#i do not know how to organize shit though

[lightseoul]

CHAPTER 8 | ALL OUT OF LUCK

w.c. 5.1k

tags. fem!reader, pro-hero!katsuki, aged-up (26), lots of cussing, mentions of food, so much violence. like so much y'all but it's Canon-typical violence, references to (quirk) supremacist views, a (somewhat) graphic depiction of mental health issues

a/n. the content of this chapter is one of the reasons why i almost didn't start this series in the first place. as it turns out, action scenes are deceptively difficult to write—i struggled at first, but i eventually got into the groove of things and found it so fun! so much shit will go down, and i hope you find yourselves at the edge of your seats while reading this <3 please, please let me know what you think and don't be a stranger! enjoy :')

links. masterlist, ao3

You shoot up at the blaring sound of the alarm clock.

You scramble to reach and turn it off where it stands on the nightstand—quickly, before it wakes Bakugou up—a sigh of relief wracking your body when you manage to do so, a sudden stillness instantly enveloping the room.

That relief doesn’t last very long, though, because you’re once again shot with panic when you look up toward the foot of the bed, only to see the man himself already standing in front of it—fully awake.

“Fuck,” you breathe out, clutching your chest, “You scared me.”

“It’s too early to be this scared, princess,” is his pointed retort, a small hint of teasing underlying his tone. You shoot him a pained smile but don’t say anything back, not finding the courage within you to admit that your hands may or may not be already shaking in anticipatory anxiety.

Instead, you watch him as he does mobility stretches in place, breathing in through your nose and out through your mouth as he warms up his joints and rotates his limbs. He invites you to join him a moment after, and you do, if not in an attempt to ground yourself then in preparation for any physical combat that may ensue later on.

Not much is said between the two of you as you go on to prepare for the day, maneuvering silently within his bedroom and taking turns in the bathroom. He lets you get changed first, and you shimmy yourself in your most comfortable office clothes, finding almost immediately that describing them as ‘comfortable’ might be a stretch. Least suffocating, maybe—but the instructions were clear that you had to look the part, at least so that you could get past the guards and enter the building.

Apparently, you need to infiltrate the place organically to buy you as much time to position yourselves without raising suspicion. Mystically showing up on the premises with a man who will vanish not a moment later wouldn’t exactly be a common sight for the employees manning the CCTVs.

Well, then. You guess your long-sleeved blouse, slacks, and regrettably heeled shoes will have to do.

Not even five minutes after you step out of the restroom so he can get dressed himself, Bakugou emerges in a similarly dark, wrist-length shirt and trousers, and you’re about to comment on this unfamiliar yet…welcome sight when your eyes catch his notoriously unruly head of hair—magically pushed back, revealing his forehead.

Now, of all the things that strangely popped into your mind upon seeing him—handsome definitely wasn’t one of them—what you end up blurting is: “How the hell did you style it that fast?”

“Huh?” he responds absentmindedly, fiddling with his sleeves as he seats himself on the edge of the bed opposite from you. “Style what?”

You gesture towards his head. “Your hair. Hasn’t it always been a little hard to control?”

Folding his sleeves right up to his forearm, he then turns to face you, a borderline sheepish expression etched on his features. “’s some extra strong gel. Best Jeanist gifted it to me for my birthday.”

Ah.

“Yeah, well, it suits you,” you offer honestly, averting your gaze just as you think he is about to flash you a smirk. And before he can say anything: “I’m guessing you’re ditching the gauntlets for today?”

He nods, although he’s suddenly looking far from pleased. “No choice,” he intones, “My firepower will take a hit, but I can still get by without them.”

“Enough to kick some ass?”

A grin. “Always.”

You let Bakugou’s well-earned confidence infect you as you finish getting ready together, stuffing your respective bags with things you can let go of in case they get caught up in the fight, before finally walking out of your little sanctuary and into the living room. The twins are on you in an instant, installing your trackers on your chests where they’ve since taken residence for the past two weeks, pulling away without a single word afterward. You mutter a quick thanks, before walking toward Bakugou on the couch and asking him what he wants for breakfast.

“Something light,” is his answer. “Don’t wanna be bogged down by a heavy stomach.”

You end up getting him french toast with a protein shake—whether or not that was light for a man his size, you have no idea—while ordering a croissant and iced tea for yourself. You don’t bother asking the twins if they want to get something as well—opting to just get them breakfast sandwiches and coffee instead. You heard a stomach grumble just a few minutes ago—and it definitely wasn’t yours or Bakugou’s.

