like to admit, and you help him relax, with your upbeat attitude and encouraging nature.

His team likes you, too, and instead of inflaming into some kind of disturbing obsession, his attraction to you relaxes into a simple interest in your person and an appreciation of your presence.

It’s two nights before the opening ceremony (breathe, Tooru, two nights, two nights) and he’s watching Schweiden Adler matches on his phone after dinner, earbuds in.

“Hey,” you say, sliding into the seat next to him, and he plucks them out, waving at you mutely. “Nervous?”

“Me? Never,” he says drily. “Only the biggest event of my life so far.”

“Hey, you’ve been working toward this your entire life,” you pat him on the shoulder. “I’m not going to tell you to relax because that would be stupid, but don’t drive yourself up a wall with anxiety. The Games are games— they can be as fun as they are nerve-wracking.”

“You speak from experience?” He’s looking at you with lazy eyes, a smirk plastered over his face, and while his expression is fond, it doesn’t distract from the keen sensation that you are looking at one of the most intense people you will ever meet.

“Sochi 2014,” you say, biting your lip as you smile. The unnerving aura around him disappears within a second as his mouth drops into a perfect oval. “And PyeongChang 2018, too.”

“You— you lied! To me! Like a liar!” He balls up his napkin and throws it at you. “You said you weren’t an athlete!”

“I did not,” you dodge. “I said I wasn’t competing here! I’m a winter sport! Stop throwing things at me!”

“I wanna see,” he gasps, wide eyed and seemingly already forgetting all about the betrayal. “Show me, show me, show me show me show me!”

“Fine, fine,” you push at his head with one hand, but he returns, dogged. “Look me up on YouTube.”

He’s never typed in anything faster— maybe this is what his slim, long setter fingers are for.

“This one?” He points at the first result. You take his phone and squint at the screen, scrolling through the videos.

“Mm, no. No. Oh, that one was embarrassing. No. Wait, this one was good! This one, this one.” You make your selection and hand the device back to him. He puts in the right earbud and offers you the left. “Oh, I don’t need it. I mean, I was there, so, uh…”

“Just take it,” he says, and you favor him with a shy smile and take the bud.

He presses play.

You glide onto the screen amidst applause and the overlaid commentary begins, introducing you, your range within a point system he doesn’t understand, and the music, which he’s pretty sure he used to listen to as motivational study music back in high school.

You skate around the rink a few times, then take your place still, folding yourself into a graceful starting position. The music begins, and the camera angle shifts. He can see the beatific smile on your face as you begin moving, quick, yet graceful. Your costume is dazzling, but not distracting or gauche— he doesn’t care much about the way you’re dressed, anyway, not when you look like that.

Your tights are, in a word, tight, and if he were a lesser man he’s sure he’d be zeroed in on your ass, which is admittedly right there. His eyes instead trace the long line of your back, the smooth curves of your arms and your well-muscled thighs, the way you look like you were born walking on ice instead of steady land. He becomes more and more sure that every inch of you must be pure muscle as the video progresses. You move lightly through the first minute, swinging like there are wings holding you up from one improbable position to the next.

The music intensifies, and he leans closer as your movements become more dramatic, although you still appear to be swimming through the air, no less bound by the laws of gravity now than he is on the volleyball court. Every beat is hit, every movement is obviously precise even to his untrained eye. Watching you skate, Oikawa realizes that he’s been dining with a master.

Your skating is equal parts dancing and storytelling on ice. Oikawa can appreciate that even without knowing what most of the moves mean.

He pauses the video and tries to unjumble his words.

“Can we mute it and you explain?” he says, all in a rush, words stringing together as clumsily as he feels compared to you.

“You’re sure?”

“I don’t like the announcer’s voice,” he nods, even though he could care less. He just wants to hear it from the person doing it.

“Alright,” and you might be winter sports royalty, but the way you brighten up talking about figure skating is still reminiscent of July, hot and reverent and limned with white gold. “So there’s the triple lutz-triple loop, which I was so worried about because I kept fucking it up in practice, not to mention that it doesn’t have the push a toe loop gives…”

He listens carefully as you tell him all about a sport he’s never even considered before, and he might be a stranger to skating, but the love and fire in your voice as you speak is as familiar as his own reflection. The commentary you provide doesn’t detract at all, but instead gives him insight into the skater on his screen, helps him understand. For a short while, he falls in love with figure skating, too.

On his phone, you finish, arms held high, eyes glittering, and after a second of that elegant, frozen landing, you’re skating around the rink again, gloved hands thrown up in the air as that orange-peel smile crosses your face, bigger than he’s seen it even in real life. You exit the rink, not even stumbling as you transition to the mats from the ice the way he used to when his sister took him skating as a kid.

“So what does that mean? What did you get?” He asks, when the video ends, again on a point scoring system he doesn’t understand. Your smile is triumphant, even after all these years.

“Gold.”

Oikawa Tooru doesn’t like geniuses.

He does like passion, evidently, he thinks your demonstrable expertise is hot. He likes athleticism, and drive, and going the distance. He likes you, and you have all these things, and it’s frightening, how seductive not even five minutes of watching you in your element was.

He hopes he’ll have a reason to use those condoms eventually.

“Holy fucking shit,” he breathes, and wraps his arms around you in a hug. You lean in just as hard, the victory still fresh, your laurels barely askew.

“Right? I wasn’t a top pick to win, either, I earned that with blood,” you tell him. He squints at you.

“Can you read minds?”

“What? No. Why?” He shakes his head, refocusing. Oikawa’s cheeks are red and his eyes are clear when he runs a hand through his hair, ruffling it so it falls in soft waves over his ears (also red). He leans away from you, an inch or so, and then closer again. He smells like lemongrass and young love, and even though you’re not kids anymore you don’t think it’s so terrible that he makes you feel like one.

“Not important. Can I take you out sometime after the Games are done?”

tagging: @crystal-lilac , @kohi-zeri

[yostresswritinggirl]

Antinomy

Part 2; things are brewing. VIBE

“Do you know the spiritual meaning of 11? What about in numerology? You’ll find it quite intriguing, funny even… until it starts making sense.” You’ve witnessed and harnessed the way and days he had grown to be; this fic enumerates the trials of the 11th before he became a Harbinger under your care. From strangers to mentor to friends to love- Childe made a grave mistake, now you’re once again strangers.

Pairing -> Childe x Harbinger!Fem!Reader

Word Count -> 5217

Themes -> Friends to admirers, mentor, fluffy, suddenly ANGST

Series -> #Sojourner Specials (600 Followers Event) Part 1

Warning -> Blood and injury

Maybe it was stubbornness, his unhinged desire for the thrill of a fight, or you mistaken misguidance. Many possibilities, really, but Childe knows it had nothing to do with all of those. You're not to blame for his mistakes, but he sure as hell would have to pay for the mess he just created.

vi. fontaine

The show felt like a dance made to lure and trance such audience, and despite his resolve and difference in agendas, the strong Harbinger had been victim to the beauty of the show. Of swaying thin clothes and alluring flicks of the hips.

“We’re not co-workers, we don’t know each other, remember that.”

Tambourines and lyres synced through the performance as men and women alike cheered and stumbled to the songs. The Snezhnayan dancers set the bar high in terms of beauty as the Fatui disguised as performers indulged the crowd in symphony and dance, as if the whole nation was under a mania, no one saw and no one heard. They just followed lead as the agents lulled their own targets into a sense of security and joy.

In the middle of the crowd you lead the choreography as the main dancer, distinguished by the colors of your garb and its grandiosity, yet still respectably covered compared to the other performers. Your main objective was to catch the havoc of a man that left the headquarters of your organization in flames at his wake; and yet, it was instead Childe that was allured to your spell.

An intoxicated man had been eyeing your behind with drooling eyes for a while now, and with the assistance of liquid courage, he reached his hand out to get a feel- when it landed on gray pants of firmness. “Oh my, I didn’t know you swing that way, citizen,” you whipped around to see Childe directly behind you, who was also has his head angled to look behind him where a Fontaine man stumbled back in disgust. His hand clutched to his chest as if it were burned. “Sad news tho, I’m off the table, try someone else maybe.”

Before you can register the edge in his voice, he was already guiding you by the hand back to your dancing stride. You were momentarily stunned but devolved into a glare at his current recklessness, “Come now, Lady Viscaria.” He addressed you by your dancer name. “The whole world is high in the clouds around us, this would be a moment no one will remember.” You didn’t even need to look to know he was right, and you succumbed with a sigh.

Childe didn’t realize just how small your hands are compare to his, the softness of it in contrast to the rough texture of his gloves. If he knew, if only he knew, he would have removed them before you had entertained the idea. Your steps were lithe and your turns were grace manifested, eyes closed yet a gentle smile equipped on your face, the ones you had been wearing ever since you started the performance. “So this is how you fight.” He mumbled with his own grin when he had spun you back against his form, your feet glides against the pavement yet barely touching it as you seemingly floated to place. If he hadn’t known better he would have thought you were an Anemo Vision wielder.

Soon enough the square dissipated to give way to the ferocious dance you two had eased into. Steps became more pointed, arms tensed and strong, and the turns was almost reminiscent of martial arts as you seemingly evade each other’s swings. Suddenly a kick aimed to hit his chest forced him to jump back, and at the other side you dropped your foot, a taunting smirk and a condescending gaze set upon him. His blue eyes widened.

And the elegance of the tango from earlier turned into a vicious round of capoeira, powerful kicks and jumps yet not made to touch each other. Your figure leaped into a crescent kick when he had made a sweep to hit your ankles, him immediately rolling to the side to evade the blow. Dropping to the ground with your ankles and knees bent, a leg outstretched you gasped, and went into a running start towards him, “Lift!” A single command yet he knew what he needed to do.

Gripping your hips upon your leap his strong arms easily eased you high up, your legs were kicked high up and one bent farther back and you steadied yourself by gripping on to his shoulders. The atmosphere turned tense and the only sound you can hear were the ragged breaths you heave up close. And the crowd around then explodes into a round of applause.

Childe seemed to have snapped out of a trance from the foreign noise, breaking the eye contact you both held as he slowly placed you down. There was a sudden bashfulness to him then. But was once again pulled away from his reverie when you quite literally pulled him out of the square into a dark alley, eyes glinting dangerously as a toothy smirk donned your lips, “I saw him, the redhead.”

...

The chains felt sentient. As it flies forward to try and capture him, Childe conjured a wave to sweep it away only for it to change angles to strike at him again. It pierced through the pavement he was once on before it moved to retract back to the owner. At the other side, Childe had a glimpse of your more successful fight with the fugitive as your polearm easily deflected the advances of the chains, even if it gets caught sometimes. Your Cryo Vision would always make quick work of freezing and breaking the chains.

None of you expected a non-elemental fight, and this seemed more complicated of a battle than you would have thought. The man carried with him the aura you feel when you use your delusion, you grimly thought as you ducked out of another barrage, sensing the frustration and desperation of the enemy. You were barely breaking a sweat, you’d see his red eyes take notice, and you weren’t even using both of your hands to fight. With another smirk, your Vision then glowed by your side as you raised your arm. The hooded man braced for impact, but instead he felt a force hit his lower half- water current from Childe, and suddenly it solidified to ice upon your avalanche. His hand where the strange device were also covered to render him useless.

An arrow and a spear’s tip was now aimed to his heart. “Well, well, that was a nice fight, Ragnvindr,” you leaned down close enough to see the finer details of his hawk mask, you saw his eyes squint into a glare. He knows he lost. By your side Childe relaxed his arms and dematerialized his bow, the next part should be yours to work on. “Thank you for your dedication, but this atrocity ends now.” You straightened your back and took a step back, angling your spear to his throat. As his eyes close to succumb to death, your head would angle itself slightly to see Childe’s reaction

when a golden flicker appeared past his shoulder.

“CHILDE!” The devil himself felt the air leave his lungs at the force that punched at his chest, enough to immobilize him as he was punted to the ground. Before he could even recover, the pavement around shifted and crumbled to create a wall between him and the frozen Diluc. He heard the ice breaking and two pairs of feet scrambling away. “Fuck, he had an accomplice,” he breathed as he took his stand, about to give chase to the escapees. That is until he registered his mentor-

barely standing with a stalagmite pierced through her stomach.

“Chi...lde.” You gripped the pointed tip of the structure to keep yourself up as your legs started to lose feeling. He was there hovering over you, unsure where to touch or how to assist. Fuck. Fuck. This was his fault. “Go... chase, I’ll be- I’ll be fine...”

And then you blacked out.

vii. seven correspondence

There were multiple parchment of the same color littering his office desk filled with different lengths of paragraphs. Childe's quarters in the palace was cozy and wide, and nothing could be heard but the sound of his fountain pen scratching the surface of the paper with ease.

"Letters are important in Snezhnaya," you perked up from your unfocused gaze from his window, where you silently watched the brewing blizzard manifesting outside. Your eyes made contact with his genuinely gentle ones that still lingered at the task at hand, "why not write one?"

