#disaster trio fluff

[fionajames]

I dare you to write the most wholesome, amazing disaster trio fluff ever

Flocks of Fireflies

A/N: Ayyy, thank you so much for the request, anon, I hope this lives up to your expectations. I apologise for how long it took me, I wanted to make it THE BEST that I could. Not sure how I went, to be honest. Anyway, please leave comments and send requests, it means a lot to me. And most importantly; ENJOY READING ! ! !

(divider by @saradika-graphics)

Darkness coated Ahsoka’s body in velvety contentment as she ducked and weaved through the brush and flora, relying on the hazy vision courtesy of her nocturnal ancestors as her guide. The forest was dark and would have been frightening, if not for the waterfall of giggles falling from her lips with every frequent glance behind her.

The first time Ahsoka had played hide and seek - or the first time she could remember - was a game with her Youngling clan. They’d been allowed a large area of the Temple to hide in, with certain restrictions with different rooms, but it had been wonderful. She’d climbed a pillar and hidden in a tiny corner between the top of the pillar and ceiling, and been one of the last found.

The dark, harsh burning of the war that raged through every soldier’s being like a blistering fire was hard to escape, bright red and empty void at every turn, blood and screaming, death and maim, and defeat. And so her Master and Obi-Wan had devised a series of different games they could play to keep their minds off the horror all around them.

And soon, some of their Clones would join in. 

Today’s game consisted of Anakin, Ahsoka, Obi-Wan, Rex, Cody, Fives, Echo, Jesse, Waxer and Boil. The night was a nice content temperature and the forest was thick, yet rather safe compared to some of the other terrain they’d experienced. 

And so Ahsoka continued, searching for her place of hiding.

The real competition was of course her fellow Jedi, with the Force by their side, and unfortunately it was Anakin’s turn to seek. He usually found a way to cheat. 

Which was why Ahsoka now had two hands firmly gripping a rope of vine, gazing out at a chasm etched deep into the ground ahead. The vine was attached to the branches of a tree overhanging the chasm, approximately midway over the abyss.

The rule was that you had to tag the person you’d found to declare them ‘found’, otherwise they were not yet eliminated. It made things difficult, especially when you had Fives and Anakin playing in the same game.

Swinging over the chasm and hanging there was not something Ahsoka fancied doing, and the other side of the deep gash in the earth was the boundary. Instead she began to climb up the vines easily, slinking into the dense foliage above. 

The rough bark of the elderly tree cut at her palms, but they were mere grazes and light enough to heal quickly. She scampered along a thick branch, two feet on the tree and standing upright, her arms shot out straight to keep her balance. Once she’d gained enough balance, her arms dropped to her side, unafraid of the drop below. 

Vines around her curled around her frame as she delved deeper into their cover, climbing higher and higher, and further away from the tree’s trunk and the edge. 

Grasping a branch in one hand and a vine in the other, Ahsoka pulled herself up onto a branch. Her eyes widened when she’d relaxed onto the bark and she realised her montrals were brushing the last leaves of the top of the tree.

Without hesitation, she stood up with ease, and her jaw fell slack at the sight ahead.

The forest ran on for miles with no visible end, bright green and dotted with other eye-catching colours, more like an artwork than a natural growth of flora. The tree she was perched upon seemed to be the tallest she could see, but there were other trees that reached similar heights.

But the real beauty were the bioluminescent insects flying slowly through the air, lighting up the entire forest from above. Ahsoka hadn’t even noticed them on her way up into the tree, perhaps because she’d been so aware of the mental countdown until Anakin began his hunt ringing in her head. 

The fireflies were a bright gold, and there were so many of them that Ahsoka wondered momentarily what they ate to sustain what appeared to be millions of the little insects. A singular little firefly lazily flew over Ahsoka’s shoulder, and came to rest on her forearm, before taking over a moment later.

Swarms of them flying slowly over her head were like starships, or perhaps even shooting stars. They moved like one giant creature, never out of sync or one flying at a different pace than the others. It was mesmerising, and unlike anything she’d ever seen before.

Distantly, she heard what sounded like a groan from Waxer upon being found, but frankly, she’d long ago forgotten about the game, the peace surrounding her too calm to disrupt. 

Then the leaves of the tree rustled behind her, and a familiar mop of ginger hair parted through the green as Obi-Wan emerged from the tree’s shelter. He had a content grin on his face as he silently crawled to sit next to her on the curved branch, observing the overhead flock of fireflies as they slowly glided through the air. 

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Obi-Wan mused, his eyes locked on an area of the night sky completely covered by the easy traffic of the insects. Ahsoka hummed in response, leaning into his side and shifting to comfortably rest her head on his shoulder, eyelids drooping, threateningly close to shutting completely.

“We had fireflies on Shili,” she mumbled, the memory of a jar with holes poked in the lid and a few of the amber insects inside its glass walls wafting through her mind. “But not like this.”

Obi-Wan agreed with his own soft hum, reaching an arm around her back and shifting so her cheek wasn’t resting on the bone of his shoulder, stroking up and down her right arm soothingly. 

It was beautifully picturesque and content, the quiet buzz of the fireflies and the general chirp of the forest easing Ahsoka’s nerves like warm tea or a fire in the cold. The gold glow was coating her own body, and she could see out of the corner of her eye that several locks of Obi-Wan’s auburn hair dipped in the gold light.

The dull stinging from the scrapes on her palms had melted away at some point, leaving her with a gentle hum in her body that was so pleasant she feared flinching if it might drive the contentment away. Warmth licked up her bones gently as she yawned softly, pinpricks of pain stinging her eyes as the world blurred momentarily.

She didn’t fully realise how much time had passed until a familiar presence lingered near her, and Anakin appeared from the leaves and vines only metres away. He made no teasing quip or begrudging congratulations, only smiled softly. She would’ve muttered something playfully about his unusual gentleness if it wasn’t for the fatigue trickling down her limbs and torso.

Wordlessly, Anakin settled down on their curved branch on Ahsoka’s right, gently shifting in place as to ensure both of his companions’ comfort. Obi-Wan yawned now, which was no surprise to the Togruta, as she was well aware he’d barely slept the last few days, spending the nights desperately scribbling down battle strategies and tactics.

They stayed there for a while longer, until the pressure bearing down on Ahsoka’s eyelids was too much to withstand and the stinging behind her eyes was too sharp to ignore. She let her eyes drift shut and not open for a few minutes. 

“I think, perhaps,” Obi-Wan yawned mid-sentence, “that we should head back to the camp.” Anakin mumbled something softly, and stood up, sliding down to a lower branch. Ahsoka let out a gentle whine that had both men chuckling faintly, before the brunet turned in place and Obi-Wan eased her onto his back. 

Ahsoka clung to Anakin, her head resting gently on his shoulder as they climbed down through the foliage, vines draping over her body as they moved. Navigating their way down the tree was the hard part, especially with Ahsoka half-asleep and clinging to Anakin, but they managed.

The trek back to the campsite was easier, with Obi-Wan walking ahead to navigate the smoothest track to not disturb the resting Padawan. When they were nearing the camp, Ahsoka mumbled softly; “can we go see the fireflies tomorrow night?”

Neither male had the heart to say no to the gentle tenderness of her youthful whisper, and neither wished to deny the excursion either. And so they agreed gently, just as they stepped from the brush of the forest and into the clearing. 

They went to see the fireflies the next night, and the night after that, and the night after, until they were forced to depart from their current camp and move on. But none of the three would ever forget the gentle, content, humming warmth of the scene, and the fireflies that came with the memory, even if the best part was just that it was them. Them three, together.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed!!! Please send requests and leave comments, they mean the world to me :D

(taglist: @skellymom, @techs-goggles9902, dm me if you wish to be added or removed)

[heretolurkandnothingmore]

Golden days.

(Maybe a little time you get to keep)

[blasvemous]

Eddie is sick...

(first time I've written something, not sure if it will become a regular occurrence or not but, I hope its got a good mouth feel for ya)

AO3

Steve and Robin were in the middle of a heated debate over what movie they were going to watch tonight when the apartment door slammed open, rattling the poorly hung picture frames on the wall.

Steve immediately moved into a defensive position as Robin grabbed the closest thing to her that could be used as a weapon. They crept down the hallway, ready to pounce on whomever, or whatever had barged into their haven.

They heard the intruder before they saw them. Quiet grumbles and groans came from the entryway; the sounds of items being tossed about and the door being thrown shut. Steve and Robin only relaxed once they recognized the voice rounding the corner.

Eddie chucked his shoes into the corner, pointedly ignoring the shoe rack that Steve had put by the door. He kicked the door shut and trudged down the hall, prepared to shower and collapse in bed, when he saw two dark figures watching him in the darkened doorway. He let out a small shriek as he lunged for the light switch.

Before him now illuminated by the weak overhead light was Steve, phone receiver in hand raised and ready to strike; behind him was Robin, with a deadly look in her eye, holding a plastic ladle like it was a baseball bat. 

Eddie began to laugh at the ridiculous sight when he was cut short by Robin tossing the ladle at his head.

“Hey! What was that for?” he grumbled as he rubbed the sore spot on his head.

“You know you can’t just barge in like that!” Robin practically screamed at him. Steve moved forward to check Eddie’s head, “We didn’t know it was you! We could’ve hurt you!” Steve said as he went to lock the front door and check for any damage to the cheap plywood structure.

Eddie puffed his chest up, “Well I’ll have you know, I’ve received terrible news, that which has left me in a dreadful mood, I fear that you have only exacerbated the issue with your large spoon throwing!”. Steve rolled his eyes and met Robin’s equally amused stare.

“It’s a ladle, not a spoon,” said with all the bitchiness Steve could muster. 

Of course, Steve would know the particular cookware vernacular. 

Eddie, seething with annoyance, prepared his retort.

“Well you would know, wouldn’t you?” He shoved passed the two of them moving to collapse on the couch in a dramatic flourish.

“The hell does that mean?” Steve said as he tossed his hands in the air. He looked at Robin, gesturing at the metalhead who has now become one with the old musty couch.

"Can you believe this?” Steve looked to Robin for a response. She shook her head and released a small sigh, as she shoved Eddie over so she could sit.

“What’s the bad news Eddie?” Robin tried to be comforting in case it was a serious situation but kept a healthy amount of suspicion in her mind since it was Eddie after all.

Eddie half-heartedly rolled over. “I dare not say it aloud, for fear may consume me whole”, his lip quivered as he spoke. He doesn’t know if it was the trembling lip or the small strangled noise he made that softened Steve up, but here he was leaning over Eddie with concern all over his face.

“What’s going on? Is it code red?” Steve glanced toward the counter where the walkie was placed, panic overtook his tense frame. Before he could move to grab it, Eddie was grabbing his wrist, yanking him away. Steve crouched down, petting Eddie's hair and making concerned eye contact with Robin.

Eddie cleared his throat before he spoke, “‘Fraid not Steve-O. It's far worse!” He moved his hand to dramatically drape it across his forehead. Robin grabbed his hand to look him in the eye.

“I need you to cut the drama act and tell me what's going on,” she said frantically. “Like on a scale of failing senior year again” (“Hey!”) “To Vecna zombies, what are we talkin’?” She spits the last sentence out like it was demobat flesh.

Eddie looked toward Steve ready to crack another joke, but the damn Ken doll of a man was rooting through the closet pulling out the emergency bags and his bat. 

Shit, shit, shit.

Eddie sat up quickly, jostling Robin who was manically chewing her nails, eyes flicking between the two men like she was trying to decide which fire to put out first. 

Before Eddie could even get a word out, Robin tackled him to the floor. She began shaking his shoulders. “Just tell us what’s happening!! I can’t take it anymore!” She managed to yell out between her shaking assault on Eddie's shoulders.

Eddie squawked, trying to wriggle out from under Robin. “Steve! Are you just gonna stand by while she gives me shakin’ Eddie syndrome?!” Man, Robin was stronger than she looked.

Steve took one look over his shoulder and dropped everything, deeming Robs the more dangerous threat. The frazzled metalhead grinned up at his personal knight in shining armor, well at least until Steve joined in on the Eddie abuse.

With Robin violently shaking him by the shoulders and Steve manhandling his face like a stress ball, Eddie was preparing for his imminent death.

“Eds, I need you to tell us what's wrong or else I’m grabbing the walkie and radioing the whole party. So, you can tell us or you can tell the six children with severe PTSD reactions.” Steve spoke with a deadly calm that rattled Robin enough to stop her assault. 

Eddie swallowed, trying to digest the threat without choking. ”Fine, fine. I surrender! Release me!” he gasps, attempting to catch the breath that was punched out of him the moment he was shoved to the floor.

Without Robin’s steel grip on his shoulders, he was able to squirm out from under her and escape the two beasts he calls ‘friends’. Eddie stands, attempting to smooth out his hair; across from him, the shining twins stood, arms crossed and hips popped out in motherly disapproval. 

Steve’s expression held a sternness that was rivaled only by Robin’s next to him. 

Never one for a moment of silence, Robin spoke first. “Eddie. Tell us what’s happening. Now”. The air seemed to thicken in the room; Eddie’s skin felt itchy and uncomfortable. The tension was nauseating, he knew he was in trouble, and he was uncertain if he could peacock his way through this.

Rubbing his hands over his face and groaning, he falls on the couch once again. “Ok, ok, I’m sorry.” Eddie’s face was grim and cold, lacking the sunshine he normally exudes. “I got diagnosed with something, but before you start worrying, it's not contagious like that. So, you guys are safe and all…” He took a deep breath in, “But if you want me to move out, I get it. I don’t want to make either of you uncomfortable”. 

Steve’s eyes are glassy with unshed tears; Robin’s lip is quivering as she blinks rapidly. They both miss the small spark of mischief that flickers in Eddie’s eyes. Before Eddie can even come clean and get to the punch line, they pull him up and wrap him up in a suffocating hug. His face shoved into the warmth of Steve’s chest and his side compressed against Robin. Both their arms were like vise grips around him, locking Eddie in place. 

Eddie was quiet, not for a lack of words, but a lack of air; he couldn’t fucking breathe. Robin loosened her grip and Eddie gasped for air as she tried to speak through sniffles. “We love you Eds. Of course we don’t want you to move!” Steve nodded vigorously in agreement, “Yeah we want to support you, man. This is scary, but we’ve handled scary before”. 

Steve pulled him close for one more squeeze before letting him go, Robin still clung to his side. She pulled back a bit before she said, “Did you really think we would let you deal with this alone? You’re our friend, Eddie”. Her voice was full of hurt and anxiety, Eddie wanted to soothe her and fix it. 

“Well, no I didn’t think that, bu-”

Steve interrupted, unable to let Eddie finish his thought. “Look I know what you’re going to say, but Eds, it could’ve been any of us! Your sexuality doesn’t make it your fault, ya know” Steve was earnest as he spoke, which made Eddie even more bewildered. 

What did his sexuality have to do with anything?

He stepped back, hoping the small distance would help bring clarity to the situation. “Ok, I think there’s been a mix up here, 'cause I’m lost” he holds up his hands in innocent surrender. Robin and Steve, the terrible twosome, stare back at him in equal confusion.

“You’re confused? I’m confused!” Robin throws her hands in the air, Steve stares blankly at the floor trying to puzzle out what the hell is happening. Robin spun on her heel, “Wait, Eddie, what were you diagnosed with?”. She had a gleam in her eye, she figured it out.

Eddie pulled his hair in front of his face, and shamefully flopped back onto the couch, shoving his face in between the cushions. 

“Mhmnngmhhn” his words too muffled to make out from under the mess of hair and old couch stuffing.

Robin exasperated, looks at Steve, tossing an awkward gesture in Eddie’s direction. Still confused, Steve leaned forward to pull the grumbling mop of hair out from the cushions. Eddie released a loud groan, squishing his eyes closed so he didn’t have to look at Steve’s concerned face. 

Steve squished Eddie's face in his hands and looked him in the eye to say, “Hey can you repeat that for me? I don’t speak couch.” Eddie’s mask of perpetual sorrow and shame broke for a moment to let out a small chuckle. Robin rolls her eyes and plops down next to Eddie, “We just wanna help” she says tentatively like she might scare him away. 

Shoving his head back into the couch crevasse, Eddie screams “I SAID… mnhngnmmh”.

A loud clap breaks through Eddie’s pitty fest and makes him sit upright. Steve is standing before him, hands on hips. “You’re killin’ us Eds. I’m calling the party.” 

He grabs the walkie, “Hey guys-” 

“I SAID I WAS DIAGNOSED WITH GIGANTICUS GENITALIUS!” Eddie’s face was red, the vein in his forehead ready to pop, panic and guilt in his eyes visible. Once the words leave his mouth he lets out a scream and tries to crawl underneath the couch, a space that obviously would not fit a grown man. In a whimper of failure, he falls back on the couch hiding his face behind Robin’s shoulder.

After an uncomfortable silence, he only peeks out when he feels Robin shaking next to him. She’s laughing, “She’s fucking laughing!” Eddie was angry, no wait, he was relieved? 

As he went through the 5 stages of grief, he spun around to look at Steve. Steve whose face is bright red and his eyes tearing up as he holds back hysterical giggles. And Eddie just stands there, baffled, as he watches his two friends collapse onto the floor in a cramp-inducing fit of laughter. Once the shock passed, Eddie fell apart and joined them on the floor, his bright smile and dimples out in full force. 

“Giganticus Genitalius”, Robin squealed in between hiccuping breaths of air. Eddie smacked her arm only for Steve to retaliate by giving him a vicious noogie. They spend way too long laying together on the floor, repeating the awful joke back and forth until their stomachs hurt from the laughter. 

“We thought you were dying!” Steve manages to choke out. Robin soberly sits up and looks at Eddie, “I thought we would have to have the safe sex talk again”. Her serious attitude was met with a pillow to the face and a screech that sounded a lot like Eddie saying “We said we would never speak of that again!”.

Once the laughter died down, and they were breathing hard, Steve spoke quietly. “Really, we’re glad you’re ok Munson”.

[havenhost]

@atqh16~ as promised~

The other author is my partner, who helped me write this. Hope you like it^^

I also hope I gifted it to the right person - I clicked on a fic on your dash and saw the names matched so I figured it's you? Let me know ^^

[disastertriowriting]

Anakin isn't a morning person. Obi-Wan has to deal with it. Or, the five times that Obi-Wan had to wake up Anakin, and the one time Anakin woke up Obi-Wan.

Ahsoka hums quietly before frowning down at her Master’s sleeping form. “Is he ticklish?” she asks randomly. “I hardly think that –” Obi-Wan cuts himself off mid-sentence. No, Anakin won’t be happy, but maybe he should have thought about that before ignoring his Padawan. With the hint of a mischievous smile on his face, he creeps over to Anakin’s bed. Through the Force, he can feel Ahsoka’s glee when they attack Anakin in unison, tickling his sides and, in Obi-Wan’s case, everywhere he knows will have Anakin unable to move, much less flee. The half shriek, half yelp that escapes makes the entire situation worth it. Obi-Wan can hardly hold back his own laughter, especially after Anakin ends up rolling onto the floor with a crash.

Morning Mischief - CourtesyTrefflin - Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types [Archive of Our Own]

Morning Mischief, a star wars fanfic | FanFiction

Star Wars One-Shots - Morning Mischief - Wattpad

[milksnake-tea]

━━ fear not the road untaken .

Sunday hadn't spent long with the Stellaron Hunters before boarding the Express, but the memories he'd made with them were priceless. One quiet day in the Express's cabin, while reflecting on his experiences with the Hunters, you appear to visit him.

astral express!sunday x gn!stellaronhunter!reader

contains: sunday used to be a stellaron hunter, teasing, FLUFF FLUFF FLUFF THIS IS THE CUTEST THING IVE WRITTEN SO FAR, SUNDAY IS DOWN BADDDD AS HE DESERVES TO BE BITES FIST I MISSED THIS SO BADDDDD, not established relationship sunday just has a massive crush on you

word count: 2.06k

a/n: happy drip marketing yall. you all get a sunday fluff piece. as a treat. also yes i am completely and totally sane. (THIS IS THE MOST SELF INDULGENT FIC IVE EVER WRITTEN I AM SO SORRY GUYS)

taglist: @sh0jun , @themoderatelyawesomeninja , @xphantasmagoriax , @rainswept , @lucensei , @akutasoda , @naraven , @scribs-dibs , @apathicace , @flurrina , @tragedy-of-commons , @cakechase , @kiiyoooo

“Sunday, we’re going out to Belobog for a bit. Wanna come with?”

