#eta: thank you past me!

[iamenits]

By Any Other Name

[ghostmaggie]

the lightning thief musical might just be perfect media

[wileys-russo]

Mary Earps, "will you marry me"..."we're already married", nightclub/party/some sort of night out

marry me II m.earps

you weren't able to go to the game because of work but you'd heard how well mary played, score checking as often as you could when your boss wasn't looking though you knew he really wouldn't mind all that much being a united supporter himself.

finally on your afternoon break you'd had a chance to call her, getting the full recap on everything including what sounded like a rocket of a goal from both maya and ella, united going up 4-0 in one of their best games of the season.

it killed you to have to cut your wife off mid story but with only a couple minutes left mary was more than understanding as you promised to meet her with the team once you finished, not thinking you'd make it in time for dinner but they had plans to go out afterwards to a karaoke bar.

"-and i promise not to sing a single abba song until you arrive beautiful!" mary promised and you could hear the grin in her voice as you softened, the two of you having met when a rather tipsy mary had mistaken you for a friend and tried to sweep you off your feet to have a dance to voulez vouz years ago.

now it was your unspoken song, always making sure to get it requested whenever you went out with friends, the two of you in your own little bubble as you'd giggle and swing one another around like the lovesick idiots you really were.

telling her you loved her and again how proud you were of yet another clean sheet under her belt you ended the call and hurried back to your desk where a large number of emails awaited you.

you were somewhat grateful for how busy your afternoon was given that it made the rest of your shift fly past, your timer going to clock out jolting you from your chair almost as you saved the doc you were working on and shut down your monitor.

collecting your things you said your goodbyes to your coworkers and headed out, wishing you'd bought a second jacket as you speed walked from the office to the tube, settling a little once you were inside and headed home.

it was the same story as you power walked from the station to the bus, and then from the bus stop to your flat you shared with your girlfriend. your new years resolution this year had been to use public transport to get to work at least twice a week.

given the business you worked for operated seven days a week and you only worked five including like today the occasional weekend it was going quite well so far, even if also like today it was that little bit harder with the weather.

by the time you let yourself inside it was nearing half past seven, and still needing a shower and some food you sent your wife a message indicating as much with a promise to keep her updated on your eta.

you melted at her reply text, following her instructions and going to the fridge where indeed she'd already cooked you dinner earlier this morning, the food just needing to be heated up.

not wanting to chance spilling food on anything you ate before you showered, putting on the highlights of the match and watching on proudly with a smile, cheering as though you didn't already know the outcome.

finishing up you rinsed and stacked your bowl and the tupperware in the dishwasher which was nearly full, tossing a tablet in and clicking it on as you thanked your wife for the meal and ducked into the shower.

by the time you showered and changed, finally looking presentable, it was nearing nine and mary had already informed around twenty minutes ago they were headed to the bar from the restaurant and she'd see you there.

ordering an uber you slipped on your shoes and grabbed a jacket, greeting the driver but otherwise remaining quiet, grateful that he picked up on that and just turned the radio on as you messaged mary you'd arrived.

thanking the uber you stepped out and joined the small line to enter the bar, grateful for the jacket around your shoulders as a sharp breeze whipped through the night air.

you frowned a little when mary hadn't texted back, but assuming she just hadn't heard her phone you'd barely stepped foot into the bar before a couple of bodies tumbled into you.

"ya made it!" you laughed as millie lifted you into the air in a tight hug and ella hugged your other side, the two having spotted you enter from the bar as they hustled you back over with them to grab a drink.

you greeted a few more of the girls and their partners as you waited, looking around for your wife but unable to spot her. "you might want to prepare yourself babe." maya warned patting your shoulder and handing you your drink as you gave her a curious look.

"dumb and dumber here have been feeding mary shots so she's...a little bit tipsy." maya smiled apologetically as you chuckled, knowing from her tone that was clearly an understatement as you followed her back to the booths where most of the team was hanging around.

"hello beautiful!" you heard her before you saw her, the taller girl crashing into you as maya hurried to grab your drink from your hand or else you'd have wound up wearing it as your wife practically tackled you down onto the lounge.

"mary! watch out ya idiot." katie laughed with a shake of her head. "hi baby, having fun?" you smiled, taking your drink back off maya and settling it down on the table as mary sat up and nodded, arm draped securely over your shoulders.

"so much fun!" she giggled and you grinned at the bright red flush across her cheeks you knew only appeared when she'd had far too much to drink. "mm i can see that, whats this i hear about shots?" you teased sipping at your own drink.

"mary!" you groaned as you barely had a mouthful before the goalkeeper had taken it from your hand and downed it, her only response being to grab your face and smash her lips to yours causing your neck to warm and wolf whistles to ring out around you.

"okay okay! down girl." you laughed pushing at her chest as she again chased your lips with a grin. "no i missed ya, c'mere." she tugged at your dress as you shook your head. "you owe me a drink earps." you warned booping her nose with a grin.

"mary watch out!" you laughed again as she practically leapt over you and made a beeline for the bar, dragging millie along with her. "no more shots for her turner i mean it!" you yelled after them as millie only winked and you sighed.

turns out, there was more shots.

a couple of hours had passed since you'd arrived and having sung three times now both with your wife or friends you were ready to call it a night, mary barely able to hold her head up.

"i'm gonna get us an uber. can you help me get her up?" you chuckled to leah and millie, millie who had sobered up scarily fast considering you'd watched her do shot after shot with your wife who was near passed out on your shoulder.

"maz, baby. come on up we get, we're gonna head home!" you shook her lightly as her eyes fluttered open and she mumbled something incomprehensible and slumped back down. nodding to millie and leah once the uber was booked the girls helped mary up who thankfully could mostly walk herself once she was.

"for earps? thank you." you checked with the uber, leah shoving mary in the back as you sat down beside her and buckled her in, thanking both girls and waving them off as they made their way back inside.

"are we on the tube?" mary lifted her head squinting her eyes with a slur making you chuckle. "no you muppet, we're in an uber." you rubbed her knee as she hummed and collapsed into you with a grunt.

thankfully the bar wasn't too far from your flat as the uber pulled up outside and you gently pushed mary to sit up, exiting the car and quickly making your way to her door.

opening it you grunted as the girl near fell out, the sudden drop at least waking her up enough to allow you to pull her out of the car, closing the door and stumbling your way up the driveway.

"come on babe, work with me here!" you groaned as she leaned her much taller body into you with a moan and a mumble of something that wasn't english, your fingers freezing and struggling with the key in the door as you finally popped it open.

"down we go!" you dropped your wife onto the sofa as she giggled and blinked a few times, sighing as you hurried to the bedroom to change.

grabbing clothes for mary you joined her again in the living room rolling your eyes as she was now properly passed out, mouth hanging open and all.

"maz, maz baby." you crouched down beside her and poked at her as she groaned and swatted you away. "come on, we need to get you changed you idiot!" you laughed, shaking her a bit harder now as she awoke and you helped her groggily sit up.

"oh hello darling." mary slurred, grabbing your hands and tugging you down to sit on her lap. "when did you get here? i missed ya." she mumbled making you laugh and shake your head, well prepared to tease her relentlessly for this tomorrow.

you helped her get dressed, ignoring the comments about buying her dinner first and her little teenage giggles as with absolutely no assistance from your wife you managed to get her changed.

"you're so so beautiful." mary smiled lazily pulling you down onto her lap again making you sigh but crack a smile. "will you marry me? i think you should marry me." the goalkeeper grinned with hooded eyes making you laugh.

"we're already married my love." you grabbed her hand and held up your own, the taller girl squinting at the rings which sat on them. "oh lovely! tick that off the list then." she ticked mid air as you rolled your eyes.

"come on you big dope, time to go to bed with your wife."

[woso-dreamzzz]

Ma'am

Aitana Bonmatí x Royal!Reader

Summary: You steal your father's plane

You adjusted your sunglasses so they covered your face properly as you stepped off the plane.

Taking the private plane without permission wasn't one of your worst deeds but, with one of your brother's absolutely slammed by the public, it wasn't like you could become the least favourite child for something as small as this.

"Ma'am," One of your security detail said," Might I just say-"

"If this is a complaint about anything other than the heat, I don't want to hear it."

He chuckled. "I was going to say, ma'am, that we should hurry along to get out of this heat."

You laughed. "Good idea."

You slipped into the car, instantly kicking off your shoes and rummaging through the side compartment for a snack.

"ETA is thirty-five minutes. We've already called ahead so it should be smooth sailing from here."

"Thank god." You stretched out on the seats and stared out the window. "Did you hear back from my brother?"

"Yes, ma'am, His Royal Highness wishes you a good trip and has already informed your father that you're out on business as a favour to him."

You scoffed. "A favour for William, as if."

"Best not to shoot a gift horse in the mouth, ma'am."

You rolled your eyes, shooting off a text to Kate. "He's only doing it because he knows I'm seeing Harry soon. Honestly, the rivalry between those two is horrendous."

"I don't think I can comment on that."

You ignored him. "I mean, this tug of war is so stupid. I don't need to be bribed to know which one I prefer over them. Which is, just for the record, neither. Urgh. Men suck...No offence."

"No taken, ma'am."

You waved a hand dismissively. "You know what I mean. I think they're both trying to get me to babysit for them."

"I don't really think that they need you to babysit for them."

"It's the thought that counts." You sighed and sat up straight, shooting off another lazy text to Kate to make sure that William didn't narc on you.

The streets of Barcelona sped past you and soon you were exiting the car.

The training grounds didn't look that impressive although you were neither a football expert nor an architect so your opinion on that matter probably couldn't be trusted.

A man was stood outside, waiting for you.

"Her Royal Highness, Princess y/n of England. Ma'am, this is Joan Laporta, the president of Barcelona FC."

He dipped his head. "Your Highness, it is a pleasure to have you here."

"Pleasure to be here," You replied, shaking his hand.

He led you through the hallways, explaining everything to you even though you were half listening. You peeked in to see the men in their gym session but quickly left for the pitches to watch the women.

"As you can see, ma'am," Joan continued on," We pride ourselves on excellence here. We strive every day to be the best."

"Your women's team certainly live up to that," You replied, staring out across the pitch to the group of women running drills.

"Yes. We're very proud."

He seemed to realise that you had no interest in speaking to him anymore as he led you across the pitch to the group.

Your bodyguard cleared his throat again to announce you. "Her Royal Highness, Princess y/n of England."

You smiled in greeting, striding through the group (who parted quickly) to whom you had travelled to see. You cupped the back of her neck and drew her in for a soft kiss.

"Hola."

"Hola, amor."

Aitana drew back with a smile. "I thought you said that you were busy."

You shrugged. "I cleared my schedule. Stole Dad's plane."

"Can you do that?"

"What are they gonna do? Arrest me?"

She laughed, rolling her eyes as a hand came to rest on your hip. She leaned closer. "You kissed me in front of my teammates."

"I'm pretty sure they knew you had a girlfriend."

"Si, but not who my girlfriend was."

"We're hard launching." You shrugged again and gave her a blinding smile.

You turned that smile to her teammates, still beaming.

Many of them were in a state of shock, mouths hanging open comically. You didn't recognise any of them apart from the two English players.

You were there that day at Wembley to hand them their medals with William for the Euros and you were also there the day Lucy Bronze received her MBE.

You smiled politely at both, soaking in the warmth of Aitana's hand on your waist.

"Ma'am," Your bodyguard said, suppressing his own laughter," Perhaps we should go inside. We've been travelling all day."

"Right, yes."

You threaded your fingers through Aitana's and dragged her away, leaving the rest of the Barcelona team to scramble after you both.

Aitana lagged slightly, letting you take the lead and you could hear her whispering quietly to Keira Walsh.

"You're dating Princess y/n?" Walsh said in a hush," This isn't something that you can just spring on us."

You could picture Aitana turning red. "It just happened. We met at the semi-final game against Chelsea and hit it off."

"With a princess. Aitana, how did you manage to 'hit it off' with a member of the royal family?"

"She's quite charming." You winked. "And I was quite happy to be charmed."

Aitana's blush deepened. "I fell into her. It was very embarrassing."

"To you," You teased," I found it hilarious. Oh, what was it I said?"

Your bodyguard spoke up, his voice incredibly deadpan and dry," You said that you'd never had a girl as pretty as Miss Bonmatí fall for you like that, Ma'am."

"Oh, yes. That's what I said. Then I asked her on a date."

"And then I told you that your father wouldn't be happy if you snuck around instead of coming straight home, Ma'am."

"Which of course, I took offence to because I'm an adult and not a stupid child. So I took Aitana out and never quite let her go."

"I thought you were meant to be in London for some fancy dinner," Aitana cut in before her teammates could badger you with more questions.

"The guests cancelled, some kind of medical emergency. I nicked Dad's plane. Good surprise?"

She grinned at you, somehow shuffling closer. "Si, very good surprise."

"Great, then we're gonna get you home to pack. I've got Kate and Will covering for me and free reign of the jet. I'm thinking a few days in Greece? Or maybe Italy? We'll decide on the way."