"Letters are commonplace in Snezhnaya," you corrected as you made your way to his side to snoop in his letters. He did not seem to mind. After all you'd pretty much already the whole of his family that one awkward encounter. He was working on the seventh letter and your eyes lingered around the six finished ones: there was one for each younger siblings, one meant for the two older brothers, another for the older sister, and one for his parents. "It's not necessary for me to write, I don't have an address in mind to begin with."

Is that so, he mumbled under his breath before the conversation died down once again to little scratches. A lot of his words had tales to tell about his stay in Fontaine, you realized the most details were poured into the contents for his parents. At the mention of this nation, your hand ghosts over your stomach.

The bandages from long ago had already been dispatched. And yet the stiffness of it has still affected your composure as well as the weird pull of the skin from the stitches. Only a nasty scar was left in its wake to remind you of the failed encounter and it forced you to make drastic wardrobe changes to your performing attire.

You saw Childe's shoulders slightly tense at your action.

"Childe," his grip on the pen tightened yet he kept his head down. You didn't mind. His mind was going overdrive again, probably. "Who are you writing that last letter for?"

He felt like he'd dodged an arrow over the way he had relaxed, slumped down even when he met eyes with better resolution within it. "It's for a special someone," his signature smile was back, "I've met her long ago and I've always made sure to send her a letter yearly as thanks."

Thanks? "Thanks?" The letter (it was short, you realized) was already folded before you could peek at the words within. You knew Childe was good-looking, but for him to have a girlfriend waiting for years as he drowns in his work, quite irrational and yet painful. Painful... to you?

"I've met a girl back when I was 14," he was suddenly up and bustling as he bundled up his letters. Urgent you followed to listen to his tale as best as you can with his long legs. "I never knew her name or her face, but she saved me from the wolves back in Morepesok. I never properly gave her my thanks, so yearly I would leave letters at the woods where she'd gone, and hope that she'll be able to read them and know that I lived because of her." You already halted your advances to chase after him as you stood before the doors of the Palace. He didn't seem to mind, he kept going until he was gone.

...Morepesok was a seaside fishing village with a vast white forest by the edges in which ferocious wolves and bears usually haunt. After your promotion to the Palace, you had never once set foot in the village, much less the woodland. Where you are right now.

You held a steady hand against your stomach as you retraced the familiar route you'd gone, something so far away you would have expected to forget it by now. That was six years ago, you counted as you reached the clearing in horror of its emptiness, there should be six letters here by now.

A snapping twig had you whirling to look behind you. "So, it really was you." His gentle blue orbs had met your widened ones, breathless you both were, but for different reasons.

"So you lied about the letters," the mocking pout on your lips had made him laugh. A sprinkle of red dusts his cheeks, and he was quick to hide it with the familiar letter on his hand.

"I didn't lie about this one," your upturned palms received the crispy envelope, carefully opening the seal and unfolding its contents, "I wanted to make sure I was right."

'Your sacrifice had given me a new chance, a new life, a new beginning. I wish I was there to thank you for protecting me, but this time, I will get stronger and make sure-'

"I'll be the one protecting you from now on." He finished, and the red dust over your own cheeks felt like torches made to melt the mightiest icicles.

viii. fleeting glances

Signora had always been the type of person to only make appearances when necessary, but most of her dirty work were done by her subordinates, her own little army. She's the coordinator and observer at the back as things were weaved into place for her. Like a flower on the wall, the Fair Lady knows and notices details.

The first one was by the entrance, the second was by the veranda. The third, fourth and fifth were by the hallways. The sixth was by the throne room. The seventh was outside. And the eight was that in front of her—

Childe disliked being in the same area or even breathing space as her, this much Signora knew. He was a kid still under training over the ways of the Fatui, but there was nothing more he hated than the way the Fair Lady handles her work, her soldiers. But it came with the aesthetic, and he had no other means to pry until he had finally grasped the way the cogs turn in this organization known as the Fatui.

The youngest Harbinger never looked her directly in the eye or even dare spare her the glance when it was not needed. And in all honesty, it was quite bothersome the first few times. After all, Tartaglia carried with him a certain charm.

His eyes would either narrow or be guarded for any other Harbinger that comes his way, respectful or dismissive, the options fleet through those whenever. But there was one humane and warm look he gives at special occasions, for a special someone, and Signora finally witnessed it in full view and detail—

The crease between his eyebrows would immediately ease as his eyes break free from its squinted, slanted form. The dark depths at the middle would dilate as his expression quirks up, teeth usually visible through parted lips as he dons an easy smile. And Signora would be taken aback by the immediate change as she follows the trail of his stare.

The gold was the first to strike with the way the trinkets hang by the waist, and the warm and mellow colors so contrary to the Fatui colors draws away the unease of onlookers. It was to make sure that no association with the Fatui would be made, that was your calculated explanation was upon your choice of 'uniform.' You've just came from a short trip to Natlan to gather all data to be reported to the Tsaritsa, and during that time the 11th had been under no one's particular care.

You passed by their forms (pass is a strong word, they were off to the far side, honestly) with your report in hand, humming to yourself as you continued your way to the throne room. That demeanor only means that you had good news to tell, good news for everyone.

The glance was gone fast as the moment ended, and his hard look came albeit much lighter this time. But the way Signora smirked signified she'd noticed, and his look only grew stiffer.

"Come now, pretty boy, show that look often."

The Fair Lady's laugh echoed inside the Palace walls as Tartaglia stomps off to where you had gone, to wait after the dusk convention respectfully.

ix. years of employment

Of the many milestones that could have been celebrated, it was done in an odd number at the most peculiar time. Yes, it is no surprise for everyone to know that you had been working for the Fatui for nine whole years now. And honestly, you shouldn't have been surprised that your younger colleague with the weird ways of his Abyss-induced brains, decided that it was time your anniversary be celebrated instead of waiting another year for the double digits mark.

"Please tell me we're not going to your house again," you softly pleaded as Childe continued to guide you through the paths in the main city of Snezhnaya. "As much as I appreciate their caring atmosphere, I'm not too keen on the idea of pretending to be the head honcho of the toy-selling company of Snezhnaya."

To this, Childe guffawed to a boisterous laugh, pulling his hand away from your back to clutch at his convulsing stomach. You pursed your lips in distaste of his reaction, but then it would loosen up to a smile as you watched him still try to catch his breathe.

After that, the trip had continued with only small chatter in between as you descended further to the edges of the city. You haven't been to this area, simply because of the fact that there were no patrols needed around the cityless wasteland where you are headed, and the glint of surprise had fixed a knot at Childe's back. Relief painted his face.

And you found yourself in front of a frozen lake, with hanging lights decorating the leafless trees by it, and a small table filled to the brim with food. "Lady toyseller!" You shot a glare at your student who averted his gaze away easily to focus on his other siblings. This heretic lied—

"Big brother said it's a special occasion! To commemorate your anniversaries for being in the toyselling business!" Your glare died down to a look of confusion, and the family gathered back into a homely atmosphere. So it seems that Childe coincidentally joined the Fatui the same day as you, two years apart. And he said nothing about it.

"We've been celebrating since the last three years, if we had known, you could have been with us!" And with that you were pulled in by Tonia to the table where her mother was, congratulating you for your hardwork and patience as she offers you to taste some of the food they had brought for the picnic.

"I know you've been helping my son ever since he became a Harbinger," you looked up to Childe's mother in wonder as your mouth was currently stuffed with her delicious homemade Pelmeni. She gave a light laugh at the sight of your wide, curious eyes paired with stuffed cheeks. "Childe mentioned how you saved him when he ran away from him..." and the mother continued to spill the details you were never given the chance to hear from the man himself.

You suppose this was the cause of your perfectly crafted aura of trust, to lure in your targets and make them spill to their heart's contents as you indulge them. In the end, Childe's mother's true intention was to thank you for all that you had done for her son, and to help him cultivate into the best person he could be among the ranks of the Harbinger. You gulped the last bits of the dumpling, a shy smile placated on your cheek, "It is my honor to take him under my wing."

"Hey, master, I sure hope mum didn't say anything embarrassing about me while I was gone!" A hand holding a tissue softly wiped the cream at the edge of your lips as Childe- Ajax finally made his way over to your table.

"It's okay, really, it's normal for children to pee their bed." You mused as Childe's mother laughed at the way her son choked over his own spit. Ah, you were right.

The rest of the day was filled with ice-skating, something you have forgotten, clumsily held up by the three younger siblings as they expertly excelled in the field. And right after was a session of ice fishing with their father, who was greatly impressed by your strength upon reeling the 50-centimeter long tuna. Flopping on to the ice platform as if to chase the children on land.

"Don't want to stay? There's a spare room here, you can borrow my big sister's clothes for the night. It's a long way back to the Palace," he stood next to you outside the entrance of his home while you face the other direction.

You sighed. "Tartaglia, I'm your mentor. And as the 10th Harbinger, your ascension should be my priority." You didn't see the way his jaw clenched at the intonations of your words. "If it were a different circumstance-"

"Next week," the snow caught on to your lashes as you closed your eyes, basking at the cold that bites at your cheeks. "Will be my last try. And after that, please see me as your equal."

"Alright." Your hands trembled.

x. final spar

Fatuus lined the veranda surrounding the quadrangle in quiet anticipation, skirmishers and agents alike that had yet to be assigned under Harbinger supervision and even those who just had nothing better to do.

Childe had anticipated the spotlight, but it was a greater scale he was not comfortable on. He was lucky a Harbinger had yet to watch the spar, the last spar as he had promised, and it seemed the gossip had spread enough to alert the whole organization. The Delusion mask sat by the side of his hair as he watched you at the other end of the field.

Your eyes held no emotion as they stared through his soul. A different kind of emotion he'd have wanted to see. He thinks to himself at the thought of you once being in the same predicament as him, did you feel the same fear and worry as he did? Did it take you ten tries? Maybe more, maybe less?

Tartaglia said this will be the last spar, and the final chance for both sides to make it a fair fight (to give it their all). But when you suddenly disappeared and materialized above him with your spear ready to strike, he thought, maybe not this time either.

The spear collided with the dirt floor as blades of winds seem to have exploded from it, a series of gasps resounding through the crowd as they stepped away from the edge. Tartaglia softly landed back on his feet after the successful somersault, materializing his water polearm to strike his elemental slash from the distance. But you stood still, unscathed as the wave that was meant to slice you turned into ice before it could come any closer. Fuck, Tartaglia knew his Vision was weak to yours.

You charged at him once again with the boost of your Anemo delusion, your polearms clashing painfully as you both tried to get hits on each other. There was a nick at this cheek to draw the first blood, your dominant hand twirling the spear easily Tartaglia retreats back to avoid the wildly spinning blade.

Soon enough he dons his own mask and the real fight begins. Electric currents ran through the field as an icy fog starts to envelop the floor, superconduct reaction running the parameter of the field as the Fatuus back away further. The next time your blades meet, a crackle of lightning resounded through the whole palace. Smacking his blades upward, your spear quickly sweeps down to swipe at this ankles, forcing him to leap as the fog obscures the reach of your polearm. Mid-air, he was kicked on the chest as your acrobatic arms held you up and over.

Soon enough his hunger for victory begins to manifest, and his biggest advantage comes into play: overwhelming strength.

Tartaglia felt huge triumph when you finally used both of your hands to parry his blows, your feet sometimes sinking into the dirt floor under the pressure of his attack. For the first time in the fight, your facade cracked with a grimace as you held your polearm up against his dual blades. Quickly leaning away, you brought your foot up and pushed at the spear's shaft, enough to force him back as you leaped out of his range. There was sweat trickling at the back of your neck now, feeling the sizzle of the current on the slight moisture. You swiped your spear in a crescent motion as a snow avalanche bombarded Tartaglia's side when he tried to approach, giving you just enough time to breathe as he tries to free himself under the snow.

By the time he's set himself free, you were already running forwards with your hands gripping your spear at your right for a swiping motion. He fashions his dual blades as he too sprinted in the middle to clash, weapons encased with frost and electricity. In a split second, his arms raised to your left, knowing this was your non-dominant side would make it easy to send you flying at the angle of approach. A powerful blow against another was about to shake the whole Palace—

"Columbina!" The vagrant's voice pierced through the crackle of elements, and Tartaglia's eyes widened when he had noticed your foot slip at the distraction. The inertia of his arms unable to stop the course of action; superconduct and electro-charged reactions creating a powerful explosion as the iced fog seem to have imploded from the force.

Childe's moist hands trembled as his vision tries to refocus. There's a ringing in his ears as he tries to grip at his hands, the electricity coursing through his nerves to make it numb. He desperately closed and opened his fists, and when he finally settled his sights straight, the dripping red liquid had splattered all the way to his mask and arms. With hesitation his sights followed the trail of blood and frost splayed across the field barely visible as the mist still covered the floor with a thin veil, his steps halted at the sound of glass crunching underneath his shoes, and he didn't need to look to know what it was.