Heeled boots still in the midst of a step. Feather-like hair shifts and tousles as he turns his head. At the invitation, gold melts, sapphires glitter, and a gentle smile warms his lips.

March is a blessing, he thinks. She is bubbly, kind, and always manages to light up whatever room she steps into - in that regard, she is not too unlike his beloved sister. Although her ability to plan ahead leaves much room for improvement, he cannot deny that it was her presence that made his transition into a Nameless much easier than it would’ve been.

Although, truthfully, he’d expected more resistance from her - out of everyone, she seemed to be the most traumatized by the Charmony Festival Disaster, and she also had more of a distaste for Stellaron Hunters than the others. But surprisingly, she’d come around to him, and welcomed him into the Express with open arms - and a lot of food. He swears, every time she’s come back from a trip, it’s another sweet or drink shoved into his arms - not that he’s complaining, though.

“Thank you for the invitation,” he begins, then rests a hand over his chest as a reflex. “But I’m afraid I’ll have to refuse. The last expedition has left me rather exhausted - and as you know, I don’t fare well in cold weather.”

Dan Heng nods in understanding. He’s never been a man of many words, and for that Sunday appreciates him. He rather likes straight-forward people, who aren’t afraid to say their mind - perhaps that’s why he’s grown to adore both the Express and the Hunters so much.

“Is there anything you want us to bring back?” pipes up the Trailblazer, dog-like eyes shining as they lean over March. “Like, sweets or whatever?”

Sunday bites back a chuckle. Somehow, word had gotten around that Sunday had quite the sweet tooth. He doesn’t know who started it or how they found out (he has his suspicions on March), but ever since the trio has been dragging him around to various planets and encouraging him to try the local desserts.

He wonders if he’s gotten cavities yet. He hopes not.

Maybe he should check again, at a later time.

“That Rye Bread Iceberg you brought last time was rather enjoyable. I’d like to try it again.”

March and the Trailblazer brighten at his words. “Okay, on it!”

Dan Heng only hums his acknowledgement before turning to leave the parlor car. “Let’s go,” he advises the others. “You know Seele doesn’t like to wait.”

Sunday has never personally met this Seele (the Trailblazer describes her as a crass but kind-hearted warrior), but her fury is enough to whip both March and the Trailblazer into shape. It isn’t long before the trio is waving him goodbye as they descend into the frozen planet, and he also bids them farewell.

And then it is just him, and the conductor.

A small sigh leaves him as he sits down on one of the many couches. He wasn’t lying when he said he was exhausted. Fighting - or any physical activity, for that matter - isn’t exactly his strong suit. Even during his time with the Hunters, he’d stayed behind the front lines, acting as a pseudo Kafka with his carefully crafted words and tuning abilities.

That’s one of the few things about the Hunters that he prefers over the Express - they didn’t force him to hike through deserts and jungles and mountains and Xipe knows what else. All they did was throw him off a skyscraper in the name of the script (he’s pretty sure Elio just wanted to see if he’d actually fly or not).

Sunday blinks, realizing just what had just passed through his mind. Then he sighs with a smile, leaning back into the red plush of the couches.

Only a few months since his fall, and he’s already beginning to think as weirdly as the rest of them.

“Sunday, are you alright?”

Sunday glances down to see the conductor waddling by his feet.

Pom Pom is… strange, no doubt - for whatever reason, Dan Heng fears them and has advised Sunday to not anger them at all costs. Their past is shrouded in mystery, but Sunday finds himself drawn to the conductor. Perhaps living most of his life in a fever dream like Penacony has warped his perception of what is normal and what is not.

“I’m fine, thank you.” He shifts on the couch to make room, but the conductor shakes their head.

“Are you sure? Pom Pom saw you laughing to yourself,” they fret, tapping their nubby hands together anxiously. “Have you been sleeping enough?”

Sunday crosses one leg over the other, and rests his hands over his knee. “If you’re concerned about my transition from Penacony to reality, be at ease. The Hunters have practically beat a proper sleep schedule into me.”

Pom Pom yelps in shock. “B-Beat?! They beat you?”

“Not literally,” Sunday hastes, instinctively reaching out a hand to calm the conductor. “It was more akin to… ominously threatening checkups. Although, there was this one time-”

He sees the look on Pom Pom’s face, and decides to stop it there. He fears they might break out sobbing if he continues.

“Nevertheless, rest assured that I am sleeping at an appropriate time,” he finishes reassuringly. His practiced smile pays off as the conductor gradually calms down, albeit worry about the Hunters’ methods still lingers.

“Alright, if you say so, Sunday.” They look around uneasily. “Do you want anything to drink?”

Sunday waves his hands hastily. “No, I am alright, thank you-”

“He’ll have some tea.”

Pom Pom jumps with a shriek and Sunday’s wings puff up. A familiar laugh ghosts his ear, and immediately Sunday’s face brightens.

“What- What are you doing here?!” Pom Pom quickly hides behind one of Sunday’s slender legs, hugging it like a lifeline. Sunday places a hand on their head to calm them as he turns to the hologram with a warm smile.

“At ease, conductor, they’re a friend.”

Your holographic form glitches in and out of reality. There’s a thin blue filter over your appearance, but other than that, everything is the same as he remembers.

“Hey, angel,” you coo, leaning your elbow on his shoulder as you sit besides him. Its weight is not the same as it would be in reality, but the presence is enough - a small, barely noticeable tingle that has his heart fluttering and his wings following in suit. “How’s life as Nameless? Do you miss us yet?”

Sunday laughs gently. “It has only been two weeks since I left the Hunters. I’m afraid I haven’t had the time to miss you all.”

You pout playfully, sticking out your tongue.Even though parts of you chip away and reappear, and your form isn’t stable, Sunday can’t help but be as captivated by you as he was when he was still among the Hunters’ ranks. Where the projection fails, his tinted memory fills in.

“Silver Wolf misses you, although I doubt she’d actually say it,” you say, taking a lock of his hair and twirling it around your finger. “Has she visited you yet?”

Sunday stutters a bit before weakly batting your finger away with his wing. “No, I’m afraid she hasn’t.”

“Hm.” You smile at his attempt to brush you off. Letting go of his hair, you instead opt to tug lightly at his cheek, earning a squeak from the Halovian. “That’s weird. Maybe she was too shy to speak up.”

“I-” Sunday rubs his cheek when you finally let go. Embarrassingly, his wings jump to shield his face, an unfortunate reflex he’d yet to curb. “I suppose she was…”

He hears you hum, and he lifts a wing to peek at you. His cheeks feel hot - no, that’s an understatement, the entirety of his body feels as if he’s in a fireplace.

“Give her my regards,” he finally breathes out, thanking the Aeons for his training in keeping his composure. Sure, it ultimately fails whenever he looks at you, but at least he’s able to fix himself quickly enough… or at least, he hopes that’s what it looks like.

“You didn’t answer my question though.” Propping your elbow on his shoulder again, you rest your cheek in your palm. “How’s the Nameless life treating you?”

“It’s chaotic,” Sunday admits with a fond sigh. He relaxes into the couch once more, feeling himself sink into the plush. Briefly, he’s tempted to lean his head on your shoulder, but given that you’re a holograph, he holds himself back. “But it’s fun. The Nameless have been kind, and the planets I’ve visited… It’s nice, to see the universe as someone other than a wanted criminal.”

“Wow. Thanks.”

Sunday would apologize, but considering that it’s you he’s talking to, he doesn’t feel the need to. After all, you’ve said worse to him, and him to you.

“You know what I mean,” he chuckles. “To be honest, though, the Express and the Hunters aren’t so different.”

He hears Pom Pom squawk indignantly, and again he ruffles their fur to calm them. Turning ever so slightly to your hologram, he gazes at you with adoration and fondness swelling his heart.

“To the both of you, I am forever grateful. If it weren’t for your kindness, I’d be rotting away in an alley somewhere. I wouldn’t be where I am today.”

All distaste for the Hunters fades from Pom Pom as they giggle bashfully. “Aw, Sunday… You don’t have to thank us. We were just doing what the Nameless do.”

You nod in agreement, reaching through his wing and poking his cheek again. “Conductor’s right. No need for thanks, birdie.”

“Still-” Sunday makes a sound like a startled bird as you poke his cheek harder, squishing it against the rest of his face. Underneath his coat, his primary wings strain with the urge to flutter and twitch, while his secondary wings are held back by sheer willpower. The only sign that they want to flap so badly is with the tiniest of tremors.

“None of that,” you chide him gently, tapping him lightly on the plush of his lips. “We’re just glad you’re happy - right, bunny?”

“Who’re you calling bunny?!” Pom Pom protests, steam puffing out of their head while steam threatens to escape Sunday’s face for completely different reasons.

Before you can reply, however, your form begins to glitch out, flickering in and out of reality at a higher frequency. With an annoyed click of your tongue, you stand up.

“Looks like Silver Wolf isn’t happy,” you comment, brushing off imaginary dust from your clothes. Taking one step so that you’re fully in front of Sunday, you lean in so that your projected nose barely brushes against his. “I have to get going now. You have my number, so text me if you need anything, okay? Or if you want to catch me up with your travels, you can always call me.”

Sunday’s voice feels lodged in his throat. With a subtle gulp, his Adam’s Apple bobbing ever so slightly, he manages to speak with an even voice.

“Okay,” he whispers, his voice almost a whimper. He wants to explode.

You smile fondly, and duck in to peck at the corner of his lips. The buzzing of your holograph morphs into electrifying lightning, surging into his veins, puffing up his feathers and making all of his hairs stand up and sending his already tapping heart into a frenzy. His body freezes into a statue, and all coherent thoughts melt away into a haze that is both ecstatic and shocked.

By the time you pull away, his wings are flapping erratically and his entire body is dyed in a rosey red. His mouth opens and closes like a fish, but all words die on his tongue and he is left blabbering like a fool.

You laugh again, eyes crinkling so beautifully he swears he’s ascended.

“If that’s how you react, I wonder how cute you’ll be when it’s the real deal.”

And then you’re gone, vanishing like a sweet dream in a flurry of pixels, leaving Sunday there to dazedly touch his lips, and then where you’d kissed him.

And then he smiles, giddily, and his halo practically glows as soft, love-stricken giggles begin to leave him.

reblogs w comments are appreciated !!

[hadesrise]

𝗡𝗢𝗧 𝗟𝗜𝗞𝗘 𝗔𝗡𝗬 𝗢𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗥.

summary ➳ harry noticed you’re not like any other slytherin

pairings ➳ harry james potter x male reader

warnings ➳ fluff, mutual pining, foul language, reader being an adorable slytherin, touch-deprived harry, just the chosen one thirsting over reader lmao, mentions of making out, soft!slytherin reader, pet names ( darling, love )

author’s note ➳ rewatching harry potter made me recall the time when i used to fantasize about two persons from supposedly rival houses falling for each other and saying “fuck it” to their rivalry before making out. yes, it's typical, but i like it just the way it is.

Of all the houses in Hogwarts, it’s well known that Slytherin is the most disliked one due to their personality that doesn’t seem to include kindness regardless of how others treat them. This might have only been a stereotype that students from other houses pushed on Slytherin, but they had a very reasonable excuse for thinking of Slytherins that way because of a particular blonde haired snake and his goons that terrorize anyone and everyone they come across. Not only that, but most people from Slytherin are unpleasant to say the least and Harry can only name a few who aren’t, like Professor Slughorn for example.

So, understandably, Harry thought you’re going to be as unpleasant as other Slytherins too after Hermione accidentally bumped into you and dropped her books to scatter all over the ground. The Golden trio were walking down the hallway leading towards Hagrid’s hut, talking to one another about how Professor Trelawney freaked out again today at Divination, with Hermione carrying books more heavier than usual (the two boys offered to carry them but she refused), before they turned a corner and she collided on a rather hard chest.

She was going to apologize, but her eyes — in sync with Harry’s and Ron’s — landed on the green colored tie with silver stripes, and the blood immediately drained from her face. It’s not like she can’t defend herself, considering she sucker punched Malfoy on the third year, but dealing with a bunch of snakes can be really exhausting sometimes and frankly, she isn’t in the mood to fight with them today.

Without a word, Hermione crouches down to pick up her books. Much to their surprise, the Slytherin knelt down to help her gather the heavier and thicker books Ron and Harry were about to pick up.

When they finally made an effort to look at the unusual Slytherin Hermione bumped into, Harry was surprised to see a very good looking and attractive boy with (h/c) hair and (e/c) eyes that seemed to spark under the light. Despite the books being heavy, you carried it easily as if they have the weight of a feather, placing another book on top of them — Harry figured you were reading it before the disaster struck.

“Are these books from Hagrid?”

The Chosen One felt his stomach fill with butterflies and heart suddenly beat rapidly at the sound of your soothing voice.

He was so used to Slytherins having that obnoxiously annoying voice, where he doesn’t know whether to cover his ears or rip them away from the sides of his head. But your voice was, even with a tone deeper than average, smooth and gentle. There was no hint of venom, distaste, unpleasantness, or despise. Just curiosity and interest. Harry also noticed you called Hagrid by his name rather than the awful big oaf other Slytherins call him all the time.

“Oh, uhm... Yes.” It took a while for Hermione to overcome the surprise and provide an answer.

“Interesting,” You hummed quietly. “I should drop by Hagrid and burrow some of his books too. He must have the book of Ancient Magical Creatures.” Muttering to yourself, the Golden trio couldn’t help but crack a smile when you seem to forget for a split second that you weren’t alone.

Gathering some courage, Harry decides to break your little bubble by hesitantly speaking. “Er — excuse me?”

“Yes?” You turn to look and catch his emerald eyes.

“You can come with us if you want. We don’t mind.”

A tiny bit of smile forms on your lips, almost unnoticeable. “With pleasure. Though, I don’t suppose it’s alright for Gryffindors to walk around with Slytherin.” You glanced around, “Some of the people from your house doesn’t tolerate their fellow Gryffindor hanging out with the rival house.”

“I think you’re okay,” Ron says reluctantly.

“If you say so.” Amusement flashes across your eyes. “Also, I’ll carry these books instead.” You didn’t let Hermione protest as you began to walk nonchalantly towards Hagrid’s hut with a slight delay to your steps; Harry figured you were purposely walking slower than your normal pace so it would be easy to walk with your shoulders lining with theirs.

You introduced yourself to them after successfully burrowing a book from Hagrid that you were searching for.

Ever since then, Harry would find himself scanning every classroom he’s in to look for you, taking mental notes of the similar classes you have together, and if you’re nowhere to be seen, he would just attempt to at least catch a glimpse of you in the Great Hall by the Slytherin table. Sometimes, when he’s fortunate enough, your eyes would meet his across the hall and you would give him the faintest of smile before returning to your meal. Other times, when the both of you are free, you would talk with each other for a while until the next class comes.

Spending his time with you made Harry notice things — such as how you’re mostly quiet, which isn’t very common in Slytherin; their loud voices being very distinguishable in the Great Hall explains that. You’re also a bit of a bookworm as he often sees you carrying or reading them around, it made him wonder why you weren’t placed in Ravenclaw, but he suppose being interested in books doesn’t automatically make someone a Ravenclaw. He also noticed the way your facial expression rarely shows rapid or strong emotions, mostly expressing boredom to anyone and anything around you, if not, your face just remains emotionless with a what Harry knew was called resting bitch face. Though, your wonderful eyes do spark seemingly brighter when you’re with him.

Another brilliant thing is finding out you don’t tolerate any of Malfoy’s bullshit.

You seem to disagree with everything the blonde says, which leads to Malfoy spitting some nasty insults in attempt to get under your skin, only to cower away when you raise a brow at him paired with deadly calm expression, which is much scarier than anything in Harry’s opinion. You were definitely not like any other Slytherin he’s ever met.

“Ron, getting a detention at potions isn’t a good reason to set Professor Snape’s office on fire!” Hermione hissed.

“But ‘ermione, he’s horrible!” Retorts Ron and turns to his best friend to plead, “Back me up here, mate!”

However, he doesn’t receive a response as Harry was too busy ogling at a particular someone by the Slytherin’s table, his hand not moving from the parchment that began to be soaked in black ink due to his quill being pressed on it. Ron and Hermione looked at each other questioningly and followed Harry’s gaze, their eyes landing on you eating quietly while ignoring the chaos members from your house were bringing. You almost looked peaceful despite surrounded by loud chattering, laughter, and the clinks of utensils against the plate.

Your patience isn’t high; you often get annoyed easily, but the way you’re unbothered no matter what’s happening around you made it seem like your patience was limitless.

Hermione rolled her eyes after realizing Harry was waiting for you to notice and rolls up the parchment she had before whacking the back of his head with it, successfully snapping him out of his daydream. “What do you think’s gonna happen if you just stare at (Y/n)?”

The Chosen One cleared his throat, taking a glance at you and quickly returning it to his best friends. “What am I supposed to do then? I can’t just walk up to him in front of other Slytherins.”

“I’d rather see you do anything than ogle at him everyday and act like an idiot.” She sighs exasperatedly.

For a boy who survived the Killing Curse and Voldemort’s multiple serious death threats, he was one hell of an annoying dork when it comes to love. He was painfully obvious with his growing crush towards you, even other Gryffindors had begun to suspect it, yet haven’t done anything to change the relationship you two have — sure, it can be called friendship, but Hermione and almost all of their friends could agree it is more than that. They couldn’t honestly contain their frustration at Harry being content with just this.

“It’s no use, Hermione.” Ron whispered when Harry went back to ogling at you. “He says he’s not going to do anything about it unless he’s sure there’s a chance.”

Sighing, the bushy haired girl shakes her head and slumped on her seat defeatedly.

How long do they have to deal with a lovesick Harry?

Searching around the school grounds, Harry finally found you reading by the Black Lake, not caring that your robe might get dirty as you sat on the ground and read another book. It was a windy day that sent calm energy throughout your body, the rustling of leaves and the sound of lake soothing you more than usual, allowing you to focus more on the context of your book. You loved the silence where no voices or other noises can be heard, just the sound of nature slipping into your ears.

Harry slowly approached as to not startle you, but felt himself relax after you pay him no mind and sat down beside where you are. The sky seems brighter than he remembers, with only small particles of cloud littered all around.

“Are you feeling well?” You asked without looking up from your book, and Harry hugs his knees to his chest, watching the wind cause waves of water on the lake.

“Better now that I found you.” The seemingly flirtatious sentence was uttered in complete sincerity and seriousness that even Harry himself didn’t expect. The tip of his ears turned bright red in increasing embarrassment as you snapped your eyes to him, seeing an adorable blush spread rapidly across his cheeks, avoiding eye contact with you at all costs.

You hum, slamming the book shut. Harry was now staring straight ahead at the lake, as if there was something interesting in it, making amusement appear on your usually expressionless face. “Look at you blushing, Potter. So adorable.” You whispered the last part, almost teasingly, and he blushes even more.

“Well, you’re adorable as well.” Harry dares meeting your eyes. His heart bangs even more loudly in his chest after seeing the almost loving look in them, finding himself admiring you.

All playfulness leaves your face as you stare into each other’s eyes with a mirroring hint of adoration. You shift to lean back on one of your hand while the other rise to brush a hair out of Harry’s forehead, before cupping his cheek, admiring the way his emerald eyes sparked under the warm sunlight. This is your first time seeing his face close and having the time to focus on his features more; you knew Harry was attractive the moment you set eyes on him, but you realized he looked almost ethereal at this point, making your heart flutter.