[dadvans]

Short Term Solutions for the wip game! 💕💕💕

for the WIP title meme!

tbh can't remember what i've posted from this one before--

Tommy feels like he’s walking onto another scene when he shows up at Evan’s apartment. There’s smoke, albeit thinning through every open window, and Evan is standing on the table waving a sheet pan at the detector high overhead on the ceiling. “Hey.” Evan doesn’t look down at him. Tommy sees a smothered pot on the stove’s back burner, hallmark of a grease fire. “How do you feel about pizza?” “I love pizza,” he offers, like there’s a monster out there that somehow doesn’t. He tries to hide the worry in his voice and makes his way around the kitchen island to the stove so he can help dispose of the smoldering remains of dinner. “I’ll call Dominoes as soon as I’m not afraid of this alarm going off again,” Evan says. “Don’t worry about it.” Fuck Dominoes. Evan’s clearly had a long day, and Tommy is hungry but he’s not that hungry. They’re doing the overpriced hole-in-the-wall down the street where Ryan Gosling was apparently caught by paparazzi last week. He’s fine paying. “I can call.” Evan gives in without a fight, so he must really be at his limit. “Thanks.” It’s tough to see him like this. His usual spark has been dimming more and more the past month since Gerrard resumed control of the 118, and even on the really bad days, he seems reluctant to talk about it. The first time they did, Tommy tried to pass along wisdom from what he remembered of Gerrard: keep your head down, don’t go out of your way to do anything you weren’t asked to do (especially on a call), stay in your lane, and document every goddamn thing as best as you can the second it happens. But these days Tommy can see it in the dismissive way that Evan will crack open a beer on the countertop and say, “Nothing, nothing, you know, asked me if i moved out here ‘cause California is the land of fruits and nuts again,” that there is something worse and more complicated going on under the surface, something Evan refuses to let him help carry the weight on for a variety of reasons. It sucks. Tommy wants to help, and watching Evan struggle and buckle under whatever is going down at the 118 without him is starting to scare him. Something’s gotta give, and Tommy knows it inevitably will. The best thing he knows he can do until further notice is focus on short term solutions. He can take care of a smoking pan while Evan stands helplessly on his kitchen table. He can order a large Hellraiser, extra meat. He can get Evan so far outside of his head he’s boneless and thoughtless and can temporarily forget. “Delivery ETA is sixty minutes,” Tommy announces as he gets off the phone. “Shit, I’m sorry,” Evan says, gingerly getting off the table and setting the pan down. “I told you I’d have dinner ready, you’re probably starving. I can probably throw a salad together—“ “Don’t worry about it,” Tommy says, and that’s when he notices one of Evan’s hands is loosely wrapped. “Are you okay?” Evan seems to have forgotten about it, and looks down at his own palm when he sees Tommy staring. “What? Oh, yeah, got distracted, burned it. Then totally forgot I left the heat on high when I went to take care of it, and“—he waves his good hand vaguely around at the thinning smoke, a half-laugh catching in his throat clearly directed at himself—“yeah. Just can’t seem to stay out of my own way today.” There’s something unsaid there, some kind of weakness Evan doesn’t seem willing to part with, and it breaks Tommy’s heart. He maneuvers his way over to Evan’s side, taking him by the wrist to gently kiss over the burn. “Well, we have an hour.” He sighs. “Tell you what. Let me take care of you, get you out of your head for a bit. Then, after dinner, can we talk about it?” Evan stares up at him, eyes so big. Some invisible weight seems to slough off his shoulders at the suggestion alone, and he nods. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

[lemon-russ]

Uhm so my understanding with that 'Burned out on Cato × Diplomat' post is that requests are open? May I request some post-nails Angron x Reader? Doesn't have to be smut, but I'd welcome it!

yes!! It isn't super long and no smut, but I liked this so much I might do more of it, I'm actually a big fan of 30k Angron :)

Eta: I keep forgetting tags woops: @undeaddream @scriberye @sleepyfan-blog

And thank you for divider as always @squishyowl

Angron x Gn!Reader

Word count: ~800

CW: It's Angron. There's blood.

Blood dripped down the walls, splattered across from the spray from the neck of the unfortunate serf that happened to have passed by The Red Angel at the wrong moment. He gnashed his teeth, grinding and cracking them before they healed themselves immediately anyways. The pain of the nails cracked through his skull again, but dulled slightly now that he'd turned a serf into paste in the halls of the Conqueror.

He whirled 180° at the sound of soft footsteps tapping against the metal plates, nostrils flaring and hand raising to use whoever dared approach the Lord of the Red Sands.

But upon seeing your soft, patient expression looking up at him with gentle eyes, he faltered. The only thing that seemed to even slightly interrupt the pain if his nails besides bloodshed and slaughter, was you. You and that gentle, unfaltering look you always gave him.

He lowered his arm, grinding his teeth again against the pain, and you gave him a small smile before approaching. You could read him well enough to know when it was safer to approach and when he needed space.

“Angron.” You say in that soothing tone. You never called him “my lord” or “primarch” or any of those ridiculous titles. He tried not to flinch, his muscles tensing in control as you stepped to his side. You pull out a cloth from your robes and pat at the blood splattering his arms with a featherlight touch, knowing too much contact would irritate his nails.

“You.” He gruffs. That's all he ever called you. Just, you. Never anything so pompous or fake as a pet name. And he honestly would forget your name in the middle of a wrack of pain or a blood fury. So it more often than not was simply, “You.”

“You are wandering alone again.” He growled, fists straining as he attempted to control his anger at your lack of self preservation. “You forget where you are.”

Like always, you didn't react in anyway but with gentle, unwavering patience. “I heard screaming. I wanted to check on you. Would you like to walk with me?” You say with that soft tone that seemed to balm his psyche.

He simply grunts, the nails lashing against the numbing of his mind with another shock of pain. But you made it easier. More bearable. He lets you take his hand in both of yours, and mindlessly follows you as you lead him away from the pile of gore he made of the serf.

He blinks away some pained brain fog. “You… know better than… to walk alone around the ship.” He forced through grit teeth.

You make a gentle hum. “I wasn't very far from you.” You return simply.

He groaned, annoyance tinging the pain in his mind. “If one of my sons got a hold of you…” he growled, teeth creaking in his head as he ground them.

You softly pat his hand. “I know, but they did not. Shall we loop around?” You say, tugging his hand gently toward a new corridor. “Or shall we bathe for the night and head to bed?”

He shuddered, pain mingling with the other feelings you always stir. “Bed. Now.” He grunts, hand tightening around your tiny ones.

You giggle, the sound only rousing his blood more. “Not while you're covered in blood. Bath time it is. I got some nice herbs for soaking when we were on that last planet…” you say, and your babbling about scented leaves turns into a soft background noise as he watches your face while you talk. Soft. Gentle. Patient. Voice hypnotizingly calming, or as much as is possible for him. His.

He growled a soft noise, gripping your tiny hand with as much gentleness as he could muster. With you, blood was not the only thing that could sate his pain and rage. At least for a moment. With you, there were other things that helped.

You looked up at him curiously, and his mind dredged back to the moment. “What?” He grunted.

You giggled and blushed. “I asked, so you think it might be fun to combine a bath and our other activites?”

He processed slowly, mind trudging through the ever constant pain, but then he let out a deep, needy growl from his chest. “Yes.” He snarled. He scooped you up into his arm, no longer patient enough to wait for your tiny legs. You squeak and giggle, far too comfortable in the arms of 11 feet of muscle and rage.

He looks down at you as he hurried toward the quarters he had made for you. You. His.

Yes, there were other things that could soothe his nails, for a moment. And he thinks he might be able to rut himself into a somewhat restful sleep tonight.

[makeste]

So... How was watching that episode?

I meant to do a post on this sooner, as opposed to late on a Friday night hours before the next episode drops (eta: well apparently there's no new ep airing this week after all so that makes my timing slightly less atrocious), but yeah. basically I loved it. it hurt in all the right ways.

music was incredible. no shot it was ever not going to be incredible. Hayashi Yuuki thank you for always making my emotions your bitch.

there are admittedly a couple of moments in the anime which I felt weren't quite as impactful as they were in the manga. one of these is the moment when Jeanist, after seeing that Kacchan is (he thinks) traumatized and crying, immediately shifts gears from trying to hype him back up to return to the battle, and instead starts reassuring him that he's done enough and he doesn't have to fight anymore and they'll figure out a way without him. when I first read that part in the manga it absolutely slaughtered me. it's so rare to see media that stars young adults as the protagonists, and portrays them as capable young warriors, and yet also acknowledges that even so, they're still just kids. and to then surround said kids with adults who aren't dumbed down, and who are actually smart and capable and who are actively looking out for them and trying to protect them even though the kids are more OP than they are.

so to have a character that looks at someone like Bakugou and sees past how powerful and determined and ferocious he is, and instead just sees a kid who has been so incredibly brave and who they've asked so much of already. and to have that character make the on-the-spot decision to pull this kid out of the fight, regardless of the consequences, even if it means they might LOSE, just because he thinks the kid is hurt and scared and past his limits, and he needs someone to look out for him. that moment says everything about what kind of person Jeanist is. just, that one part got to me so much.

BUT, in the anime it all happens much faster and the moment gets kind of lost because Kacchan almost immediately starts doing his Deku-style muttering, and Jeanist quickly realizes that his initial read was wrong and this kid is actually FULLY AND COMPLETELY LOCKED IN MORE THAN EVER. which is exactly what happens in the manga as well, to be fair. but in the manga I got to read and absorb it at my own pace, whereas the anime just keeps on going with no concern over whether you've had enough time to process everything that's going on. and so that moment just kind of slips by, and almost isn't even noticeable unless you're looking out for it. it's not really a complaint, because there isn't really any other way the scene could be adapted, probably. but it does give me a good excuse to write a mini-essay about how much I love it, so yeah.

moving on though, in spite of my wishing we could have somehow lingered on that part a second or two longer, I did absolutely love the reveal of Kacchan mumbling and analyzing Deku-style. the first of many outstanding Okamoto Nobuhiko performances in this episode. full nerd powers activated. we'd already seen him do this in Bakugou Katsuki: Rising as well, but this is where it really stands out and it was awesome.

and by the way, shout out to the Big Three who are fucking great. eventually when I get around to posting my manga recaps for this part of the story, those will get more into their antics. for now though, I'll just say that everything was very well adapted. and the part where poor Mirio is all "???? sorry????" when TomurAFO has his brief little Tenko outburst was everything I hoped it would be, and Mirio's actor absolutely nailed it. like I knew it was coming and was anticipating it, and it still slayed me. easily a top five funniest moment in the whole damn series.

Kacchan standing up and telling Jeanist to look after the others filled me with just as much dread as the first time I read it. and the first time I read it, I had already been spoiled. so what I'm trying to say is, knowing what's about to happen does not in any way lessen the intensity of this moment. if anything it just enhances it.

the reveal of Kacchan's powerup was so incredibly badass. I can't even describe how badass it was. just, BOOM. now you see me, now you don't. LA DEE DA, HERE I AM! and the narration in the background talking about his quirk. chef's kiss.

no matter how many anime characters I see pulling off the omae wa mou shindeiru, I will never, ever tire of it. it's the single most badass thing anyone can ever do. especially when they were being underestimated the entire fucking time, and now all of a sudden they're out here scaring the shit out of the big bad himself. no one is faster than Kacchan. KACCHAN CAN RUN FASTER THAN ALL OF YOU. HE CAN FUCKING FLY!! HE'S BEHIND YOU RIGHT NOW!! GOD I LOVE IT SO MUCH.

and then Nobu hits us with the coup de grace. "Izuku… can I still catch up to you?" fellas is it gay to spend your last thirty seconds of life having an imaginary conversation with your beloved rival even as you're zapping around like a bolt of lightning, kicking more ass than anyone on earth has ever kicked.

and I was already dead by this point, but then the All Might vestige scene kicked in and resuscitated me so I could die again even harder. worth it.

so what really killed me nineteen times during this part was the way that Kacchan sounded so completely and utterly different from how he has ever sounded before. this is a scene that's taking place entirely in his head (or… in OFA land… maybe???? goddammit Horikoshi still owes us an explanation. THAT VESTIGE SHOULD NOT BE THERE I DON'T CARE WHAT ANYBODY SAYS). there's nobody else around. nobody to perform for. nobody to show off or look tough for. it's just him, and this big mysterious yellow All Might ghost thing.

and he sounds like an entirely different person. nervous, shy, sheepish. no crudeness, no insults. just, aw shucks. hand to back of neck. avert eyes. so this is kind of awkward, but... the thing is, I always wanted to... but I was such a brat when we first met... and I just never found the right moment after... anyway yeah I'm sorry and it's really dumb. but I really just. wanted to get your autograph.

just. this is him at his most sincere. this is who he's always been, all along. the one and ONLY time we've ever gotten a glimpse of him with absolutely no walls. and he is NOTHING like what he presents himself as to the outside world. he is sweet, he is gentle, he is self-effacing. he is painfully vulnerable, which is doubtless why he never dares to show this side of himself to anybody, ever. and he is ultimately so calmly accepting of this one last regret during what he believes are his final moments.

anyway. so yeah. it destroyed me. what else is there to say.

and then it happens. and once again, not to shit on the anime at all because this episode was fantastic, but this was another part that seemed much clearer in the manga. particularly that one page where we see that everyone else -- Jeanist; Mirio; Hadou; Tamaki; even Mirko -- tried to save Katsuki from that final blow, but they were all just a split second too late. the anime did its best to show that, but I think it was just harder to convey in that format. whereas the manga did it beautifully in a way that couldn't really be replicated.

but on the other hand, one thing the anime did VERY well was showing Kacchan's ragdoll body just flop lifelessly away afterwards. holy shit. I watched like a half dozen reaction videos to this episode on Youtube, and in most of them the anime viewers didn't quite realize how bad of a hit it was at first… until they showed that. then they were like, D: D: D:

and then last but not least… the image that broke the internet so hard that it spoiled me even in my paranoid social media isolation. Kacchan lying lifelessly on the ground. it's such a well-drawn panel in the manga, and the anime absolutely did it justice. having him be so pale was a wonderful touch. you see him, and you just immediately know. there's no room for doubt at all. it's powerful af. the Youtuber reactors all lost their minds. one woman actually started sobbing. phenomenal cinema.

so yeah! needless to say I thought it was spectacular. pour one out for the anime-onlys though. and now their watch begins.

[bambheez]

tonight is for the two of us (l.hs)

SUMMARY: two lonely people who find comfort in each other’s presence for one night. PAIRING: heeseung x reader GENRE: angst, smut WARNINGS: mentions of character death, grief, depression, insomnia, child and domestic abuse, alcoholism, profanity, light smut WORD COUNT: 5.8k A/N: the way this entire thing screams verbosity but that’s just my style so pls forgive me lol… obviously this is different from what I’ve posted so far in that there’s actual plot and it’s somewhat dark (so please read the long ass list of warnings before you proceed). you can also listen to the PLAYLIST for this story (I am in love with all of these songs)! as always, reblogs/comments/feedback are especially appreciated! :)

Your clammy hands were gripping the steering wheel to the point where your dashboard lights illuminated the whites of your knuckles. As you made your way up the windy roads to the lookout point, void of any streetlamps and relying on your high beams on blast, you were silently thankful for the lack of cars trailing behind you or driving toward you in the opposite direction.

Had you done your research beforehand instead of simply plugging the address into your phone, perhaps you wouldn’t have embarked on this hour-long journey to go stargazing with your colleagues. You suggested carpooling to no avail, having to face your absurd fear of driving not only at night but also on sketchy, unfamiliar roads. 

A slight crane of your neck to the right brought you a view of the city’s skyline in the distance, a hazy glow amidst a sea of black, and you wished you could teleport back to the comfort of the bright, bustling city. The mere thought of having to drive back down this same path later had you letting out a deep groan. 

A sudden interjection of your phone’s navigation app announcing that you were arriving at your destination in 100 feet caused you to whip your head back in focus, scanning the parking lot as you approached the top of the mountain. 

Your car was the only one in the vicinity, save for a camper van with none of its lights on, looking particularly worn-down and deserted. You parked in a random empty spot, unplugging your phone from its charging port before stepping out into the brisk air. Spotting a bench near the lookout point, you took long strides up across the parking lot and up the hill, plopping down to sit and fishing your phone out of your pocket to check your notifications.

You were surprised to find an empty home screen, expecting a “sorry, we’ll be a few minutes late” in your group chat seeing as it was over ten minutes past the time you were meant to arrive. You dialed the number of the coworker who invited you and you heard her voice come onto the line after three long rings.