"GET THE MEDIC NOW, PREPARE THE INTENSIVE CARE UNIT!" Pedrelino's voice reverbed through the field as the few agents that finally recovered from the shock went into emergency actions, some running off and some running to the direction of where the blood trail ends.

There was an obvious pool of blood forming under you, as your whole torso was littered with the same redness. Your left ribcage was angled inwards in an anomalous way as the dual blades had logged itself in between the ribs. You were already unconscious as blood dripped from the side of your lips;

how unfortunate, Childe collapsed to his knees in front of you. You didn't get to congratulate him.

xi. eleventh of the fatui harbinger

His mission had been explained to him concisely and accurately alongside Signora's assignment right after he had been acknowledged as officially part of the Fatui. The throne room had itself full of the Harbingers (with a glaring absence of one) as the Tsaritsa empowered him with her will and concise plan, the gravity of the law and order of the universe and its incoming divine war finally weighing on his shoulders. It was, after all, his wish to end the ministrations of being under someone's supervision and finally walk his path of conquering.

A month after the fight had him standing by the piers of the Snezhnayan ocean. Here he will finally depart to Liyue where his true mission lays, as well as the franchise of the Northland Bank he'd have to oversee. The influx of information for both his and the other's works had his head reeling, pleading silently at the hope that you'd be there to reassure and clarify what exactly he needs to do.

But you're not. In fact, Childe hasn't seen you in the whole month after that fight. He was prohibited from approaching your ward as you were still unstable and fragile to risk; no, everyone was not allowed to enter, he assured himself. He had not seen nor heard you throughout the grieving process of a moment he should have been proud to boast.

During that time, Childe had also adamantly avoided Scaramouche.

He heaved a tired sigh as the consequences weighed his resolve once again, were you still unconscious? Are you still in critical condition or are you recovering? If things ended ever so differently, would you be there next to him to wave him off to his first major assignment? "Liyue, huh, that's a pretty nice nation."

Childe produced a strangled noise when he turned to his right, where you stood, watching the ocean horizon. Your hair was slightly disheveled yet framed your face naturally. There were bandages wrapped all over your torso, peeking out from the sleeves of your unusually covered attire, and your left arm settled on a sling meant to lessen the constraints of your side instead of sporting an actual broken limb. When Childe's calculating gaze settled on your face, you had a calm expression.

"Congratulations, you're finally on your way to your first mission."

"Thank you, although I heard it's quite different from what I'm used to. Besides seafood, too many new customs."

You produced a soft gasp as your eyes widened slightly. Childe stood guard, waiting for you to tell him what was wrong. "I'm a failure of a mentor," what. His eyes watched as you turned to face him (as he did) with an amused glint in your eyes paired by a light smirk. "I didn't get to teach you how to use chopsticks."

His face dropped into a deadpan, before you two harmonized into bouts of varying laughter. Your other hand placed itself on your chest to minimize the vibrations of your giggles, not wanting to put pain into yourself. A flash of hurt recognition passed through his eyes.

"Master, I'm so-"

"(Y/N)." You immediately interjected as you gazed at him past your eyelashes. His breath hitches.

"Ah, (Y/N)," you nodded at his experimental taste of your name and urged him to continue. He opens his mouth before closing it again, a silent debate within the depths of his brain, before his lips parted with a different thought. "Teach me when I come back, please?"

Your eyes widen in surprise and amusement, "I'm sure you'd pick it up easily."

You're not wrong, but he's adamant. "Nah, I'm sure I wouldn't, I heard they're really a handful. I'd rather wait for you."

Giggling again, you raised your mobile hand as he did own, exchanging the most genuine smile. "Okay, pinky promise?"

"Pinky promise."

I wrote this for two hours straight to the point that my left arm doesn't work anymore....

@moaa @kookieyachi @zelos-simp @legionqueensav @dandelion-dreams @snackgod @rxsalinee

[yellowocaballero]

Jon & Sasha Arson fic

Little fragment of an idea that never went anywhere. No reason for it. Just thought it would be funny. I was right. Rest under the cut. 

Most people who were unlucky enough to meet Jonathan Sims assumed he had no friends.

This was true, up to a point two weeks after Jon became a researcher at the Magnus Institute: afterwards Jon had no friends, except for Sasha James.

Sasha James was attributable to arson.

Most people who were unlucky enough to meet Jonathan Sims assumed he had no friends. 

This was true, up to a point two weeks after Jon became a researcher at the Magnus Institute: afterwards Jon had no friends, except for Sasha James. 

*******

Sasha James was attributable to arson.

Arson was attributable to a bookshelf of Leitners, humming strange songs and spewing toxic energy into the air in rhythmic hissing motions. The Leitners were attributable to Artifact Storage, a testament to mankind’s hubris and a modern-day tower of Babel where a group of underpaid academics found themselves stress testing kevlar and fire suppression systems each day. Artifact Storage was attributable to the Magnus Institute, where Jon had managed to land a job after three months of desolate post-graduate unemployment. And the Magnus Institute was attributable to - well, probably Jonah Magnus, but Jon found that it was likely a bit of a reach to blame a long dead Regency gentleman for all of his problems. 

Jon needed this job. London was expensive and so were funerals, and he couldn’t keep living on life insurance forever. It was even a good job, with decent pay and the exact kind of limp, half-hearted academia that the private sector promised disillusioned English mastery holders. His coworkers were nice - well, Tim was nice, everybody else seemed to hate him for the same reason that everybody else hated him, likely intimidated by how smart he was - and the commute was short. He couldn’t afford to lose this job. Spiritually, metaphysically, and literally. 

Which was why he should stop staring at this piece of paper. The follow-up research to a statement given by some idiot unlucky enough to cross paths with what was certainly a Leitner. 

‘ORIGINATION OF PHENOMENA ISOLATED’, the page read out professionally, yet chipperly, like a young woman in a new office job. ‘ITEM QUARANTINED WITHIN ARTIFACT STORAGE (46B.1)’. 

Hm. 

Jon pushed down on the floor, rolling himself a meter to the left.

“Say, er, Mr. Stoker.”

Tim “I’m only four years older than you, please call me Tim” Stoker, who had been thumping away on his cheap plastic keyboard either writing up a report or messaging someone on one of those infernal casual sex websites, pulled down his headphones and blinked at Jon owlishly, before splitting his face into a grin. Jon could practically hear the David Attenborough-style narration within his mind: ‘After long weeks leaving out food for the wild Simothan, the feral yet gentle animal approaches the researcher of his own volition. A win for scientists everywhere.’

“Yes, Jon?” Tim asked, in an uncanny yet hopefully unintentional RP drawl. 

“What’s Artifact Storage?”

“God, I wish I was you,” Tim said feelingly. But he nodded sagely anyway, milking his ‘wise senpai’ thing for all it was worth. Jon could practically feel Tim calling himself a senpai. It was kind of embarrassing. “You know the shady room locked deep within the basement that exudes a terrible aura of malice and hatred towards you specifically?”

“The gender neutral bathroom?” Jon asked, confused. 

“No, the one that always smells somewhat of blood. You hear screams sometimes?”

“The Archives!”

“Yes, but no! It’s Artifact Storage. If the researchers dig up any creepy shit from a statement, or if a statement giver brings in something that melts the metal detector, then we dump it in Artifact Storage and let those miserable fucks take care of it.”

“Is it more of a containment facility, or would you say that they conduct experiments?”

But Tim just shrugged. “My source down there tells me that they do some experiments to justify their budget, but it’s mostly unscientific. Poke this and I’ll give you twenty quid, that kind of thing. They say that if you really want a sick day, all you have to do is touch a mysterious rock and whisper your mother’s name -”

“Fantastic, thank you for your help, must go back to filling now,” Jon said quickly, skittering back to his own desk. He tried to distract himself from the terrifying thought of the basement full of supernatural nuclear bombs underneath his feet by trying to remember his mother’s name, but he was stuck on if it was Marjorie or Margaret. Mary Anne?

Maybe Tim’s personal Meerkat Manor series of Jon’s life had paid off - Sims Shack? - more than Jon would like, because Tim squinted at Jon in an unsettlingly familiar way. As if he knew exactly what Jon was thinking about the literature of mass destruction, and he really wanted Jon to be thinking literally anything else. 

“I wouldn’t go down there if I were you, Jon,” Tim warned, sounding a little like a horror movie trailer. “Bushy tailed college grads who go down there don’t come out the same as they went in.”

“I’ll take that under advisement, Mr. Stoker.”

“For the love of christ call me Tim!”

It really was a pity - Jon had actually liked this job. 

*******

It was remarkably easy to commit arson in central London.

Jon had done it once or twice. Three times, actually, although when you think about it arson was a criminal charge and only truly existed so long as someone was charged with it, so technically you could say that Jon had done arson zero times. In his defense, you try making it through Oxford without doing anything embarrassing. 90% of your time was in class or schoolwork and 10% of it was being hazed. At least Jon hadn’t fucked any pigs. 

Jon hit up the usual stores, and stashed the usual implements in his rucksack. It was a careful week after his conversation with Tim, as he couldn’t afford for the older man to connect the dots. He made a show of going home at a timely five pm, startling everybody around him, and paced in a tight circle around his flat until he gave up and watched mindless telly until the clock struck midnight. 

He took a cab to the park a few blocks down from the Institute, and walked the rest of the way. It was a cool, dim night in London, and the foot-traffic had slowed down to a steady trickle of young people in tight clothing. Jon pulled down his baseball cap on his head, fished a key out from his pocket given to him by a helpful and friendly janitor, and took a back entrance into the Institute. 

Said helpful and friendly janitor, whose allegiance had been won because Jon was a “nice young lad” and “I always wanted to burn down the place myself, I’m happy to see the next generation give it a go” had helpfully told Jon that there were no security cameras inside the Institute. A grievous oversight, but good luck for Jon tonight. He took the stairs down to the basement, zipping his jacket up tight against the inescapable chill, and pushed his hat further down his head as he navigated his way towards Artifact Storage.

He unlocked the door with the janitor’s key, hands shaking, and slipped inside into the dusky and unlit room. 

It was pitch-black, and Jon quickly fished a torch out of his backpack. He flipped it on, letting it slowly scan the room. It was the lobby into Artifact Storage, familiar from his stake-out missions: you walked in, met the bored woman behind the desk, checked in or checked out what you wanted, and if you needed to go inside she would press the button that unlocked the heavy climate-controlled door and let you into the hallway inside. The only other door in the lobby was to the office of the Director of Artifact Storage, a terrifying short and squat woman with silver hair pulled into a bun. 

Jon leaned over the counter and jammed the button, holding his breath until he heard the door click open. He quickly twisted the handle, swung the heavy door out, and slipped inside, taking care to grab one of the chairs in the lobby and prop it open. Quick escapes were necessary. 

He was in. 

The torch lit up a map taped up to the wall, and Jon squinted at it. Section A, Section B, Section C...he remembered the classification from the document he read a week ago, and slowly walked down the hallway until he found the heavy climate controlled door marked ‘SECTION B’. He carefully wrenched it open, taking care to grab a rolling cart and using it to prop the door open, before stepping inside. He fished the canister of gasoline and the lighter out of his backpack, giving the gasoline a good shake. 

It was a library. Small, and instead of shelves there were long metal racks with filing boxes stretching long into the darkness, but Jon knew a library when he saw one. Each box had a clipboard attached to it, and most boxes had very large and terrifying stickers on them painted sickly yellow or dangerous red. 

The only thing in the library that wasn’t a filing rack was a battered and beat couch. And the only person in the room besides Jon was a woman, blinking up at Jon blearily from where she had been passed out on the couch. 

“Er,” Jon said. 

The woman sat up, squinting at Jon’s torchlight until he guiltily aimed it just to her left. She had a wild mane of curly brown hair, and was wearing a pencil skirt and ruffled burgundy blouse. A blazer was folded at one end of the couch, clearly being used as a pillow, and she looked strongly as if Jon had just woken her up from a very nice nap. 

“Whuh,” the sleepy woman said. 

“My mistake,” Jon said, “this isn’t the loo. Go back to bed, this is - er, a very bad dream, goodnight.”

“Whutuhiseet,” the woman slurred. 

“It’s - very late, go back to bed.”

“Alright,” the woman said, falling back on the couch. After a second, her snores echoed through the room again. 

Jon very slowly crept backwards. Actually, on second thought, his mission could wait for tomorrow. Bit of a cock block, this, but that was alright - 

“Hey! Who are you!”

Jon, hand on the handle of the door, squeaked and turned around. 

The woman was back up again, and this time she seemed actually awake. She was frowning mightily at Jon, and was already sliding off the couch in stocking feet to glare at him. Jon was aware that he did not look like an innocent person in these events. The gasoline did not help.

The woman’s eyes trailed to the gasoline, then widened. Jon ineffectually tried to hide it behind his back. 

“You’re trying to burn down Artifact Storage!” the woman accused, somewhat fairly.

“Not all of Artifact Storage,” Jon said guiltily, “just the Leitners.”