“Your eyes are really captivating,” You muttered, barely audible but reached Harry’s ears nonetheless.

He chuckled breathlessly, “I got it from my mum.”

“She must’ve been such a wonderful woman then.”

Your thumb gently rubbed his cheek and Harry couldn’t help but lean to your touch and close his eyes. He’s been touch-deprived for long, being touched with care and gentleness made him weak in the knees easily. A coo escape from your lips; an unlikely sound for Slytherin to make. Before Harry could process what was happening, you had set aside your book and pulled him to your lap, settling him between your legs. Harry blinks, surprised.

“I’m seriously soft for you, Potter. Too adorable.” You sigh, burying your hand through his dark locks and softly scratching his scalp.

Getting over his initial shock, Harry relaxed and made himself comfortable, letting his body rest against yours as he laid his head on your chest. It worried him that you might hear his rapidly beating heart, but honestly couldn’t bring himself to care when you were being so generous, holding him, playing with his hair. If others were to see you and him like this, they would certainly assume it’s the end of the world for two rival houses to be cuddly with each other when they usually spit hatred.

Though, after meeting you, Harry had begun to believe not all Slytherins are bad — it’s just that people, including himself, unfairly stereotyped them as a bunch of evil-doers only because of the choices that older people from Slytherin made in the past, which the young Slytherins are definitely not in control of. There are questionable Slytherins like Malfoy and his goons, but they’re not a reason for others to start generalizing that all students from the snake house is evil.

Slowly and albeit hesitantly, Harry wraps his arms around your back and nuzzles your chest. You’re absolutely different from other Slytherin members, but he still found it odd that a Slytherin is this nice and affectionate, especially when you’re usually quiet and socially distant, preferring to be alone with slightest bit of annoyance directed at your fellow housemates.

Closing his eyes as sleepiness start to fall over his eyelids, the Chosen One wondered why you’re only doing this with and to him. He’s never seen you with anyone before, and when he did, you always maintained clear distance from them, as if they held contagious disease. It made him feel special in any way, but also confused.

“(Y/n)?”

His sleepy voice make you chuckle softly. “Hmm?”

“Why are you so affectionate with me?”

Your hand playing with his hair abruptly stops, and for a second Harry thought he made a mistake of mentioning it. However, relief floods him when you went back to massaging his scalp. “Isn’t it obvious, Potter?”

He shakes his head. Don’t want to assume.

Silence falls as you stop your hand again. Curiosity of your expression plaguing his mind, Harry opens his eyes and looks up without moving from his laying position — his breath almost stopping when he came across a very loving gaze staring at him like he was the entire universe. His heart swell as heat rushes to his cheeks. He attempted to hide his face by burying it on your chest, but you held him still, hand cupping his cheek once again.

You don’t even give him time to react before you captured his lips on yours, practically stealing Harry’s breath away. Just a gentle kiss on the lips, but enough to make his brain fuzzy.

Pulling away before he could reciprocate, you smiled. Not a forced one, but genuine and coming from the bottom of your heart. “Does that answer your question, Harry?”

Despite the fluttering of his heart and the urge to jump up and down in pure joy, Harry pouts. “Not enough.”

You chuckled. “I need to be persuasive then.”

Needless to say, you both missed the next class making out by the Black Lake and not caring about getting caught.

Ron and Hermione were freaked out. The reason lies with Harry, who’s been in an awfully good mood the entire day to the point even Malfoy can’t get through him and he began noticing some good qualities in some of the Slytherin members. Don’t get them wrong, Harry being in a good mood is great because the boy deserves a day without constantly fighting for his life and feeling like everyone’s against him, but attempting to find the good qualities even in Malfoy? That’s when the two gets really concerned.

When lunch break comes around, Harry was still in a brilliant mood, smiling to himself because of whatever merlin knows. Ron and Hermione shares a look as they continue to eat, observing their best friend who began to look for you in the Slytherin table, his smile immediately widening after he sees you.

Hermione turns around just in time for you to look up from the foods and meet Harry’s eyes. Unexpectedly, a soft smile appears on your lips as you wave at him, not caring when your housemates see it. Harry chuckled, waving back, before you returned to eating your food in silence. The three of them witnessed Malfoy mutter something that caused you to roll your eyes and smack the back of his head with the book you were reading before.

“So,” Ron began after he and Hermione looked back at Harry. “Is there something you’re not telling us, ‘arry?”

The said boy only raised his eyebrows, unable to contain his grin.

“Come on, Harry!” Hermione urged.

Before anyone could respond, however, someone took a seat on the empty space beside Harry — turning their heads, they were surprised to see you there.

“Hello, love.” Harry almost melted at the pet name. You gave his best friends a polite smile, “Excuse him from your conversation for a moment, Hermione, Ron.”

“Of course, go ahead.” Neither of them could honestly deny a polite Slytherin no matter how much they want to.

“What is it?” Harry questioned, more than welcome to talk with you. However, you seem to have a different idea in mind as you leaned in without a word and captured his lips in a lingering kiss, hearing gasps erupt from multiple places — mainly Ron, Hermione, any Gryffindor who were wondering why a Slytherin paid Harry Potter a visit, Malfoy, his goons, and some other Slytherins who just happened to catch the moment. Few students from Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw had their mouths open in shock as well.

There was a smug look on your face when you pulled away, smirking at Malfoy who was previously babbling some nonsense that you couldn’t possibly like Potter and are probably just using him. By the looks of it, you had succeeded in proving the blonde ferret wrong.

“What was that for?” Harry asked breathlessly. You caught him off guard.

“Oh, nothing. Just proving to gits that Gryffindor and Slytherin are sometimes compatible if it’s with the right person.” You shrugged, resting an elbow on the table and putting your chin on the palm of your hand. “In short, I wanted to prove people wrong who says we can’t be together since you’re a Gryffindor as I am a Slytherin.”

“Wait, someone told you that?”

“Rumors of us being seen making out by the Black Lake travels fast,” You sipped on Harry’s pumpkin juice, which he didn’t mind even the slightest as he blushed, avoiding Ron’s and Hermione’s wide and intrigued eyes. “One little bird from Ravenclaw thought it’d be wise to practically squeal it in the hallways that the rumor’s impossible because of our houses rivalry.”

You snort, “As if we give a fuck about that.”

For the first time, Harry actually saw the Slytherin in you.

And he wasn’t going to complain, not when you’re not like any other.

© ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜ��s ʀᴇsᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʜᴀᴅᴇsʀɪsᴇ. sᴛᴇᴀʟɪɴɢ, ᴘʟᴀɢɪᴀʀɪᴢɪɴɢ, ᴏʀ ᴜsɪɴɢ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ғᴏʀ ᴍᴏɴᴇᴛᴀʀʏ ɢᴀɪɴ ɪs sᴛʀɪᴄᴛʟʏ ᴘʀᴏʜɪʙɪᴛᴇᴅ. ᴀsᴋ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪssɪᴏɴ ʙᴇғᴏʀᴇ ʀᴇᴘᴏsᴛɪɴɢ ᴏʀ ᴛʀᴀɴsʟᴀᴛɪɴɢ.

[mimimarvelingmarvel]

time bound part eleven

pairing: worst wolverine!logan howlett x f!mutant!reader

Part Eleven - Masterlist

summary: Y/n’s life takes a dramatic turn when the Time Variance Authority intervenes, pulling her from a critical moment in her timeline. The TVA sends her to the void where she eventually meets with Deadpool and a very familiar face. With Deadpool's universe in the balance, alongside his reluctant would-be pal, Wolverine, and the enigmatic time-bending mutant known as the Veil, the trio must complete the mission and save Deadpool’s world from an existential threat.

overall warnings: 18+, Fem!Reader, AFAB Reader, Use of Y/N, Her X-Men name is Veil, She/her pronouns, Swearing, Angst, Heavy Violence, Character Death, Deadpool (he’s his own warning), Hurt, Fluff, Angst, Eventual Smut, Slow Burn, TVA

word count: 2.7k

a/n: longest and saddest chapter x

After we unceremoniously crash-land on a guy named Pete’s KIA he was attempting to sell, the impact crumpling the hood like a tin can, the sound of screeching metal echoes through the air, drowning out the distant city noise. Pete looks delighted to see Wade, something I never thought I would see. Wade gives him a quick recap before we are on the run, following him as he takes us towards the TVA.

As we walk down the bustling street, the chaotic sounds of the city engulf us—honking cars, distant chatter, and the occasional siren blaring in the distance. The air is thick with the smell of street food, a mixture of hot dogs, pretzels, and something sweet like roasted nuts. The vibrant life around me feels surreal, almost too good to be true after months trapped in that nightmarish place, where the only sounds were the howling winds and the distant echoes of something monstrous.

I notice a man in a dishevelled suit barreling toward us, his tie askew, and his face a mask of desperation and fear. Sweat beads on his forehead and his wild eyes lock onto us with an intensity that sends a shiver down my spine. His nose is broken and I hear Wade giggle beside me, no doubt his doing.

His voice cracks as he shouts, "No, stop, piss off, you’re too late." His voice is tinged with both panic and resignation as if he knows he’s already lost but can’t help fighting against the inevitable.

Logan’s muscles tense, and his voice drops to a growl, deep and menacing like a wolf ready to pounce. His hands curl into fists, the veins in his forearms bulging. "You’re fucking done," he snarls, each word laced with venom.

I glance at the stranger, confusion and wariness gnawing at me. "Who the fuck is this?" I demand, my voice harsher than I intended. The man’s presence feels wrong, like a puzzle piece that doesn’t quite fit.

His face pales further, his voice trembling with the weight of whatever horror he’s seen. “You brought another Veil to this world? She was supposed to stay in the Void.” His eyes dart around.

"Zip it. Why was Thor crying?" Wade cuts in, his tone is light, mocking, but there’s an edge to it.

Paradox’s fear transforms into righteous indignation, his voice rising in a feeble attempt to regain control. “How dare you? No one comes back from The Void.” His hands twitch at his sides, as if he’s debating whether to fight or flee.

Wolverine’s growl deepens, the sound rumbling in his chest like a storm about to break. His eyes narrow, the cold fury in them unmistakable. "Tell that to Cassandra Nolva."

A sudden whirl of light and energy erupts behind us, the air crackling with raw power. I whip around just in time to see Pyro step through a swirling portal, his expression grim, his eyes shadowed with the burden of bad news. “Paradox, we have a problem,” he says, his voice low and urgent, as if he’s trying to contain the disaster that’s about to unfold.

Before anyone can react, Paradox’s neck snaps violently to the side with a sickening crunch, the sound echoing in the still air like a death knell. His body drops like a marionette whose strings have been cut, crumpling to the ground in a lifeless heap, his eyes staring blankly at nothing as Cassandra steps out from the portal, a cold smirk on her lips. Her eyes gleam with a malevolent intelligence, as if she’s always two steps ahead of everyone else.

Cassandra’s voice drips with malice, each word carefully enunciated as if savoring the moment. "Paradox? You tried to kill me."

Paradox’s voice shakes, a pathetic whimper escaping his lips, his once confident demeanor shattered. “I literally have no idea…” His words trail off into a pitiful whisper, his fear tangible in the air. Her hand, pale and elegant, wraps around his brain beneath the skin. “You come for the king, you better kill the king,” she says, her voice a deadly whisper that sends chills down my spine.

Deadpool grins wickedly, his teeth flashing in the dim light. "Oh, welcome to the skull-fuck club, Paradox. You know she doesn’t wash that hand." His tone is mocking.

Cassandra tilts her head, examining the man with detached curiosity, as if he’s nothing more than a specimen under a microscope. "Oh, what’s this? A Time-Ripper, you naughty boy," she murmurs, her voice a mixture of amusement and disdain.

"Oh no, we’re on it. We’re gonna head down and dismantle that thing now. We got you, boo; you just keep playing those keys." Wade flashes a playful wink.

Cassandra’s eyes narrow, a dangerous gleam in them as she steps closer, her presence suffocating. "I don’t want to destroy it. I want to use it." Her voice is laced with greed, a hunger for power that sends a jolt of fear through me.

My heart clenches in my chest as Cassandra’s gaze locks onto me, her power reaching out, invisible but suffocating. I gasp as I’m yanked off my feet, the force of her magic slamming me back into Logan’s chest. The impact is brutal, knocking the air from my lungs and sending us both crashing through a bakery window. The glass shatters around us, sharp shards slicing through the air like deadly confetti. The scent of fresh bread and sugar mingles with the coppery tang of blood, creating a nauseating cocktail that makes my head spin.

The impact knocks the wind out of me, and I struggle to breathe, my lungs burning as I gasp for air. Dust and debris swirl around us, and I manage to whisper, "Fuck," as I roll off Logan, wincing at the pain radiating through my body. My skin stings where the glass has cut me, and I can feel warm blood trickling down my arms and face.

Wade shakes off the dust, standing up with a grimace, his usual cocky swagger subdued. "You okay, Pumpkin?" he asks, his tone surprisingly gentle, concern flickering in his eyes.

I grunt, forcing myself to stand on shaky legs, every muscle screaming in protest. "Never better." My voice is hoarse, and I can feel the weight of exhaustion pressing down on me, but I push it aside. My eyes scan the chaotic scene outside, where people are running in every direction, their screams of terror echoing off the buildings. "I’m going to go stop her."

Logan tries to grab me, his fingers grazing my arm, but Wade holds him back, a rare seriousness in his eyes. "We’ve got other problems to deal with, buddy. Pumpkin’s got this, our little time ripper." He glances at me, a knowing look crossing his face, his expression almost… proud? "Oops—spoilers." He says to some unknown thing in the distance.

I shrug him off, giving Logan one last look, a silent plea in my eyes, before jogging toward the subway entrance. The stairs are steep and narrow, the fluorescent lights flickering overhead, casting everything in a sickly yellow hue. The tunnel is dark, the air heavy with the scent of metal and something more sinister, something that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. As I descend deeper, the sounds of the city fade away, replaced by the ominous hum of the machines below.

Paradox sits in a chair in the control room, his hands gripping the armrests so tightly his knuckles are white. His face is a mask of terror, his eyes wide and unblinking as he watches the screens in front of him.

"You dumb shit," I seethe, grabbing his shoulder and spinning him to face me. His eyes are wide, filled with the kind of fear that only comes when you realize you’ve truly fucked up. "What have you done?" My voice

I look up at the machines, their screens flashing erratically as Cassandra wreaks havoc on the timelines. Each beep and whirr of the machinery seems to punctuate the gravity of the situation, the digital displays a chaotic dance of numbers and warnings. “She’s going to destroy the whole existence of timelines until just the Void remains,” He says, his face pale and trembling.

“Fuck,” I mutter, my voice barely above a breath.

“You can stop her.” I look to him, hopeful. “That’s what’s so dangerous about you, but if you do that, you’ll die.” The weight of his words hits me like a physical blow. My heart pounds in my chest, and I stare into his eyes, searching for some hint of hope or another solution.

“You idiots didn’t make a failsafe?” My voice is sharp with frustration and fear.

Paradox nods, his eyes wide with terror. “But she’s the closest one to it. This is the only way.”

I shiver as the realization sinks in. The thought of my own death is a cold, hard reality that shakes me to my core. If I do this, I’m gone. But if I don’t, everyone else dies. My mind races with the enormity of the choice before me.

“Tell me what I have to do.”

Paradox, trembling, presses a small button on a console. A video screen flickers to life, displaying a grainy, distorted image of the control systems. “You have to bridge the gap between the two feeds of matter and anti-matter. It will implode the time ripper, killing Cassandra… and you.”

My breath catches in my throat, a shaky exhale escaping my lips. “If you see Logan, tell him I’m sorry.” I step away, my legs feeling heavy and leaden. “Where is it?”

He points shakily toward the lower levels. I nod, turning toward the stairs, each step feeling like a mile as I make my way to the feeder room. The weight of the impending sacrifice presses down on me, and I try to steady my shaking hands. My heart races as I think of the life I’m leaving behind, the people I’m leaving behind.

As I descend, the cool, musty air of the stairwell wraps around me, each step echoing in the silence. I can feel tears pricking at the corners of my eyes, memories flashing before me. The joyous moments, the regrets, and the lingering fear of leaving Logan behind. The thought of not having a legacy, of leaving without making a mark, terrifies me.

At the bottom of the stairs, a long hallway stretches out before me, lit by flickering lights that cast eerie shadows on the walls. I pause at the end, my gaze fixed on the door ahead. The lights behind the glass window flicker and pulse, mirroring the turmoil within me. I take a step forward, but my knee buckles, and I hit the ground, a vision of blinding white light assaulting my eyes. The intensity of it nearly overwhelms me, but it fades as quickly as it came.

I try to sit up, my body trembling with fear. I need to do this. I force myself to stand, my hand reaching for the door. Just as I’m about to push it open, a voice echoes down the hallway, stopping me in my tracks.

I hear my name cut through the tension like a blade. “Y/N!”

My heart leaps into my throat, a jolt of adrenaline making me spin around. Logan is rushing toward me, his face a storm of fear and determination. His eyes, usually so controlled, are wide with panic and desperation. Behind him, Wade follows, his usual irreverent demeanor replaced by a rare, somber resolve.

“What are you doing?” Logan's voice is a mix of terror and disbelief, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that makes my resolve waver.

“It has to be me.” I tell him, standing my ground.

Logan’s expression morphs into one of resolute defiance. “No, I won’t let you die. I’ll do it.”

Deadpool’s voice slices through the tension, his usual levity gone, replaced by an uncharacteristic seriousness. “No can do, Peanut. It’s gotta be me.”

Logan’s confusion is immediate, his brow furrowing deeply. “What?”

Deadpool’s gaze drops, his face revealing a rare moment of vulnerability. “You didn’t ask for any of this. You were right. I lied. I lied right to your face. Just to get you to help me. You did.”

Logan’s eyes dart between Deadpool and me, filled with frantic desperation. “You didn’t lie. You made an educated wish. You got a whole world to go back to.”

His gaze settles back on me, filled with a raw, unspoken plea. “I would never let you leave me in a world without you again. I got nothing without you, so give me this.”

I shake my head slowly, tears welling up in my eyes, threatening to spill over. Logan’s movement toward the door is resolute, but the sight of his anguished expression tears at my heart. I cry harder, my sobs echoing down the narrow hallway.

Deadpool steps closer, his face lined with a rare gravity. “I waited a long time for this team-up. And you know something? You’re the best Wolverine.”

The sincerity in his voice is a stark contrast to his usual banter, and it shatters my resolve. I look at Wade, my vision blurring with tears.

Logan freezes, his body paralyzed by my powers, a look of helpless frustration etched deeply into his features. Wade stands still beside me, his eyes filled with unspoken sorrow, a silent acknowledgment of the inevitability of my choice.

“Y/N? What are you doing?”

I force myself to push down my tears, my voice trembling as I answer. “I’m doing the right thing.”

I walk past them, the effort to stop me almost tangible, their emotions reaching out like a desperate plea. I reach the door, the cold metal handle biting into my hand as I pull it open, stepping inside. The door slams shut behind me with a finality that reverberates through the hallway, their desperate shouts muffled by the thick, reinforced walls.

Logan’s roar of frustration is visceral, the impact of his body slamming into the door sending a shudder through the corridor.

“Open the door!” He screams.

“I can’t, Logan. You know it has to be me. I couldn’t save them, but I can save you.” I hold a hand up to the glass.

Logan’s voice cracks, the raw emotion evident. “Why are you fucking doing this?”

“Because I love you.” I finally admit, my heart cracking at the weight of my confession.

Logan’s response is a choked, pained cry, tears streaking down his cheeks as he pounds on the door again. His anguish is palpable, each strike against the door a testament to his heartbreak.

“You fucking idiot.”

Deadpool’s voice is strained, filled with uncharacteristic desperation. “Pumpkin? Don’t do this.”

“I love you.” I tell him again.