“Hey! What’s up?” she was nearly screaming over sounds of at least a dozen other people talking.

“What’s your ETA?” you were muttering, already having a bad feeling of what she was about to say.

“H-huh? Oh, it’s supposed to rain tonight, so we canceled! Sorry, I thought we told y–” you were tearing the phone away from the side of your face and hanging up before she could finish her sentence. 

A miserable chuckle escaped your mouth as you took note of the thick clouds hanging over the sky and brought your feet up on the bench, hugging your knees and resting your back against the wood. You weren’t sure why you expected anything else. 

You thought perhaps moving across the country to a big city would put an end to the dread of a thousand tomorrows, none of them promising any semblance of change, but the truth was you never felt more alone than when you were standing in the midst of a busy crowd surrounded by towering skyscrapers and blinding lights—a single drop in the ocean.

There was no way to describe it other than a vice on your heart, squeezing with just enough pressure to be a constant, dull ache. A black hole that threatened to swallow every part of you until all that was left was a human shaped shell, too numb to feel the pain anymore.

There were nights you unwillingly let it control you, and all you could do in those long hours was find an enclosed place to shake until the tears subsided. The vast, open darkness in front of you made you wonder just how many people were out there feeling the same way you did. 

Some old acquaintances had promised to stay in touch, yet what you heard from them was comparable to radio silence, their smiles and efforts merely pixelated and small yellow faces that stopped coming whenever your world fell apart—which was often.

Trudging to get past each day made you realize just how much of your world had revolved around one person—one last connection with a life that used to be. You couldn’t tell her when your local tea shop came out with her favorite lychee drink, when you listened to a song that reminded you of her, how you saw someone on the subway reading a book she had recommended you, or how you overheard a couple arguing over the proper way to load a dishwasher, the very thing you had repeatedly bickered about as college roommates. 

And now that she was no longer in this life, you were constantly questioning your purpose, even occasionally wondering if you were meant to be alone. Was this what the universe had planned for you? You weren’t sure you believed in multiple soulmates, so what happened when yours left you?

If you miss me, just look at the stars. She would always sign the text with a ‘;)’ at the end and you would mock her with a scoff, replying with or I could just call you, dumbass. 

Without realizing, you were already bringing up your history of text messages with her, scrolling through the endless one-sided green texts, each decorated with a delivery error message. Your fingers were hovering over the keyboard while the pulsing blue line stared back at you.

“Where are you?” you were wailing out, wincing subsequently at the unexpected echo and crack in your voice. The thundering in the distance seemed to answer you, but you wished the stars were out so that you’d at least know she was watching over you. You couldn’t help but feel that the cloudy skies meant she couldn’t see you, or worse, look out for you. A droplet landed on your cheek and your eyelids fluttered shut at the feeling. You weren’t sure if they were your tears or hers.

It was the end of the week and you somehow found yourself making your way up the mountainous roads again, remembering coming home last time with extraordinary peace of mind despite the frazzled state you arrived in. You weren’t sure what it was, but it was pushing you to get out of the city once again. 

The air was noticeably cooler than it had been last week, and you were scanning your backseat for any signs of a sweater, sighing inwardly when you found none. It was warm when you left your office earlier in the evening and you mentally cursed at yourself for not checking the weather yet again. 

You contemplated staying in the car with the heat on, but a glimpse of your glowing fuel light had you rolling your eyes in disappointment for being so forgetful and inattentive on top of the countless other flaws you felt you carried. 

You were making your way toward the empty bench again, spotting the camper van in the same parking spot. You assumed it hadn’t moved since the last time you were here, most likely having been abandoned. There were considerably fewer clouds in the sky today and you beamed at the view of the small specks of white splattered against the darkness.

“Give me a sign that it’ll all be okay, please,” you spoke while eyeing the stars above you, some brighter than others. Your hair flew in the wind, draping across your face as goosebumps formed on your arms as you prepared to let the rest of your thoughts out. You didn’t remember closing your eyes, but the sound of footsteps approaching had you instinctively opening them and straightening your back and you suddenly felt a weight on your shoulders, gasping to find someone draping their flannel jacket over you.

“Sorry if I scared you,” he spoke against the wind. “You seemed cold.” A boy, now in a plain black shirt, was making his way around the other side of the bench to sit down next to you. He left considerable space between the two of you, which you were silently thankful for. 

You spun around to see where he had parked, not having noticed another car arrive and when you saw nothing but your own car and the camper van, you felt a chill run down your spine. Alarm bells should’ve been going off in your head, but you were seemingly more concerned with the fact that he had most likely seen you in your most vulnerable state, crying out into the open void like a lunatic, not only once, but twice now.

When he felt you staring, he turned his head only to briefly make eye contact with you before glancing back down at his lap. His skin was a pretty shade of olive, the tip of his nose illuminated by the hazy moonlight. You took in the rest of his appearance—worn sneakers with one of the laces untied, ripped jeans, and shaggy hair that covered his eyes, and you found yourself resisting the urge to run your fingers through his locks.

“Why do you keep coming here?” he was asking, picking his head up once more to look at you.

You weren’t so sure yourself. Maybe it was the fact that this was the only place where you didn’t have to pretend. You didn’t know if you wanted to talk to her, to yourself, or to the universe in general; you didn’t know if you wanted to scream or cry or sit in complete silence. All you knew was that after a particularly bad day at work, you were taking the exit off the highway without thinking, almost as if you had taken this same exit a hundred times before.

“I could ask you the same,” you chuckled. There was an awkward pause, and you were realizing that he wasn’t going to answer you.

“I’m here to u-uh, stargaze.” You were telling the truth, at least partially. 

“Stargazing’s not the best here, with the light pollution and all,” he replied. You hummed, unsure how to respond. He noticed your hesitation and was rubbing his palms against the black denim of his jeans before clearing his throat. 

“‘m Heeseung, by the way.” At first, Heeseung found himself slightly annoyed at the fact that you had disrupted his peace and not-so-secret hideout spot, observing you from his van while you mumbled to yourself on the bench. 

“I travel in my van, but ‘m running low on money.” He was rubbing the back of his neck, slightly embarrassed to admit the fact. “The parking here’s free, so…” he trailed off, regretting it immediately after stating the obvious. 

As he got a better look at your face up close, he saw that a small frown seemed semi-permanently etched on your face, which he could tell you were hopelessly attempting to correct as he studied you. A wave of guilt washed over him upon registration of his untimely intrusion, realizing that you would probably prefer to be alone right now due to the blatant evidence that you were pretending to look less dejected in front of him. 

You were briefly introducing yourself as someone new to the city, not knowing what else was interesting about you and accidentally slipping in the fact that you ‘didn’t really have any friends’, teeth chattering slightly even with his jacket resting over your frame. 

“Did you want to sit in my van instead?” Your frown was faltering when your lips parted in surprise at his request. He contemplated adding a lighthearted comment about not being a serial killer to reassure you, but you were already trailing behind him as he stood up. You could tell he was tall when his legs were stretched out next to yours while sat next on the bench, but he was even taller than you’d imagined when he was standing up, even with a slight hunch in his posture. 

Heeseung peered over his shoulder to catch you struggling to keep up with his longer strides, still clutching onto the collar of his jacket over your right shoulder and he let a soft smile adorn his face as he slowed his pace to match yours. He was rounding the front of his van to open the passenger side door for you but you were already cutting in front of him, hopping up on the door sill clumsily.

You let yourself into the passenger side, holding the jacket out to Heeseung who was still staring at you through the driver side window. He opened the door and pulled himself into the seat, reluctantly taking the jacket from you and tossing it on some unknown surface of the van behind him. 

He turned on the ceiling light of his van and began blasting the heat after noticing that you were sitting on the backs of your hands. His fingers were fiddling with the knobs on the CD player to turn on soft, lullaby-like piano music and you made a poor attempt at stifling a laugh. For some reason, you expected him to be into rock music and found the unexpected contrast endearing. 

Heeseung shot you a confused look at the sound and you simply shook your head and waved it off, a small smile still playing on your lips. You couldn’t put your finger on what it was, but you felt a strange sense of comfort in his presence.

For the first time that night, you were taking a closer look at his features. Underneath his bangs were eyes that carried both fervor and innocence and lips that were held in a constant, soft pout. He was chewing on his bottom lip, eyes darting around the space in front of him at the feeling of you staring at him so intently. He shook his head so that his bangs were falling over his eyes again in one swift movement before thinking of something to say to take your attention off his face.

“I dropped out of college when I was 18,” he was muttering, trying to gauge your reaction from his peripheral view before continuing. “And then I ran away from home to travel.” He was leaving out key details like the fact that he didn’t necessarily run away from home with the goal of traveling but instead began traveling because he simply had nowhere else to go. 

When he came home after his first semester with an official diagnosis from his university’s health center, his family refused to let him seek therapy or any other form of help. With a father who was never home and a mother who went as far as threatening to disown him if he didn’t return to school the following semester, Heeseung wasn’t left with much of a choice. 

You were surprised that he was even sharing this much with you. Your heart tightened at the thought of him being alone in the world at such a young age and his lack of a support system, seemingly more alone than you were. He was considerably better than you at concealing his loneliness and you hated that fact, not because you wanted to be better at it but because you knew just how much effort it took. 

Heeseung could barely remember what it was like to have his father around, the only seemingly harmonious moments spent with him before he started grade school fleeting and long forgotten. The bulk of his adolescence was spent resenting his father for the way he treated his mother, where his father would appear through the front door every few months or so in one of his drunken episodes, an empty bottle of liquor already in hand.

He almost always knew when it was happening, the rummaging through the cabinets and refrigerator for alcohol reverberating through the house and to his room. He couldn’t understand why his mother wouldn’t stop restocking the house with it or why she wouldn’t change the locks or take his father’s keys or even file for a divorce, and he couldn’t help but despise her weakness and inability to stop pitying her husband.

“Look who decided to finally show up for his mother,” the older man seethed, breath reeking from the drunken stench.

A particularly loud argument had Heeseung flying down the stairs, the sound of a glass bottle breaking causing his mother to let a scream out of her mouth. He took in his father’s appearance, unshaven and eyes bloodshot with a lazy smirk playing on his lips. A look off to the side at his mother with tears streaming down her cheeks was suddenly leading to punches being thrown and knuckles growing bloodied. A harsh shove from his father caused him to lose his balance and tumble onto the wooden floor.

“Maybe ask yourself why you’re defending a fucking cheater instead,” his voice boomed through the living room. A puzzled expression took over Heeseung’s face as he turned toward his mother who winced both at the sound of her husband slamming the door as he left and the way her son ran his tongue over his busted lip, eyes beginning to gloss over.

After finally grasping the fact that his mother was not the person she made herself out to be and what pushed his father over the edge over ten years ago, Heeseung, who had always stuck close to her growing up, attempting to make up for the lack of his father’s presence, began growing increasingly distant from her as he finished his final years of high school. The very thing he swore he wouldn’t touch in his life was the only thing he took with him and stashed in his van the night he left.

He was wrapping his hand around the nearly empty beer can in his cup holder from the thought of his childhood memories and shooting a pained expression your way at the paled look on your face, eyes pooling with concern and he tried to perceive it as anything but pity.

“I honestly don’t mind it much,” he was saying, but an unfamiliar look was flashing across his eyes and even though you barely knew him, you felt like you could see right through him.

He was redirecting his gaze out the windshield. He had used the North Star almost as a source of direction in his travels for the past few years, as cliche as it sounded. Tonight was the first night it was visible in the two weeks he had been parked here, deciding to camp out in the deserted park until it reappeared and he had saved enough money from his part-time job in the city. 

The North Star appeared noticeably brighter tonight, a beacon in the middle of the night shrouded in shadows and Heeseung was suddenly wondering whether it was a coincidence that you were here with him at this very moment, whether you were the very person who hung the North Star for him in the night sky, guiding him toward a purposeful destination, or whether you were the destination itself. He was shaking his head at the intrusive thought as you followed his line of sight.

The heat blowing throughout the van was fogging up the windows and blocking up your view of what he seemed to be focusing his gaze on. Heeseung watched as you turned in your seat, moving your body to face the passenger window with one leg folded up on the cushion. You were bringing your fingers up to touch the glass, slowly drawing a heart with your index finger and peering through the clear traces at the sky.

Heeseung, nowhere near intoxicated from his built up tolerance over the years, took one last sip of his drink, still not taking his eyes away from your side profile and subtle movements as you immersed yourself in your own world for the second time that night. He was turning to his own window to mirror your actions, outlining a much sloppier heart on the glass. By the time he finished and spun around to face you, you were already watching him with a beam, the apples of your cheeks rosy. 

You were suddenly bursting into laughter, your brain on autopilot as you leaned over the center console to fix his drawing. You were practically pushed up against him with your hand resting on his thigh as you drew over his sketch on the window, adding a dozen more hearts around the first and filling up the rest of the fogged glass with your doodles. Heeseung was noticeably stiffening under you, attempting to distract himself from his quickening heart rate by picking at the fraying of his jeans on the leg you weren’t perched on.

You leaned back to admire your silly artwork for a few seconds before glancing over at him and noticing Heeseung’s eyelashes fluttering delicately, still reeling from the sudden physical contact. Upon noticing the close proximity, you were removing your hand from his lap and bringing it back into your own, leaning into the seat again and you could feel the heat evident on your face, knowing it must’ve been even more apparent to him. He was no better at concealing his own expressions as his sheepish smile faltered, feeling abnormally disappointed in the sudden loss of contact.

Still in a daze, Heeseung was reaching behind him to grab a can of beer, holding it out in front of you while his eyes were trained on the single heart drawn on the passenger side window. He held back a grimace as he realized that he’d done so without thinking, hoping you hadn’t caught on to his dependency. You accepted his offer without hesitation, wiping the rim of the opening with the bottom of your shirt and popping open the tab, taking gulps at a much faster speed than you were normally used to.

Your head was still spinning with the thought and feeling of the burn of your fingertips against his thigh. You both drifted into a comfortable silence, the music no longer playing since the CD player in his rundown van didn’t have the ability to auto loop tracks or albums and the hammering of his heart against his chest seemed almost too loud for you not to notice. Heeseung thought about taking out the disk and replacing it but decided against it, not wanting to disrupt the stillness of the air around you. 

Your lips formed a small frown as you saw clouds beginning to shape. You thought it was the alcohol deceiving you, but you blinked a few times and the clouds were still there. 

“I hate the rain because it means I can’t see her. It makes me think that she’s crying,” you suddenly whispered, breaking the silence. You could feel his gaze fall to you as he fell out of his trance, but he didn’t ask who, just simply nodded. 

His reaction made you freeze in your spot, realizing you had most definitely overshared beyond an imaginary boundary. You almost wanted to apologize for it before you were saying the next thing that came to your mind. 