The woman stared at him further, as if she was a special guest on Tim’s Sims Shack nature documentary. 

“Why,” the woman said slowly, “would you want to do that?”

Despite himself, Jon found himself puffing up in indignation. “They’re evil, nasty little books that shouldn’t exist. Forget studying and - and containing them, we should be making sure no more of them ever disgrace the world again. We should be burning every one we see. They’re pure evil given literary form, they are a disgrace to books and libraries, and if I ever met Leitner myself I would beat him to death with a rusty pipe for subjecting me to his fucked up books.”

The woman stared at him. 

Finally, she said, “I’m Sasha James. Want some help?”

“I - er, wouldn’t that get you in trouble, Ms. James?” 

“I like this job but I hate Leitner and his fucked up books more,” Sasha said gravely. 

Jon, having found a kindred spirit, held out the lighter. 

Sasha James took it, a wide grin splitting her face. 

*********

Jon didn’t remember much else of that night. 

There was definitely arson involved - or, seeing as they hadn’t gotten caught, just some good old-fashioned fire starting. He had the sense that they had both been so giddy with adrenaline that they had immediately joined the raging uni students in the late night bars, toasting their success in toasting. There had probably been quite a bit of alcohol.

When he woke up the next morning, it was in his narrow and uncomfortable bed, face to face with an unfamiliar snoring woman. For a second, two, Jon was briefly convinced that he had done something so drastically out of character it meant that a fucked up book had body swapped him with Tim. Bodyswapping was more likely than him having casual sex. 

Then Jon remembered the arson, and he exhaled in relief as his life made sense again. 

“Ms. James,” Jon whispered, poking her in the arm. She snuffled and muttered something. Jon poked her harder. “Ms. James, we have work.”

Sasha turned around, turning her back to him and pulling up the blankets. “Go back to bed, Tim.”

Ti - oh god. Jon felt like he was in a CW drama. This was why he didn’t interact with people, far too much likelihood that he would accidentally end up interacting with somebody who had sex.

“Ms. James,” Jon hissed, extremely embarrassed, “you have to get up!”

“Mergh mergh fuck off,” Sasha James said. 

Jon, like a true gentleman and hero, got up and made them both strong tea. He squinted at Sasha, recalling everything he knew about her (slept a lot, liked arson, hated Jurgen Leitner) before digging out some instant coffee and making some of that too. Finally, after shoving a hot cup of sludgey black liquid at the woman, she grabbed the cup and chugged it until she was able to sit up and open her eyes. 

She blinked at Jon, who was already picking his hair in an attempt to get ready for work. He could clearly see the thoughts ‘you aren’t Tim’ run through her brain. Hah! He could be the narrator of the nature documentary for once!

“Uh,” Sasha James said, “I’m sorry, did we…?”

“Commit arson? Yes.” Jon paused a beat. “But as I don’t believe we were caught, call it an indoor campfire.”

Sasha James drank more of her coffee. Jon grabbed his clothing and disappeared into the loo to get changed. 

When he re-entered his bedroom, she snapped her fingers at him. “Right! We got pissed after! Good times, mate!”

“I have to assume,” Jon said politely. He was doing his very best to be very polite, because Jon knew he was rude and didn’t want his new coworkers to know that until his probation period was over. Maybe he should have waited until after his probation period for the arson? Would it look bad on his annual review? “Do you need to borrow some clothing? I think we’re about the same size.” Oh, no, was that rude to say to a woman?

Sasha James squinted at him. “It’s like you’re not hungover at all. How old are you?”

“Twenty five?” Be polite, Jon! “And you’re...thirty seven?”

“I’m thirty one, asshole!”

Oh no. Women hated it when you called them old. “You don’t look a day over twenty seven!” Jon cried, panicked. 

“Have you met a woman?”

“I had a grandmother?”

“I’m going back to bed,” Sasha James said. 

Unfortunately, Jon knew that it would be very suspicious if they both skipped, so he forced Sasha into one of his suits that...looked much nicer on her than him, but whatever, and hustled them both to work. Now that the adrenaline had worn away and the sense of purpose in his holy mission had burned up with the cleansing flames, Jon found himself biting his nails in agony in the Underground. 

They had to know. Someone must have caught them. Maybe there were secret CCTVs in the Institute. Maybe Sasha was going to rat him out - but she had helped, so wouldn’t she just be ratting out herself? Was she a double agent? Mr. Bouchard was never going to forgive him, no matter how nice he was and how much he seemed to like Jon to the point where he rather wished someone had given him the ‘Stranger Danger’ speech as a child so he would know what to do. Jon was going to go to jail, or worse - get fired. 

Sasha, cooly sipping her coffee and looking somewhat fly in sunglasses and his suit, did not seem disturbed by any of this. Jon’s rapidly spiralling panic attack must have been obvious, because she casually flicked a finger on his forehead. Jon yelped with pain. 

“Take it easy, mate. If they catch us, I’ll just say that the books made us do it.”

Jon scowled at her, rubbing his smarting forehead. “The books?”

“Sure.” She waved her fingers spookily as the Underground rattled forward into the heart of London. “Brainwashed us to do their evil bidding of -”

“Destroying them?”

“There’s a lot of arson Leitners,” Sasha James said sagely. “Trust me, this is just a normal day in Artifact Storage.” She clapped him reassuringly on the shoulder, and Jon fought a blush. “Don’t worry. We performed a public service, kiddo. St. Peter’s gonna give us a medal when we get to the pearly gates.”

“I’m an adult,” Jon said, scandalized. He had gray hair!

“Well, I guess, but I don’t know your name, so…”

 Jon squinted at her. She squinted at him back. 

“You’re thinking that if you don’t give me your name I can’t rat you out to the feds,” Sasha said flatly. 

Jon pursed his lips. 

Finally, he settled on, “You don’t rat me out to the feds and I won’t tell them that you’re in an illicit relationship with Mr. Stoker.”

“Mr. - how did - what!”

“It’s Jonathan Sims,” Jon said gruffly, crossing his arms. He was slightly hungover and his nerve were jittery and he had set fire to his workplace the previous night, but somehow Jon thought that his heart was jackrabbiting in his chest for a different reason. Somehow Jon felt as if his heart couldn’t stop thumping behind his sternum because Sasha James was staring at him, head cocked, as if he was a mystery she was interested in finding out. “That’s my name.”

Sasha James stared at him, as if surprised, before her face broke into a wide and happy smile. Jon hunched his shoulders up, embarrassed, faintly aware he was blushing. “It’s nice to meet you, Jonathan!” Then she grabbed him by the collar, shaking him slightly. “And there is nothing illicit about me and Tim, and there is nothing between me and Tim at all, we are just friends, so get that out of your little head -”

The train rattled on towards the Magnus Institute, and towards the slight smell of smoke in the air. 

*******

Sasha: are you coming 2 the pub w/us 2nite?

Sasha: come onnn you should comeee don’t feel awkwardddd 

Sasha: I know you hate a) group settings b) drunk people c) Tim in a group d) drunk Tim and e) Tim drunk in a group but that’s no reason not to come!

Sasha: Tim is physiologically incapable of not adopting men 3-5 years younger than him it’s in his blood you can’t escape his affection

Sasha: or at least I find it funny so I’m not letting you

Sasha: Jonnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn

Jon: Yes I’ll come, I need to talk to both of you.

Sasha: WAHOO

Sasha: wait

Sasha: really?

Sasha: did you commit ars*on again

Sasha: wait if you did don’t tell me the courts can request text transcripts

Jon: No, I just need your advice on an urgent matter.

Sasha: do you need to be drunk to do it

Jon: ...maybe.

Jon: ....Mr. Bouchard offered me the Head Archivist Job?

Jon: Which is stupid because I’ve worked here for barely four years and you’ve worked here for about ten years I think. And you’ve published five papers in parapsychological research. I know I helped you figure out that this place is a weird trauma mill but it was really mostly you. It’s completely ridiculous to promote me and I’m afraid it’s favoritism. For potentially heinous ends? This feels awful because it’s such an honor but I would never stop feeling stressed and guilty because I know so many more people (like you) are so much more qualified. Or qualified at all.

Sasha: holy shit

Sasha: ...do you remember the speech I gave you on stranger danger?

Jon: I’m afraid to mention this to Tim because he might beat up Mr. Bouchard for both my honor and yours.

Sasha: Jesus at this point I don’t even want a fucking job anymore. What bullshit. I’m never going to get promoted and I just need to accept that. This isn’t your fault, Jon, seriously, thank you for telling me. 

Sasha: we can talk about this at the pub

Sasha: in private. Off the radar. 

Jon: Looking forward to it :)

Jon: did I use the emoticon right?

Sasha: Yes, Jon, you did everything right. 

[robininthelabyrinth]

Nie Mingjue and Wen Ning as conscious fierce corpse buddies

ao3 link

By everyone’s agreement (except his own), Wen Ning was the sect leader.

Of course, practically speaking, Nie Mingjue actually ran everything; he was the one with the experience in it, after all, and he claimed he was no good at teaching, which was the other thing they generally did.

This was, of course, a blatant lie – the few times he did agree to take on some classes, they were by far the most popular – but Wen Ning had yet to figure out how to get Nie Mingjue to do anything he didn’t want to do, and anyway he really was very good at all the work that went into being sect leader, so it all worked out quite well for everybody in the end.

How they ended up with a sect in the first place, Wen Ning will never know.

The school had been Song Lan’s idea, though; that much was certain. Or, well, Wen Ning supposed it was actually Xiao Xingchen’s idea to start with, or possibly both of them, but Song Lan had been the one to make it an operational proposal and anyway Xiao Xingcheng had been a scattered soul at the time so Wen Ning felt pretty comfortable ascribing the idea to Song Lan.

Xiao Xingchen’s back now.

So was Xue Yang, but that was unfortunately unavoidable – their souls had become so intertwined by the time they’d both died that there was really no bringing one back without the other, much to Song Lan’s annoyance. Out of lack of better options, Xue Yang was currently being kept very firmly under control, even lock and key if it seemed appropriate - he didn’t object as long as it was Xiao Xingchen applying the locks - and they hadn’t entirely decided if he was going to need to be executed for the good of society at some point. 

Still, at least for the time being, he was being useful. No one could say that Xue Yang wasn’t a genius when it came to inventing new things, even if he wasn’t as good as Wei Wuxian, and their school was as much about research as it was teaching.

After all, demonic cultivation was pretty new. There was a lot out there to discover.

A lot out there to teach.

It wasn’t like not having anyone around to teach them stopped there from being demonic cultivators in the first decade or so after Wei Wuxian’s death, especially given how easily it could be picked up. Unfortunately, most of them weren’t very good at it, and there were pitfalls for any cultivation path, much less such a dangerous one, reviled by the whole world.

Song Lan, who’d picked up the basics during the time that he’d been controlled by Xue Yang, had argued that it was cruel to allow people to pick it up out of desperation and to charge ahead with no guidance – that without a firm hand to show them the way, most people would end up getting corrupted, or just mess something up and end up in a qi deviation.

(Nie Mingjue was understandably a bit sensitive about those, so that was the argument that had worked on him. Wen Ning, for his part, was a little bit bitter about everyone, and hadn’t much cared what happened ot them, but on the other hand what else did he have to do?)

So they’d started the school.

Only about a quarter of their disciples so far were there willingly – most of the others were dropped off by Jiang Cheng, who had some trouble dropping his habits of finding them wherever they were, and everyone agreed that their school was a better place for them than his dungeons – but the number was steadily growing as their reputation got out there.

Their reputation as teachers, that is. Everyone knew about the other thing.

The whole…fierce corpses thing.

Hard to avoid everyone knowing, what with Wen Ning, the Ghost General, being the sect leader.

Obviously in a perfect universe, Wei Wuxian would be the one in charge – of the school, of the sect they formed to support the school, of the whole demonic cultivation path that he invented – but he was busy in Gusu doing…something.

Mostly his husband.

At least he came by to visit on a regular basis?

Though actually now that Wen Ning thought about it, he didn’t actually like the times when Wei Wuxian and Xue Yang would get drunk together and came up with new ideas – it’d been Nie Mingjue who’d figured out how to restore a sense of taste to a fierce corpse, though he refused to divulge where he got the idea or how he’d come up with it but no one really cared to pry too much because it worked – because the ideas were invariably fascinating, innovative, and uniformly awful.

Also, Wei Wuxian visiting usually meant that Wen Ning needed to sit with Lan Wangji all night to make sure he didn’t accidentally liberate any of their staff, usually in the guise of keeping him company, and he knew the man didn’t like him. He always had a look of a man sucking a lemon whenever he visited.

…maybe that was just the name of their sect that he object to.

In their defense, neither Wen Ning, Nie Mingjue, nor Song Lan were especially creative people, Xiao Xingchen and Xue Yang hadn’t yet been revived, little A-Qing hadn’t yet been reincarnated nor revived her memories – they’d just picked the most straightforward name they could think of.