Logan’s voice softens, a heartbreaking admission. “I love you too.”

A sad smile tugs at my lips as I hear his final words, knowing they’re the last I’ll hear from him. “That’s all I needed to hear to know I’m doing the right thing.”

I turn away from the door, my resolve solidifying as I move toward the center of the bridge. The matter and anti-matter streams twist and writhe with chaotic energy, their raw power casting erratic shadows across the room. Cassandra stands above, the time ripper in her control, her silhouette a dark, menacing figure against the flickering lights.

I reach out, gripping the matter stream first. The metal is cold and unyielding, but as my hands close around it, blue lightning crackles up my arms. The strain is immense, and I grit my teeth as I pull the stream toward the anti-matter, the effort causing my body to shake violently. The raw power surges through me like a tempest, each pulse of energy a painful reminder of the cost of my choice.

I barely graze the anti-matter before finally getting a firm grip on it. The contact sends a jolt of searing agony through my body, and I cry out, the pain almost unbearable. The lights above flicker wildly, their erratic dance mirroring the tumultuous energy converging within me. The pounding on the door fades into a distant echo, Logan and Wade’s voices reduced to frantic, muffled pleas.

As the matter and anti-matter streams converge within me, a blinding white light envelops me, consuming everything in its intensity. My vision fades to a blur of white, the world dissolving around me, until finally—black.

Next Part

A/N: angst.

taglist: @oscarissac2099 @somiaw @100percentlazybonez @obsessedwthdilfs @sun7lowxr @corvid007

[catscidr]

HIIII CAN I GET DOTTORE(WEBTOON VER) X READER (fluff if u want) PLS..... where ur his assistant (besides krupp, like reader and krupp are both his assistant) and he so clearly has favoritism towards reader, bro is SMITTEN. have a good day... :D

this is sorta taking place right when the manga starts, right before dottore and the gang have a meeting about fatui stuff n all. also spoilers for the manga kinda if u haven't read it already?? i threw krupp under the bus a lot but its to make up for the fact that he’s alive in this lmaoa sry to any krupp lovers out there (′ʘ⌄ʘ‵) also there’s a lot of buildup n world building kinda im sorry i got in the zone HAHA ALSO MB THIS TOOK A WHILE TO WRITE i was drowning in leftover dessert from the holidays and was in a food coma for a couple o days. forgive me nonnie but u can get ur food now ⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝ cw: reader is overwhelmed, not proofread i just went ham. not too much dialogue it's mostly unspoken bc webttore is an "actions > words" kinda man includes: fem reader, webttore, krupp, diluc mentionned wc: 1,7k

The mission was a complete and utter disaster. 

All three of you were supposed to attend the Ragnvindr ball with a simple goal; blend in as much as possible, gather intel on the Knights of Favonius and leave without a hitch. Of course, that wasn’t an easy task considering Dottore’s eccentric and unpredictable personality and Krupp being a thorn in your side at best. 

Things started going downhill before you had even left your private quarters. While you were getting ready, carefully blinking as you brushed your mascara into your lashes to blend them in with your fake ones, you were startled by a loud, quick series of knocks on your door, making you smudge the dark pigment on your eyelid. Seeing the look on your face, Krupp had apologized (halfheartedly) before leaving you to your devices, seemingly forgetting why he had even interrupted you in the first place. You tried to convince yourself that it was fine, it was an easy fix anyways- but you couldn’t help but get irritated by your coworker’s behaviour at the very least. 

The next accident happened when the three of you had stepped out of the carriage in front of the Ragnvindr mansion. Masquerading as Dottore’s concubine, he held your hand to help you out of the caravan. That in it of itself was fine; the texture of his velvet glove was nice, the warmth emanating from his hand was even nicer and you swore you saw his face soften at the sight of you carefully stepping down the singular stair, leg jutting out as you balanced yourself on the cobblestone path on your heels. But Krupp just had to step on the back of your dress, a brown footprint now adorning the periwinkle frilly trail of your gown. The only good thing that came out of it was Dottore moving his hand to your waist and swiveling you to his side, fixing his assistant with a hard glare that could kill. 

Then, after you had gotten most of the dirt out of your dress (with the help of a kind butler), your trio stepped into the venue, splitting into two groups. Krupp would blend in with a group of nobles whereas you and Dottore, arms linked together, would speak to people in the Knights directly. Eyeing your coworker in the crowd, you saw him courteously kiss the back of a noblewoman’s hand; despite the slight look of disgust crossing your face, he seemed to be doing well with the mission. 

However, it seemed that whatever Archon was watching over you then didn’t appreciate the lack of drama. As Dottore introduced the both of you to a platinum-haired man, he had gotten his shoulder shoved by what had appeared to be a new hire from the manor (at least, you assumed so considering the way he had immediately gotten yelled at by a lady older than him). 

You yelped when the Harbinger spilled his drink all over the front of your dress, some champagne sliding down your chest leaving an uncomfortable, sticky feeling on your skin. Cheeks reddening from embarrassment and frustration, you brush away his frantic apology as you storm out, grabbing a handful of napkins on a nearby table while making your way to the closest bathroom. 

Thankfully it wasn’t hard to find, not with a maid offering to help you (she had gotten turned down but kindly pointed you in the right direction at the very least). Patting your skin dry, you burst into the surprisingly empty bathroom and assessed the damage. 

That’s where you are currently. 

Staring at the state of your previously pristine appearance you can’t help but tear up. Sure, this was just for a mission, and you could just wipe away the booze as much as you could and go back to do your job. But the one time you get to dress nice, the one time you can rid yourself of that ugly, stuffy uniform and feel pretty... had to be ruined by men. While it wasn’t exactly Dottore’s fault that he spilled his drink all over your dress, you still felt mad at Krupp for stepping on it when you all had first arrived. Was it petty to still be upset about it? Yes. Were your feelings justified? Also yes. 

Being the Doctor’s assistant was a chore. A challenge, sometimes. He was demanding, strict and you often had to walk on eggshells around him to avoid setting him off. Whenever it happened, he’d start ranting and raving about how incompetent everyone in the fatui was- although, he’d never point a finger at you, usually Krupp was on the receiving end of his bite (even if he wasn’t even included in the conversation). 

Knowing him well enough to understand his moods and personality had its perks. Unfortunately, it also had its drawbacks- those being how, naturally, your boss would also know how to read your mood surprisingly well. Dottore was known to be mean and ruthless to anyone he crossed path with, however, he’s always had a soft spot for you. 

Sometimes it was obvious that he did, but sometimes it was like he saw your coworker’s face instead of your own- scowling at your mistakes and scolding you harshly for mixing in the wrong powder in a flask. Whenever that happened, you could almost forget how he was able to hold you so gently, as if you were a glass sculpture ready to break if even the slightest breeze hit you. But if he were to be described with one word, you’d never call him dense- as entitled as he could be, the Harbinger was still (maybe surprisingly) quite well-versed in human emotions. 

You barely hear your name being called in the distance, muffled by the sound of the angelic piano and violin in the main area. Too caught up in your thoughts, you continue seething and aggressively rubbing away the sticky residue on your chest, muttering some choice words about your coworker and your boss. 

The door to the women’s bathroom flies open, revealing a frustrated but concerned Dottore, his curly hair a mess from how often he must have run his hand through it while he ran to find you. Uncaring of how he was intruding on your moment and how he was in the women’s restroom, he stomps over to you, gloved hands coming down to your shoulders as he closes the distance between you so he can look at the damage properly. 

He doesn’t speak for what felt like minutes, leaving your heart to pound in a mix of shock (who wouldn’t get scared at the sight of a Harbinger slamming a door open?) and nervousness. One of his hands come down to move your own that still held onto the (now damp) napkins as he stared at the front of your dress. 

The sweetheart cut of your dress was soaked, the edge and thin lace sticking to your skin, light indigo dye appearing darker because of the stain. Snapping out of your frozen stupor, you push his hand away and bring your hands back up to cover your chest, flustered from how hard he was staring with those blank, crimson eyes. 

“...You’re in the wrong bathroom,” you murmur, unsure of how to get him to leave you alone without possibly setting him off. Dottore’s eyes flicker up to your side profile, his expression still freakishly unreadable. 

You suddenly feel both of his hands on your cheeks as he manhandles you to look at him, your heart skipping a beat. Unable to bring yourself to stay mad, tears prick at your eyes, and you look down. Holding his gaze was impossible, not when you’ve been feeling humiliated since the start of the evening. He doesn’t comment on your sorrow, keeping on staring at you intently. 

“I can always buy you a new, nicer dress if that’s what you want,” you hear him say, voice uncharacteristically quiet, and maybe even... unsure? 

You shake your head softly, sniffling. 

“No? Why are you upset, then?” 

Hearing him so utterly confused, puzzled, perplexed made you even more frustrated. Furious, even. With your emotions all over the place and a newfound fury blazing in your limbs you snatch his hands off from your face and stomp out of the bathroom, shouting I’m waiting in the carriage! before stepping out into the chilly Mondstadtian evening breeze. 

Dottore stood there, brows furrowed and mouth agape in confusion as he blinked at your retreating figure. He didn’t have the chance to go after you because, as if on cue, Krupp interrupted the show. 

“I gathered some juicy intel, boss! Those Knights are incredibly foolish for being so loose lipped,” the mustached man declares proudly, acutely unaware of the stuffy atmosphere. Maybe not completely unaware, but he’s for sure ignoring it if he noticed it. Instead of hearing him out though, Dottore scoffs and walks into him, shoving him to the side with a scowl. 

“Don’t waste my time with your useless boasting. We’re leaving,” the Harbinger all but groaned, running a hand through his hair, stress emanating from him in waves. His assistant catches up to him, stuttering out a Of course sir! as he opens the door for him, his shoes digging into the cobblestone path. 

Dottore immediately looks at your sat figure, chin in your palm, looking out of the window. The sight would make him melt if it weren’t for his other assistant’s presence a mere meter away from him. He says your name quietly, softly enough that no one other than you can hear and Krupp steps into the carriage, shouting directions to the driver. 

“Can I stay in the lab next time?” you grumble, refusing to turn around and look at your boss and coworker. Krupp opens his mouth to scold you, but Dottore beats him to it, shooting him a sharp glare, lips curling down in a frown. 

“You can,” he answers you while still looking at his employee. “In fact, it’ll give me an opportunity to properly teach my other assistant some manners,” he adds, practically growling the sentence. Krupp swallows thickly and pretends to not be involved in the conversation, looking away nervously. On the opposite side of the plush seat, you hide the smile creeping its way onto your features.

Ignoring the way your heart swelled, you inwardly celebrate your small victory. Dottore could be brash and cruel, but you’ll always cherish the moments when he shows you some lenience. Especially when it’s at the cost of your coworker’s imprudence. 

[piscespetals]

summary: in which sevika becomes your roommate. read part one here

content: fluff, angst, lesbian disaster

word count: 4k

sorry for the long wait! i've been very ill and it's taken a long while to recover since i'm immunocompromised. let me know your thoughts!

Chapter Two

Sevika is right...

Her friends are nice. 

The first time that you meet them is two weeks after she moves in.

She tells you that she initially, “Just wants to show them the place.”

She asks if you’re okay with that.

“Of course,” You respond, taken aback by the question.

You have a feeling that Sevika will do that often–ask for your permission, that is.

A part of you is flattered that she respects you so much to do so.

When they arrive, there’s two of them. One is a short heavy set woman with a buzz cut and gauges. She has striking cheekbones and smells nice. Her name is Hazel.

The other is a burly man, maybe ten years your senior, with a greying beard and ash brown hair. He wears clunky boots, something that you notice about him immediately and his name is Vander.

Hazel hugs you upon introduction. She has a tattoo on her neck in red ink; a viper with its fangs bared. The sight catches your breath. Instantly, you decide that you like her.

The four of you make your way throughout the flat. It’s easy to laugh along to Vander’s terribly corny puns and Hazel’s witty side-remarks. Sevika is the tamer one of the trio, which is not something you had expected, yet makes sense nonetheless.

When you all have made your way to the living room, the setting sun shines through the blinds of the patio door. It must be closer to dusk–a time of day that you often enjoy.

Your stomach grumbles and your nerves have settled to near nonexistence. With a sense of ease, you turn to Vander and Hazel and ask, “Would you two like to stay for dinner?”

You can tell that your offer shocks them. The original plan was for their visit to be short. At least, that’s what Sevika has assured you of. But you didn’t seem to mind their company for a few hours more. 

“We’d love to!” Vander replies, without hesitation.

When you glance towards Sevika, she’s peering at you with bright sparkling irises. A slow smile creeps onto her face, one that displays her pearly whites and gap. A buzz of exhilaration shoots through you. She winks, a small notion that somehow manages to speak a thousand words.

Your veins nearly explode. 

Your teeth gnaw on the inside of your cheek, as you struggle to contain yourself from bursting into a shit-eating grin.

There’s a routine to you and Sevika’s livelihood.

She usually cooks the meals. You do your best to clean the house afterwards. Though you're not much of a cleaner, Sevika’s presence seems to make you want to do so. She’s particular about her living space. She likes everything tidy and organized; two words that you weren’t very familiar with before meeting her. But she somehow makes those traits easy for you to adopt. 

She likes to grocery shop. You don’t take kindly to those sorts of errands; that was a chore that Mel used to happily complete. But now, it’s been delegated to Sevika.

When she arrives back home from the store, you meet her in the parking lot. She always looks mighty and powerful when she pulls up in her shiny black truck. 

And it feels natural when she regards you with a warm grin, climbing out of her ridiculous vehicle with ease. You never fail to smile in return. Because smiling around her is the easiest thing to do–nearly as easy as breathing. 

She slips a few bags of groceries into your arms–which always seem to be the lightest loads–while she grabs the heavier items. And the both of you walk back to the apartment, glued at the hip, chatting about everything that comes to mind. Or, on some days, nothing at all.

Conversation is never a necessity around Sevika.

Her presence is, invariably, more than enough.

Sevika has a girlfriend. 

It’s brought to your attention a month after she moves in. One day, Sevika asks you if her girlfriend can stay the night. “Is that okay with you?” She mutters, during the early hours of the morning.

You were aware that she had started seeing someone, but you didn’t think it was so… serious. 

Not serious enough for her to want the woman to sleep over. Not serious enough for her to ask your permission.

“If it’s not,” She adds. “I completely get it.” 

She wants to know if you’re okay with that idea. Oddly enough, the fact that she’s merely asking for permission is a gesture that spreads warmth inside of your chest. 

But there’s also a much stronger emotion that washes over you. For some reason, your instinctive reflex is to wrinkle your nose. You catch yourself trying to cloak that reaction by diving your nose into your mug and taking a hearty gulp of your tea. The liquid burns your throat.

After you swallow, you turn your back towards her, expressing a sudden interest in the toast she’s made you. Suddenly, you aren’t as woo’d by her request to make you breakfast. Did she butter your toast because she wanted to? Or because she was trying to lift your spirits, in hopes that you’d be okay with meeting her girlfriend? 

Your mouth sours. “Why would it bother me?” Your voice is hoarse from lack of usage. “You’re a grown woman. You can have anyone over that you’d like. I’m not like,” You clear your throat. “Your mother or anything.” Then you shove a piece of warm buttery toast into your mouth. You aren’t the type to eat toast on a daily basis, but since she’s moved in, you have. You hate how much she makes you love it. “Plus, you're on the lease. So this is your place too. You don’t have to ask me for permission.”

She hesitates before replying, “It's the polite thing to do.”

You roll your eyes.

Polite this and polite that.

Sevika’s always being polite with you, even when you don’t ask her to. Even when you don’t feel like you deserve it.

Even when you’re being anything but polite to her.

You hate that about her. She makes your muscles relax and your toes simultaneously curl. She makes your heart leap whilst somehow causing your breathing to even. She makes you feel like a walking contradiction. She makes you…

She makes you–

“She’s your girlfriend, Sev.” You don’t mean to seem disgruntled when you say this. But somehow–you just are. “If you want her to be here, let her be here.”

You grab your mug then your plate of toast, and head to your room.

“Thanks for breakfast!” You force yourself to sound chirpier. It’s an attempt to smooth things over, because you feel bad for being grumpy, even if you don’t have the emotional intelligence to actually correct it.

She doesn’t reply and she doesn’t follow after you.

You shut your bedroom door with a sigh. 

You meet Sevika’s girlfriend later that night. It’s brief. 

You had been eating pizza while watching reruns of The Nanny in the living room. Your mouth was full of crust when Sevika came traipsing through the living room, introducing you to her girlfriend while holding her hand.

“This is Monica,” She said. 

The first thing you noticed was that Monica was pretty. Big chocolate brown eyes, russet brown skin and a leggy figure.

Your chewing came to a halt then, eyes widening in surprise. A part of you wanted to shrink at that moment, due to your faded old tshirt and sweatpants. Monica was the sort of woman that you’d probably find yourself ogling any other day. But today was different, because she was Sevika’s Monica. And that made you feel…weird.

“Your tights are ripped,” Was the only reply you gave, zeroing in on the exposed patch of skin above her knee. It was the only flaw that you could spot at first glance. It was the only thing about her that didn’t make you feel small.

“Oh,” Monica mumbled, gazing down at her leg. “Um, thanks for.. Letting me know?”

Your lips pulled into a toothy grin, “Anytime.”

“Alright, well..” Sevika’s sentence trailed off as she took a few steps toward her room.

“I ordered pizza, by the way!” You called, hoping to keep her there. Just for a few more moments. “It’s from that favorite place of yours on Eastern Avenue.”

Her lips twitched when she peered at you, halting her steps. “You’re the best.”

“I know.”

An awkward drag of silence filtered in.

Suddenly, you were aware of Monica’s presence again. “It was nice meeting you… Melissa, is it?

A laugh track from The Nanny sounded. You don’t remember the TV being so loud.

“Monica.”

“Oh, right.” Your grin widened. “Monica. That’s a beautiful name.”

“Thanks.”

When you tore your gaze away from her, Sevika was grinding her jaw, glowering at you. 

Your teeth clenched through your smile, and it took all of your strength to keep from laughing. “Well, it was nice meeting you, Monica!”

She hummed quietly, seemingly offended. Sevika’s steps quickened. 

Seconds later, her bedroom door slammed shut.

You would be lying if you said that you weren’t bothered by the idea of Sevika having a girlfriend. But it's not for the reasons that someone would assume.

You don’t care that she’s interested in another woman. No, that’s the least of your worries. You totally don’t care about that at all.

She can date whoever she wants to date.

It’s none of your business. Plus, she’s merely your roommate. Nothing more.

What you do care about is the fact that Monica doesn’t seem right for Sevika. Even though you're still trying to figure out why you feel that way—it still rings true to you hours after meeting her.

When you walk into the kitchen every morning, you’re normally met with the sight of Sevika making toast. You greet Sevika, and she talks with you about everything going on in her life. 

It’s a routine that the both of you have made. 

But Monica disrupts that.

It begins with her standing in the kitchen beside Sevika the morning after she sleeps over. And she's eating toast. 

Your toast.

Melodramatic or not, that’s your first straw.

“Hey,” Sevika smiles.

“Morning,” Monica chirps. 

You’re tired, eyes half shut, bonnet nearly slipping off your head and lips chapped. 

You try to muster up enough energy to be genial. 

But that’s disregarded when you see Monica reaching for a burgundy mug with yellow daisies. 

Your favorite mug.

Your eyes widen and your lips part.

“Oh,” Sevika mutters, swiftly grabbing the mug from Monica’s grasp. “That’s not yours.” She sets it down infront of her, before reaching for another mug and holding it towards Monica. It’s one that you rarely use. “This one is.”

Monica blinks owlishly, a little thrown off by Sevika’s quick interjection. But she takes the mug with nimble fingers, muttering, “Thanks.”

When you walk closer towards the island, Sevika tilts her head towards the daisy-ridden cup. It’s tea. “I hope it’s warm enough.” She says.