“Have you ever fallen in love?” you were abruptly blurting out.

He was quirking his brow in amusement. “Come on, I can barely fall asleep,” he laughed softly but not without a somewhat pained expression behind his eyes. You had assumed it was a joke, but the sincerity in the way he observed you told you it wasn’t. Your eyes widened before you were nodding softly and returning a weak smile, taken aback by his confession.

“Don’t worry about it,” he was brushing it off. “You?”

You were staring out the windshield again for a few moments, lost in your thoughts before responding, “A lot of unrequited love, if that counts.”

You began to explain how you had never been in a relationship, not because you didn’t want to, but because it was seemingly out of your control. You presumed that the time you spent on this earth loving romantically without any reciprocation had somehow altered your brain chemistry to truly believe that you were meant to be alone from the very beginning, and you were often wondering which would hurt more, to have had true love and lost it or to never have had it at all. Dwelling over the fact that you had already experienced some form of both made your situation seem all the more ridiculous.

It didn’t go unnoticed by him the way you were flighty in your thoughts, jumping to one without finishing the other. As a result of the accumulation of thoughts you created when you were alone, all the things you would talk to yourself about came spilling out. 

Your mind went on talking even when you were alone. And when you ran out of storage, the thoughts needed to come out somehow. Partly due to your insecurities you hoped that by talking more, you’d be accepted and loved by someone—it hadn’t proved itself to be a successful method in the past and you weren’t sure it ever would be.

“I give, and give, and give. That’s all I do,” you continued, your voice now uneven and trembling slightly. “I give until I have nothing left. I’m terrified of the love I have because I know it will ruin me—it already has, and I know I will continue to let it.”

You were heaving out a sigh of relief at the massive weight being lifted off your chest, still feeling a sort of emptiness but a strangely pleasant lightness associated with it. Even then, you were perplexed by your own eagerness to share your entire life story to someone you met just hours ago, partially blaming the alcohol for how unfiltered you became and you couldn’t tell what Heeseung was thinking from the stoic look on his face and his big doe eyes blinking back at you.

It most definitely wasn’t a feeling of pity, that he knew. It felt almost like a weakness in the heart—like his heart wasn’t working properly—a fleeting lightness that passed through him, being simultaneously lulled to sleep by a single gesture and set on fire by your every touch. 

Your eyes were glossed over, from your lengthy outpour or intoxicated state Heeseung wasn’t certain, but he held not a single ounce of doubt of the amount of love you held. Unsure of what came over him, he was resisting the urge to lean over and cup the sides of your face and tell you that even in his broken, wretched state, he was willing to accept anything you had to give and return everything and more.

“It’s really late. I can drive you home,” he was offering. He convinced you he was sobering up with a lazy smile plastered on his face, yet you couldn’t help raising your brows at the slight flush of his cheeks and numerous empty beer cans in the cup holder.

“I think I’d rather stay here,” you were speaking nonchalantly before turning to look at him with what Heeseung thought he saw were literal stars in your otherwise cloudy eyes. At the implication of your words, he could feel and hear his heart beating at a pace so fast it rang through his ears. As much of an open book as you were, he didn’t expect that from you and you even stunned yourself as the words left you, mouth now agape as you stared back at him. 

You wanted to blame your lack of sobriety yet again but you knew that the flood of emotions had put your mind in a remarkable state of clarity. His calmness—how he listened and watched attentively without any questions, just simply looking at you with a fondness in his eyes—fastened you with a sense of immense trust in him.

Thankfully, he was quickly nodding and turning around to turn on the lights that lit up the rest of his van. In contrast to his somewhat rugged appearance, his space was neat and cozy and it amazed you how few belongings he had; everything fit in his van and there was almost no clutter. The only hint of personality and life you could find was the guitar hanging over the bed, and you were smiling to yourself knowing he at least had music to accompany him. 

Heeseung had suggested cooking some ramen for you, but you simply shook your head with a sleepy smile and told him you weren’t hungry. He didn’t say anything as he clambered on top of his sheets and patted the spot next to him. There wasn’t much space in the van for anything other than a bed and a small stovetop and you were skeptical there would be enough room for you to both lay comfortably. 

You fit yourself on the mattress between him and the back door while he crawled under the covers, pushing his pillow toward you behind your back and grabbing an extra one from beneath the bed for himself. You were still sat leaning against the side of the van as you contemplated your next move, wondering whether you should prioritize comfort or decency and you squirmed at the thought of your dirty jeans on someone else’s sheets.

A brief glance at Heeseung, who was lying on his back with his eyes closed and hands resting over his stomach, had you quickly tucking yourself under the blankets and unzipping your jeans, pulling them down and kicking them over your ankles. You were shuffling downward and placing the now folded jeans beside your pillow, facing away from Heeseung as you pulled the covers up to your chest.

You couldn’t tell but Heeseung had visibly stiffened, eyebrows now slightly furrowed in concentration as he attempted to fall asleep, willing himself to think about anything other than you and your presence inches away from him. He was staring at the ceiling, breath uneven at how you were so similar in the way you craved connection yet different in the sources of your troubles and the way you coped—one capable of giving anything and one who didn’t know how to give at all. 

You felt the bed dip and you could hear Heeseung shuffling around behind you, his heavy breathing against your neck telling you he was now facing you, and still lying on your side when you felt his fingers graze across your hip bone. 

The heat radiating off his body behind you was seeping into your own skin, slowly building into a burn before you were flipping yourself over to face him and immediately thrown off by just how close he was. A slight lean forward from either of you would close the gap, and your eyes were unconsciously flickering down to his lips at the thought.

You were pulling yourself flush against him, savoring the feeling of your bodies pressed so closely together, resting your head in the crook of his neck and he let out a sharp gasp from above you. You could feel his heart beating underneath your palms as you moved your hands across the expanse of his chest. A slight crane of your neck and you were tentatively placing your lips against his jaw, a shaky breath of Heeseung’s fanning your face from the action.

As your kisses moved from his jaw down to his neck, his mouth was parting softly, lifting his head into the pillow to provide you with more access. One particularly harsh suck against his collarbone had him surging forward for more, latching onto the hem of your shirt and fingers hesitantly grazing the waistband of your underwear. 

Heeseung was then leaning forward onto his elbows, the hand that was previously slotted between your bodies wrapping around your shoulder to pull you up and level to him, bringing you into a gentle kiss that caused the hairs on your arms to raise.

It overwhelmed you how thrilling yet calming it felt to be kissing him. You were completely drinking him in, the touch of his skin against yours heating up the pits of your stomach and causing shivers to wrack through you and simultaneously taking your mind off of everything else.

He was gentle with his touch, but his lips were rough and chapped and he was kissing you with so much longing and desperation that for a second, you contemplated whether this was his first time kissing someone, craving any and every bit of physical contact. You quickly dismissed the thought as he took advantage of your inattentiveness with a swipe of his tongue against your bottom lip, your lips parting slightly, allowing him to slip his tongue into your mouth skillfully.

Your stomach churned and you were writhing under his touch from the way your tongues intertwined, a pit of heat rising in your lower stomach. Heeseung was letting out a choked whimper at the feeling of your hands reaching underneath his shirt, smoothing over the skin of his stomach. 

“You okay?” you were whispering as you pulled back, hands coming up to cup his cheeks. He held your gaze for a few seconds, both delicacy and sharpness etched in his features, before his lashes fluttered and he was shaking his head, burying it in your neck. Your hands were sliding along his scalp to soothingly stroke his hair, heart aching at the vulnerability and rawness with which he looked at you. 

It wasn’t clear whether the cause of his feverish state was from the simple presence of you in his arms, but something told you that you should’ve seen it coming when the way he looked at you gradually began changing as the hours progressed.

You were pulling back and placing one last, soft kiss against his lips, lingering for a few moments too long before wrapping your arms around his torso in a tight embrace and rubbing his back gingerly. 

Heeseung was redirecting his attention out at the sky through the back window, foolishly looking for you and him in the stars. Some stars gradually dim and lose their luster, and on a rainy night, you might never see them again. 

You weren’t thinking about what would happen when the stars faded and the sun rose, or when you would see him again—you didn’t need to see him or be physically near him to feel him. Your subconscious was finding comfort simply from the feeling of his chest pressed against yours, your thumb rubbing circles over his shirt while you listened to Heeseung's soft breathing and the sound of the rain beginning to fall against the windows.

A/N: the bolded quote is based on something I saw on twitter: “I’m scared of the love I have for you. Because I know it will ruin me. And I also know that I will let it. I love hard.” but I couldn’t find the source, so credits to the original owner.

[alacants]

hi! just wanted to say that i was recently looking for lore on the ferru ferri relationship so ur lore post is perfect timing and *chefs kiss* 🤌 i fully support ur unhingedness about them bc i'm getting there too LOL i would love to know more about the facts/lore/thoughts u have on them if u'd like to share ! :D

i actually need to thank you because it was the tags on one of your rbs + talking with another mutual that pushed me to finally finish and post. so thank you!! …and sorry for what's about to happen here. would i like to share more thoughts, YES I WOULD.

(eta: this thing is LONGER than the original and also significantly more unhinged. so like… fair warning.)

first of all here are an assortment of facts/links/quotes that didn't make the final lorepost cut:

about all those times ferru drops by the academy: for example, this and this and this and this and this and this and this and this.

then there is this classic roland garros 2011 "choose a player" questionnaire. ferru picked juanki for THREE separate answers: who would you share a nice bottle of wine with, who would you open a bar with, and—wait for it—who would you hit on girls with. 

i mean, i get it. juanki's looks are ideal bait. i see it happen every day on tumblr dot com. but a truly unfortunate number of scenarios do immediately unroll before the mind's eye.

david ferrer's official 2004 atp media biography included "says his most inspirational player is countryman juan carlos ferrero"

juanki's official atp tour dot com bio includes this typically restrained ferru testimonial: "He was and is my best friend on the tour. He's a person that is very close to me... He’s a very humble and noble person." elsewhere: "He's an even better person than he is a player, which is very difficult."

(juanki's bio is a wholeass novella and ferru's is THE most bare bones bullet points. ferru stop being so fucking modest challenge!!)

juanki used to visit javea to play football with ferru and his hometown friends. ferru are you making your girlfriend hang out with your friendsgroup.

select topics from the david ferrer official forums: "stayed with juan carlos before leaving for the davis cup." (juanki himself was not called up.) "went to a nice restaurant with juan carlos and had paella." "spending new year's eve at juan carlos' hotel."

according to juanki's blog they would watch world cup matches together at ferru's house?? cute.

especially cute since juanki is a real madrid fan and ferru is a barcelona fan. (although he's more outspoken about supporting valencia cf.) here is an amazing photo of a clasico watch party in the cincy locker room.

honestly this is just some sponsor promo content but i am dying to know what the inside joke at 1:15 is about. what are you smiling about juan carlos. why is ferru trying not to laugh. answer me.

ok easy stuff out of the way. i'm just going to warn you in advance that there are a cool 3000 words under the cut so uh... brace yourself i guess. don't open on mobile. topics include: 

some Narratives

thoughts on the dynamic (past)

101 reasons to love david ferrer

behind the music: juan carlos ferrero

thoughts on the dynamic (present)

i didn't link more than a few quotes but if you want sources for anything in particular just drop me a reply or an ask.

finally, in addition to Facts and Anecdotes this includes what is by definition rampant speculation because i don't know these guys and never will. we cannot fully know public figures, we are making the shadows on the wall of plato's cave kiss, you know the drill.

the Narratives

first of all. the opposite narratives of their careers are soooooooooo compelling to me. like, juanki was a child prodigy—junior world champion, junior roland garros finalist, bursting onto the pro scene age 19 and winning his first title just a month later. then clinching spain's first davis cup, roland garros sf-sf-final-title, us open final, world number one. all by age 23! expectations were through the ROOF.

…and then 2004 hit and he fell off a cliff and never recovered. (injury, mentality, and incredible bad luck, like oh this man is CURSED cursed. he missed multiple tournaments because of chicken pox.) in september 2003 he was world no. 1; 17 months later he was no. 98.  he never did make it back into the top ten.

meanwhile, ferru was—i mean obviously he was talented. he won stuff in juniors. but no one was talking about him as the future of spanish tennis, yk? he even quit when he was 17… for a week. (lol.) he was inconsistent, vulnerable to meltdowns. he first appeared on most people's radars when he beat agassi in rome in 2003, but then not again until a brief spike in 2007—made the USO semis, made the master's cup final, world no. 5. and then he, too, slumped.

but he did not give up. ever.

he climbed out of the slump and just kept climbing up, and up, and up. the best year of his career was 2012-2013, age thirty—seven titles, masters title, roland garros final, world no. 3. the second-best was 2015, age thirty-two. top 10 for 292 straight weeks, 2010-2016. ferru is like. the ultimate proof of how dogged persistence pays off if you just. keep. trying. ← wow tumblr user alacants is he your favorite or something.

the arcs intersect in ~2008-2010, when they were especially joined at the hip. they're both struggling—juanki dropped out of the top 100 for the first time, ferru's treading water in the low teens and saying he'll never reach the heights of 2007 again—and both right on the verge of a revival. juanki won his first title in 5+ years in 2009, kickstarting an 18 month last-gasp renaissance that included davis cup hero, more titles, more finals, as high as no. 14. for a few weeks. ferru slowly and surely got his feet back under him. (he calls the dc 09 final a turning point.) around those back-to-back finals in 2010, they were hovering right around the same rank—juanki even jumped ahead a couple places. and then juanki's body finally called it quits, and ferru started to really take off. 

so that window is probably the peak of the pre-retirement dynamic. what IS that dynamic, you ask? great question.

the dynamic (past)

first i must note that although i myself led the lore post with the quotes about how they've been friends forever, something i find super cute/funny is that there seems to be an element of historical revisionism at work there? like, ferru didn't come to the academy until he was 17 (1999, the year juanki went pro), and their hometowns aren't THAT close. and ferru spent a couple years in barcelona as well. so although they clearly knew each other from an early age, it's unlikely that they were like. besties. but if you ask them, it's oh yeah we've been friends foreverrrr.

anyway. dynamics, 2002-2012:

mutual security blanket

introvert (situational) 4 introvert (intrinsic)

senpai/kouhai

chronic patient/emotional support rescue dog

fighter/sacrifice

king/lionheart, where the king was overthrown 10 years ago and now they're living in exile and the loyal retainer is earning their keep by the sword—

what do i mean by 90% of this—ok, first, web 1.0 tangent: beginning relatively early in ferru's career there was a fan forum on his official website. ferrru, who in those days was blatantly uncomfortable with the fan/star dynamic, immediately set about trying to like. befriend everyone on it. no fans here, we're all just friends! he would post regular life updates and then hang around in the thread just. chatting. he would remember details like where posters lived and who their other faves were and TEASE them about it. he hosted a christmas dinner in his hometown for anyone who wanted to make the trip. this is obviously unsustainable past a certain point of success but while it lasted it was just. so charming.

so ferru took his self-appointed role as juanki handler very seriously. like, i joke about "xx news and publicity bureau," but ferru really was. he would regularly post updates about juanki's health and recovery progress. he would answer questions. juanki's fans would come to ferru for updates!! couple this with the comments about how they tried to enter the same tournaments and generally traveled together/stayed in the same hotels, along with juanki's incredible run of illness and injury, and it's just like. ferru is juanki's designated spokesperson, his interface with the cold cruel world, his shield arm/support animal.

mutually supportive, but also: ferru clearly gets a lot of validation out of doing things for other people. he is always describing himself in terms such as, "i'm nothing special, i just try to be a really good friend." this is an acts of service guy all the way down.