And, well, they were all gui. What was wrong with calling it the Gui Sect?

Sometimes Wen Ning thought that Lan Wangji was unnecessarily judgy.

“What are you brooding about?” a voice interrupted his thoughts, and Wen Ning looked up with a smile.

“Sect business,” he lied, and Nie Mingjue rolled his eyes at him, clearly not believing him for a moment.

“What about sect business? The trade disputes?”

Wen Ning frowned. “We have trade disputes?!” He hadn’t even heard about – oh, no, Nie Mingjue was laughing. “We don’t have trade disputes.”

“We’re supported by all four of the Great Sects, between Wei Wuxian at Gusu, Jin Ling at Lanling, Jiang Cheng – as a favor to the former two – in Yunmeng, and last but not least my brother. Who’s going to start a trade dispute with us?”

That was comforting. Sort of comforting?

“Are we bullying people with our resources?” he asked, worrying his lower lip with his teeth.

“Of course we are,” Nie Mingjue said, sounding satisfied. Ugh, sect leaders. Somehow – with some admittedly fairly major variations in style – they were all the same, always looking for an advantage for their sects.

Wait, he’s a sect leader now. Does that mean he’s like that?

No, he’s a terrible sect leader, which means he’s exempt. A bit like Nie Huaisang had been all those years, as the Head-shaker…on second thought, that was part of a giant plot that had in fact ended with the Nie sect ascendant above all the others – the Jin sect in tatters, the Jiang sect isolated as always, the Lan sect putting all their attention on having to corral Wei Wuxian – so maybe it wasn’t the best comparison.

Ugh. Why is this Wen Ning’s life?

“Stop thinking about running away to be a rogue cultivator again, it’s much too late for that,” Nie Mingjue advised him, not unkindly. Wen Ning hadn’t even said anything. “Besides, you like teaching juniors. Even delinquent juniors.”

“They’re mostly not delinquents anymore,” Wen Ning objected. It was really amazing how being forced to attend a class taught by Xue Yang was enough to drive most young people far away from the mere idea of being a delinquent again lest they risk turning into him – and to help identify the remaining ones that needed to be kept under very close supervision. “Speaking of teaching, when are you taking another class? Your training sessions with Baxia don’t count.”

“From the number of people watching, they should.”

“It still doesn’t count,” Wen Ning said firmly, even if it really probably should – watching Nie Mingjue, a fierce corpse, working seamlessly with a spiritual weapon specifically designed to eradicate fierce corpses was truly a fascinating sight.

Of course, most people were more fascinated by the fact that Nie Mingjue usually did his training shirtless – including Wei Wuxian, irritatingly enough, though interestingly Lan Wangji, who was usually the first one at the vinegar jar, didn’t seem to object – but nothing much could be done about that.

(Fierce corpses did not need to worry about the heat, or sweat, or any of the usual motivations for going shirtless, but Nie Mingjue claimed it was a psychological need based on years of habit-building. For anyone else, Wen Ning would think that they were vain and secretly enjoying the attention, but with Nie Mingjue…it probably really was just habit.)

“Fine,” Nie Mingjue said. “Give me one of the basic seminars; I’ll do that. Not one of the musical ones.”

Wen Ning had learned by now that there was no point in smothering smiles – after all, he was a sect leader, and no one had the right to criticize or yell at him for smiling too much or for taking too much attention to himself.

Take that, Wen Chao.

“No,” he said. “I haven’t forgotten that you’re nearly tone-deaf.”

“At least one of you hasn’t.”

“Xiao Xingchen means well,” Wen Ning said, even though honestly by this point it was pretty clear he was just forcing Nie Mingjue to try out new and increasingly exotic instruments for his own (and everyone else’s) amusement. “It’s a little funny.”

Nie Mingjue rolled his eyes again, looking long-suffering, but he had a pretty good sense of humor about these things.

Also, if he was ever actually upset about something, Nie Huaisang would have fixed it.

No one would have enjoyed Nie Huaisang fixing things, but he would still have fixed it. He always fixed things that affected his brother. 

(Example number one: Jin Guangyao, his eventual demise, and everything that happened after that.)

“I actually came here to give you news,” Nie Mingjue said. “Would you like to hear it?”

Wen Ning had politely requested – a little desperately – that Nie Mingjue check first. The other man had a way of just saying things without any consideration for the anxiety of the person he was talking to, with things like “we’ve misplaced a student” or “don’t worry it wasn’t a student we actually liked” or “Xue Yang is on the loose and he’s summoned something again” or, one memorable instance, “Baxia decided to summon a dozen of her close friends and family and they may or may not be attacking the staff rooms, but honestly she’s having so much fun that I don’t really feel like stopping her, thought you should know.”

Wen Ning took a deep breath that he didn’t need, firmed up his emotional resiliency, braced himself, and said, “Yes.”

“A-Qing thinks she found your sister’s reincarnation,” Nie Mingjue said, and the air shot out of Wen Ning’s lungs as if he’d been punched. “You know that she’s been sensitive to these things ever since her rebirth, we did some investigating, and we’re pretty sure. How would you like us to handle it?”

Wen Ning scrubbed his face. “I – have no idea. I thought her spirit was still haunting the place where her ashes were?”

“Just one of her souls, and the new body is one short. They’ll have to be reunited eventually or else she’ll suffer the physical effects of missing a soul, but there’s a way to do it that maximizes the chances of her recovering her memory from her previous life and a way to do it to minimize it.”

Wen Ning put his head down on his desk. “I…I don’t know. Our life was pretty awful, so maybe she’d be better off not remembering? But I also want my jiejie back…I hate decisions. Why did I become a sect leader again?”

“We told you that you didn’t have a choice and you lacked the spine to resist.”

“…thanks.”

Nie Mingjue shrugged. “Sometimes I really do wonder what you did in a previous life to deserve this one.”

Ouch. “Thanks.”

“Anytime,” Nie Mingjue said. “Come out and spar with me, it’ll help you think it over.”

“I don’t have time to think about anything else while we spar, though…?”

“Exactly.”

“…do I get a choice about this?”

“No. Get a move on.”

Wen Ning let himself be dragged over to the training fields. “You do remember I’m sect leader, right?”

“So is my brother,” Nie Mingjue pointed out and – fair.

“Your brother is one of the most terrifying people in the cultivation world.”

“And he still lets me boss him around. What’s your point?”

…fair.

“No point,” Wen Ning said, and waved to some of their more promising students, who immediately perked up at the thought of getting to watch them spar. “No point at all.”

In the end, he thought, his life hadn’t turned out that badly after all.

[dancingthesambaa]

The Smell Of Plum Blossom Tea Ch 5

Summary: Just like a butterfly wing, a single act of kindness can change the course of the future, it certainly did for MK as a black-furred monkey put out a hand towards him.

Rating: Teen and up

Chapter 5: By Your Side

“Next is the bag of chips, why he likes pizza flavor I will never know,” Mac muttered as he pushed his cart through the aisles.

The two teenagers in his care, at this point Mei might as well be one of his, had opted out of the grocery trip and decided to do their own thing on the other side of town. Still well perfectly within hearing distance, but he smartly decided not to eavesdrop on their conversations, he would rather not have two very creative, and vengeful, kids out to get him.

After he had grabbed the bag of chips and placed it in with all the many, many items in the cart, some of them were not even for him and the two kids as his friends tend to make themselves at home at times. He feels like he should be charging his friends for the amount of stuff he gets for them no matter how rich he may be.

‘Who even needs this many ghost peppers, 3 bundles of apples, a bag of soft sponges, industrial nail filer, and a goddamn indestructible chew ball,’ he internally ranted in his head as he went through another aisle, ‘What am I, their parent?’ They have their own damn jobs!’ He then looked through some of their teas available and his nose scrunched up as he picked up a box of passion fruit tea. “Who the fuck even likes passion fruit tea? That shit is way too sweet,” he grumbled to himself.

“Well store bought ones usually don’t have that same ‘Oomph’ as homemade ones,” a deep voice said.

“You’re telling me,” Mac agreed as he side glance at the man who was reaching for one of the teas on the top shelf as he couldn’t contain his eye twitch. ‘Okay, been in this city for gods knows how long, and in the span of less than a year I managed to find ones that are descendants or reincarnation of most of the fucking crew. What the actual fuck is this sort of luck?! I know that there are historians willing to sell their soul for even a trace of this, so what kind of fucked up luck am I getting that I just stumbled upon them.’

“Hm,” he, the overgrown beast of a demon that shared too much resemblance to Sha Wujing, titled his head to him. “Is there something the matter?” His eyes widen as he tries to look over his body and pants, “Do I have cat hair on me?! I thought I managed to clean the last of it off before I left.”

“No, no,” he waved him off, “just thought you looked familiar, that’s all.”

“Oh well in that case,” the large man shifted his basket to his other hand and stuck out his right, “my name is Sandy, it’s nice to meet a fellow tea lover.”

Macaque stared at the hand for a bit before giving a small smirk and shaking it, “Name Macaque and right back at ya big lug.”

“Personally I like the Biluochun Tea,” Sandy said as he plucked up a box of Chamomile, “but unfortunately they have yet to fully bloom in my garden so I am making do with a substitute,” he joked.

“Then how about Kuding?” Mac recommended.

“I may like the taste of bitter, but I don’t want that to be my only taste,” he admitted.

“Well I think it’s pretty good.”

“Let me take a wild guess and say that you don’t like sweet things.”

“I only tolerate for my kiddos,” he mumbled as he put the box of Junshan Yinzhen Tea, he already had a batch of Kuding growing out in the garden, so there is little point in grabbing a weak ass store brand tea that held not even the same resemblance to how it truly tastes. He tried a box out of sheer curiosity and immediately chuck that so far away, that thing that called itself Kuding tea is a disgrace to the true masterpiece.

“You have kids,” the demon piped up as he walked alongside the monkey.

“Technically one, but with the number of times she stays over, I might as well claim that hellion,” he grumbled as the two goes out of the aisle and towards the meat.

“Awww, that’s sweet,” he put his hand to his very muscular chest, “the only little ones I have are my adorable cats,” he then proudly showed off his wallet which had an assortment of different kinds of cats.

“Cute,” he admitted as he took in the collection of cats, “was this an all at once thing or more of a gradual.”

“Oh some were gradual, others were in groups, and some was just picked up,” he said as he put up his wallet, “Like one day I come home and find Mimi, one of my older ones, carrying the most adorable blue kitten,” he began to tell his tale of Mo as the two continued their shopping together.

“I’ll be with you in just a moment,” Pigsy yelled out as he served a tray full of steaming hot noodles to his other customers.

“Man, this place is packed today,” Mac said as he took the only seat on the counter, which was by the entrance. The place was brimming with customers, either loitering outside waiting for their order or just chatting amicably inside.

“Yeah, lunch hour kicks my as-butt each time,” he had to suppress a groan and put on a customer service grin as he watched another group stroll in. “Be with you in a minute!”

“I thought you had some staff? I know the last time we came in, we saw a driver leaving with the food,” he asked as he straightened out his lavender dress covered with floral print.

“Well,” Pigsy said after he finished taking orders and began making the food, “I had to fire that lazy bum after he called off so many times, a few I get, but how does 4 out of the five days you work help?! And you still expect me to pay you for a full two weeks of service?” He grumbled harshly as he then took a few of the clean bowls out.

“Yikes,” Mac grimaced, “…want some help?”

The owner paused and sharply looked towards the monkey, “you offering?”

“Yeah, don’t really have anything better to do, besides,” he showed off two more clones, which barely made people bat an eye as they were too engrossed in their meals and phones, “I am basically a one man army.”

Pigsy looked so wistfully at that power and quickly asked, “are you any good at customer service?”

“I volunteer at a theater,” he raised an eyebrow.

“You're hired,” the shorter demon threw an apron at him, “you’ll get paid by the end of the day.”

“Instead of that, how bout next time I drop by, food is on the house?” He bargained as he put on the apron.

“Deal,” he instantly agreed and he could feel a wave of relief wash over him as he now could focus on cooking instead of everything at once. “Next time why don’t you talk to Tang about how free meals work, maybe then his lazy butt can finally start paying me.”

“Why don’t you just not give him free food?” Macaque smirked as he saw a faint blush on the pig’s face.

“Shut up,” he muttered.

The monkey said nothing more as he put the apron on, turned to the group of people that was just seated, took out a notepad, and gave his most theatrical smile “Welcome to Pigsy Noodles, what can I get started for you?”

“So anyway, I have been looking through some of the books that I saw in an antique store, and let me tell you that I scored the motherload!” Tang excitedly said as he talked beside the lake. “Guess what I happened to find.”

“What?” The creature prompted him as he casually floated in the water.

“You have money? You actually have a job,” the other being questioned, “and you still let Pigsy pay for your food?”

“It’s a journal that tells the tale of someone who got trapped in the spiritual world after a failed ritual!” He exclaimed as he steadfastly ignored the previous question.

“Pffftt,” he sputtered out a laugh.