You’re groggy and still trying to recover from your fatigue. You had a late night. But you do have to admit that Monica’s presence doesn’t help your sour mood.

A part of you is aware that your dislike for Monica isn’t rational. But a bigger part of you doesn’t care.

“You look exhausted.” Sevika says.

You take a swig of tea. She’s made it exactly how you like it. 

“My colleague’s been out of office for a while so,” You sigh. “I’m stuck with the brunt of her work.”

Sevika’s lip tightens. “That doesn’t sound ethical.”

“Probably not. But,” You shrug. “That’s the way it’s going to be for now.”

Another swig of your tea while silence envelops the room.

Monica rests her head against Sevika’s shoulder, nibbling on her toast absentmindedly. You allow your gaze to linger on her for a few moments. She's close to perfect. Clear skin, sleepy doe eyes, pouty lips.

You don't question how she's caught Sevika’s attention. Anyone would be enamored by Monica’s beauty. 

That's something that you can at least acknowledge.

“Toast?” Sevika mutters, pulling you out of your reverie. When you glance at her, she’s waiting with a quizzical stare and quirk of her eyebrow. She's caught you staring and the better half of you feels the need to look rueful. But you settle for a small smile and shake of your head.

“No, I’m alright. I'm going to start some work soon.”

“Already?” Creases form in her forehead.

“Early bird gets the worm.”

You need a distraction. Sevika’s been taking up too much space in your brain lately. Especially since Monica is in the picture.

Work will help you recenter yourself—and it'll be nice to get out of the house. 

“See you later,” Monica interjects. Her voice is much smaller, eyes trailing to you slowly with a tentative grin. 

You find yourself halting, thrown off by her voice. 

For a small, small moment, you had forgotten she was there. 

Your eyes flicker to Sevika, who’s watching you with an incomprehensible expression. She rubs her lips together, creating the smallest craters in her cheeks. Cheeks that look quite soft to touch—to caress.

You blink away those thoughts before they have a chance to plant a seed of other desires into your mind. 

Nodding, you manage to return Monica’s grin, “See you.”

Then you're heading back towards your bedroom.

Sometimes, Monica is with Sevika while she grocery shops.

Those are the instances that you wish, more than ever, you had tagged along with Sevika instead.

Those are the few moments that you feel a sudden desire to embark on errands that you usually hate.

It’s been a little over a month since you’ve met Monica, and Sevika certainly didn't wait long until she started having her way with the girl.

It’s not like Sevika isn't allowed to have sex. You should have known this would happen at some point. This is her home too. And she’s an adult. She can do whatever she wants in her room—with whoever she wants.

But it starts to become an issue when you hear it.

Initially, it makes you laugh a little. Sure, it’s a little uncomfortable and causes your stomach to knot in a nauseating way, but it’s also fairly comical. The night begins with you relaxing in your room, watching a Julia Roberts rom-com on your television, while eating a bowl of ice cream. A loud knocking noise erupts halfway through the movie, and is what makes you pause your movie.

Then, fervorous cries are heard seconds later.

“Fucking unbelievable,” You mutter, jaw falling slack. 

You listen for a few moments while ice cream drips onto your cleavage. Then you frown at the sound of Monica wailing, passionately, “Oh Vika!” Which is followed by, “Oh my god. You're so good..Too good.”

Those words, within itself, are traumatic enough for you to press play on your remote and raise the television volume up to a thundering 40 decibels.

The next morning, when Monica is long gone, you sit in the living room with Sevika. She’s going over tattoo designs in her sketchbook, looking completely domestic in a pair of grey cotton sweats and a baby blue crewneck. You hate how enamored you are by the beauty of her brown skin, and how it seems to pair perfectly with the color of her sweatshirt. 

Liza Manelli sings before you on the television screen—surely a choice of yours rather than Sevika. But your roommate always seems to be content with whatever you put on.

It's only when she glances up from her sketchbook, catching you mid-stare, when she truly looks at you for the first time that day. She’s been absent minded for the majority of the evening.

She sends you a smile, “Hi.” She addresses genially.

“Hey,” You swallow. 

Then you take this opportunity as a cue to begin your complaint about the previous night. She’s in a good mood right now, and it’s better to hash it out sooner rather than later. 

Sevika listens intently. And when you're done, she nods, presses her lips into a firm line before apologizing earnestly.

Of course, you accept her apology right away. 

“All is well,” You respond.

Then, without more than a beat that passes, you find yourself adding, “Besides, from what I heard, it must have been worth it. You're too good, apparently.”

Sevika lips part, eyes darting to you with traces of shock. “Oh my god.”

“I mean,” A slow smile stretches across your face. “You're far, far too good.”

She groans. “I hate you.”

“Oh, Vika!” You mock, hand flying to your heart. You present your best impression of an impassioned Monica, voice lilting up to the same squeaky resonance as hers. “You're just…too-”

“Jesus. Shut up.”

You laugh because it's easier to laugh about it. At least when you do so, you aren't allowing yourself to focus on the nagging lump at the back of your throat.

Seconds pass before Sevika’s laughter joins you.

The next time Monica sleeps over is three days later. You find the pair slipping into the apartment late at night, hand-in-hand, while they steal quick kisses from each other. You're sitting in the dining room, watching it all unfold with a mug of tea in your hand.

“Fancy some tea?” You ask.

Monica screeches, jumping away from Sevika as her hand flies to her chest.

Your roommate halts her movements, turning towards you with a snap of her neck and a string of colorful words.

The lights flicker on.

“What the fuck?” Sevika grumbles.

“Sorry. I shouldn't have interrupted,” You raise your mug. “No need to stop on my account! I’ll head back to my ro-”

Deep lines etch into Sevika’s forehead. An incredulous expression paints her features. She shakes her head, almost out of pure disbelief. “Why the hell are you sitting in the dark?” Her grey irises flash with a hint of annoyance.

In all honesty, you had been scrolling through Facebook on your phone and must have lost track of time. You were having trouble sleeping again and your usual habit of music playing wasn't helping. So you decided to make yourself a cup of tea.

It’s past midnight; a time that Sevika is rarely out. If she does stay out this late, it’s because she's spending the night at Monica’s residence. You hadn't exactly expected either one of them to come walking through the door. But since they have, you might as well pick some fun.

You clench your teeth through a smile, trying your hardest to suppress your laughter. “So, I’m guessing that’s a no?” You clarify. “...To the tea?” 

Monica seems to be coming down from her fright, staring at you with furrowing eyebrows and a frown. Sevika rolls her lips into her mouth, placing both hands on her hips as she gazes down at the floor and leans onto her heels. You can tell that you're trying her patience. You’ve been doing a lot of that lately.

From your articles of clothing laying around the house to the sound of your music playing late into the night—you've really been testing her. It’s something that you’ve found yourself doing ever since you overheard her and Monica having sex. An act of rebellion? Sure. Immaturity? Most definitely.

No matter how much you try to talk some sense into yourself, nothing can really dissolve the feelings that you have towards that night.

It’s affecting you deeper than you currently understand.

“You have a little something right…here,” You say, raising your hand to the corner of your mouth. Your observation is directed towards Monica, and she mirrors your actions, wiping away at her smudged lipstick. “Oh, you almost got it. Sev, why don't you help the poor girl out?”

Sevika hardens her gaze at you, a warning that you should probably heed.

A warning that you, instead, disregard.

Standing up, you grab your mug and add, “Last call for tea? Going once?” 

Monica lets out a bitter chuckle, peering at you under her lids before muttering something under her breath. She shakes her head, directing her attention to her nail beds.

“Twice?” You turn towards Sevika, who remains unamused. “Well, you can't say I didn't offer.”

You're not sure why that exactly makes Sevika snap.

Any other day, she'd happily say yes.

But tonight, you’ve seemed to provoke her.

Instead of being met with her charming smile, you're inflicted with the sight of steel eyes and hard lines. 

“May I speak with you for a moment?” She doesn't wait for you to respond, instead, turning on her heels and walking towards the living room.

You follow after her, without so much as a glance towards Monica. 

“What is it?” You ask, the moment that you step into the kitchen. You're barely able to get the question out before Sevika flips around, nearly knocking straight into you. 

You stumble backwards, attempting to regain your balance, as your head tilts back to meet her gaze.

There’s something about the way that Sevika towers over you that makes you feel emotions you’ve never experienced before.

You generally don't like to be around people who diminish you; who make you feel small. Despite the obvious height difference, Sevika’s never been the type of woman who’s made you feel like that—even with all of your insecurities considered.

But even in that moment, it’s almost as if she could swallow you whole.

As if she could consume you.

Even with all of her fiery anger considered… 

Even with—

“What's your problem?” Her question comes out cold and harsh. 

It takes a lot of effort for you to not flinch. You aren't used to her having such an attitude with you—this is something completely new.

“My problem?” Your response is akin to someone being deeply insulted. You don't even try to hide your anger. “Am I not allowed to enjoy some tea in my dining room, for Christ’s sa-”

“That's not what I’m talking about and you know it.”

“I don't know what else you could be referring to.” Your arms fold across your chest while your wall of defense grows a foot taller. “Is it because I scared you? Scared her? I didn't think you’d be home. I assumed you would be at her place.”

“Why are you acting like this?”

Your lips purse as you roll your eyes. “...Don't know what you're talking about.”

“It's not like I haven't noticed it—she notices it. The way that you are around her…” Sevika tilts her head. “Are you trying to scare her away? Do you not like her? Because if so, I’d suggest that you say whatever the hell you need to say instead of acting like a teenager.”

Her breath mingles with yours, eyes flickering over your face with urgency. Looking. Searching for something.

Then she’s pulling away, putting space between the both of you as she leans against the kitchen island. 

Her attention diverts to the surface of the countertop, shoulders heaving as she tries to catch her breath. 

Although you probably asked for it, the effect of her words still land on your heartstrings, tugging painfully. Your ears ring and your gut twists. 

“I ran out of my ambien.” You announce, voice taut. “So if you fuck her tonight, will you be a dear and do so quietly?”

You set your mug in the sink, but with more strength than you intend, so it falls over with a loud clatter. Out of the corner of your eye, Sevika startles at the sound.

When you walk past her, her hand that is closest to you twitches. Then it moves, as if she’s reaching to stop you, but you're already swatting her away.

“Don't,” You say, just loud enough for her to hear.

Her hand falls. She concedes. A low curse slips from her mouth, but you don't stay around long enough to address it. 

Instead, the apartment remains silent for a few breaths as you slip back into your bedroom and ignore the cruel echo of regret.

[sugarlywhispers]

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x Reader (fem) x Midoriya Izuku. 

A/N: hello there! just a few notes; dont feel afraid of the yandere tag/warning, it's not going to be that bad, i simply put it just to be safe because of the villains😉 i dont have this completely written, i'll go with the flow like i always do✌🏼, so if someone has feedback or ideas, you're more than welcome to talk to me!🤍 also, idk how long this gonna be, but it'll have several chapters. so get your snacks, and enjoy the ride~😉

WARNINGS: TRIO RELATIONSHIP, adult sexual content, angst and fluff, penetrative sex, oral sex, unprotected sex (USE GLOBOS, GUYS, preferably, pink ones lol😉), yandere themes –toxic/possessive behavior, mention of blood and violence, swearing lots of it thanks to bakugou lol

Summary: After several disasters that happened around the country, the government had no other choice but to enact a new law that would mostly shock every single person, including heroes. 

"Please, please…Order in the room! I know," he says to someone that it's asking something but it's mostly impossible to actually understand for viewers like you who are not–were not present at the conference. "But, please, believe me when I say we have exhausted every possibility there is for this. This law was our very last resource." 

By the tired tone in this man's voice and expression, you believe him. And you hate that you do, because that means you have no other choice. No one does.

Chapter One: The Law.

It doesn't matter how many times you rewind the whole conference from the start on your TV, the words are the same. The words mean the same.

"Thank you everyone for being here today," the same old man you have already watched–this was the third time–says, also greeting other people around he could recognize in the big crowd of journalists, governors, some famous people like idols, show directors, heroes, yada yada. The old man takes a deep breath, barely able to hide it in front of all the mics put there for him, "Due to recent misfortunes happening in our country, we can no longer postpone what we once thought could happen thanks to the society we live in today. The population has gone down in numbers, mortality rates spiking down lower than what we could ever hoped for. This law, that I'm about to present now to you, is the only way several professionals and analysts, in addition to Quirks used for this matter, could find to prevent the population from reaching the bottom–which can be translated as, from entirely disappearing."

No sugarcoat. That is something you do appreciate from this mess. You have always preferred the blunt, harsh reality of things than some kind words that were mostly used to not tell the truth.

"As from today onwards, a new law is going to take effect in our society, if not the entirety of the world. For now, we are the first country to approve this law, and we encourage others to. This law stipulates that one male, whether they are civilian or professional hero on duty, must marry and procreate with a female at least two new lives for the sake of humankind." The room explodes in protests, questions being yelled at the governor representative, and even talking between each other. "Please, please…Order in the room! I know," he says to someone that it's asking something but it's mostly impossible to actually understand for viewers like you who are not–were not present at the conference. "But, please, believe me when I say we have exhausted every possibility there is for this. This law was our very last resource." 

By the tired tone in this man's voice and expression, you believe him. And you hate that you do, because that means you have no other choice. No one does.

The governor starts to speak again as the room settles a bit, "Each citizen will have to get through several medical tests that will help our specially prepared team to match them to perfection for this purpose. This stance will be called The Pairing. After this is carried through, each Pairing will have from two weeks to a month to finally sign a contract that validates the union between each part and compromises them for the purpose they had been Paired for." 

There's chaos again in the room, and it doesn't settle until a woman stands from her seat and asks, "You said our population is currently going through a critical disbalance, right?" The governor nods admitting and signaling with his hand for her to proceed with her question. "Whether that means there are more females or males, how do you and your team plan to resolve the odd number that will complicate the Pairing of couples?"

Oh, good question!, you think again, enjoying way too much how she referred to that 'team' the governor kept talking about with so much sarcasm.

"The law establishes an exception to the Pairing of two. If one female is compatible with more than one male, or vice versa, there will be a more exhausting analysis to determine if she will be Paired with both of them."

"If that's the case, then how many children must they procreate?"

"The law does not change, there has to be two children for each couple."

Everything is chaos again and you sigh as you turn your TV off, same time that your phone vibrates over the little coffee table in front of your couch, where you sit with your legs pulled towards your chest. You pick it, the name Tora shining on the screen.

You don't get to properly set it over your ear that you hear her scream, "A FUCKING MARRIAGE LAW!" Her ear riping shout makes you wince, "Do you fucking know what this means, Y/N!?" Her excitement is not reciprocated.

"Goodbye my beloved freedom?" You answer groomly. 

You hear her exasperated tsk, "No, silly! This means we could get paired with actual Pro Heroes!"

Oh, yes, Tora's obsession with Pro Heroes. An explosive blond one that is mean to everyone, a green haired one that is considered the Symbol of Peace of this generation, a red head one that looks more like a villain –in your opinion– and a white and red haired one that is colder than ice. And many more. How could you forget that?

You roll your eyes. The only reason you know about those is because of her, Kira and all the stories the kids in your class like to tell you about their favorite heroes.

"I think all of this is ridiculous. They are using us, women, just to procreate."

"Men too, girl. Don't forget that without the fish, there's no egg…" Tora adds, and even though the saying does not go like that, you understand what she means, so you don't even try to correct her, you simply agree. However, the fact that in this current population are more males than females, speaks volumes about the kind of governors that ruled society.

"I know it's both, it's just…"

"You're angry, angry, I know you…" She says, and it warms your heart a bit.

Tora has been your best friend since the first day you walked through the college campus and collided with her. Yes, collided, because she was using her roller skates to get to her room through the crowded place the first time you met. She hadn’t seen you opening the door to the room, trying to avoid precisely not crashing into anyone, but failed with you. You didn’t even have time to react properly before you felt the coalition and both of you fell inside your room, the pair of boxes filled with each other's belongings that each was holding flew and scattered everything around. ‘What a manga scene’, you had thought back then, laughing alongside Tora for such a mess. You have been best friends since then.

Then, alongside came Kira. While Tora is all sunshine and rainbows and a torrent of energy, Kira is the complete opposite. She is chill, wears dark and elegant clothes and looks at everyone like they are underneath her feet. You admired her confidence in every possible situation. 

You, well… You are somewhere in the middle between those two girls. Not too bright but definitely not too dark. However, you were confident in your own skin, so that is what matters.

"And there's all the medical tests we have to do," you went back to the conversation. "What if a woman is sterile, or a man? Would they be absolved from all of this?"

"From what I understood, yes." Tora replies, clearly munching something she is eating.

"I hope I'm sterile!" You hear the comment from somewhere behind Tora. You snort, recognizing Kira's voice.

"Shut up, you dark and pessimistic soul," Tora protests, and you couldn't smile wider. "Oooon another note… have you searched for what permissions we need to take the kids to the museum?"

"Oh, yes! They were kind enough to send me the papers for it." You smile, now excited with this news.

"Fuck. Have I ever told you two how much I admire the patience you both have to work with kids?" You hear movement with Kira's sudden comment from the other line, now closer to the phone. You could imagine both of them lying on their stomachs in Tora's bed.

You smile fondly at Kira's words. Tora and you are school teachers. You teach kids from four to five years old, while Tora decided to teach bigger kids, between nine and ten years old. Again, Kira is the opposite of you two. She is the one with a Stylist major and a very successful career in the fashion industry and all the juicy back stage details.

"No, but a bit of love won't hurt," you say feeling in high spirits even though the news of a big and detrimental change in society had just been announced.

"You kinky Miss Y/L/N, I love you," Kira says in a very seductive low tone of voice as you gasp and Tora erupts in a fit of laughter. She was clearly referring to you as your position of teacher, and that is something no joke should come from. You work with kids, for God's sake!

"Don't you ever say that again!" You protest, trying not to laugh thanks to Tora's contagious one.

"You love me, still." Kira's tone of matter of fact makes you shake your head smiling. These women were your salvation.

“I have an amazing idea!" Suddenly Tora yells in excitement, and you already see it coming, "Let’s say goodbye to Y/N's so beloved freedom and welcome the new hot and lickable male heroes and future husbands in a very 'Trick Trio' way!” You roll your eyes.

No. Never ask about Tora's way of calling your three person friendship. EVER.

You fake a tired sigh but then smile, “Pizza and anime?”

“Pizza and anime, baby!” Kira yells back, and you can hear their high-five through the phone.

See? How could you not be friends with them? They are definitely what you consider the sisters you never had.

.

"What if I get paired with Chargebolt… Or! What if it's Red Riot!" Tora's steps are little jumps as she walks in the middle looking like a kid who is about to be taken to their favorite toy shop. Her excitement is completely shared with Kira's, but the last one has more self consciousness and just chooses to smile as she walks as elegantly as always.

You sigh. It's not that you're completely against this atrocious law. It's more the part in which you don't have any say or choose in it. What if you end up with someone mean? Or a secret villain? Or what if it's someone who is horrible with kids?! 

You were not going to repeat your mom's history. Or so you hoped.

"You know what would be cool? Marrying Red Riot's abbs. Oh, what would I give to sit on that hot and sexy table."

You frown. How…? Why…? You shake your head. You are better not asking.

Being friends with those two taught you way more things than you expected. One of them was that there were times when you didn't need to know or to understand everything they talked about. This was one. 

"You know what's hotter? Dynamight's biceps." Tora contributes as their destination appears at the distance. "My hottest scenario includes Dynamight coming back from work, all sweaty and buffy and making me lick his biceps. Oh, I would gladly die for them."

The imagery makes you gag.

"That's disgusting, Tora," Kira says, surprising you and Tora herself. Kira is always up for nasty and dirty scenarios with the Pro Heroes they like. It's a bit weird that she is not on board with whatever Tora's vivid imagination comes up with. But suddenly, she smiles and looks sideways to her two friends, "I love it."