(you ARE special, ferru, listen to me and juan carlos—)

i do think it was an evolution—ferru especially credits juanki with supporting him in the early days on tour. so i see it as like... friendly face showing the new kid the ropes, giving him advice, and then suddenly they're pulling even, and then even more suddenly ferru is the one equipped to provide the support.

introvert (situational): namely, juanki describes himself as shy, but he loves being the center of attention. he doesn't act out to get it but he very much enjoys it when it comes. (early quote re: what he likes about tennis: "all the people cheering for me in the big stadiums.") (it's also worth noting that he was the youngest child and the much-anticipated only son. lmao.) at the same time the media describe him as reserved, and he visibly dislikes talking about personal stuff. direct quote: "you can see how uncomfortable he is talking about his family…" 

so at first the press calls him "the monk of villena", he lives in the middle of nowhere, his lifestyle isn't flashy*, he's so humble, wow. but alllllso he loves fast cars and throwing parties at his hotel. he befriends other famous spanish athletes like sergio garcia and sete gibernau. and there are some wiiiiiiiiiild pictures from players' parties through the years. 

(*the contemporary gossip was also that maybe he was out having a little more fun than he let on, lol.)

so maybe it's accurate to say he's doesn't like being out of his depth? doesn't like unfamiliar situations. but like—i have seen the records and they do not lie. juan carlos looooves being—sorry—doted upon.

(this btw is why someone dedicating their tournament victory to him in front of god and the city of valencia and everyone was probably what you could call an effective tactic.) 

meanwhile ferru's favorite hobby is READING. he is famous for always having a book in the locker room. "i can get through 3 books in a 2 week tournament and i keep every book i read." (← man who ebooks were invented for.) his idea of a perfect day is going to the beach in his hometown ("the best beach in the world") with his family and his friends and then having paella. he's a cat person. he's perfect? SORRY. I'M TRYING SO HARD TO BE NORMAL. anyway genuinely think this is the person you would find in the corner at a party befriending the host's cat.

—ok fuck normal i need to talk about ferru some more.

some very normal thoughts about david ferrer

as a player ferru had uhhhhh well maybe it was an inferiority complex or maybe it was a self-defense strategy playing in the big four era or maybe he was just unbelievably hard on himself. but for a long time he was out there saying stuff like, i'm the worst player in the top hundred. i'm the worst player in the top ten.

the thing is. it's impossible to talk about ferru without bringing up the closet story. you can read it here. c. 2007 this was reported as like, a humorous character-building anecdote????? because ferru brushed it off ("once in there i didn't think much" <- bad sign!!!) and said things like "i learned everything from him, about tennis and how to be a person." ok ferru, but what if you learned the wrong things. 

i mean, what do i know. i don't know any of these people, i'm (mostly) not here to pseudo-psychoanalyze. i just don't think it's UNrelated that ferru explicitly compared their eventual coaching split to a breakup and later implied that he should have cut the cord earlier but couldn't bring himself to do it. or that afterwards he started going to therapy, "personal, not sport," and says he wishes he'd started when he was 20. 

he stayed with that coach until he was 31 btw. there is loyal and then there is whatever the hell this is.

how do you reconcile this with today's happy and well-adjusted davis cup captain? many possibilities, such as his very own family (they're so cute, they are so cute) and 20 years of personal growth. also probably the therapy. and tbf by the end of the career he'd already gotten a lot better about the self-deprecation. but he still has a worldview that is uh refreshing verging on eye-watering. he's repeatedly said that being a professional athlete doesn't make you particularly special or interesting. asked whether as a known reader he's thinking about writing a memoir: "I'm not that important and I don’t believe I can contribute that much to the society… there are so many people that can contribute much more." ← ferru STOP.

(speaking of the adorable family: although this post is mainly about silly shipping nonsense and not irl romantic relationships i DO think it's instructive that ferru appears to have dated exactly two (2) women in the entirety of his adult life. one gf age 17-26, one age 27-present. this man's natural mode is Devotion.)

anyway my main point here is that it probably felt real good to have someone on tour in his corner. someone who hadn't ever locked him in a closet.

(there is a lot more to unpack about ferru but if you're sitting here like "but what about uso 2008" or whatever trust me it's solely for the sake of not making this insanely long post EVEN LONGER and i am happy to share my thoughts upon request lol.)

some very normal thoughts about juan carlos ferrero 

IN CONTRAST... one of the funniest things about revisiting old press is constantly hearing juan carlos ferrero described as "humble" when my man has a VERY healthy opinion of himself. this isn't a bad thing. it's arguably better than calling yourself the worst player in the top one hundred. it is however a problem when the person you feel threatened by is. rafa nadal. 

i initially had an 800 word tangent here that has now been exiled to its own post. the short version of this is juanki got dropped in favor of rafa in the 2004 davis cup final and never forgot it, lol. a number of other perceived sins were committed including 1) rome 2008 media coverage 2) dc 2009 president's speech 3) valencia open 2013, how dare rafa spurn juanki's beloved child tournament. but really it was that rafa became who juanki was supposed to be. :(

juanki's got a lot of pride! another example: madrid master's 2008. yet again juanki is in bad shape. at no. 44 he just missed the main draw. so he asked for a wild card… and didn't get one. that was genuinely an insult considering he was the 2003 champion and that wc #3 went to (consults notes) fabio fognini, ranked 73. the spanish sports media were up in arms. juanki said he was so insulted that even if they offered him a spot he wouldn't take it.

…so when carlos moya pulled out they didn't waste their time. "he said he didn't want it so we gave it to someone else." oh, juanki.

(ferru's measured thoughts on this decision btw: "The absence of Juan Carlos Ferrero is outrageous and insane. This only happens in Spain. It's a huge tragedy and, above all, an injustice for a player like him, who's been number one in the world and previously won this tournament.")

so, juanki: proud, outspoken when he's angry, reserved when he's not. to the extent that when he started saying ferru was his best friend on circuit his fans were like wait. what. this is brand-new information. 

you will notice that throughout this post there are a Lot of heart-on-sleeve quotes from ferru, and fewer from juanki. what happens is that when you don't talk about your feelings, they explode without warning in Grand Gestures. juanki LOVES a Grand Gesture. ferrufest 2k19 is the most notable but far from only instance, see also organizing special surprises at their special tournament. (the open letter is somewhere in the middle, i would be fascinated to know if he would have been that forthcoming if asked point blank. i mean, maybe so!!!! personal growth!!!)

sidenote, but imo you can see the exact same dichotomy at work with juanki and carlos, where he goes out of his way to reject the we're-like-family premise and then acts the exact opposite. ("i leave the father thing to his actual father." ok juan carlos.) he used to do the same thing wrt his own coach since childhood, "i wouldn't call him a father figure, that would be weird…" this is how you end up naming things after people and bursting into tears in public! ← the fact that he's a capital-c Crier makes it even more obvious.

you will ALSO notice that despite that 7-2 h2h juanki sure never had any problem with ferru. lol. the appeal presumably goes without saying of a friend who is shouldering his way in among the ~big four and STILL out here in the year of our lord 2009 saying things like, “[Ferrero] is one of the best players in history on clay… I think he can win Roland Garros again. Nadal and Federer will be there but Juan Carlos will be right there behind them. Why not?"

(fwiw i think all of this is very like… normal and human. it's why it's so fun to put him under a microscope.)

and what is also true is that no matter how much you think juanki's life is the academy, it's more than that. he is the academy. like it was founded specifically for him (well, his cohort of young players, of which he was far and away the most promising), and his coach included him in conversations about the Vision and the long-term goals from day one. he lived there with a ROOMMATE for years and years after going pro, despite owning like… a nice house in the city of valencia. (← maybe also a reason he didn't get married until well after retirement lmao.) so when he starts naming parts of the academy after you... it's a Big Deal.

—incidentally it must be comforting to have a ready-made identity on hand when "generational spanish tennis talent" turns out to go. not the way you thought it would.

hm not doing a great job avoiding the pseudo-psychoanalysis, am i. well. i tried.

thoughts on the dynamic (present)

dynamics, 2024:

will-they-won't-they x 20 years

(life) partners

✨✨✨ co-parents ✨✨✨

that one is so overwhelmingly dominant it sort of overshadows everything else. lmao.

king/lionheart STILL only now the one-time king has returned from exile to be an advisor to the new prince—

tbh now that they are both retired and both have their own families they are a little less codependent. normal best friends, i almost said, before remembering the fucking portrait commission. do you think that's hanging up in ferru's house???? i ask myself this every day.

what do i think has changed? ferru is (wonderfully) much less self-effacing. juanki successfully reinvented himself as a top coach. after juanki retired i think they finally started to relate as… i'm not saying they weren't equals before that but maybe to some people (ferru) it didn't feel like they were. and ferru is clearly in his element as dc captain, where his job is literally to be the entire team's emotional support dog. emotional support pack leader? once again: who needs hierarchy, we're all friends here. (he gave coaching a brief shot but it didn't stick—this my personal theory as to why. based on nothing other than intuition lol.)

hm this section is suspiciously resembling "ferru: the postscript." well we all see a lot of juanki, he's doing great lol. if anything i think having ferru around is good for him, keeps him from getting too martyred. every time ferru and carlitos TEAM UP to tease juanki is jfkldajf;l so delightful. (to modestly quote my own tag, "just two dogs yapping at their favorite cat.")

but shipping nonsense aside: i genuinely think it is really lovely and heart-warming to see two people who clearly mean so much to each other and are still such a big part of each other's lives after so long—even/especially despite the changes. some people grow apart. some people grow together. :)

and if you want to throw in twenty years of pining SO MUCH THE BETTER

--

christ that is. so much text. uhhhh hopefully this was informative/entertaining/morbidly fascinating, and everyone who reads it will feel mysteriously compelled to start including ferruero subplots in their sincaraz fic. :D?? :D????

you have SO many options. practically married. one-sided pining for many years. (whooo in this post sounds like they would do that.) MUTUAL pining for many years. practically married but haven't realized it. tour arrangement but they caught feelings. second-chance romance years after a youthful failed fling. the parent trap, starring carlitos alcaraz— [curtain falls as i am forcibly dragged from the stage]

[fizzingwizard]

Randomly visited reddit and saw this:

My first thought: it's an incel pretending to be a woman, because what modern woman thinks she's spoiled milk a 30??? (Aside from also trashing her girl friends - girl, get better friends!) But their profile doesn't seem weird in any way, so, I guess there are some people out there who really somehow believe youth ends at 29. Even some who have aged past it.

It's not even true that all 30 year olds are less beautiful than they were at 20. People age in different ways at at different rates: yeah, your likelihood of getting wrinkles and gray hairs is only ever going to go up. But some people don't have their style figured out in their twenties - some people turn thirty and freaking bloom. And you can't call that a late bloomer. 40 isn't a late bloomer either! 20 is nice but it's not the heaven on earth it's cracked up to be, and 30 is just getting started.

Idk about the rest of you but you know those posts about how embarrassing it is to look back on 14? Yeah, related to those when I was 20. Now I've passed the big 3-0, and guess what - I think 20 year old me was so silly lol. So insecure, so afraid to make mistakes, so resistant to change. I enjoyed my twenties, but my early thirties have so far been way better: I'm more confident, less self-involved, and I find happiness so much more easily than I did back when I thought everything I did had to matter So Damn Much. And if you think that doesn't relate to being attractive: confidence is 90% of it. Just walk up and smile. A confident, happy person always attracts others even if they're just average-looking.

Also for people who like men, don't forget: men in their 30s usually aren't quite the energizer bunnies they were in their 20s when it comes to ~sexy times~ The 20-year-old stud who insisted he could go for a roll multiple times a day, every day, is probably much less gung ho at 30. And also more forward-thinking, and less amaaaaazed by omg boobies!!! When you're young, half the excitement is just how new everything is. It gets less intense, thank goodness. (But it's still hot!)

This post just totally rubbed me the wrong way. It read as a still young woman anxiously wringing her hands in apology for having the audacity to be single at... 30?? And apparently not trusting women to have good advice about dating at 30 (so no point in me responding to her, lol), but perfectly comfortable kissing up to incel mindsets such as "women past 25 should accept that they're sloppy seconds" etc. "Value as a partner" do you have intrinsic worth as a human being?? Yes??? Then your value does NOT degrade. Yeah, you might have gray hair, the horror, so unsexy (I've had very visible grays since I was 23 and been dyeing since 26 lmao). Doesn't mean you're less hot than some 20 year old who doesn't know what she's doing. Doesn't mean it'll be at all hard to find a partner who will love you warts and all. Do you have this same expectation of men? Are you gonna start dating a 30 year old dude and then complain that he gets tired more quickly than a 20 year old would?? Is he less sexy just because he doesn't party all night and drink twice his weight without effect? Overrated overrated overrated!

My parents divorced in their 60s. My mom's got a new boyfriend who takes her dancing under the full moon. They're living their best lives way past their so-called "prime" and no, that is not rare - it's just a choice. If you view yourself as having some expiration date, you're not gonna do anything to improve your happiness once you're past it. Don't let incels or misogyny or whatever convince you your perfectly wholesome milk has gone bad, because that is a self-fulfilling prophecy.

ETA: Well, while I was working this got 150 notes, and although that's barely a drop in the bucket, it's still a lot more than my rants usually get (about 2 lol). So I just want to clarify a couple things so I stop getting comments about them.

This post was from the askmen subreddit. I left that out, feeling "reddit" was context enough, but I guess the implications may not have been obvious, especially to tumblr users who don't also use reddit. Askmen isn't a horrible place (a number of the responders pointed out why they prefer older women to younger ones), but many of its members have a pretty incel-adjacent vibe. Plus there are a number of women (real or not) who post there, many of whom have a similar brown-nosey "unlike those radical feminists, I'm a woman who knows her place" attitude.