“I don’t know about you but isn’t it usually a bad thing when someone gets trapped somewhere,” Macaque drawled out as he chewed on a plum as he stretched out on the grass with a baby monkey clinging onto him. Ní, who decided to chill in her rabbit form for some reason, also nodded as she laid down on the sunlight grass. “Also, you haven’t answered my question.”

“Well she obviously is alright since she wrote this book and all,” the historian tried to defend himself as he still didn’t answer.

“Surrree.”

“It’s true, you agree with me right Shu,” he turned to the water demon.

“Absolutely,” the Shui Gui cheekily said.

Tang shot a smirk at him.

“He agrees with anything he finds funny,” he rolled his eyes.

“Well anyway,” he took out the book and showed it to them, “this book illustrates how Chi-Chi journey through the treacherous parts of the realm, tricked many dangerous beings, gazed upon the beauty of the uncharted, and met so many spirits and immortals along the way!”

“Is that so,” Mac hummed.

“I would give an arm and a leg to meet an immortal or even a spirit,” he said unblinkingly then he went back to his fanboy mode, “I would have so many questions to ask them!”

The 2 immortal beings shared a look at each other as the monkey then put a hand over the spirit’s mouth to stop him from saying anything.

“Don’t you even think about it Kappa,” he warned him.

The drowned spirit just gave him a cheeky grin as he raised his webbed hands in the air.

“I swear,” Macaque grumbled as he put down his hand, “how the hell did the two of you even become friends?”

“He fed me some beef jerky,” he happily explained, “and that was the start of a beautiful friendship.”

“And he never once comments on why you always hang around the lake and not anywhere else?” He incredulously said.

“Nope!”

“Adrenaline junkie I swear.”

“You say something?” Tang called out as he paused his fanboy mode.

“Just talking about your obvious crush on Pigsy,” Mac facepalmed when the spirit just had to say that of all things.

“It’s not a crush!” Tang marched up to him with his ears redder than an apple, “Can’t someone just appreciate another person's attractive qualities?”

“Yes, yes you can,” he agreed.

“Good,” the fanatic crossed his arms, “then you can safely assume that-.”

“Butttt you have a fancy for the pig,” the spirit ended.

“NO I DO NOT!”

“The sheer irony is actually ridiculous,” Mac said to himself as he slowly petted the infant.

“Ooo oo,” the baby macaque cooed.

“No, you cannot eat my tail.”

“You know, I’m getting real tired of those idiots' constant fighting,” Macaque grumbled as he petted a very fat and very fluffy cat.

“Tell me about it,” Sandy nodded his head as he drank some tea. “They have been at it for almost the second they met each other.”

“I swear I am so close to just shoving them both in a closet alone and letting them deal with it.”

“Yeahhh, that might not work so well,” Sandy drawled out as he set down his cup.

“Why? Cause it won’t be right,” he mocked.

“Well there’s that, but also there’s the fact that it would absolutely do nothing at all and just lead to them bickering more,” he pointed out.

“You, unfortunately, have a point,” he slumped back as another cat crawled on top of him.

“Also, I may have already tried that.”

“Wait? Really?” He sat back up and looked at the blue demon’s sheepish expression.

“Let me just tell you that seeing it on t.v does not really work the same way as real life,” he still remembered how they were both mad at him for locking them in a room together.

“Tell me about it,” Mac already knows the pain as both MK and Mei went through this phase as they tried to do the most ridiculous stunts or experiment with dangerous chemicals. Luckily he managed to stop or save them in time, but there were a few times where he was preoccupied or just missed it. Let it be known that they both learned their lesson after breaking bones and a fierce rash all over their arms. He still doesn't know what they were trying to prove with the lacquer tree. “Oh yeah, how did it go with flicker the other day? Didn’t give you too much trouble?”

“Oh nothing I couldn’t handle,” Sandy smiled at the mention of his newest client, “Can’t tell you much cause of confidentiality and whatnot, but he is open to another session.”

The monkey nodded, “that’s good, Gods know he needs it, now if Raki was more amenable to the idea, but she is the most prideful person I know and that is including her husband.”

The blue demon winced, “yeahhh I can see how that might be a bit difficult.”

“You're telling me.”

“Focus,” Macaque yelled out as he nimbly dodged a flying kick, “remember that when you strike, you make sure that strike will be your last.”

Mei didn’t say a word as she growled at her missed shot and jumped towards him then fainted for an upward cut then quickly proceeded to go into a low roll as MK came up from behind with a high kick.

“Good plan you two,” he praised as he simply jumped above MK’s head and said, “but try going for a grapple next time, it would have been more effective to topple me over rather than try to catch me off guard in the air.”

MK flipped backward and attempted to grab onto his tail, which he quickly realized was a mistake as he felt the tail wrap around his arm and flung him to Mei, who was charging at him.

“If I was an unskilled fighter then that would have been quite an effective weakness to exploit, but it’s too bad I’m not,” he mocked the two as he caught Mei sword with one hand and MK escrima stick with the other and casually tossed them back to the edges of the tree line.

“Oh come on!/We almost had him!” Both teens yelled out as they simultaneously punched a tree in frustration, which left a handprint etched into the wood when they took it out.

Only Macaque noticed this as both of the kids elected to split off from each other and try to attack him from both sides. “Guess they have adapted quite well to my energy,” he mused as he watched them run towards him, “Probably should tell them to take it easy else they’ll break their bones, again.” He then easily began to dodge from both of their attacks as they gave it their all to finally hit the damn monkey.

And this how it continued, with both seventeen year olds working together to finally land a hit on the speedy monkey, only for it to fail every time.

“You're getting better,” he said as he looked down on the two exhausted teenagers trying to catch their breath.

“One day,” Mei took a long deep breath before continuing, “one day, I don’t know when, but one day I will punch that damn smug off your face.”

“Ditto,” MK raised his hand in the air then dropped it then pushed his loose hair out of his eyes.

Mei saw this and gave a faint snort, “you know I can help with your hair-”

“I’m not putting pigtails in my head again,” he deadpanned.

“Come on, I can even get fluffy to join.”

“How about no,” he bluntly said as handed them two cold water bottles, “take a breather breezy, starlight. We can resume in a few minutes.”

“Okayy,” they moaned out.

“Awww, but I bet you would look cute in pigtails,” they all turned to see Minsheng hop in with a few others as well, “I know there will be a lot of demons just willing to pay for a pic, just think of the money.”

“Remember the glitter,” Macaque growled out.

“The bunny paused and crossed their arms as their friends laughed behind him, “ Well I’m just saying.”

“It took them ages to get all that out,” Daiyu stated, it didn’t even come off until a full month has gone by, and yet they still found small patches in their fur.

“Almost killed him when he tried to hug me with that on him,” Bohai huffed as he glowed a bit at the horrible image of him even having a speck of that abomination on him.

“They looked like my gremlin’s arts and crafts masterpiece when they were five,” Yanyu chortled.

“It was indeed horrible,” Ahmed lowly chuckled out as he slowly trailed behind them all, then all demons, and adult human, in the vicinity paused.

“Oh right this,” the bluenette human almost hit herself at how quickly she forgot, “we did come here for a reason.”

“Voices gettin to ya,” the long-furred monkey easily asked the lion demon.

“They have been a bit annoying,” he gave a weak chuckle.

“I feel ya,” he turned to his kids, “go towards the tree line with the rest of them, it seems that class will have to be cut short.”

“Okay?” Both were very confused, but obliged by the demon words as they walked over to the group, only to be pulled back by Bohai. “Hey!/What?”

“Oh trust me,” the jellyfish demon said, “you do not want to be anywhere near Ahmed at the moment. He’s a bit...unhinged.”

“Him? But he’s a total softie,” Mei shot a look to him.

“He let Mei put ribbons in his mane,” MK added.

“Oh there’s no doubt about Med squishy heart, but there are times where he just has to cut loose, ya feel me,” the vulture just received confused looks.

“Just watch,” the bunny demon grinned and took out a bundle of golden carrots, and began to eat.

“What do you mean-,” she was cut off by Macauqe voice.

“Come at me you overgrown cat.”

They saw Ahmed give a grateful nod before he went on all four, not even caring about his messing up his robes, and his body started to spasm as he let out a fierce roar that made everyone in the vicinity cover their ears.

ROAAARRRRR

He then flickered out of view and the monkey quickly had both his arms crossed in front of him as a plume of dirt and dust gathered around him without warning. It was only when it was settled that the demons and humans saw that the once flat field now had a decent crater in the middle with both lion and monkey. Ahmed gave a low snarl as he saw that the monkey was not harmed.

“Aww baby cub claws not working,” he mocked him as he sent a hard kick to his jaw, “how bout I help ya there.”

He growled as he quickly grabbed the monkey’s leg and flung him to the ground, he gave a nasty grin as he saw blood trickle from his head.

“Wouldn’t get too cocky, haven’t you already tasted the blood trickling out of your jaw?”

The lion stilled as he tasted the metallic tang covering his tongue, he let out a low growl in frustration.

“First blood to me,” was all Mac had to say before the lion gave a roar and lunged at him, thus the fight beginning once more.

MK and Mei were stunned silent as they watch the vicious battle as each time Ahmed tried to throw an attack it would either get dodged or redirected, but if he did manage to land one blood was always shed. Macaque was the same way as each time he managed to strike him down they swore that they heard bones loudly breaking.

But neither side gave in.

“Terrifying right,” they were slightly startled by Yanyu’s voice and couldn’t help, but fall over as they saw, not only her, but everyone casually laying down and/or eating.

“Oh don’t give us that look,” Daiyu said as she hummed and watched the lion attempt to claw the monkey's eyes out, “it’s only some bloodshed, nothing major. Though it would be more thrilling if a certain spider bitch was involved, I would love to see her blood splattered out,” she lowly huffed.

“What she means to say is that Macaque has this well in hand, this isn’t his first time dealing with ol Meddy when he’s primal,” Bohai tried to comfort them.

“Primal?” MK questioned.

“Basically it’s when someone instinct takes over,” Minsheng explained as they munched on their carrot while watching Mac throw him harshly to the ground, “sometimes it’s a good thing like you stuck in a corner and you got a colony you need to protect behind you, it’s one hell of a boost let me tell you. Other times not so much.”

Both kids blinked at that lackluster answer.

“What they mean,” Bohai continued as they casually looked away from Ahmed sinking his teeth into Macaque shoulder, “is that other times the bad times, to put it bluntly, it’s when the voices get so loud that it begins to control your entire being until you finally get rid of it. If you're lucky, it can be as easy as sleeping, if not well,” he looked at where the six-eared monkey had ripped his shoulder away from Ahmed red stained fangs and proceeded to knock out a few teeth in retaliation. “That.”

“He becomes bloodthirsty,” Mei quietly says.

“Yeah,” Yanyu softly brought them down next to her as she gave them a bag of popcorn, “it’s not pretty, but he just has to let it out.”

“But why is Dad the one fighting him?! Why not any of you!” He half shouted in nervousness and anger as he looked towards the demons, specifically Daiyu.

“Well I don’t know about you, but I don’t have a death wish,” Bohai bluntly stated.

“Here here,” Sheng raised his hand.

“Tried that once and I was beaten in a minute flat,” the vulture huffed, “if Mackie wasn’t there then my body would have been a nice dinner to the rest of the wake.”

“Thus their first meeting,” the bunny added.

“Wait, Mac Mac first time meeting Ahmed was when he was beating the shit out of Daiyu and then to each other,” Mei asked.

“Yep,” they collectively said.

“And he is literally the only one able to fight against him?” MK questioned.”

“Yep,” they repeated.

Both teens took a glance as the monkey continued his vicious strikes against the lion, who attempted to decapitate his head every time, but each time he missed he instead decimated any boulders in the unfortunate vicinity into dust. The primal lion retaliated with his own thundering roar, but Macaque was fast enough to dodge the attacks that uprooted a grove of trees.

“Well there goes any small lingering doubts on how he was able to go toe to toe with the Monkey King,” Mei deadpanned as she slumped and stuffed her hand into the popcorn.

MK followed suit as he ate some popcorn, “you’re telling me.”

“He is kicking major monkey ass right now.”

“I am so happy that he is going easy on us,” the ponytail boy whispered out.

“Holy shit, no kidding,” she agreed, “just think, we could have been less than paste on the side of the road with a single hit if he actually tried to let loose with us.”

“Nahh, you don’t have to worry about that,” Min waved their worries off, “other than this, the only other time he actually lets loose is around his exes.”

“I’m sorry, his WHAT?!/Wait? WHAT?!” Mei and MK sat up as Mei continued, “what do you mean exes?!”

“Dad dated?!?!?” MK followed suit.

“Oh yeah,” Yanyu grinned, “I even met some of them, and let me tell you that he has horrible taste in partners.”

“I don’t think it’s his fault that most of them fall on the insane scale and not in a good way,” Bohai deadpanned.

“By insane you mean impulsive as shit that tries to fight anything that moves, then yeah,” Daiyu nodded.