You roll your eyes for the nth time as Tora beams in the next thing Kira says, "My hottest scenario includes Deku smashing my ass to Detroit." She smiles proudly as Tora groans.

The imagery again makes you wince.

"I swear… those big, powerful hands, ugh."

You do not engage in this type of conversations. Not because you don't find some of this generation of Pro Heroes attractive, they are; and the way that they risk their own lives for the country is very admirable. It's just that you don't follow each thing they do, nor actually know much of them. Of course, you hear the stories of how they defeated some big villains –or even helped a nanny cross the street– through your two obsessed friends and the kids at school that idolized them. But even then, when the news on the TV turns into Heroes feats, you simply change the channel or even turn it off. You have better things to do, honestly.

Your friends keep going on their fake scenarios talk as you three approach the door to the big and ostentatious hospital where the tests for The Pairing are carried out. They are simple blood and Quirk tests, nothing too complicated. From what the old man in the conference said, it was mostly to analyze the physical aspects of each individual to pair them with the best possible counterpart that would have the chance to fertilize the egg on one hundred percent of success. Yes, those are the exact words he used. And the very small, tiny letters in between the lines said: to create humans with the best Quirks ever known.

Of course, no one would ever admit that.

You hmm to something Tora asks your agreement for, not really paying attention to what is the conversation about now.

You don't have a very useful Quirk; not that the thought of becoming a Hero has ever crossed your mind. In fact, being raised by a man like your grandps actually opened your eyes and never even the intention to know more about Heroes in general crossed your mind. So, you really doubt you would ever get paired with some Pro Hero. You're mostly sure that they will be very selective in that aspect. A useless Quirk like yours, which gave you the ability to create illusions, more specifically in paper –you had only once tried it on thin air, and you almost die; so nothing else but paper, thank you very much–, will get nowhere near a Quirk like the oh, all mighty and greatest Pro Hero Deku, for example.

As you look side eye to your friends, and knowing the type of Quirks they have –and their eternal fantasy over Pro Heroes–, you realize you don't have it in you to pop their delusional and warm looking bubble. They are happy in their bubble, and you love seeing them happy.

But the fact remains. They would never pair them with Pro Heroes.

Kira's Quirk consisted in her having the ability to manipulate small things with her fingers from a distance. It had helped her a lot in her career, especially when the time to apply makeup to her clients or even herself came. The distance wasn't much, a couple of feets away, but she said she had never been able to move anything bigger than an eye brush or a pencil. Nevertheless from a very far away distance. She is okay with it though, she is still a hot badass successful woman. You are so proud of her. In Tora's case, she could make letters on the school board or actually any surface grow bigger, but she had never tried it anywhere else. She always says that she's better not having a cool, massive Quirk, or she would be insufferably annoying to everyone. Something you do believe with all your might.

You are so immersed in your thoughts that you hear Tora's warning of "Y/N!" late. You collide with a strong wall, your nose hurting thanks to it. You actually have to rub it to alleviate the pain, already feeling the redness there. But when you open your eyes you realize that the wall turned out not to be a wall, but a man. A huge man. He is the biggest man you have ever stood close to. Tall, almost three heads over yours, arms that looked like big rocks thanks to the thickness. His face is handsome, strong jaw and fine lines that accentuated the elegance in any spot you looked at in his face.

But all that handsomeness is slightly uglied by the deep scowl in his eyebrows.

"Watch where you're going, grub."

His bark almost goes unnoticed by the thickness in his voice that makes you tingle in places it shouldn't. But as he walks past you, you realize what he said… Did he just…?

"Did you just call me a grub?"

He doesn't reply to you, but he does look slightly back at you and you see the corner of his mouth lift a slight centimeter in a smirk.

"Oh, fuck you, asshole!"

You yell as he simply walks out of the building through the door, not troubled at all by your insult.

What a stupid jerk.

"I'm on your side, I'll forever, always be on your side," Tora appears suddenly next to you, her hand grabbing yours as you watch the jerk walk away, "but that was a fine, delectable man that you just insulted very out loud in the middle of a Hospital reception."

"He started it." You defend yourself before turning around and walking towards the counter, trying to ignore all the stares in your direction.

You hear both of your friends sigh in delight as they keep staring at the guy.

"Traitors." You shake your head, receiving the form you had to complete from the receptionist. You wanted to get out of that Hospital as soon as possible.

Two hours later, you were sitting in front of an old lady who looked at you like you had just been the shit she accidentally stepped on outside, and it was your fault. By the white doctor's gown she wears, and the little medal of the government attached to the right pocket of the gown, it isn't difficult to comprehend that she is the medical scientist in charge of the whole Pairing part of the law.

"Your test results are good. All functioning well and wealthy. You are fertile." Her robot tone makes you angry, and you want to protest so hard about all this protocol bullshit–about the whole fucking law! But for some reason, you can't take your eyes from the big, heary looking mole that stands on her face, right next to her nose on the left side.

You can even hear Kira in your head, "That is an uuuuuugly mole. I mean, the woman is ugly, but that mole makes it worse. Like a witch. A witches face indeed. Would her Quirk be a witch?" And you can hear Tora laughing at Kira's words. And you feel bad about thinking about all of this as the woman speaks.

"It won't take long to find a perfect match for your eggs." You visibly wince at her words. 

"The fact that you people call it egg, only makes me feel like a chicken being prepared to–..."

"A chicken would be able to find itself a partner faster than you. Your age and still no children? You're clearly the problem, not your body."

You're sitting perplexed in your seat. The hot, very fucking hot sensation of letting yourself explode in anger travelling up your body. Who the fuck does she think she is?

Now you definitely don't feel bad about your thoughts.

She sighs, tiredly and annoying at your mere presence, "You shall receive a letter in the span of three to five days with the results. There will also be the date in which you'll have to meet your husband with the representative governor who will make you sign the contract."

She closes your chart and puts it away, then she looks boringly at you, expecting you to go.

The venom is right at your tongue, and you can't go without saying anything to this… horrible woman.

"I'm twenty five years old, and I haven't had kids because I made the choice not to. You're almost sixty, what's your excuse?"

Hell, you don't know if she has or not kids of her own, but by the expression on her face, eyes and mouth opening wide in indignance, says you have just spot on the right thing to say.

You smile, big and fakingly charming, as you stand and leave the doctor's office without giving her a chance to say anything else.

Once you're outside, you swear loudly. You just dug your own grave. Fuck.

.

Two days later, a letter was left in your mailbox. It had the signature of the Government so it wasn't difficult to comprehend that it was about this freaking law. You don't open it though until you're inside your apartment. You leave it at the table, while throwing your bag and tote bag  with the Tupperware of the day inside, over the couch. You need to firstly freshen up before you get into your house duties.

You turn on the TV, news channel currently going, and walk towards your room to get changed. Thanks to the small apartment you own, you don't need to have the TV very loud to be able to hear it from your room. You leave alone, you don't need much or a bigger space.

"It happened again! Heroes Deku and Dynamight saved the day once more! A group of synchronized villains attack the Central Bank of Tokyo, witnesses say–..." 

You huff, not really paying attention anymore. It's not that you aren't interested in what happened, you'll know either way tomorrow when Tora goes on about it, all day.

Once you're more comfortable, you walk back to the living room/kitchen, grab your tote bag so you put all the Tupperware to wash, still news of heroes on the TV that you really don't pay attention to. When that's done, tote bag folded back in its drawer and everything cleaned up, you turn and see the letter. You sigh, grab it and walk to the couch to sit.

"On other news, the Law is already taking effect in our country. Today, after five days of the official announcement, the first three couples have signed the Contracts after being Paired. All of the males are Heroes."

"Do you think it is a coincidence?" Comments the other journalist of the show.

"I don't think it is. It's clear that Heroes have the pressure to make this work alongside the government," answers another, to whom you snort in agreement.

"I agree. I don't know if it's by duty or support, but in the end, they are like us, don't you think?"

They kept talking about it as you opened the envelope in your hands and read its content.

'Ms Y/L/N, the government it's pleased to announce that your results have been Paired. We happily wait for you on the following date to meet your Paired to officially place a date for your Contracts.'

You feel like vomiting.

Shit, it's happening faster than you thought.

[fionajames]

masterlist

Most of this is Star Wars (and mostly the Clone Wars), but there are a few other things ! ! !

WARNINGS: THIS WRITING CONTAINS: depicted gore, character death, death, war, violence, mentions of throwing up, mental health difficulties, and general star wars warnings.

spoilers for the clone wars, the bad batch, and star wars.

PLEASE NOTE: this took me a very long time, and so it is not very neat because i am very tired. this is roughly arranged in order of release, just because that is how i did it. i know there are a few pieces of writing missing so PLEASE, if you stumble upon something that isn't here but should be, dm it to me with the link so i can add it :)

✉ -> requested ☘ -> stuff i'm particularly proud of/fan favs

Star Wars

General One-Shots

carnivorous -> (rex learns about togrutas)

carnivorous pt. 2 -> (rex and anakin learn about togrutas)

tally marks -> (the reason behind rex's tally marks)

pre-christophosis -> (rex before the battle of christophosis) ✉

pt. 2 of pre-christophosis -> (rex before the battle of christophosis, 2) ✉

chicken soup -> (fluffy anakin and obiwan) ✉

two times newly knighted -> (how both obi-wan and anakin felt after getting their padawans)

how the wound heals -> (post order 66 ahsoka and rex) ✉

tonight -> (not all jedi are invincible, especially padawans)

the dress -> (fluff with ahsoka and padme) ✉

sorrow and solace -> (force ghost talks with anakin and obi-wan) ✉

return -> (disaster trio fluff) ✉

five times -> (fives and echo, but really just the death of palpatine) ✉

the victim with blood on his hands -> (cody comforts rex) ✉

guilt -> (a tiny snippet of angst) ✉

over-worked -> (the 501st convince kix to take a break) ✉

scars and stitches -> (how did anakin really get his scar?) ✉

cold outside - codywan -> (codywan stuck in the cold) ✉

three broken ribs, a concussion, and a broken femur -> (cody scolds rex) ✉

the blue death -> (the blue shadow virus taking it's toll) ✉

the unimaginable -> (some deaths are harder than others)

skako minor and beyond -> (headcanons about echo's time at skako minor) ✉

christmas -> (fluffy disaster trio christmas) ✉

wait for it -> (the way ahsoka views anakin)

me and the devil -> (palpatine controlling anakin)

rescue of the crazed -> (after being captured by the separatists, ahsoka is a little... out of it) ✉

captured -> (things don't always end happily)

war is over -> (how the clone wars should have ended)

tunnels -> (obi-wan and anakin get separated from their troops (slight codywan))

blood and bandages -> (rex after the kadavo arc) ✉

limbo -> (hunter doesn't do so well with the underground) ✉

early mornings -> (ahsoka and obi-wan's friendship) ✉

flocks of fireflies -> (disaster trio fluff) ✉ ☘

dreams of home -> (disaster trio angst, post order 66, sad obi-wan) ✉

Longer Series (although i'm horrible at continuing them)

delinquents club guide (includes links to the chapters) -> (a story about my oc fenrir in a fix-it-au of mine)

tcw circus au -> (an au in which the republic and separatists are rival circuses) ✉

circus barrisoka -> (barrisoka in the republica circus) ✉

jedi circus headcanons -> (headcanons about the circus au) ☘

ethereal pt. 1 -> (a mysterious mansion piques the curiosity of our five) ☘

ethereal pt. 2 -> (the mysterious yet beautiful mansion isn't the only strange thing about this world....) ☘

moonlit dances -> (part of my 'ethereal' au, but no spoilers really. soft and romantic codywan) ☘

My OCs

my ocs -> (an introduction to my ocs; dhole, vector, menace, dice, bloodshot, xi, mit, vick, meerrt.)

menace and the guard -> (menace pranking the guard) ✉

dhole and fives -> (headcanons about my oc dhole and fives interacting) ✉

satsuki meets rex -> (my oc satsuki meets rex for the first time)

my ocs aesthetics -> (aesthetics for my ocs; dhole, vector, menace, dice, bloodshot, xi, mit, vick, meerrt.)

a trip to 79s -> (the bad batch and my ocs meet) ✉

family - my oc -> (dhole gets injured during a battle) ✉

good enough - my oc -> (a little vent writing through my oc - satsuki)

slipping - my ocs -> (fox comforts dhole) ✉

thievery -> (dhole and anakin do something morally correct, legally not) ✉

human - my ocs -> (a view of my ocs; vick, meerrt, dice, dhole, xi, mit, bloodshot, and menace)

music in the winter - my ocs -> (my ocs and some others as musicians in a fix-it-au) ✉

icy comfort -> (bloodshot and dhole have a heart-to-heart) ✉

missing - my ocs -> (satsuki is captured, and no must escape, maybe with the help of someone new) ✉ ☘

nightmares on kamino - my ocs -> (iniko seeks some comfort, and finds it in captain rook) ✉

the beginning - my ocs -> (how brontide become captain of the 323rd)

unrequited love - my oc -> (xi has feelings for someone he can't love) ✉

heartache -> (xi has to deal with simple tasks complicated by feelings) ✉

the great wolf -> (ahsoka, rex, jesse and fives fight off an intruder)

the creepers, clone force 97 - overview -> (an introduction to some new ocs of mine, a defective batch) ☘

the attack -> (an oc of mine finds himself in a very terrifying situation) ☘

x Reader

oil smudges - captain rex -> (captain rex x mechanic! reader, fluff)

headache - kix -> (a very soft kix x sick! reader) ✉

cold and cookies - echo -> (echo x reader, echo returns after a few weeks) ✉ ☘

puppy love - howzer -> (just purely fluffy howzer x reader)

cuddles - rex -> (just a sleepy golden retriever rex x reader) ✉

are you awake yet - rex -> (absolutely fluffy rex x reader) ✉ ☘

line of fire - rex -> (rex x reader, reader stands up for the clones... and rex is concerned) ✉ ☘

hot chocolate - rex -> (fluffy, winter, rex x reader) ☘

boiling water - rex -> (fluffy, winter, rex x reader)

3am - rex -> (rex x mechanic! reader) ✉

t-shirt - cody -> (fluffy cody x reader)

dangerous - rex -> (concerned rex x civilian! reader) ☘

pancakes - rex -> (fluffy rex x civilian! reader) ☘

cyar'ika - rex -> (fluffy rex x civilian! reader) ☘

blankets - rex -> (fluffy rex x reader) ✉

Fix-It-AU

fix-it-fox -> (the basis of this au, with lots of headcanons) ✉ ☘

bad batch halloween -> (halloween with the bad batch) ✉

christmas with the clones headcanons -> (christmas with the clones) ☘

holofilms -> (bad batch movie night) ✉

home - the bad batch -> (fluffy bad batch) ✉

Other Fandoms

sam golbach x reader -> (fluffy sam x reader)

sodapop x reader -> (fluffy sodapop x reader)

christmas with the greasers headcanons -> (christmas with the greasers)

shark toy -> (darry gets a present) ✉

lams; almost gone -> (when alexander 'almost' died)

why, pt1. lams -> (lams angst)

the man -> (female teen wolf characters) ✉ ☘

devoid of all emotions -> (void stiles, platonic sterek) ✉

(tagging: @skellymom, @techs-goggles9902, @transmascanakin)

[elysia-nsimp]

Heyyyy buddy pal friend, *cough ( sorry ). I was wondering if you could write a poly fluff romantic scenario between overblot Azul and overblot Jamil with a male reader, preferably an interation between the trio. thx and here have a follow and a cookie 🍪

HIIII oh my gosh thanks for the follow and cookie !!

And thanks for your patience too, I know it’s been a WHILE since you sent me this ask. I kinda lost my twst spark for a bit there then was hit with the dreaded “ohhh what if my writing sucks”

Anyway I decided to not worry about that too much. This is mostly unedited because I just. REALLY wanted to get something out for you. I promise I didn’t forget! :’)

——

Contents: established relationships, polyamory!! Both Jamil and Azul are dating you as the reader, but not each other, mild Book 3/4 spoilers, reader uses he/him pronouns ! ^^

With both Azul and Jamil overblotting, it’s already a recipe for disaster.

Azul and Jamil aren’t all that different in some aspects. Both crave the power and control they lacked in their childhoods, and seek to stand over the rest as a result of that.

One thing they have in common for certain though, is their love for you! You were dating them both before this whole thing happened, and although they don’t get along that well, they’re both glad you’re happy with the relationship.

However…this does lead to them fighting over you when overblotted.

Both of them want your undying attention, although for slightly different reasons. Oh, what is a poor reader to do?

On one hand, Jamil’s over here like “praise me please!!! i want to be called a handsome young man!!!!!” while Azul wants cuddles because he is full of embarrassment and pain and suffering.

Poor you is stuck in the middle of them, metaphorically being tugged back and fourth between them.

Azul’s like, “Actually, handsome, I believe he will be spending his evening with me.”

While Jamil’s like “ACTUALLY I require him to be here with ME as my cheerleader while I run Scarabia!” (I’m afraid he can’t provide the pompoms though)

Despite their back and fourth, when you step in they both turn to you with no hesitation.

“Who do you choose, Yuu?” Azul looks almost desperate, silently begging you to pick him. Meanwhile, Jamil crosses his arms, convinced he’s already won.

“Do I have to choose?” you ask.

Utter silence from both of them. They glance at each other, then back to you.

“What do you mean, ‘do you have to choose?’” Jamil sounds almost taken aback by your question.

“What if I don’t want to pick?” you retort. “What if I choose both of you?”

After some mild side glares at each other from your partners, they agree that it’s a win-win! Jamil will put up with Azul and vice versa. You end up smooshed between two slightly agitated overblots. As you run your fingers through Azul’s hair, you tell Jamil how very handsome he is and tell him he’s done a good job, even if it didn’t work out in the end. This makes both of them very happy.

Their overblots both die down after a while, leaving you with your two partners asleep, one on your shoulder and one in your lap.

Congrats!! You’re a hero for being gay. /pos

——

I’m not gonna lie, I thought this was a really cute dynamic. Very fun to write, even if it wasn’t super long. Again thanks for waiting for so long while I got my stuff together lol

[connieluvsr]

DUTY CALLS / series / 1

pairing : police officer carlos reyes x paramedic tk strand

genre : 911lone star universe, fluff, angst, smut, more to be added

summary : “A glimpse into Carlos and T.K.’s dangerous lives, balancing the chaos of emergency calls with quiet moments. A series.”

warnings : violence, trauma and medical emergencies, mental issues health, substance abuse, natural disasters, homophobia and discrimination, injuries, profanity, frightening and intense scenes, sexual scenes, sweet moments of carlos and tk lol and HOT CARLOS

link to ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59486755/chapters/151710301

a/n: hi and welcome to a series of daily stuff thats going on in carlos and tk’s lives, like unadded scenes if you prefer, i like to imagine that’s happening on a daily basis, and i absolutely despise that we don’t see them on the field together 99% of the time. hope you enjoy and happy reading!! i’ll be uploading this on my ao3 too, it’s tarlosstape (ik)

______________

911 Call Dispatcher: “911, what’s your emergency?”

Caller (panicked): “There’s a robbery happening right now! It’s at the corner store on Fifth and Maple. They’ve got guns—oh my God, they’re shooting! People are hurt! I—please hurry!”

The storm outside rages, wind howling through the streets as rain pounds relentlessly on the city of Austin. Lightning flashes, casting brief, eerie shadows over the scene. The police scanner crackles as Officer Carlos Reyes listens closely while gripping the steering wheel of his patrol car. He’s already on his way, lights flashing, sirens blaring, the wet roads slick beneath the tires.

“Shots fired. Multiple injured,” the dispatcher confirms over the radio.

Carlos swerves onto Maple Street, skidding slightly as he pulls up in front of the store. His sharp eyes scan the chaos—shattered windows, civilians crouching behind cars for cover, and two masked gunmen, backing out of the store with bags of cash and weapons in hand. One man already lies bleeding on the sidewalk.