It's fine to suggest the OP may have internalized misogyny from being abused - but it's not a given, as nothing in the post is a definite indication of abuse by itself. Big kudos for the compassion - just keep in mind that my response was about general attitudes towards dating post-twenties and not about abuse victims.

To the person who thinks a relationship of six years makes a difference somehow?: You seem to have interpreted my post as an attack on people who feel insecure about returning to dating after a breakup. But I think it's clearly nothing to do with that. Of course it is natural to have anxieties about being single after so long, but nowhere in this post was that denied or mocked. Whether you've been together one year or six, this post would always be weird - those natural anxieties don't make misogynistic mindsets about decrepit 30-year-old women any less gross. If you had decided to write a reaction to the OP's post, perhaps you would have chosen to center it on the effects of coming off a long term relationship, and I'm sure it'd be insightful. However, I am not you, and I chose to react to the attitudes around aging in relationships reflected in the post.

[plor-bindery]

And it’s done! Resources, lessons I learned, and me pointing out all my errors under the cut.

The boring bookbinding details:

Materials:

Text block is just folded long-grain 24 lb letter. I know, I know, grain direction. But short grain and ledger paper are both almost impossible to source in Canada. Ugh.

Sewed text block with three strands of cotton embroidery floss, waxed by moi. It’s blue! I thought that would be fun as a little Easter egg in the middle of each signature.

Bookcloth is wooqu off Amazon. Machine-made endbands.

Cover paper and end papers both nabbed at Paper Source when I was in DC earlier this month. The boob paper is too thin to work well as evidenced by the wrinkles over the mull. But it was cute and I think a fun/ny moment of surprise on opening the book.

Gold foil HTV covered up to protect friend’s ID. But it’s her monogram. Simple.

Process:

I made the typeset myself — 5 mm dot grid, no page numbers. There’s a customized name page at front and back too.

Used French link for the first time, and it was fine. I don’t think there’s a major structural difference between linen tapes and French link for a 240 page book; it feels roughly the same as any other text block on tapes I’ve made. It’s faster and less fiddly, though, so I might do it more.

I had some struggles with my guillotine, which I usually do. Still figuring it out; my cuts are often a little angled, particularly on the fore edge. (I welcome tips!!!)

My hinge gaps are 7 mm and functional but I should have cut the cover boards a little wider — the fore edge square is too small.

This is my second bind using 50/50 PVA and corn starch paste mix for most steps and I’m a convert. It’s just way less finicky than straight PVA and it’s easy AF to make. I only use straight PVA on the spine glueing now. Thanks, bookbinding course!

Half-binding is a whole thing. I like using decorative paper on a cover for a blank book, but I find it hard to do nice/neat transitions between cloth and paper. You can zoom in on the cover to enjoy those issues in detail.

This is a gift for a friend who’s agreed to be a guinea pig as I learn so she will be fine with the many imperfections. Even though this isn’t fanbinding, it has brought me a number of lessons I’ll use for that process!

ETA: one more change I forgot! I used 24-page/6-sheet signatures for this text block which — combined with the floss for sewing — was great for eliminating spine swell. I think I need to fatten up my signatures in general.

ETA2: Woke up in the middle of the night thinking “I wonder if the endpapers were the wrong grain” and yep, they sure are. What psychopath prints art paper long grain??? Anyway I couldn’t have avoided that because it would look ridiculous with the boobs going laterally but I do think the grain direction contributed to the issues casing in, as the paper stretched in the head to tail direction. Covers (which had the right grain direction!) also bowed head to tail slightly so that was another clue something was off.

[cator99]

New Girl Saga Update:

The Stench And Rot Chapter

Due to my lengthy bathroom redecorating, the unemployed ftm had resorted to using the basement washroom last night. He reported back to me, overcome with despair. Even he— who has been a strong advocate for the new girl, despite all things— was left appaled and slightly offended. He had to clear a path and clean the seat just to use it. The landlord was supposed to come yesterday morning to fix the leak in there— and thank god she rescheduled. Imagine living somewhere illegally, tasked only with covering up your tracks so this is not obvious, while risking total household eviction if your presence is discovered (as I've independently established, this isn't the case but I cant have them knowing that I've had any dl contact with the landlord and I'd rather everyone believe their interpretation of events anyway so we have more reason to push her out— she's more than well-off enough to afford normal Toronto rental prices, which is admittedly part of why people have been more patient with her, since she's helped the ftm with rent when he couldn't pay it in the past— her room could go to someone who truly needs it, just like I did when I found this place after months of couch surfing and sublets!), and then to turn it into such a disgusting fucking mess, knowing it's only going to reflect poorly on the person who lives down there, who ftr has been at her boyfriend's place all week and had neither the time nor the energy to intervene when she came home at 5am and realized there was rotten produce in a fabric bag seeping its fucking rot juice on the kitchen tiles and stinking the place up... good god... dishes in the sink stacked like jenga that had been piling up since last time she was there... a bathroom with odd and mysterious stains all over the floor and toilet... clothes and garbage everywhere... clumps of hair seemingly sprinkled atop everything as a garnish.... stink and stench abound. My coworker-housemate is the only other one in the basement. She may be a clutter-accumulating type of person (for those without hobbies– collecting is a half-decent substitute. Whatever gets you out of the house, I suppose), but everything she owns, at the very least, has a designated place. Regardless. Despite being a rather loud and blunt person, she's been conditioned by Pins Girl (long gone... it all just feels like an old bad dream......) to not say a damn thing about the new girl's unsanitary habits. But the landlord had rescheduled for 1:30pm today. Something's gotta give. Exasperated messages were sent by her, as well as by ftm, around 6am. No response. Afternoon comes. No response. Chat registers that new girl had long since seen the messages.

I had my bedroom door open as got ready to go I for a grocery run around 1pm. From here, I can see down the hall and into the kitchen, which leads to the front door– slightly out of view from my pov, but I can always hear the door open and close, even if my own door is shut. This is when I observed new girl tiptoe up from the basement, noticeably careful to be as quiet as possible as she crept through the kitchen, slipping out the front door. She's not a quiet nor subtle person, so I immediately found it odd, and listened in as she made close to no sound shutting and locking the door. With her back to me, she likely didn't realize that anyone had noticed her do this. The landlord's arrival with the handyman was imminent. She gave her ETA. The group chat lit up in a panic. The other basement dweller woke up to check out the state of the basement. Not a damn thing had changed. As the minutes slipped away, panic set in. I went out to grab groceries. Basement tenant rushed to clean up as best as she could in her half-awake state. However, not wanting to actually have to deal with someone else's disgusting rotten produce, she simply threw it into a plastic bag and hid it in the storage room. Sprayed some febreeze. The stench was impenetrable. It then just smelled of febreeze plus rot and stench and aura of disgust. She did her best with what little time she had to clean, but she truly didn't know what to do with all of the clothes and new girl belongings that had been thoroughly scattered like an old barn in a tornado. She tossed it all into a bag, and again into the storage room. 1:45 rolls around. The landlord has come and gone, as the handyman had only decided to do a quick assessment in order to return later. Group chat is pinging in my pocket as I'm in the checkout line. Landlord had asked Basement Tenant if the ceiling in the storage room was still leaking as well. It has a slight leak. They had to go in there. Door opens– and the smell of rotting produce hits them like teargas.

I've since sent a message to the landlord explaining the situation, and that new girl has said she is looking for a new place, expressing that everyone is hoping this will happen as soon as possible, since her presence has become such a detriment to the entire household. Fucking hell... the absolute disrespect..........

[lonelyisamyw-0love]

Another Place, Another Time (Final)

MarcXFem!Reader (Jake and Steven in headspace)

Summary: After a week of staging, planning and pestering, you finally get to meet Marc. How hard could this be?

CW: Marc being distant, arguing/ yelling, Accidental triggering, swearing, bad Chicagoan accents, almost definitely railroad sentences, mention of Wendy, allusions to trauma

A/N: Thank you for anyone who had read, liked and reblogged my first fic series. It has meant the world to me and I hope ya’ll enjoy! There is also two lil translated phrases at the bottom!