“It’s weird hearing those words coming from you,” the adult human teased.

“Hey, I may like fighting, but even I have my own limits. His partners take the entire train and then the second one charging at em.”

“I’m still trying to wrap my head around Dad dating,” the seventeen year old muttered as he gripped his head as he looked towards the blood stained battle. “This I can get, but dating?”

“…I am so never gonna let this go,” a twinkle of mischievous appeared in Mei's eyes as she looked at them, “sooo if you had to guess, which one is his most insane, or worst, partner.”

“I have to say Hui, that scorpion bastard seemed nice enough, but she was a raging alcoholic that always tried to get into the celestial realm for some booze” Sheng started as they stuffed the rest of the carrot in their mouth.

“Ju. He was a fishy one, that turtle was always looking for his next meal, no matter where it came from,” Bohai grumbled.

“Might have something to do with nature,” Yanyu teased.

“Shut up.”

“Both of ya are brain dead if you forgot who really takes the crown,” the winged demon interjected.

“Who then?”

Daiyu and Yanyu just looked at each other before saying, “Lemur bitch.”

“Fair point,” both aquatic and land demons replied.

“Who?” Mei asked, but it was met with grimaced faces.

“Just,” Bohai began, “just pray you never meet him, Shun is-,” he was cut off by a loud yell.

SLAM

“WE DON’T TALK ABOUT HIM!” Macaque screeched while all his ears flared up, his eyes twitch violently with a wild look. “NEVER!” He repeated as he pressed his foot and staff on the lion’s back, who was just growling out and thrashing wildly under him.

“Yeahhh, let’s just say that after him, doc swore off on dating,” Yanyu sighed as she ate a handful of popcorn.

“But what did he do?” MK said as he was careful to avoid the name.

“Trust me, you don’t want to know.”

“But I really do,” Mei leaned in.

“No you don’t.”

“But I-,” she got a mouthful of popcorn stuffed in her mouth.

“You don’t,” Yanyu pulled back her hand, “now let’s watch them beat the shit out of each other. 20 on Mufasa knocking him out this time.”

“I’ll add to that,” Min added.

“Well I bet 25 that Dad will knock him out!” MK shouted, “there’s no way he’ll lose.”

“And I’ll double that,” Mei joined in after she swallowed the popcorn, “no way pops is losing to an overgrown cat!”

“Get ready to eat your words.”

“The only thing I’ll be eating is some delicious double truffle swirl ice cream with your money.”

“Let’s just see about that.”

(Minsheng soon regretted those words as both Mei and MK happily ate their ice cream alongside a bandaged, but still a very conscious monkey, and a bruised up lion who was contently knocked out.)

“And that should be the last of it,” the eighteen year old boy grinned as he then noticed a violet headband hanging next to a stuffed monkey, “whoops, can’t forget that.” He quickly snatched it up and proceeded to put his hair in a ponytail then began to look around his room.

The room, once filled with clothes spread all over the floor, glow in the dark stars on the ceiling, pictures and posters covering the walls, now laid bare with only a few boxes left to the side filled with them all. MK couldn’t stop the sad grin that formed on his face as he took in the sight of his room-old room, he was going to miss this, but he felt that it was time to move out and try living on his own for a while.

Knock Knock

“Sorry I’m not in right now, leave a message,” he jokingly said despite fully knowing who is on the other side.

The door swung open to reveal Macaque fondly rolling his eyes, “Where’d you get that snark from, I’ll never know.”

“Neither shall I.”

The monkey looked around the room, “so it looks like you're about done, you gonna bring it all over to Pigsy?”

“Most of it, yeah, but I have a separate pile I'm donating or giving to Yan munchkins,” he pointed to a few boxes titled ‘Donations’ and ‘Yanyu Gremlins.’

Mac smirked at the name as he gave a little walk around the bare room and noticed that where the bed used to be was a splatter of red paint and a dent in the wall, “huh, so how did this happen?”

MK froze as he saw what he was looking at and gave a nervous grin, “so remember when Mei was over and we had a bunch of paint for that art project.”

“The one about the deities or the one about nature?”

“Nature, and well remember how you found us covered in paint in here.”

“After I told you to keep it in the kitchen or outside so it won't be too hard to clean up, yes.” He deadpanned.

“And we did at first,” he put a finger up, “buttttt I left some of my materials in my room and it was alot, so Mei followed, but we kinda forgot that we still had wet paint all over us and we began to freak out. One thing led to another and Mei may have accidentally used too much force as she was panicking and let to the dent in the wall, which then made us panic even more, so we had the idea of moving the bed to cover the dent, which worked...except now the covers had paint on it and well....”

“Is how I found the both of you freaking out on the bed covered head to toe in paint,” the monkey snorted.

“In hindsight, we probably should have taken off our shoes before walking inside,” he scratched the back of his neck and sat against the wall opposing the window.

“That would have been a smart idea, took us ages to get it all cleaned,” he smirked as he sat beside him.

The teenager sighed as he looked out the window, “I'm gonna miss this.”

“Pfft, who says you can’t come back?” He playfully ruffled his head, “this isn’t a goodbye, but a see you later, you're always welcomed back home anytime.”

“Even if I screw it up time and time again,” he leaned into the touch.

“Even if you managed to wreck the whole country and have a bounty coming from the heavens that could feed nations for lifetimes,” Mac shot back.

MK laughed at the image, “Havoc in Heaven’s sequel, now with more monkeys.”

“And dragons,” the demon added.

“Mei would kick so much ass.”

“She absolutely would,” he chuckled as he continued to thread his fingers through his son's hair.

It was silent and, like so many times before, the two of them took only comfort from it.

“Dad,” MK quietly began.

“Yes comet.”

“… I’m scared,” he curled up into him, “like super duper scared and I have never left you ever since you saved-,”

“You would have-,” Macaque interjected.

“Saved,” he emphasized, “me and I can never thank you enough for just being there but I really want to do this and I really want to try to do things on my own! But I don’t know why I am so scared-wait I do, but it just so stupid and I can’t believe that I feel this way, cause you won’t just up and leave, but I-,” he stopped as he felt his Dad arms encircle him.

“It’s a scary step and I know change is terrifying, but I am so proud that you want to do this. It will be hard, no doubt, and at times it may seem like the whole world is against you, but know that you still have tomorrow waiting for you. So,” he tilted his son's head, “keep your head held high and look towards the stars, cause that right there is your limit starlight.”

MK smiled at his father's words.

“Also I think you may have forgotten something,” he showed off his six ears fluttering. “I have six ears for a reason, so if you ever need help or just need me, just call and-,”

“You’ll come running,” he grinned as he pushed himself further into the monkey's soft fur.

“And don’t you forget it,” he pushed his face into his son's hair and gave a soft kiss on top.

“I won’t,” he whispered out and clutched onto him tightly as both curled up in content.

[imma-fucking-nerd]

Canine Conundrum

(Connor x reader x Nines)

A/N: got this funny idea and just had to write it. Don't worry, it's pure fluffff. Literally.

Here's Part 2

———————————————

You trudged yourself into the precinct, sighing in relief as you felt the warmth starting to thaw your frozen face. As much as you loved the winter, you fucking hated the cold. Walking to your desk you immediately noticed that both Connor and Conan weren't there. Huh. That was weird. They're always here this early. You thought to yourself. But you simply shrugged it off as you hung your jacket on the back of your chair. They're probably out on an investigation or something.

You sighed softly, missing your greeting from Connor accompanied by a fresh cup of coffee he'd always prepare for you. That meant you had to get it yourself. Hopefully Gavin wasn't here, and with the lack of the presence of Nines you assumed that was the case.

However when you entered the break room you were a bit confused when you saw the DPD's biggest douchebag leaning against the counter. Heading over the coffee machine you started on a cup.

"Where's Nines? It's not like him to not be at work," you asked, keeping your eyes on the coffeemaker.

"Fuck if I know. Wasn't here when I got here. We were supposed to be working on a shitton of reports too. Which I got to do by myself now. Fuckin plastic prick," he grumbled, mumbling the last part to himself.

That only made your confusion grow, it also started to make you worry. Where the hell was he? Maybe he's just with Connor and Hank, wherever they were. Your logical side told you, trying to prevent yourself from overthinking like you always did. 

You gave Gavin a little nod before grabbing your styrofoam cup of coffee and leaving the break room before he had the chance to be a dick about something. You really didn't want to deal with his bullshit right now.

Sitting back at your desk, you got to work filling out reports. It was almost noon when you checked your clock again and there was still no sign of the android brothers. Now your logical thinking was starting to have trouble fighting off the anxiousness. Were they hurt? Were they dead?-

That thought was cut off when you saw Hank walk through the door looking extra done with everything. You got up from your seat and was about to go ask if Connor and Nines were with him when you stopped in your tracks. Following behind Hank were two.....dogs? One german shepard and one husky.

Okay what the hell is going on.

You walked over to Hank and looked down at the dogs who sat themselves beside his desk, the german shepard sitting closer to you. It looked up at you and tilted it's head slightly. You let out a little 'aw' and pet its head, making it's tail start wagging almost immediately. So cute. Reminds you of Connor. When you went to pet the husky too you were met with a glare that made you rethink that decision. You didn't even know dogs could glare.

Looking back up to Hank, who had just slumped down into his chair with a sigh, you sent him a questioning glance.

"What's with the dogs? And where's Connor? He hasn't been here all morning and neither has Nines," worry laced your voice as you questioned the man.

He just looked over to you and gestured vaguely over to the dogs, making you even more confused.

"What? I dont...." you trailed off as you glanced back down to the dogs and thought long and hard about Hanks vague answer.

Before Hank had the chance to just tell you what was going on you suddenly gasped when you finally put the pieces together.

"No!" you looked back down at the dogs with wide eyes and your mouth slightly agape.

"Yep," was all Hank said, popping the 'p'.

"Wh- I- How?" you frantically glanced from Hank to, who you presumed was none other than Connor and Conan.

"No fucking clue. All I know is that one minute we were chasing down a suspect and the next these dipshits get their consciousness put into android dogs. Best part is we have no fucking clue where their actual bodies are," Hank crossed his arms and sent the android-dogs a glare whilst he explained the situation.

You knelt down infront of your best friends turn dog and couldn't stop the grin from creeping across your face. The german shepard, who you assumed was Connor, had his head hung seemingly in shame. Meanwhile Nines kept his ever present hard glare. But in this form, it wasn't as effective.

"Awwww you made him sad Hank," you exaggerated your words a bit as you spoke, something you always did in the presence of a pup.

Them being Connor and Conan didn't change that for you.

Hank just rolled his eyes in response and got up from his chair, grumbling about needing a coffee. As he left you directed your attention back to Connor.

"Don't worry, he won't be mad for too much longer. How could you stay mad at this face," you cupped his furry cheeks in your hands and he immediately perked up, his tail wagging furiously at your touch.

You couldn't help but giggle and gush at how adorable he was, and he was loving every minute of it. Giving him one more good pet to the head, you shifted your attention to the more stoic of the two. Your grin turned into a smirk.

"You want some lovin too don't you Nines," again, you reached out your hand to pet him but stoped when you heard a low growl.

"Okay, okay. Fine," you retracted your hand with a little pout.

"But I'm going to pet you before you get back to your regular body, mark my words," you say, narrowing your eyes at him, an action he returns.

Getting up from your kneeling position, you look over to see the captain giving you the 'get back to work' look. He didn't even seem to question the two dogs that were sitting there. Maybe Hank already filled him in. Putting your hands on your hips, you looked down at the dogs.

"Alright, I gotta get back to work. Try not to chew on anything mkay?" you say playfully.

You could feel Nines spiritually eyerolling, meanwhile Connor was just staring at you with adoring puppy eyes. You weren't sure if that was because they were literal puppy eyes or if was just him being him. Either way, it made your heart melt. Before you could get yelled at, you went back to your desk.

Several hours went by and before you knew it the end of the day had arrived. Since Connor couldn't exactly help Hank much, he just kinda sat next to him and whined softly when he wasn't getting any attention. That annoyed Hank to no end, at least that's what he presented. He secretly thought it was kinda cute and would give his boy a pet or two when he thought no one was looking, making Connor a very happy boy.

Nines however just sat in the spot he usually did, watching nothing in particular intently, or staring at you. So not much change there. When Gavin questioned who's dog it was and went to pet him he nearly got his hand bitten off. Hank told him it was Nines and Gavin wasted no time teasing him about it. That was until Nines had enough and damn near chased him around the office growling like a rabid dog. You definitely got a recording of the scene, and planned on cherishing it forever.

You gathered your things, put on your jacket, and said your goodbyes to Hank but before you could head out he stopped you.

"Don't forget to take those two with you," he said gesturing to the canine versions of Connor and Nines as he got himself ready to go home as well.

"What? Why can't you take them?" you questioned, not that you actually minded the responsibility.

"Cuz Sumo doesn't do well with other dogs, fuck knows what he'll think about android dogs," you could practically see the disappointment in Connor as Hank said that.