Carlos doesn’t hesitate. He pulls his gun, stepping out of his vehicle and shouting over the storm, “Austin PD! Drop your weapons!” His voice cuts through the thunder and rain, firm and commanding.

The robbers hesitate for a split second, then one makes a run for it, bolting down the street. The other, more reckless, raises his weapon toward Carlos. Without missing a beat, Carlos fires, hitting the man in the shoulder, causing him to drop his gun and crumple to the ground. Carlos sprints forward, kicking the gun aside and cuffing the injured man before calling for backup.

More police vehicles arrive, but Carlos has already started pursuing the second suspect, rain blurring his vision. Just as he rounds a corner, he tackles the man, pinning him to the ground with practiced precision. Sirens wail in the background, backup arriving as Carlos handcuffs the second robber.

Minutes later, as the rain continues to pour, the sound of an ambulance cuts through the storm. T.K., Nancy, and Tommy pull up in their paramedic vehicle, the flashing lights reflecting off the wet streets. The trio quickly exits, medical bags in hand, ready to help the injured.

Carlos, soaked and standing over the now subdued suspects, turns as T.K. strides toward him. For a brief moment, they exchange a glance—a silent nod between them, full of mutual respect and understanding. T.K.’s eyes linger on Carlos just a bit longer, checking in silently, before he gets back to work.

Nancy is already kneeling beside the man on the sidewalk, assessing his gunshot wound, while Tommy coordinates with the other first responders. Despite the storm, they work with practiced efficiency, moving between the injured civilians, checking vitals, and applying pressure to wounds.

As the chaos slowly subsides, Carlos watches the team in action, relieved but focused. T.K. meets his eyes one more time before loading the injured into the ambulance, giving him a small smile despite the tension of the moment. Both know their jobs are far from done.

——————-

An hour later, Carlos stands in the dimly lit Austin police station, dripping from the relentless storm outside. The buzz of fluorescent lights hums overhead, echoing through the busy place as officers hustle between desks, phones ringing and paperwork piling up. Carlos leans against the desk, typing up his report, his soaked uniform sticking to his skin. He wipes a bead of water from his forehead and sighs, exhaustion creeping in.

Just as he finishes entering his statement about the robbery and arrests, a familiar voice calls from behind him. “Reyes,” Detective Ortega steps into view, clipboard in hand, her sharp eyes scanning him. Ortega is seasoned, with graying hair pulled back into a tight bun and a no-nonsense demeanor. She always gets straight to the point.

“Those two you brought in tonight—real pieces of work,” she mutters, sliding into the seat across from him. “We’ve got them booked, but I need you to walk me through what went down. The DA’s gonna want details, and I don’t want any gaps.”

Carlos nods, setting his report aside. “Two suspects—one I managed to detain on the scene, and the other made a run for it, but I caught up to him around the corner. The first guy—took a shot at me. I returned fire, hit him in the shoulder. Called in for backup right after.” He runs a hand through his damp hair. “They both had weapons, and there were multiple injuries inside and outside the store. Paramedics team handled the civilians.”

Ortega studies him for a moment, her expression unreadable, then flips through her clipboard. “Ballsy move, engaging them alone in that storm. You know the risks,” she says, her tone almost reprimanding but softening as she continues. “But good work. The one you shot is being patched up at the hospital under guard. The other one… he’s gonna talk. We’re looking at possible connections to a larger string of robberies.”

Carlos leans forward, crossing his arms. “This wasn’t just a random hit?” he asks, narrowing his eyes.

“Not according to what we’re digging up. The guy you tackled—he’s got priors. Armed robbery, assault. But this particular group? They’ve been linked to a couple of heists in the city’s outer limits. We think tonight was them testing the waters, seeing if they could push into downtown. Your call-in might’ve stopped something bigger.”

Carlos nods, absorbing the information. “Glad we got them off the streets before anyone else got hurt.”

Ortega glances up from her notes, giving him a small but approving smile. “You did good tonight, Reyes. You and that paramedic team. The fact that you can keep your head straight in a situation like that…” She trails off, but Carlos knows the unspoken weight behind her words. She respects his instincts, but she’s always cautious when her officers get too close to danger.

He shifts in his seat, feeling the tension in his shoulders ease a little. “Thanks, Detective. I just want to make sure we stay ahead of this. If these guys have been pulling jobs outside the city, they’re bound to try again.”

Ortega raises an eyebrow. “Which is why I want you in on the follow-up. I need someone on the ground who knows the streets, knows how these guys operate. You up for it?”

Carlos doesn’t hesitate. “Absolutely.”

She scribbles something down on her clipboard, nodding in approval. “Good. Get yourself dried off, and then go home. You’ve earned it. We’ll debrief tomorrow morning.”

Carlos stands, ready to head out, but before he leaves, Ortega stops him with one last remark, her tone lighter. “And, Reyes… check in with that paramedic of yours. He looked at you like he was gonna have a heart attack when he saw you at the scene.”

Carlos feels a flush rise to his face but manages a smirk. “I’ll check in with him,” he replies, his voice carrying a hint of warmth as he walks away, shaking off the adrenaline of the night.

Carlos: Hey baby, you good?

A moment later, T.K.’s reply buzzes back.

T.K.: im fine, but are you? that was intense. just don’t get shot again pls

Carlos wipes his hair with a towel as he finishes typing a message to T.K., leaning against his locker in the station’s changing room. His fingers fly across the screen.

Carlos : Of course, coming home in a bit. Just gotta change out of these soaked clothes.

He tosses his phone on the couch and starts peeling off his wet uniform. The heavy storm outside has left the air thick and damp, even inside the building. He grabs a dry towel from his bag, running it through his hair and over his skin, before pulling on fresh jeans and a t-shirt. As he fastens his belt, he hears his phone buzz again.

T.K.: good, im waiting with hot tea and something hotter :*

Carlos smile got wider, feeling warmth flood through him. After the night he’s had, the thought of being home with T.K., sitting in the dry comfort of their apartment, is the only thing he’s looking forward to. He tosses the towel in the corner, ready to head out.

But just as he’s about to close his locker, his radio crackles to life.

“Reyes, we need you back in the field.” It’s Ortega, her voice sharp over the line. “There’s been another incident at the same location—deeper than we thought. The storm’s making it worse. Backup’s already on the way, but I need you to roll out.”

Carlos’s stomach drops. He glances at his reflection in the mirror, barely able to believe what he’s hearing. He was just there. The scene had been secured, the suspects apprehended, and the injured civilians taken care of. But now, with the storm intensifying, it sounds like the situation has escalated into something far worse.

He reaches for his radio. “Copy that. I’m on my way.”

The rain beats down hard as Carlos arrives at the scene. The corner store, once just the site of a robbery, now looks like a disaster zone. Water floods the streets, pooling up to his ankles as he steps out of the car. Emergency lights flash through the downpour, illuminating the chaos. The wind howls, bending trees and sending debris flying down the street.

Carlos quickly scans the area. A power line has come down across the road, its live wires sparking dangerously close to the rising water. Civilians are trapped inside nearby buildings, unable to leave with the flooding making the streets impassable. Ortega’s already there, barking orders at a group of officers trying to cordon off the area.

“Carlos!” Ortega shouts as she spots him approaching. “We’ve got a mess. That live wire hits the water, and this whole area could turn into a death trap. We’re evacuating the nearby buildings, but we’re running out of time. The rain’s only getting worse.”

Carlos nods, quickly assessing the situation. He watches as emergency responders scramble to move people out of harm’s way, their boots splashing through the rising flood. The power line swings in the wind, just inches above the water now.

“We need to keep the civilians as far from this as possible,” Ortega continues, her voice barely audible over the storm. “I need you to take that side,” she gestures toward a nearby alley where a group of people are huddled under an awning, trapped by the water on both sides.

Carlos doesn’t hesitate. He moves swiftly toward the alley, wading through the water as the rain slashes across his face. The civilians look at him with a mix of fear and desperation, their eyes wide as the storm rages around them.

“Everyone, listen up!” Carlos shouts over the wind. “We’re getting you out of here, but you need to stay calm and follow me.” He motions toward a narrow path that leads away from the main street, where rescue teams are setting up a safer evacuation route.

One by one, he helps the civilians through the flooded alley, guiding them away from the live wires and into the arms of waiting responders. The rain keeps coming, harder now, making it difficult to see more than a few feet ahead. Lightning cracks in the distance, casting brief flashes of light over the darkened city.

As the last of the group makes their way out, Carlos glances back toward the power lines. The water’s rising faster than expected, creeping dangerously close to the sparking wire. He radios in quickly. “Ortega, we need that power cut now. It’s about to hit the water.”

“Working on it,” she responds, tension thick in her voice.

Carlos watches, heart pounding, as the line sways in the wind, just inches from the flood. Minutes pass like hours, but finally, the sparks stop, and the line goes dead.

With the civilians evacuated and the power line neutralized, Carlos allows himself a brief moment to breathe. The rain keeps pounding, but at least, for now, they’ve managed to prevent a disaster.

Hours later, the rain has eased, though the city is still reeling from the storm’s impact. Carlos stands at the edge of the scene, drenched and exhausted, watching as the last of the emergency vehicles pull away. The corner store, now eerily quiet, remains a stark reminder of how quickly things can spiral out of control.

Carlos finally makes it home, the rain still drumming against the streets as he steps inside. He’s soaked to the bone, every inch of his body heavy with exhaustion. The quiet of the apartment is a stark contrast to the chaos of the night, but it feels like a different world as he closes the door behind him, shutting out the storm.

The soft glow of a nearby lamp casts a warm light over the living room. T.K. is asleep on the couch, a blanket half-draped over him. His chest rises and falls gently, completely unaware of Carlos’s entrance. The room is peaceful, but a glance around shows signs of waiting: two plates of food on the table, untouched, and a cup of tea sitting beside one of them, long gone cold.

Carlos feels a wave of warmth, despite the cold and wet clinging to him. He quietly shrugs off his jacket, hanging it on the hook by the door, careful not to wake T.K. The sight of him asleep, clearly having waited up, tugs at something deep inside Carlos—part relief, part gratitude. It’s been a hell of a night, and this is exactly where he needs to be.

He moves to the table, noticing the now-cold dinner that had been thoughtfully prepared for him. He presses his lips together, feeling guilty for being so late without any explanation. Still, the effort T.K. put into making sure he’d come home to something comforting doesn’t go unnoticed.

Carlos walks over to the couch, crouching beside T.K. for a moment, watching him sleep. The tension of the night begins to fade as he just breathes in the calmness of the room.

Gently, he places a hand on T.K.’s arm, not wanting to startle him but knowing he should get him to bed.

T.K. stirs slightly, blinking awake. His eyes flutter open, and it takes him a second to register Carlos kneeling next to him. “Hey…” his voice is groggy, still heavy with sleep, but his brow furrows when he sees how soaked Carlos is. “You’re… completely drenched.”

Carlos gives a tired smile. “Yeah, the storm got a lot worse. I’m so so sorry I’m late.” He gestures to the table. “I see you waited up for me.” He whispers softly, kissing his forehead.

T.K. sits up, rubbing his eyes, glancing toward the cold tea and untouched food. “I wanted to make sure you had something to come home to.” He looks Carlos over again, concern creeping into his voice. “But you look like you just swam here.” He adds worried.

Carlos chuckles softly. “Feels like it.”

T.K. moves, standing up and placing a hand on Carlos’s cheek, the warmth of his touch a welcome contrast to the cold that has been biting at him all night. “Come on,” T.K. says quietly, “Let’s get you out of these wet clothes and into something warm. Don’t worry about the food.”

Carlos nods, his body grateful for the offer. He follows T.K. into the bedroom, where the familiar comfort of home begins to sink in, each step pulling him further from the chaos of the night.

As they enter their bedroom, T.K. helps Carlos out of his wet clothes, carefully peeling off the soaked layers and tossing them into the laundry basket

“You really are drenched,” T.K. comments, running a hand down Carlos’s arm. “You need to get warm. Take a hot shower. Unless you want to catch a cold.”

Carlos smiles, appreciating T.K.’s gentle touch and concern. “A hot shower sounds perfect,” he replies, his voice still heavy with exhaustion. He glances back at T.K., a teasing glint in his eyes.

“You wanna join?” He smiles as he kisses his neck softly.

T.K. shakes his head, stifling a yawn. “I’d love to, but I’m too tired. I’ll just wait for you here.” His eyelids droop slightly, betraying his weariness.

“Okay.” He nods, heading toward the bathroom.

As Carlos steps into the shower, the hot water cascades over him, easing the tension in his muscles. He takes a deep breath, allowing the warmth to wash away the chill from the storm and the stresses of the night. He can hear T.K. moving around in the bedroom, but the sound quickly fades.

After what feels like too long, Carlos finishes up and steps out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist. He can still hear the rain outside but feels a sense of calm settling over him. He takes a moment to look at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, pushing back the fatigue and ensuring he’s presentable for T.K.

Once dressed in a pair of comfortable sweats and a soft t-shirt, Carlos heads back into the bedroom. He usually just wears boxers, but he feels he should be warmer tonight. The dim light casts a soft glow over the room, and he sees T.K. sitting on the edge of the bed, head tilted back against the wall, eyes barely open.

“Hey,” Carlos says softly, a smile creeping onto his lips at the sight of T.K. trying to fight off sleep.

T.K. stirs at the sound of Carlos’s voice, blinking a few times before forcing a smile. “It’s 1am. we should be up at 9am maximum.”

Carlos chuckles softly, gently nudging T.K.’s knee with his own. “Fuck, I know.” He sighs and wraps his arms around TK, closing his eyes, TK does the same.

“I’m so sorry we barely have time with each other, sometimes I wish I had a boring job.” Carlos adds, kissing his head.

“Don’t worry.” TK whispers as he lets his head fall on Carlos’ shoulder.

“Everyday is the same, we wake up, go to our jobs, maybe if we’re lucky we have the same case on that day, then see each other at night where we don’t even have time to eat.”

With a sigh, TK replies in whisper “Carlos I’m too sleepy to reply to that.”

Carlos chuckles. “I hate you.”

“I love you.”

“Yeah, me too.”

——————

a/n: hope you enjoyed ! chapter 2 is already posted!

wc: 3k

[plasticfangtastic]

American royalty Ch. 11

A Homelander x F! reader/dadlander fic

A/N I really have no excuse for such delay but I hope y'all like this chapter, i'm really sorry for the delay, there's only 2 chapters left + the epilogue-- if y'all like to get in the taglist plz drop a request.

tags: mild gore, angst, slow burn, fluff, oc characthers, child neglect, dadlander, romance.

Chapter Eleven

Planning

The cameras were everywhere, there wouldn’t be a second of this wedding that wasn’t being immortalized, every moment under intense scrutiny and bright lights, a trio of stylists following your every step, to ensure your hair, make-up and dress were in perfect condition at all times.

As you caught a breather you thought back to the build-up and the nonsense as you hid from a steamer.

The wedding planning had been an interesting endeavor from which you were almost entirely removed from the equation. 

From the second he’d made his plans known to Ashley and the board, he had taken complete control of planning, there wasn’t an aspect of the early wedding stages that you took charge of… heck you hadn’t even been aware such plans were in motion even after moving in together, until a wedding planner’s assistant came over after being unable to get in contact with Homelander– He didn’t apologize, brushing it off as your failure to pay attention, as if he had mentioned it at all. 

“I love you but you don’t have the best taste… and I can’t risk bad decisions ruining my wedding! What if your wine choice doesn't match the amuse-bouche? I can’t risk a disaster!”

“YOU DON’T EVEN DRINK!!” You shouted– and excuse me… why would you pick the menu!? I’m a chef! You barely eat!”

“I was gonna hire a sommelier… but… you can take care of the menu if it means so much to you” He says bitterly, trying to not sook– "I’ll pick the cake.”

“It’s my wedding too. We pick the cake, John.” You argued back.

“Our fake wedding.” He raised his eyebrow– "Why should you stress yourself…?”

“You…!” You bit your lip until it almost tore– whatever… I don’t want to talk about it today.”

He watched you walk out the terrace, angry at himself for wanting to chase after you but to him you were in the wrong and he had no need to apologize.

That night he woke you up– not that you had been sleeping much.

“Are you still mad at me?”

His weight sunk heavily on the soft mattress, you turned around slightly to meet his featureless shape.

“You have this incredible superpower to piss me off whenever things are going smoothly between us.” You growled almost– go back to bed, John. I don’t want to talk ‘bout it today.”

“It's tomorrow.”

You sighed loudly.

“You should’ve told me you were doing this… fake or not… is still my wedding too.”

“I’m sorry…” He sank next to you wrapping his thin arms around you– marrying you means more than you can ever imagine… is all I ever wanted… getting married… so I want it to be perfect.”

He mumbles against your back, god knows if he heard your heart rate spike and you don’t want him to tell you, if he heard the blood rushing towards your face as your whole body began to boil around him.

You let him hold you even after dawn came.

He promised to include you from that point on but from venues, to flowers, to the guess he continued to make most decisions without you.

This was his wedding and everything had to be perfect. 

Leaving you feeling like you were gonna be just a special guest on his day.

Admittedly you’d never imagined you would get the opportunity to see him grieve over various shades of off-white, china plates and glassware that weren’t perfect but almost perfect so they were the worst thing on the whole planet– there was some karma in the universe left after all.

It’d taken a couple hours for the three wedding planners and Ashley when this whole thing began to accept that you might be the ‘bride’ but if he could be the one walking down the aisle– he fucking would.  They almost felt sorry he hadn’t told you, but they had their hands fuller than yours… it had been a mercy to have been spared as much as you did, they thought. 

Cursing as you came to inspect the tenth different flower arrangement suggestion for the ceremony seats on the table, a whole team of graphic designers were tasked with the wedding cards and such based on the spread around you– god knew how painful it was to look at the budget for wedding favors… now you wished he had been the one doing this whole thing alone, it was exhausting… more than anticipated.

Thank god Ashley had to arrange the televising… the words pay-per-view thrown out a couple times had you on edge…certainly people wouldn’t pay to watch you get married… well see Homelander get married, right?

During your contributions you learned jokes were deadly in this department, a single joke about getting japanese wagyu had him snapping his fingers to get Ashley to source enough of it for the rather extensive list of guests.

“Why is Prince William and Kate on the list?” You said rather bemused.

The wedding planners and other suits looked away from you, the Seven’s table was filled with pictures of guests and silverware samples.

“Same reason the president was invited.” He fiddled with some demitasse spoon samples.

“That answers nothing.” you looked at your side, it was small, just coworkers and the few friends that had clung past your misfortune, your parents had called you wishing to reconcile and meet the granddaughter they’ve abandoned, something you shut down quite easily– I understand why you would invite the president… but please tell me you’re joking about the Kardashian’s… Celine Dion…? What’s next, Blackpink?”

“Why don’t you give me some suggestions? Not that I can invite Jisoo… she would take the spotlight from me.” Between the politicians, A-list celebs and business men invited, you did come short, so he raised his eyebrow daring you to affect the feng-shui as you wrote down a name– William.”

Homelander grinded his teeth– It didn't sound like a joke.

“He’s not going to show up” You said casually trying to calm him down as he twisted a nice silver fork into a twig.

He expected you not to joke about it at all.

It hadn’t been difficult for Butcher to find Ryan… it was already online for the whole world to know– he watched the kid from afar showing up randomly after school to watch Ryan be picked up by his personal driver and security guard, somedays Ryan looked mopey, some others he looked cheery. He was alive and healthy, acting like any other kid as he always should’ve had, it would be for short minutes, but Butcher needed to make sure he was alright… that he was still that same sweet kid from before.

Driving back home, he moved to change the station, his mind thinking of his former stepson as he talked to a girl while waiting to be picked up, proud of the little guy.

“Are you a pedo?”

Butcher almost swerved into a group of pedestrians.

Helena snickered as the car steadied itself, she put her seatbelt as the man forced his breath still.

“Why do you like staring at little kids? Or are you staring at one kid in particular… a little boy called Ryan Gillman, perhaps?”