Steven is Orange

Marc is green

Jake is Red

~~~~~~~~~

You find yourself pacing anxiously from the living room to the kitchen and back. If you aren’t careful, you’ll wear a hole in the floor. “Why is this so hard? The hell am I so nervous for?” Mumbling nervously, you check the text messages between yourself and “the gang”. Rereading the messages between Jake, Steven and yourself does little to soothe the creeping anxiety. Your phone vibrates suddenly, startling you as a message comes thru.

“ETA 5 minutes

-J”

“fuck…fuck!. Okay calm down. This is fine. We planned for this. Just breathe.” You know Jake is being kind by giving you a heads up but it only makes it worse, damn him and his consideration. You spend the next five minutes sitting on the couch, bouncing your leg. Exactly 5 minutes later, there is a sharp knock. You take a deep breath and walk over to the door, take another deep breath and open it. In front of you is a familiar form but a vastly unfamiliar vibe. The squared shoulders, slick-back hair and a stony face. Tension radiates off him like Jake, but it feels more intense, almost stifling. This man is like a mausoleum: imposing, guarded and full of secrets.

Smiling, you open the door wider to let him in, “Hi Marc! I’m happy I finally get to meet you. Shoes off at the door please and make yourself comfy.”

He walks in, toes his shoes off, and lines them neatly at the baseboard by the door. “Pleasure to meet you Y/N, thank you.”

“Of course, have a seat. Would you like anything to drink?”

“Just water”

“Comin’ right up.” You return with two glasses of water, handing him one before sitting on the other couch. What are you supposed to say? You aren’t supposed to ask about his past, you know that but you don’t know where to start. Asking about the weather seems so dumb. Jake told you he likes the Cubs but you don’t know anything about sportball?! Why is talking to Marc so much harder than talking to the strangers at the diner??

Marc clears his throat, “Thank you for the water.”

“I have an idea!”, you exclaim suddenly, causing Marc to raise an eyebrow.

“Ok I was thinking we do something together. Let’s go. C’mon!” You stand up and head to the kitchen, turning around to see Marc standing awkwardly.

“Marc? You okay?”

Marc shakes his head a bit before turning towards you, “I’m comin Y/N”

“Marc you sure you’re –

“I’m fine. What plan do you have for us?” he asks. It’s hard to tell what he’s thinking, is he already annoyed with you?

“I thought we could bake a cake together.” You reply smiling.

“Bake a cake…with you?”

“You say it like it’s a bad thing. It’ll be fun and we’ll have something good to eat afterwards.”

“I don’t bake.” Marc replies flatly.

​Really hermano? That’s your response.

​Marc, at least give it a chance.

You look at Marc blankly for a moment. Alright, you hadn’t considered that answer. “Ooookay well, why don’t we try then? It can be a learning experience.” You reply, looking around for an apron.

Say yes marc, Y/N’s trying her best.

​Steven’s right, you should at least try.

I don’t need either of you chiming in. I’m here aren’t I?

​Don’t make it sound like such a chore, Marc.

“So I have all the ingredients and a recipe so it shouldn’t be too bad” You explain, while handing him an apron. Sighing, he ties it behind himself.

“You don’t need a recipe. You just throw stuff in a bowl, bake it and then done. How hard can it be Y/N.”

You chuckle softly gathering the dry ingredients, bowls, and utensils. “You would think but you have much to learn my friend! Baking is more of a science and then you can play around with the flavors and such.”

Marc opens his mouth to offer a rebuttal but closes it before looking over your shoulder at the recipe.

​“Why are there so many steps? The first 3 steps could just be 1 step.”​

​“They just aren’t. Breaking it down is easier to make sure we don’t get confused or make mistakes. Could you put the dry ingredients in a bowl by the recipe? Please and thank you.” You reply, trying to keep any frustration out of your voice. You begin cleaning and chopping strawberries as you hear soft grumbling and swears.

​“Steven, I know how to-. Jake shut the hell up.” You turn around to see Marc hunched over the bowl, jaw clenched. Okay, so, calm fun baking time was not going as planned.

​“Marc, do you want to swap and do the strawberries and I’ll do that?”

​“No! no, It’s just throwing powders and stuff in a bowl and stirring. I can handle that.”

​You take a deep breath to try not to snap back, “I know you are capable of doing it. I was just offering to help. If you want it to come out right, you have to follow the recipe. If not, we can swap.”

​Mate, just listen to her. Y/N knows what she is talking about.

​If she bakes half as she cooks, I would listen to her hermano.

“Marc? Im not trying to be a dick but would you please just listen-”

“I said I got it” he grits out.

You feel your chest tighten in irritation, the simmering frustration turning into genuine anger. “Fine, but if the cake is messed up. It’s your fault”, You retort flatly before you resume chopping strawberries.

Mierda…

You don’t see Marc’s body stiffen. Don’t see his chest start to heave or his fists curl so tight the knuckles have gone bone white.

Marc…Marc she didn’t mean it like that. She didn’t know..

“Fuck it! Forget this whole thing!” Marc shouts, cutting the tension in the kitchen like a razor. Whipping your head around, you see him, red faced fists clenched at his side. You frown. “What is your problem Spector?”

He snatches the apron off and takes a step towards you, “Forget. This. I told them I didn’t need to meet ya, but I agreed to anyways. Ya want to bake a fuckin’ cake like with Steven but I’m. Not. Him! You and I aren’t friends Y/N!”

The anger churning inside you reaches a rolling boil. You slam the knife down on the cutting board and round on him. “No. You’re absolutely right. We aren’t friends. But that’s only because you make it so fuckin’ difficult to get to know you, to try and care about you. You’re buttoned up so goddamn tight you make it impossible!”

“Why does it matter to ya! You have ya friends. Y’have Steven and Jake. Why are ya trying so hard to-

“Because I want to be your friend too!” You shout back, cutting him off. “If your life was as bad as the boys have told me and half as bad I remember hearing it through the walls. You deserve to have someone care about you! I want to care about you too goddamnit!” Marc stares at you blankly. It is a silent standoff between you and Marc, save for the sound of you two breathing.

​“What?” Marc asks softly.

​“What part didn’t you hear?” You fire back, the adrenaline coursing through you leaving you poised to lash out again.

​“What did you just say? Why did you say that?”

​“I said you’re a fuckin grump”, You retort, crossing your arms over your chest.

​Marc shakes his head, “Not that part, the other part.”

​You blink a few times, what the hell is he playing at? “I’m trying to get to know you but you make it impossible?” you repeat, uncertainty dousing the fire in your chest.

​Marc shakes his head again, “No the...the friend…part.”

​You open your mouth to spit back a response, but you notice the genuine confusion on Marc’s face. His hands are still in fists but he’s trembling. His eyes are searching your face for an answer to a question he’s never ventured to ask. You realize Marc really doesn’t understand why you’re putting in the effort. To him, you are Steven’s friends. You’re Jake’s friend. Not his, never his friend. You remember conversations with Steven and Jake about some of Wendy’s “bad days”, about the self-loathing, the guilt, the shame. You realize that despite knowing Steven since you were children, and knowing Jake for over a year, this is your first time meeting Marc.

“Fuck…Marc…” You sigh, arms dropping to your sides. “I…lemme start over. First, I want to apologize. You were being an ass, but I had no right to yell just now. Especially when I’m trying to get to know you. That was unfair of me and I’m sorry. Second, I’m trying to be your friend because I care about you. I care about all of you. I want to learn about you the way I did with Jake and the way I did with Steven. You are your own person and you deserve to be treated with the same care as all my friends.” Marc continues to stare at you with an unreadable expression.

​¿Estás bien?

​​Mate, you…you’re awfully quiet

“I-I’ll cut the strawberries. We can swap.” Marc replies in a voice much softer than you expect, his shoulder relaxing slightly. You smile at him, hoping to turn this day around. “Why don’t we do that together after the cakes are in the oven, alright?”

Marc nods, looking between you and the bowl nervously, “I don’t remember what I put in the bowl earlier.” You go to wave your hand dismissively but decide that sudden movements would be a bad idea. You slowly grab the apron and hand it back to him. “We’ll figure it out together”. You walk over to the counter leaving some space for Marc as you two go over how far he has gotten in the recipe. Occasionally you ask if he can remember how much and try to adjust accordingly.

​“Alright Spector, next we have to-“

​“Marc. I used to be in the military.” He pauses, “My CO only used last names and I just…I can’t. Just call me Marc. Please?” Marc explains, hoping that you don’t ask any further questions.

​You nod and continue, “Alright Marc, how are you with crackin’ eggs? I need you to put on in the mix.” Marc takes an egg and cracks it into the bowl one handed. Your sudden applause catches him off guard. “Why are you doing that?”

“Cause that’s cool as hell! I still crack eggs with two hands, even after baking all this time. Don’t tell the others, I think they’d make fun of me.” You laugh before mixing the batter and pouring it into two pans. March snorts softly, “Sure, yea your secret is safe with me Y/N.”

You begin to clean some of the counter space while the cakes are in the oven. “Okay Marc, you’re on choppin’ duty for the berries. Have at it.” Marc nods and makes his way to the abandoned strawberry station. Wiping his hands on the apron, he begins to chop them similar to the ones you previously done.

​Soooo…how’s it going mate?

​It’s fine…I guess. Better now than earlier.

​You just had to giv’er a chance.

​Both of them needed time Steven

​Sorry ‘bout us prattlin’ on earlier Marc. We didn’t mean to overwhelm you

​Stevens right, we should’ve just let you two talk without butting it. Lo siento

​We can talk about it more later. I just…Thank you though, for “Shit!”

“Marc what happened?” You turn to see him holding his bleeding finger.

“it’s nothing Y/N. I’m fine” He tries to reassure you but you’re already by his side, gently tugging him to the sink and running the finger under cool water.

“I leave you alone for 10 seconds and you’ve nicked your finger. How am I s’possed to let you loose in the kitchen?” You fuss over his superficial injury as you clean it and bandage it. Marc stares at you baffled. No one fusses over him, no one tends to his injuries except for himself. It’s just a scratch why are you making such a…Oh, right.

“Okay, scratch that, you’re off knife duty. Can you work a mixer Marc?”

“Y/N it wasn’t that big a deal, I can cut the strawberries-“

“aht aht! No bleedin’ in this kitchen. You’re on whipped cream duty.” You smile widely at him.

“But-“

“If ifs and buts were candy and nuts, we’d all have a Merry Christmas, now go. The mixer calls you” Marc stands there baffled.

Good to know we’ve all had at least one weird interaction with Y/N, ey lads? Marc, might as well head to the mixer, she’s made up her mind.

You explain the ingredients to make whipped cream and how to work the mixer to Marc, who dutifully nods along with your explanation. You head to finish chopping strawberries and hear the steady hum of the mixer behind you. Smiling to yourself, you add a little lemon and sugar to the bowl of berries.

After the cakes have been pulled from the oven and cooled you and Marc layer the cake, whipped cream and strawberries.

​“Marc…Marc lean in”

​“Y/N what are you doin’?”

​You whip out your phone and snap a few selfies. “For the new album! It’s your first cake so we need to document it!”

He smiles, turning to look at the cake. But his eyes catch the recipe. The cake you two have made looks nothing like the picture. The cakes themselves are uneven, the whipped cream doesn’t look as smooth, the berries haphazardly placed. Marc’s heart seizes in his chest. All he can hear is Wendy’s voice berating him. Screaming that it’s his fault the cake came out wrong. You don’t notice at first, happily looking at the photos when you hear Marc’s breathing get heavier. Looking up, you glance between him and the cake a few times before standing next to him.

“Not bad for your first cake Marc. I can’t wait to eat it.” You hold a knife in your hand, “Would you do me the honors and cut me a slice?” Marc looks at you surprised; aren’t you mad at him? Don’t you hate him for ruining the cake? Studying your face, he sees nothing but warmth and compassion as you wait patiently for a response. “I uh, sure yea” He takes a few steadying breaths before cutting a slice for you and himself. You smile as you take your plate and two forks to the living room. Marc stands stock still before he feels his legs move beneath him.

Marc! Cake time!

​Right, yea sorry.

Marc follows behind you and sits next to you on the couch. You hand him a fork before gathering some cake of your own. You hold it up to him. “Cheers!” He gathers some cake on his fork and gently taps his fork against yours, “Cheers Y/N”. You take a few bits of the cake, before looking at him. “So…Let’s hear your thoughts, Marc. How is it?” He chews thoughtfully, “the strawberries are nice.” You laugh loudly, “Marc! C’mon. How’s your first cake?”

“I don’t think it’s s’possed to be this salty or thick.” He says softly, poking it with his fork. “Yea well, we went off script a bit. S’alright though, next cake will be better!” You reassure him, continuing to eat your slice, “besides, you did an incredible job with the whipped cream.”

“I’m sorry Y/N. For ruining the first day of the day”

“Marc, it’s alright I-“

“No, it’s not alright. You…You were trying to get to know me. You put in a lot of effort to include me, but Jake and Steven were in my ear carryin’ on and I’ve never baked before let alone with someone else.That’s not an excuse though. I didn’t give you a chance, I yelled at you. I backed you into the corner of the kitchen. You didn’t deserve that and I apologize.” Marc looks at you, shoulders slumped, “Im sorry Y/N.”

You set down your plate and extend your hand, smiling, “We can always try again Marc. Shake on it?” Marc smiles and you pretend to not notice when he wipes his eyes before shaking your hand. “You’ve got ya’self a deal.” You chuckle, “I don’t know if you noticed but when you get upset your accent is thicker. All youse guys do it.”

“It does not.”

“Does too!”

“Says the person who just said ‘youse guys’”

You squint your eyes, “You’ve won this round Marc. Oh! Before I forget. Stay here, I have something for you.”

“Y/N…No you don’t have to-“

“Too late” you call from your bedroom. Marc sits suddenly nervous, until you come back into the living room, arms behind your back.

​“Okay so I worked with Steven to do this. He told me how upset you were about Sir Rosser and I didn’t get it at first but then Jake explained it a bit more to me and so-” You pull a small patchwork bunny in his favorite color from behind your back, holding it out to Marc. “I got you your own. Now you don’t have to share. If you even still have the old one. Would you even want a stuffed animal? Fuck, I didn’t think about it til just now. Maybe I should’ve asked first” you ramble nervously before you realize Marc hasn’t said anything, he hasn’t even moved.

“Marc? could you at least say something? Anything? The silence is killing me”

Marc looks up at you with misty eyes before reaching for the stuffed animal with shaking hands “you…got me my own rabbit?”

You smile, relief flooding your system, “Course I did!”. You pull a ruler from behind your back with the other hand, “And when you name it, I’m going to knight him like I did Sir Rosser. I am still the lady of the land.” Marc looks between you and the rabbit before laughing, brightly for the first time in longer than any of the boys can remember.

​You were right Steven, Y/N’s a good friend to have.

​Marc is right, I guess we have you to thank for this.

​I’m glad you lads get it. Now since we’re talking about my good ideas, I have a few others suggestions

​no echarse flores Steven

​

Epilogue

You and Marc are sitting on the couch, the plates of cake long forgotten on the table. You’re chatting about random facts you’ve been itchin’ to share when his head snaps to one side, as though listening for something.

“Y/N, did you hear that?”

“Yea, it’s my voice...we’re talking.”

“No not…the snapping noise. Like a crack”, He looks back at you. “You didn’t hear it?” you shrug, unsure of what he’s talking about.

Sorry mate, that was us. Didn’t mean to startle ya.

What do you mean “that was us”

Steven and I high-fived no te preocupes. Keep talking with Y/N.

“Hellooo Marc. I said did you figure out what it was?” You call from beside him. Marc sighs, turning back to you. “Yea it’s fine. Keep going. you were telling me something about eggs?” You smile and continue your impassioned rant about how a chef’s hat has 100 pleats and that each pleat represents 1 way to cook an egg. Marc smiles, holding his rabbit in his lap.

I could get used to this.

~~Translation~~

no echarse flores- Don’t flatter yourself

no te preocupes- Don’t worry

[kosije]

a/n: never have unprotected sex with strangers! only read about it <3 also this is a old work i just added a bit onto...

cw: mdni, mechanic!hawks x fem!reader, use of doll/ma'am/miss, unprotected sex, missionary, pretty vanilla, simp behavior by hawks, reader calls him keigo, corny dialogue, horrible capitalization (im so srry), probably wont edit this lol...

It's been hours. It's been hours and you're dripping sweat despite the multitude of cold drinks you've ingested from the vending machine in your local auto care. You just took your car in for an oil change and regretted not getting a bus ride back. The more the round clock above the register desk clicked, the more impatient you're getting and the smell of gasoline was hurting your head. After bobbing your leg up and down a little more, you decide to just go out and check on your car.

"Hey! Uh, my car was scheduled to be done 30 minutes ago. Is there any way I can check on it right now? Do you have an ETA of some sort?"

The receptionist, a dark-haired boy with a red choker, looks up empathetically before clicking his keyboard.

"Sorry miss, I dunno much about that, but let me call up your mechanic. What number are you?"

"3389"

"3....3....8- oh Hawks is working on that one! I'll call to see if you can get buzzed in, but no need to worry. He is our fastest and most skilled mechanic, so your car will be good as new as soon as he's done."

The boy's voice becomes the slightest bit animated and you feel your annoyance tone down. But you didn't care if it was "good as new," just as long as you could get home safe.

"Okay, thank you."

His fingers quickly punch into a corded phone before a voice comes on the other line.

"He said it should be done in 2, but you're more than welcome to go in."

You nod and thank the teen before stumbling past wired gates and stray cigarettes before finding your car. It looks damn good. Originally a somewhat hand-me-down from your mother to yourself, it was always beautiful on the outside. The silhouette was a classic thing. real sleek and "real groovy" according to your mother. But the upsides stopped at the exterior.

The ac was loud, and the radio was spotty. Even the leather seats were chipping, despite the multitude of repairs you've paid for out of pocket.

But now the car looks brand new. The shell of your car is clean and shiny. When you open the door, you're pleasantly surprised by the smell of musky cologne and your clean linen car freshener, and even more surprised when you can't see where the patches of missing leather are. you almost let yourself smile before realizing this might be a scam to force you to pay for the advancements.

You're too busy peeking into your interior to notice another person walking up.

"Is this ya car, or you lookin' for a ride to jack?"

You flinch slightly but recover yourself well enough to turn to face the deep voice and a rush of heat flushes over you. Sharp amber eyes run over your figure as you busy yourself with getting a good look at the man leaning against the bumper of your car. messy blonde hair, healthy tan, scruff, and muscular. All things you like, except (so far) his personality.

"And you are?"