"If you don't want to bring them home you could just leave them here," he shrugged before making his way over and out the door.

With a sigh you decided you couldn't just leave them here all on their lonesome.

"Alright, c'mon boys," you said to pair as you made your way out the door and to your car.

You nearly forgot they weren't able to open the car doors for themselves until you saw them patiently waiting. Nines was sitting infront of the passenger door expectantly and you shook your head.

"Nope, only humans get the passenger side," you said cheekily before opening the back door for the two.

Connor was the first to hop inside, heading to the other side to let Nines in who followed reluctantly. Instead of just closing the door after they were inside, you leaned in and strapped Nines up with the seatbelt. You could almost hear him asking what the hell you were doing.

"Safety first," was all you said to the unspoken question with a smile.

Closing the door you quickly walked around to the other side to buckle Connor's seatbelt as well. When you were finished he gave a little bark, seemingly in appreciation.

"You're welcome. At least one of you kept their manners," you said, sending Nines a look.

Once they were safely strapped in you got into the driver's seat, strapped yourself in, and started the car. The drive home was, as to be expected, not filled with much conversation. You just listened to your favourite music, occasionally glancing back at the two. Connor was looking out the window, and if it weren't freezing out you would've rolled down the window for him. Nines just kept staring straight ahead blankly.

You finally made it home after about twenty minutes and undid everyone's seatbelts, closing the doors after everyone was out of the car. Walking up to your door where the boys were sitting patiently you unlocked it and let them in. A soft sigh left your lips once you entered your warm home and you hastily got out of your jacket and boots. Once you were done you looked down to Connor and Nines.

"Well....make yourselves at home I guess?" was all you could really think to say.

However none of them moved from their sitting position infront of the door. That was until you shrugged and headed to your room, to which Connor followed you. Conan on the other hand stayed put.

You chuckled softly when you noticed the browned eyed pup following you around and pat his head. It honestly wasn't that big of a change of how he acted normally. Except he didn't get pets. But maybe that'd change.

"As cute as that is Connor, you're gunna have to stay here when I go shower, okay?" you knew he wouldn't actually be able to answer, but to your surprise he gave a little nod.

"Good boy," you chuckled softly, giving him one last pet before going to gather your things for a nice hot shower.

After you were finished with your blissful shower, you opened the bathroom door and were immediately greeted by Connor sitting infront of the door. You noticed that once he saw you his tail started wagging a bit.

The rest of your night was pretty uneventful. Connor followed you around as you did your normal nightly routine, almost tripping over him a couple of times in the process. Nines was still sitting by the door, unmoving. Well, except for his eyes which followed your every movement. You knew better than to try and get him to relax, because that probably was him relaxing.

When you finally plopped down onto the couch to just chill and watch whatever you felt like, you noticed Connor sitting by your feet. You patted the spot next to you and he immediately jumped up and curled up next to you as if he was waiting for your permission. Looking over to Nines you patted the other side of you but he made no move.

"Suit yourself," you said with a little shrug before turning your attention to the tv, absentmindedly petting Connor.

You must have fallen asleep after a while because you were suddenly jolted awake when you felt something on your lap. Looking down you saw that Conan was laying next to you and had rested his head in your lap. You had to physically stop yourself from squealing so he wouldn't run off.

It took a couple of minutes until you made any moves, scared that any indication that you were awake and aware would make him leave. But you just couldn't help yourself anymore, and you did say you would pet him.

So ever so slowly you lifted up a hand and moved it up to his head. The moment you moved he lifted his head up to look at you, but surprisingly he put his head back down. You took that as an ok to proceed, slowly bringing your hand to his fluffy head before stopping just as you were about to touch him. You wanted to give him one last chance to indicate he did not want to be touched. But when you didn't hear a growl or anything you finally ran your hand through his surprising soft fur.

You didn't even realize how tense you got because once you finally pet him you felt your whole body relax. A small smile graced your lips and your chest felt all warm and fuzzy.

"I knew it," you whispered softly.

Suddenly, you heard a whine from your left where Connor was. A short laugh left you before your free hand started petting him too.

"Don't worry, I didn't forget about you Concon," you reassured him, your smile growing into a grin.

So there you sat. An android dog on each side, each wanting your attention. This was probably the best day ever. And you were never going to let them forget it.

—————————————————

A/N: oof this was longer than I expected it to be oops- Also I feel like it got bad at the end there sorry ;w; Also also I was gunna write about how they get back into their bodies but it was already getting hella long so if y'all want a part 2 lemme know!

[aliaslua]

Everything I wanted

Michelangelo (TMNT 2016) x Fem!reader 

Summary:  A deep friendship flourishes between the reader and Michelangelo. Despite your attempts to disregard what your heart desires, the affection between you is impossible to ignore. One day, for no apparent reason, Mike starts treating you coldly. Could this be the end of a relationship that never even started?

Category: Romantic, some angst but mainly pure fluff. 

WARNINGS: None c:

A/N: So I've been feeling super romantic lately, couldn't help but to write this fluff piece to calm my heart! Hope you like it! Also, English is not my first language, so constructive criticism is always welcome. Thank you for reading!

You can also read it on AO3 <3

How long?

You sighed deeply and continued to stir the sauce pan.

How long has it been since you realized you were in love? The memories of that heavy rainy day when Michelangelo had knocked on the balcony window were still vivid, you remember it as if it were yesterday, even though it was almost a year ago. At that time you weren't yet part of the group, effectively. You had met those vigilante - the turtles - only two weeks ago, and despite having made maybe two or three visits to the lair, their attitude towards you was still very reserved, very cautious. It made sense... They didn't know you and had a life that did not allow suspicious people around, it was the most rational thing to do. Even though you understand the point of view, it still brought you a little discomfort to be treated so coldly.

You sighed again. They all did treated you like an outside at that time... Everyone but him. In that night that now inhabited your mind, Mike had sought refuge in your apartment. The rain was too heavy to come home, could he stay overnight? Well, of course! So you brought towels and a thick blanket, you increased the fire in the fireplace and made him hot chocolate. He was so happy, so grateful. He was like that, after all: humorous, cheerful, positive.

So you spent the night together... Talking, cooking, playing cards and waiting the end of the torrential rain that insisted on falling. That had been the first time you had been up all night but the wait was not at all tedious, Mikey was so funny and so joyful that the hours passed like minutes and only when the first rays of the sun appeared on the horizon did you realized how long it had taken. 

"Damn, is it day time already?." He had said "Thanks for the company, Babycakes. Best date ever." He winked and chuckled. 

You shared with him a genuine smile and even after he left you continued to smile for the rest of the week.

That had been a year ago. After that, Michelangelo started to neglected his patrol shifts to visit you. You ordered pizza, watched series, played board games. He loved to watch you doing your hair and once or twice he had let you gave him a manicure session, his company was the highlight of your day and you guys started to see each other at least three times every week. It didn't take long for his brothers to find out and Leonardo gave him a scolding that seemed monstrous by Michelangelo's reaction when he told you - Well, guess you lost the chance you had to make a good  impression. At least Mike liked you - he did, a lot - but indiscipline had resulted in punishment and now he could only visit you when he was off duty.

It was during that period that you realized you were in love. The realization came through you like thunder. You were waiting for him to come in through the window, but he didn't show up. You remembered that he wouldn't come - the punishment also involved not leaving the lair for a month, only for missions - and you realized the terrible sadness of knowing that you wouldn't see him. Suddenly, his absence felt like a hole in your chest and the pain was more than spiritual: you could feel the unbearable contraction of your own heart. In the weeks that followed you tried to rationalize: "He's my friend and I like him. Of course I miss him! That's absolutely normal. Nothing wrong or unusual. It doesn't mean I am in love" Maybe, maybe. If you don't say it, if you don't accept it, if you deny it until the end, then it won't be true. It is not love.

But it was. It undeniably was. When that month finaly passed and you saw his shadow crackle on your balcony again the vivid heat that stung your chest screamed that he was the man you loved. You still remembered the feeling of being in his arms again. His scent, his skin, his laughter, his soft voice that whispered in your ear how he had missed you, you still remembered the thrill you felt in your body when he popped a kiss on your ear.

From then on things had gone downhill. Your denial transformed into a snowball that grew to a point that was impossible to ignore. You started to visited him at the Lair once a week and you still had weekly visits in your apartment, you had your own internal jokes and non-verbal codes. The hugs became longer and longer and letting go seemed irrational, while everything about him felt right: his smile, his arms, the way he scratched his neck when he needed to think, the way he tucked your hair back behind your ear , the teasing, the flirting ... Everything was perfect, it was suffocating, it was too much.

The kitchen alarm woke you out of your trance. You drained the noodle water. Today was wednesday and Michelangelo had promised to visit, but canceled at the last minute. Recently things have been... weird. One day you had arrived at the Lair and you felt a tension that hung in the air, that kind that remains after an interrupted fight. Mike started to be awkward, embarrassed, shy. This suspicious posture caught you off guard and suddenly it seemed like you didn't even know each other. He had stopped calling you by petnames, he didn't give you hugs anymore and the messages were so rare that sometimes they didn't even come. You didn't understand what had happened. What had you done? It was impossible to know. But canceling today's meeting had been the last straw and the message was clear to you. It had ended before it even started.

A deep sigh made you swallow the knot in your throat and with a forkful of your dinner, you held back your tears. Maybe it wasn't meant to be. You were too different. How could it be? He was the hero of the city and you couldn't be more ordinary. A large sip of wine warmed your body. This time, a single tear ran uncontrolled down your cheek. You would never get over him. You would never stop missing him. You would be forever haunted by the cruel doubt of not knowing where it had gone wron-

A soft knock on your balcony window made you jump in fright. You immediately recognized the noise, how could you forget? That had been a harbinger of your happiness for the past year. Mikey.

In a hurry, you wiped away the single tear with the back of your hand. When you arrived in the living room, he had already entered. There was a giant space between you. Normally you would run to hug him but it all seemed so inappropriate now. Your heart was beating so fast that you could feel it in your throat. You looked at him and it seemed that you weren't the only one who had been crying.

"Y/N I ..." He took a deep breath. He looked different. Perhaps older, matured by sadness. His eyes no longer had the sparkle that had made you fallen in love with him. "I'm sorry to come at this hour. I ... I ..."

A deafening silence filled the room.

"I can't stay like this anymore." He finally said, in a sigh "I can't, it's impossible. I can't eat, I can't drink ... I can't think of anything... I have no motivation to do anything I ... I can't live anymore with all of this in the chest. I ... I need to hear you reject me. "

"What?"  Was all you could say, astonished.

"It's all I am asking for. Please reject me. Tell me already that I am a monster, that I took advantage of your trust and friendship and that if you knew it that would came to this you would never have been so kind. Please ..." This time you had no doubts, he was crying. "Please, just tell me! End all my hopes, because I can't think of anything else. I-I can't live in peace until you finally tell me the obvious. For God sake. Tell me that you don't love me back. So I can finaly get over this stupid dream and move on!"

"What." You said pathetically, for the second time in a roll.

He crossed the room with determination. He approached you with the same delicacy and affection that you thought had disappeared and with the same care he kindly held you face.

"I'm in love with you. I am in love with you since that first day when you gave me a blanket and made me hot chocolate, when we played cards and talked about basketball. You are a sight inked on my mind and since I met you I can't think of anything else." He closed his eyes bitterly "If everything was different ... I-If I were different, I would do anything to be everything you needed. But I know ... I-I know I'm not... I am not the man you want and more than that I know that I’m not the man you deserve... But I can’t spend another minute pretending I don’t dream about you every day, because honestly, I’m going crazy. Just say it. Say that this is impossible and that I am the last person in the world that you would like to be- "

When your lips touched, it was as if an electric current was running through your body. There he was, Mike, your Mike, back in your arms, asking you to do the impossible. There was nothing to be said - You could only show him. His eyes widened with the unexpected advance, but with the same speed he returned the kiss, deepening it. His lips were everything you had imagined, warm and soft and it was almost impossible to contain your moan when he dropped his hands to your waist and pulled you closer. Your body was hot but it was no longer because of the wine, the repressed desire turned to caresses and your bodies seemed to scream "finally, oh god, finally!"

The pause for breathing was followed by two panting bodies. Leaning on his arms, a stunning view of his blue eyes was the only thing that interested you.

"I love you, Michelangelo. "You said, almost whispering." I love you, I love you, I love you. "

He smiled for the first time since arriving at your apartment, you saw clearly when his eyes started to shine again. You joined together again in a long, hot, lingering kiss. Lost in the heat between your legs, the cold in your belly and the joy in your heart, you could only think of how everything was perfect.

You sat on the couch, you on his lap. The night was still young and silence was enough to describe the joy you shared in that embrace. Finally in his arms, you laid your head on his shoulder while he played with your hair. Staying there, with him, was everything you wanted, for the rest of your life.

"I will make you the happiest woman in the world." He said while sniffing your hair.

"I already am." You said, after kissing his neck "You already did."