“Who the fuck are you!?” He screamed with an extra gruff voice, his car still moving– slower than his heartbeat.

“Helena. Nice to meet ya– now if you go down that street and then take a left we can go get something to eat– it’ll be a nice thing to do after all you kidnapped me.” 

“Get out of my car!? How did you get in!?” Butcher stopped his car by the nearest sidewalk, as he reached for the door his hand clashed against a rippling pale blue wall.

“I could crush your skull against that window before you managed to open that door.” Her eyes glistened as the wall narrowed, she watched him with the same intensity a child sees an ant under a magnifying glass– now let’s talk ‘Candlestick maker’ preferably over a milkshake… I love me some malt vanilla.”

Butcher gasped as he felt the wind saturate his lungs, the kid watched him with detachment, briefly considering smashing his car and risking it but this was a little child, a little child asking about Ryan… not just any kid… as he had a clear look at her– this was Helena. The Homelander’s daughter. He swallowed, awaiting the familiar sonic boom to rock his car that never came.

“I thought you were a pedophile but I dunno if working for the feds is any better.” Her emotionless voice said as she dipped her chips on the ice cream– really creepy to be staring at school kids, dontcha think?”

Butcher had no appetite, just watching the kid trying to see if there were any blond threats lurking.

“I want to get rid of Ryan Butcher, or Ryan Gillman, who knows what to call him– you see he’s a bump in the road for me and the more I think about it… the more inconvenient he becomes. Honestly I can figure out a way to kill him and make it look like an accident (even if it takes me some time) and I got no qualms in doing so. If anything, the more time I spend with him the more I want to murder him… I understand that he’s your stepson, that he has an aunt named Racheal and two grandparents: Sam and Imogen Saunders… for all intents and purposes” She settles in her seat after taking a messy bite of her burger, wiping her cheeks as she spoke– he has options outside of Homelander… so killing him isn’t my only avenue of disposing of the worthless idiot.”

“Don’t think I won’t crush your head in this restaurant because they’re people ‘ere. What are you anyways… wha you did in the car was not something Homelander or Soldier Boy ev’r did”

“I’m just a super-abled kid…” She throws a chip at him– so threatening– go for it, murder me in broad daylight but I don’t think you’ll want that. I wanna help you Mr. Butcher… I need to monopolize my father’s affections in order for him to entrust the company to me– his shares, my future position set in stone, my inheritance… you know how much money we are talking about here? Enough to motivate a murder or a hundred.”

Butcher stared at the girl, dumbfounded, he could find very physical resemblance between the two but they sure had a way of talking.

“Look if you want the job… text me… no calls… don’t want Homelander to catch me lacking.”

“I don’t think you want to kill him… youse playing tough for somebody, otherwise you wouldn’t have come to me?” Butcher asked, killing the tense silence.

“Ryan's continuous existence is a direct threat to my future. I cannot afford to have the lingering notion that he would one day hold a higher position within the company than I do by virtue of being both male and the first born. I want him dead. But I’m merciful.”

Butcher was slid a sticky note with a phone number.

“So if you’re really his kid and not some weird PR… where the fuck did he kept you hidden?”

“I’m not privy to my parents' relationship history but I can tell you one thing and that’s that he didn’t know me by choice.” The kid pushed her food away, clearly losing appetite– by the way when you get around killing my old man please do so after we sort out the will situation… lots of paperwork y’know” She smiles with a playful tilt and a sudden glow in her eyes as he takes the note– "am not a very patient child, Mister Serial Killer.”

Butcher could only muster a dried disenhearted chuckle, thinking just how ridiculous this situation was.

“What do I get out of this?”

“It’s Ryan not enough?” She says with a puzzled look.

“It’s a lot of risk considering your old man it’s around.”

“If money it’s what you need… give me a couple days to sort that out… just give me a number… whatever might help you become somebody else… I dunno move to fucking New Zealand for all I care.”

“How much money can you steal without him noticing, little miss genius?”

“How much do you think a vial of compound V costs?” She took another bored bite of her meal– am sure that somebody with your reputation might find a buyer… they have already started some international distribution… Russia, China, Saudi, Turkey are not on the list tho– get creative. I’ll give you a dozen if you like… save me having to blackmail one of those lab rats to help me sell it.”

He smiled at the brat.

You on the other hand learned of her shenanigans after being inadvertently kidnapped while leaving work, after the initial trauma and shock dispelled– meeting these people after the posters with your face began circulating shouldn’t have surprised you, after all you had been panicking about this brit stealing your kids before you had the pleasure to meet him, never considering it be you.

“He isn’t going to rescue me… if anything if I die it's better for him” you remarked but they were confident this would work.

Homelander wouldn’t ‘rescue’ you until four days later when he just knocked on the hideout door– Butcher had had enough of you, exasperated by your terrible personality. 

If somebody was going to kidnap you were under no obligation to let yourself be pleasant, so you let them know.

“You deserve each other. I hope you never divorce because living with her will be a nightmare.” Butcher dragged him inside the dingy hideout, growling and grumbling.

“What did she do?” Homelander scratched his hair, finding the whole scene rather awkward.

“She bit me!” He screamed towards the back- fucking psycho bitch!”

“Black eye too?” He grimaced at the wound– why didn’t you” He gestured a stabbing motion.

“You deserve her.” He snarled.

Between your busted lips and bruises, you had bitten a fair amount of people as payback, you had been kicking and screaming none stop, your thumbs broken as you used them to escape from the first pair of cuff they forced on you– you had nothing of use, whatever trap they had for Homelander was rendered pointless as they just wanted you out of the blacksite more than anything.

“Four days!!!?” Your raspy voice roared the moment he stepped in your sight.

“Maybe next time don’t hit me with a toilet plunger. '' before you could rip your chains off on your own to kill him– it's a blacksite baby… I couldn’t find you! We assume you ran away but after two days the kids did got worried. We thought you ran away… Helena was certain.” he mumbled.

“It was clean!!” you spat dried blood– you bastard!”

Your ears hadn’t picked up much of what he was saying after being a smartass– you only wanted him to take these chains off and go home, you wanted him to be a hero for once.

“Y/N please...” He moved behind you, pulverizing the three sets of chains holding you together in one swift swipe– lordy lord, what did you do for them to get this dramatic? She’s human you know, William?”

“She nearly ate my fucking finger, putain.” Hughie had to hold back the Frenchman as he came with a knife from the kitchen.

“I spat it back didn’t I?” You might as well been cursing– and I gave you my marinara recipe so I think we’re even– you bitch!”

“Calm down, honey.” He said with his nicest voice, stroking your bruised wrist– Why don’t we go get you a nice warm bath and some gelato, after we get a doctor.”

“Don’t you dare tell me to calm down!!!” You screamed, ripping your hands away from him– I haven’t showered in 3 days!! They electrocuted me, hit me, called me ugly! and made me listen to shit 80’s music!!”

“Just take her!” Starlight shouted from the bathroom.

“It's a good recipe.” Frenchie said as he calmed down.    

“What’s wrong with her?” He looked at Starlight’s direction, catching her reeking in the bathroom.

At this point you cried and clung to him, your arms wrapped around his shoulder babbling about ice creams, gelato and your kids, his cautious expression painted with anxiety, not knowing if you welcomed him, but as your legs gave up and you cried he gave himself permission to embrace you.

“She spat a loogie in Annie’s mouth.” Butcher said, handing Homelander your work bag, the Supe had lifted you and cradled you as you cried– "I better not see you ever again.” he hissed.

“…next time I’ll pick her up the same day.”

He looked embarrassed as a light blush creeped on his face, hearing the signs of relief as the group saw them leave.

Flying home with a bit of pride in his chest as he simmered on the sight– the destruction and wounds you left, his lips shivered at the sight of your fear and anguish laden tears slowly being made those of relief. He was proud of you, he was proud that you never gave up, that you didn’t let him think he could beat you… how strange that you were always so perfect for him, almost as strong as him– he thought.

Helena would apologize thinking the man wouldn’t kidnap you over their deal but you were too busy soaking in the bath while you waited for Homelander to bring a couple pints of gelato from italy, you told her not to tell you anything further until you had the energy to handle it, obviously she had been swindle by the brit… thinking of him a savage hooligan and not a smart devil.

“Please don’t tell anything that can be used against you, Helena… I don’t know why you decided to interact with that man– anybody who decides to make their life mission to destroy your father and other supes… is not some patsy you can use.”

“I… I don’t know what to say…” she said unable to stop crying.

“Why you thought I’d run away?” You pressed sinking into the bathtub covering your ears in warm water.

Her lips moved but you heard very little, looking at her face resting on the bathtub rim, she left as Homelander came back they left to have a talk re-entering a few minutes later.

For the first time since this whole thing began you found yourself letting him pamper you without complaint as he fed you gelato, both entertaining a sense of normalcy for your relationship despite everything, his touch more welcomed than those abusive gruff hands. 

That night as you entered the bedchambers you asked him to move the beds together, something a light kick achieved. Homelander didn’t sleep much that night as he kept checking to see if you were still asleep, if you were okay, ogling with wet eyes the wounds of your hands– one dislocated and the other fractured, leaving you unable to work for at least 6 weeks.

“I thought you ran away… that I scared you away… I’ve been so manic lately.” he whispered close to you, his body just an inch away from feeling yours.

“The only way am running away from you guys is when I shoot my brains off… never… ever think I’ll leave where I can’t take my children.” Your voice almost broke as you tried to speak.

“Don’t leave me…” He sniffed loudly– Y/N please…”

“We’re stuck with each other, John… if anybody is gonna leave– it's you.”

He spoke very little after that, unsure if you were still upset, all he knew was that he wanted you to stay where he could see you, fearful that Butcher or some other force would tear you away from him once more– yet as you slept restlessly he found comfort on those wayward fingers clinging to his shirt.

You wrote the name down.

In return for the sick joke he turned your home into a bridal shop. The family room was stuffed to the brim with gowns of all shades of white and modernist choices– pale yellows and pinks, even daring blacks. Every shape of wedding dress available from exceedingly revealing and form fitting to something only an amish might wear.

“Homelander said if nothing here is up to standard he had a list of designers waiting for your call” Ashley muttered sipping on the champagne, you didn’t give her any grief for it despite being 10 am, Chrissie, Alessia and an old friend joined in the bubbly testing– he does want an answer by the end of the day.” She pressed.

“There’s like a thousand frocks in here.” You muttered– I might need a day.”

“This is what passed the first 3 rounds” She snorted looking at the lines and lines of stuff extending all the way into the hallway– "He has such good taste.”

You stared at her wondering if she was being sarcastic but it was hard to read her.

“With his ass he could wear these better than me” You chuckle.

Even she gave it a thought without disagreeing.

He would show up five hours in to check if you’ve made a decision, normal people would’ve asked him to leave but Ashley dragged your human friends out to safety instead.

You sat slouched on the arm chair wearing a dress worth two whole monthly paycheck, your back sore from looking at dresses and veils, foot throbbing from all the shoes and your eyes aching from staring at catalogs.

“You aren’t supposed to be here for this…” You said cracking your toes as you stretched your aching limbs.

“The lawyers said they had the prenup readied… as well as Ryan’s papers.”

He purposefully avoided gazing at your direction, his throat stuffed with cotton, he could hardly muster to swallow, his mouth arid as his eyes became red and wet.

“You could’ve texted me.”

He was more than jittery in his boots, you studied his posture trying to analyze him, rolling your eyes as you wrote your lines.

“John, do you want to help me pick the dress?” You relented standing up trying to flatten the newly form creases off the satin gown– I’ll be nice and not peek at your suit… altho there’s this really nice pantsuit over there—

“You don’t look good in tea-length” His words stiff, moving towards one of the racks to pick a pale mauve tulle gown– try this.

“Daring. I like it.” You humor him.

“I think if anybody is going to pull off a mauve and plum wedding dress that’s going to be you” the way he moved across those racks he might give Helena and run for her money in speed but instead of books it was silk and chiffon– this one is so pretty… vintage Dior… and this is a copy of Grace Kelly’s wedding dress.”

Decisions were made by day 2.

He was giddy and jovial, his mood only soured if things weren’t going smoothly with the wedding planning, hero work was secondary and Vought was even less important but overall he was happier, and the company could tell– this was him in his 20s before losing his mind. 

He would come home and respect your boundaries avoid touching you without permission, hovering around in the kitchen with the sudden interested in learning how to make omelets, seeing him make and fail doing breakfast just so you could sleep-in was a rewarding experience, he liked being led by you even if there was no kink involved this time– you were afterall now stuck at home… you blushed as he asked you how to make those jiggly pancakes Ryan had seen online, he seemed so normal as he asked for your help to follow the youtube video while you made a strawberry compote by his side, he talked to you as if he was that young man once again so chirpy and friendly as he asked about your thoughts on an old TV show that he had started watching after an off-handed comment he overheard from Helena’s assistant, or discussed some old missing person’s case that came on his youtube feed– it was nice to talk like normal people.

While injured he had hired a private driver for you, to save you the stress on your hands not wanting your injuries to worsen before you could return to work, hiring a nanny to help you with the kids and an extra maid to help at home, while he spared no expenses making sure you were truly unburdened.

It made you feel as if you were some Victorian lady of high society with how little you had to do.

You blushed as you watched him slip into human clothes as he forced himself to unwind for the day, leaving the superhero drama behind as he tucked his suit in the closet– You must have been feeding him well for he seemed to look healthier, his body bigger and glowy, you thought.

You certainly liked looking at his thighs.

“I still don’t know why Elmo likes these…” Helena snuggled at her father’s side, she was cuddly on purpose but her feet were still touching you as you stretched on the couch, Ryan snuggling on the other side of him.

“I like the talking blue cat.” He says as a hand mindlessly plays with her hair– he’s funny.”

“I like the banana guy” Said Ryan, which made his dad giggled in agreement.

He seemed like the John you fell in love with a decade ago, like a weird dream playing live– just you four laughing at some kids cartoons.

Whatever sweetness you’d gathered since your kidnapping was now twisting the knife in your gut just to remind you it was there.

It went back to zero as you sat in a boardroom filled with heartless bastards.

It started easy enough– you been informed Rebecca Saunders-Butcher was declared legally dead before she was found by Homelander, no birth registration had ever been made for Ryan, as during Edgar’s tenure Ryan was categorized as a company asset, giving him the same legal rights as a beagle, it had been a hassle to have him recognize as a human being once he came out to the public… but it provided the opportunity of your name being put on his new birth certification– in the eyes of the law you would be Ryan’s biological mother. At first you assumed they were adoption papers until your eyes started swimming thru the lines, you could feel your whole body trembling, unable to muster a word as you tried to remain calm, this felt ludicrous, the idea of adopting Ryan didn’t bother you– it came off as sensible even.

But this felt dangerous, Homelander could smell the intoxicating and repulsive cocktail of visceral functions and hormones, he lifted his hand demanding the room to be cleared.

“Do you know what you’re asking me here?” Your voice was a nervous squeak as you pushed the paper towards his direction.

Homelander watches you shake like a leaf, offended at your sudden rejection his lip raised just enough for you to see some teeth.

“Suddenly getting cold feet after I spend all this money on you?”

Your brows crease.

“I never said I wasn’t going to be his mother… You’re asking me to lie about being pregnant 10 years ago, You’re asking me to pretend we share DNA! I’ll adopt him but this is– illegal… is amoral. What would he think if he ever finds this!?” You cried.

“He won’t.”

“What if he needs his birth certificate to get a driver's license!?”

“He can fly!” He argued back.

“Maybe his future wife would like him to drive her places! I dunno!” Glozing over the rest wasn’t any better– look… let’s think about this… this’s a lot and this… this shit isn’t helping.”

The calendar in front of you had only one thing written in it and that was Homelander’s birthday.

“I want you to have custody of Ryan.” He took the small calendar away, you froze watching him shrivel as he bit and chewed at his lips– if I die… Ryan has nobody to protect him. The government or Vought are no places for him… they’ll use him, abuse him, neglect him and he will come out of it broken– he isn’t strong like me. He’s my baby, but he’s delicate… he used to have people who cared about him but now he only has me. Nobody else in the whole world actually cares for him! But… but you’re his sister’s mother and his stepmother, you are family. The only one he has… so if I died then I’d rather my son stay with his only other family– than end up in a cell or a freezer…” He squeezed at his cape– I rather you have him than him ending up suffering like I did.” He let a couple tears fall, ashamed of his own reaction.

Whatever was happening outside your house, had him anxious, no doubt something involving Vought, Butcher or the FBSA.

“John. John… just give me a day… I’d rather adopt him… but if this is the best way to protect him…” Your stood up moving towards him to place a callous hand on his shoulder, you could tell this wasn’t easy to ask, it was definitely not timed correctly as the calendar you two had been fighting about twenty minutes ago was still in the room but here he was hurting– I just worry that he’ll hate me. That he’ll feel as if I erased his mother and forced myself into his life… we’re still a little awkward around each other.”

“He’ll understand when he’s older.” He said firmly but gently.

He kissed your knuckle, stroking your wrist looking up.

“I think before we do this together… we should ask Ryan if he wants to be adopted– then we can bring this up again.” You placed your spare hand atop of his, squeezing his fingers as you spoke– Ryan has gone through so much, and I don’t blame you for being nervous… you should… you have a tough job… and I’ve already been kidnapped… I’m just saying I don’t want to frighten him.”

“You mean that?” He asked, trying to rest his cheek on you, your hand lifting just before he could to grab him, not letting him rest on your hand but pushing his forehead onto your stomach, he turned limp, wrapping his arms around your legs once the blood returned to his brain, inhaling deeply– you would take good care of him.”

“I like the idea of him calling me ‘mom’ one day.” 

You twisted the knife right back in.

He catches his reflection on the steel and the other one simply stares at him with a hint of doubt in his eyes.

taglist-- @fromforeigntofamiliarity @demodemo909 @immyowndefender @ghqstfqce

[folklore-fantasy-and-sci-fi]

Given that DC will likely never give us an on- panel ToddDamon wedding, I have decided to indulge the brainworms. My semi- incoherent vision:

Church wedding at Todd’s insistence! Running gag that Alan keeps trying to throw money at them- including an ongoing insistence that he can and should be allowed to rent St. Peter’s Cathedral for the event

Todd very much takes Damon’s name

Damon’s Best Woman- Kate Spencer

Ring bearer- Ramses (takes place when he’s still a kid)

Flower girl- Julie Sawyer

Todd’s Best Woman- Jennie

Todd’s groomsman- Al

The wedding would be largely a fluff piece, but also a vehicle for a variety of subplots- a lot of past storylines could be revisited via stories (I.e., guests reminiscing about past adventures and shenanigans)- ranging wildly in tone

There would also be subplots in real-time:

Several members of Todd and Damon’s caped friends and family (led by Manhunter, Jade, and AtomSmasher AKA the adult wedding party), determined not to let the typical disasters ruin their wedding, run themselves ragged running interference. All said, the trio and associates end up diverting no less than 3 attempts at sabotage or super-villainy.

In turn, this contains a separate subplot of Kate and Ramses butting heads over his burgeoning instance in striking out in his own superhero career before he’s ready, attempting to “prove himself” to his “overprotective” mother

Over the course of the month leading up to the event- bachelor party, suit fitting- Jennie notices an unknown figure continue to pop up, seemingly watching her brother. After cornering this man, he reveals himself to be Jeremy Rice, trying to work up the courage to approach his estranged adoptive brother. This revelation- and the prospect of Jeremy returning to her twin’s life- triggers a mix of emotions in the Best Woman, even as she tries to push past it and facilitate the “surprise wedding gift” reunion

Along with the above shenanigans, Michael Mayne and Ruby Sokov crash Todd’s bachelor party- in tandem, Molly Mayne and Vladimir Sokov find they’ve coincidentally both had the idea to crash Damon’s- the former for a drunken shovel talk, the latter for reasons he refuses to confirm beyond “needing to talk to Alan”.