"The mechanic, doll," He replies in a "duh" voice, slipping his arms out of his dirtied blue denim overalls and crossing them over the other. You don't miss how his biceps flex slightly at the gesture.

"You got anything else to ask, or are you jus’ gonna keep checking me out?"

"I wasn't checking you out."

"Whatever makes you feel better," He laughs, walking up only to lean on the steel table behind you.

"Look this is my car-" He cuts you off by reading your name off a stray paper that has dirt and oil on it, raising an eyebrow and you nod a confirmation.

He offhandedly purrs something about the name being pretty, and you have to consciously ignore the burn in your cheeks.

"Just tell me how much the repair is gonna cost," the question comes out with a sigh, and now it's your turn to cross your arms. It's done out of attitude, but when his eyes lower to focus on your chest, electricity trickles down your spine.

"You gonna answer or keep checking me out?"

coughing and readjusting himself on the table, he tells you $110.

"Are you kidding? The oil change was 60!"

"I did a whole lot besides an oil change, doll"

"without my consent! This has got to be illegal!" 

"Well, how about this?" he says, moving closer to you, and you can now see just how much he dwarfs you in size. "You pay $40 bucks, and let me take you out to dinner."

well... that wasn't something you were expecting.

"I don't know you."

"I know."

"You don't know me."

"Let's change that then." He says. The smirk he has is toothy and could almost be seen as sweet if he didn't just try to scam you out of $50. After another beat of silence, he talks again.

"Don't be brutal, doll. You know you're just as excited to see where this goes."

"I don't usually date scammers." You finally say, but it's meek and you instantly regret it because all he does is smile wider.

"There's a first for everything."

... 

You don't know why you agreed and gave him your number and address. But you did. You also don't know why you're wearing such an expensive dress and perfume. Or why you're putting on makeup. But you are. It was all too elaborate for a one-off date with a random man. Nevertheless, here you were, crouching down to put your bobby pins in your hair because your dress didn't allow for enough movement.

There are three quick knocks at your door before you hear Hawk's voice. 

"I'm starving, doll. Don't leave me like this." 

Bastard

You quickly give yourself a one-over and head to the door. When you open it you see Hawks, except he looks different. His hair is neatly brushed back, and he swapped his stronger cologne for a much more elegant one that matches even better with yours. simple suit and tie with square-cut earrings.

"you look good" he looks better than good, but you don't wanna say anything that'll inflate his ego more.

"you look perfect," and he punctuates it by saying your name instead of 'doll' and you like the way it sounds more than you thought.

Hovering over you now with one arm on the doorframe. He stretches out a hand with a small grin.

"May I? " You place your hand in his.

"You May."

...

5 things you've learned about Hawks Keigo so far

1. his real name is Keigo, hawks being a nickname he got in his youth because of his speed and eyes

2. his hand is much larger than yours

3. he has great taste in restaurants

4. his favorite food is yakitori (a new favorite of yours too)

5. he's ready to go back to your place

"How was your food?"

"It was actually... great"

"C'mon, don't act all reluctant! This restaurant has never done me wrong!" He says as you shift the air conditioner to fan your face and turn the radio up a bit.

"Right, yakitori connoisseur. I can see why you'd take your dates here."

"You're the first." He says emphasizing the last part with a sly look over to your spot in the passenger seat of his Mercedes. It's an admission that has a smile threatening to find a home on your lips, but you turn your head to face outside the window and he chuckles knowingly.

"Or are you saying this should now be the spot? Cuz I could make that work."

"You sure know how to ruin a mood." You're laughing at his feigned hurt expression as he steers with one hand while the other goes over his heart.

"How rude!" He says before the hand over his heart falls to your thigh and suddenly you're hyperaware of how warm he is. "I'll make sure this spot is special to just you."

If the hand on your thigh wasn't enough, the sincerity of his tone has you reeling and reaching over his middle console to kiss him. Soft, short, and sweet on his cheek. You can hear his breath hilt and the smell of his cologne is stronger. When you pull back, you can see the mark of your lipstick on his cheek. And his hand squeezes your thigh tighter.

"You're driving me crazy, doll."

"...was that a pun because you're driving?"

"What?"

"I said-" 

he dramatically turns up the radio and you roll your eyes when he excessively mouths 'I can't hear you!' 

"YOU'RE LUCKY THIS SONG IS GOOD!" you yell into his ear and he laughs, drawing circles onto your thigh with his thumb. The ride back to your apartment is shorter than you'd like, but at least he walks you up to your door, right?

"I don't usually invite scammers into my house."

"yeah?" he asks, hands already on your waist and head tilted.

"but there's a first for everything, isn't there?"

"id like that," he says, smiling down at you as you walk backward into your living room.

His lips are feverish on yours, tongue exploring as deep as it can into your mouth until his and your lips are purple and swollen before drawing purple bruises all over your neck and chest, just over your tits. Your body is hot and you hurriedly pull your arms out of your dress and shimmy it off-eliciting a pleasured hum when he finds that you're not wearing a bra- as he quickly tosses his button-up and jacket before his lips are back onto yours. Your hands wrap around Keigo's neck and his hands cup under your ass and lift you up.

"First door on your right." 

Following your instructions, he walks with you to his arms to your room and tosses you on the familiar sheets of your bed.

"Do you want this?" he asks, hands working on his belt

"Please."

His jaw clenches, and in a second he's bare in front of you.

And big. Much bigger than you think you can take. Thick veins wrap around his cock and you can tell he shaved just for tonight. He runs a finger up and down your clothing slit. Your lips part and a soft sigh rolls off your tongue.

"Don't be a tease."

"Yes ma'am," his finger hooks on the edge of your lace panties and slides them off before running his cock up and down to gather your slick with a quiet groan. Without warning, he slides into you, and you're both vocal. after letting you adjust to his length, he slowly starts moving inside of you, then faster and you're whining around him.

"so pretty," comes out a gasp when his hands pull your legs over his shoulders.

"yer so pretty. And yer the tightest lil' thing I've ever had. Why don't we make an h-habit of this, hmm?" 

"The sex or–fuck–dinner?" You ask, trying to slow the coil in your gut with deep breaths.

"Both."

"That sounds like dating." 

"It's not–shiit"

"How so?" You ask, moaning into the back of your hand when he switches his angle and hits that spot that has you seeing stars.

"You don't date scammers," he says and you would laugh if you didn't have drool sliding down the side of your mouth. His eyes flicker to it and when he licks it up, only to kiss it back into your mouth, and your nails find his back and rake over the skin in an attempt to ground yourself.

"So...what...' bout...it," he asks between kisses and you roll your eyes. When you don't answer, he grunts and stalls all movements.

"What-"

"Answer me and I'll move." 

His eyes widen as he watches you move up and down on your own.

"Stubborn," he whispers out, still wide-eyed when his lips split into a grin. "you won't be able to fuck yerself the way I do it. So just be good 'nd-"

"Yes." you bite out. Your pride feels robbed, but you can tell he's right when you feel your stomach ache.

"Yes, what?"

He's moved again, but it's too slow for your liking and leaves you irritated. You're exactly where he wants you, and so—reluctantly — you mutter:

"Let's make this a habit!" 

An uncharacteristically soft hand cups your cheek and your stomach twist.

"I knew you could be good for me," he says, lips pressing into the side of your mouth and you're writhing. 

Speeding up again, you feel that familiar flame of pleasure ignite within you and tangle your hands into his blonde strands. The room is filled with slaps and moans and if you weren't so fucked out, you might've been able to hear your headboard knocking against the wall and how the mess of your nightstand slightly bounces from the source. Praises are whispered in between messy thrusts and you try your best to focus on the sweat running down your back to let the feeling of him inside you last longer, but your toes are curled and can taste blood from how hard you’re biting down on your lip. 

“Don't shy away now, I love that pretty voice of yours,” and his face looks so much in ecstasy that when his tip hits that spot in you again a pornographic moan leaves your lips, and the flood of pleasure hits you is as foreign as it is blissful. You almost gave no control of yourself. barely hushing yourself, barely able to unravel your legs from around his hips, all too consumed in your high. But Keigo is no better. When your legs ease the hold around his hips, he hurriedly pulls out, but not fast enough, and globs of white spray onto your pussy and all over your chest, even up to your neck. He can only pump himself a few more times before he's falling on top of you with a huff, knocking the air out of you. 

"U-P!" you gasp out, hitting his chest until he rolls over with a sheepish look.

"'M sorry," is all that he says before narrowing his eyes when you giggle.

"Didn't know nutting took that much energy out."

"me neither," he says, joining in on your giggles with a squawk-like laugh that makes you laugh even harder. "I've never come that hard."

"I'm flattered." You purr, smiling up at the ceiling. "I don't think ill be able to walk for a couple of days myself."

And you were joking, but when he laughs and hoists himself up with a hand on your thigh, the soreness humbles you and you realize there's more truth to that statement than you care to admit. You point to the bathroom and he nods, disappearing and reappearing with a damp rag and cleans you up. 

"How do you like your baths?"

"Warm." you twitch when he wipes over a sensitive part, earning a reassuring kiss on the cheek.

When he's done, he moves back into your bathroom and you can hear him turn on the faucet, and you stretch to your legs until the water is turned off and he's scooping you into his arms. When you've finished, he offers to carry you back to bed, but you insist on getting back on your own, even if your legs felt a bit wobbly. You slip into something comfortable while he puts on what he had on before, only now it's wrinkled. You expect him to leave immediately after he's dressed.

"what are you going to watch me sleep?"

"just waiting for you to invite me to stay the night"

"not gonna happen," you say and laugh at the way he pouts. "next time, maybe." And now you're laughing harder at how quickly his expression changed to a smile.

He leans down to kiss you long and slow, pulling away to leave a peck on your cheek. 

"Same time next week?" he asks, giving you another peck, this time along your cheek. You mumble an affirmation, eyes blissfully shut as his lips move to our neck.

"and the one after that. " And he's grinning against you again when he says this.

"Overzealous, don't ya think?" not missing the glint in his eyes when they meet yours again. Same gold that seems to shimmer close up.

"Just makin' a habit of it." Is all he says, same beautiful eyes looking down at you, same lopsided grin, now pretty purple marks on his neck. 

And all you can do is say,

"okay, same time next week."

[happilyfeatherafter]

Happilyfeatherafter's ficrec Fridays

In an effort to actually post on my own blog and not just tag rant I'm going to try and start doing what makes me happy - shouting about the fic I've read and loved recently! ETA: thank you @bloodydeanwinchester for the inspiration and impetus to share recs last week!

So introducing my ficrec Fridays.

5 January 2024 ficrecs

Beggars Would Ride by tiamatv was recommended to me by @ilarual and I am so glad I dived in on their suggestion. Combining two of my great loves, destiel and disney's Aladdin, this AU fic has an absolutely gorgeous depiction of a genie Castiel, in all his trueform splendour! Tia does an incredible job interweaving the two stories, with street rat Dean doing what he must to support his brother and his community, and maybe just maybe finding love and freeing a genie in doing so.

Everlasting by @entropic-saudade (art by @golby-moon) is a recent fic from the stabfest bang, featuring a grieving post-15x18 Dean, and a still adjusting to having Kaia back Claire. It also beautifully examines the parallels between Dean and Claire, and their joint tendency for flirting with people by comparing scars. Achingly romantic, Dean is looking for a way to bring Cas back, and Claire is seeking a momento of Kaia to keep close to her forever...and what's love without a little stabbing?

As A Friend by imogenbynight (@thevioletcaptain) is absolutely best summed up by it's own summary: In which Dean accidentally learns about Castiel's porn preferences, and one thing leads to another. With one last chapter pending, this fic is a smutty delight, in which a newly human Cas in a post-Chuck defeated world and a still adjusting Dean learn a thing or two about each other and decide the best thing to do is lean into it with a secret no strings friends with benefits kink exploration set up...what could possibly go wrong?

doors unlocked and open by sidewinder (@hawkland, art by @fluffsnake) brilliantly combines The Winchesters finale with a post-canon continuation, in which Cas has become the new ruler and embodiment of the Empty whilst Jack is busy restructuring heaven. But Dean is not finding peace, not even in Jack’s improved afterlife, and has instead been traversing the Axis Mundi in the search of his family...in search of Castiel. But there might be a new fate to await them.

tie your wrists with leather by kalmialatifolia is a short but sweet post-canon D/S kinktober fic, in which Cas gets Dean spread eagle in leather cuffs leading to this exchange which captures their voices so perfectly:

“Jesus, Cas,” is all Dean says, and then, as Castiel crawls between his spread legs, “They—they smell good. They smell…” He laughs a little, a soft huff. “Like the Impala? Kind of?”

Castiel snorts, putting his hands on the backs of Dean’s knees and spreading his legs just a little farther apart. Dean goes easy. “Yes,” he says dryly, “I thought you might like that.”

and if that wets your appetite for a longer form wip, then reclusive secret romance novelist Dean and Priest with a past Cas are getting up to all sorts in their fic Benedictions.

[dandelion-wings]

💙 For Jean/Kaeya? 🙏

Thank you for the ask! <3 Once again going with 'vaguely imagined endgame,' but this time with a happier bent.

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ETA: Now on AO3.

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Jean rarely lets herself get this drunk. She hasn't at all since Grand Master Varka left. As Acting Grand Master, she has to be ready to respond to any emergency at any time. A drink or two now and then is all right--she's as much a child of Mondstadt as anyone else, and she's had the practice--but inebriated to the point of stumbling? This hasn't been permissible.

It is now, though. Grand Master Varka is home, and the worst of that weight is off her shoulders. Even if she takes it on again, *when* she takes it on again, eventually, for he's made no secret that he intends her as his successor, she'll have her full complement of knights and captains and won't fear disaster if Mondstadt's defenses are just one short now and then. Not that Jean intends to drink this heavily often, now that she's gotten out of the habit, but right now she's flushed with relief as much as she is with wine, and she's enjoying both of them to the fullest.

Enjoying her third reason to be so flushed, as well. Kaeya is right beside her, hovering in close attendance, his own drink nearly untouched as he teases her about her excess and yet calls Diluc over again and again to serve her more wine. Interspersed with juice and water, a touching concern as well as an exasperating one, when she knows that he doesn't take nearly as much care on his own more drunken evenings. Still, she can't help but laugh when he cajoles her to try the various different juices in exactly the same tones he's been introducing her to different wines.

"You don't even like grape juice," she tells him. Her accusatory tone is lost in her giggles as he puts his hand to his chest, pretending to be wounded.

"Ah, but this is Diluc's favorite vintage! You'll break his heart if you don't try it."

"I can make you another Gray Valley Sunset if you'd prefer," Diluc calls from the other end of the bar.

Kaeya, grinning, leans in to stage-whisper in her ear. "He hides the heartbreak so well."

That grin is amused and fond and truly, warmly happy, in the way that Jean so rarely gets to see. She's not the only one sitting here amid beloved friends, feeling the relief of all that lifted weight of duty. A lifted weight of fear, as well, with the Honorary Knight's assurance that so many things they'd once had to fear gone, forever--including those things she knows Kaeya had feared, in secret, refusing to share. He's been lighter ever since. She's seen this grin more often in the past two months than she has in at least five years.

It makes her grin back, just as happy, shared joy fluttering light and glad inside her. She doesn't need to know what it was that loomed over him for all those years. She's never needed that. All she needs is the knowledge that he's escaped. The only bindings left upon him are those he's chosen himself. Mondstadt, as he's more than proven. Diluc, hiding his smile behind an eye-roll. And Jean, whose hand he holds, fingers wound cool and familiar around hers as he nudges the glass closer.

"I'll drink it," Jean tells him, "if you drink as well."

"Oh, no. I'll leave it to you and Diluc."

"Just a taste," Jean coaxes, and then, a mischievous impulse bubbling up and buoyed by the wine, dares to tell add, "and you don't have to take it from the glass."

"*Oh?*" Jean is pleased to see his gaze drop to her lips. "In that case, I'll accept your bargain. But only on the grounds that I get a taste of your next glass of wine, too."

"And every glass after, wine or otherwise. It was remiss of me not to offer earlier."

"It truly was. I might have to steal two tastes of everything, just to make up for it."

"It's not stealing if it's freely given." Jean knows the heady feeling is the wine; Kaeya makes such insinuations all the time, it's just that normally they're mortifying. Even with Diluc right there, though, undoubtedly in earshot, she feels nothing but bubbly excitement.

Picking up the glass, she tries to toss it back like she's seen other drinkers do with cider and nearly chokes on the too-sweet deluge. She sputters a little, nearly spilling the undrunk half of the glass. Kaeya, though, takes it from her hand and leans in before she can recover and try again. His mouth catches hers, already open, and he sets the glass aside to cup the back of her head as he takes a long, luxurious taste of more than just the juice lingering on her tongue.

He doesn't stop even when Diluc clears his throat beside them, and Jean herself takes a moment to overcome her disappointment before she pushes him away. Diluc picks up the glass and holds it out to Kaeya.

"If you're going to do *that*, take it upstairs. You do have your own room."

"I'd be glad to. Though we do have more drinks to order-"

"I'll send up a selection. I can guess what you'd ask for," Diluc says, with a tired sigh. Even as he turns away, though, he shoots Jean a small, secret smile, as if to make sure she knows that his exasperation isn't for her--as if she doesn't already know that even his exasperation with Kaeya is mostly a front.

He may be embarrassed, though. Jean should feel worse about that, but the light feeling bubbling through her is too strong. She'll apologize in the morning, she decides, and sets it aside. When she staggers a little, Kaeya catches her with an arm around her waist, and she leans into him, letting her head rest on his shoulder as he conducts her upstairs. They're free now, both of them, and while duty still awaits tomorrow, she'll let herself fully enjoy that freedom tonight.