The food arrives just as quickly as it did the night prior, and you waste no time digging in. To your pleasant surprise, the twins accept the offering, albeit too begrudgingly for your taste. Maybe letting them starve was the smarter move for today’s final mission, but as you watch them scarf everything down in a matter of minutes, you decide that that’s a trade-off you’re willing to overcompensate for.

By the time you’ve finished eating and cleaning up, it’s a few minutes before 6 AM, and you resolve that as far as D-Days are concerned, the start of this one is going swimmingly well.

Right up to the moment Kouki materializes and grabs Bakugou’s wrist but not yours.

“Change of plans.”

At that, you instantly freeze just as Bakugou barks: “The fuck do you mean change of plans?”

That doesn’t seem to faze the teleporter, who instead regards the pro-hero with a stern, almost chastising look. “You’re needed in one of the schools. You’re coming with me.”

Somehow, you snap out of it. “But you said—”

“It’s a direct order,” he spews, now looking at you with such intensity that has your blood turning cold. “One that you have to follow. Unless…”

“Unless, what?” growls Bakugou.

He smiles. “Unless you want us to call off the entire operation and teleport where you can’t find us.”

Fuck.

Beside you, Bakugou must be thinking the exact same thing, because he suddenly goes quiet.

Kouki harrumphs. “That’s what I thought.”

Neither Bakugou nor you say anything else in protest after that, acutely aware of the gamble that has to be made.

It’s clear as day: either you follow the order and divide and possibly conquer, or resist and lose them altogether.

Perhaps for good.

Armed with the explosives Bakugou made himself, no less.

You chance a glance at the pro-hero, and the impassive look on his face is enough to tell you what he’s decided on.

You’re running out of time and you also need to say something, you know that. Otherwise, he’s going to think there’s something more important to the two of you than seeing the operation you’ve been devotedly ‘working on’ to fruition.

Something beyond just two lovers ensuring each other’s safety.

Forcing yourself to meet Kouki’s steely gaze, you finally relent and nod. “How’s the rest of us gonna get to our post, then?”

“I’ll come back right after I teleport him,” comes his speedy answer, seemingly satisfied with your newfound enthusiasm. “I’ll take you three to where Masaki is waiting near the Prime Minister’s Office.”

“He’s already there?” you can’t help but ask, suddenly nervous at the mention of the kingpin.

You still don’t know his quirk.

“Yes, and he mustn’t be kept waiting,” Kouki says cuttingly, before turning to regard Bakugou, whose wrist he’s still holding. “We’ve to get going.”

“Alright,” the pro-hero grits out, shrugging off the man’s hold, “Just—give me a sec.”

For a second, you think he’s going to head to the restroom to pee before the ‘mission’ starts, but then he’s stepping towards you, and you barely manage to stop yourself from tilting away when he leans into your space, immediately followed by a firm grip on your shoulders. Despite yourself, you gulp.

Bakugou lets out a long exhale. He’s not looking at you—you note—gaze directed towards the floor. You decide then and there that you don’t like seeing him like this.

Like he’s actually…scared.

“Hey,” you whisper, and he looks up, finally meeting your eyes. You almost stumble at the sheer intensity of them.

Almost.

In spite of that—and you don’t know how you do it—you manage to smile at him, as genuinely as you can.

“What are you so worried about?” you tease, voice soft enough for just him to hear. “I’ll be okay.”

To your dismay, that doesn’t make Bakugou laugh—countenance still grim—but his features do soften. So minutely, the change is almost imperceptible—but it’s there.

“How can you be so sure?” he actually whispers back.

That makes you grin, the answer already at the tip of your tongue.

“Because you don’t date losers.”

Now, at your quip, you expected him to at least smile. Maybe chuckle, if that punchline came out funnier than you intended it to.

But what you absolutely didn’t expect was for him to grab you by the neck and pull you into a kiss.

It takes you a second to realize what’s happening, body rigid in utter surprise, but you eventually relax into his hold, wrapping your arms around his torso as he deepens the kiss. A few more seconds pass by with your lips interlocked before he finally pulls away, face flushed and a little out of breath.

“Be careful,” he eventually gets out a beat later, and you nod, suddenly hyperaware of the three pairs of eyes watching you.

Kouki’s especially.

“You, too,” you call out to Bakugou as he lets go and returns to the spot beside Kouki, who once again takes his gauntlet-less wrist.

“We’ll be off, then,” the old man announces, and just like that, they’re gone.

Kouki returns—alone—in record time, an inexplicable expression written on his face. You debate whether or not to ask him how things are at Bakugou’s location, ultimately deciding against it when the man impatiently beckons you to move. You promptly approach and hold onto him just as the twins adjust their portkeys without much complaint, all the while trying to ignore the churning sensation at the pit of your stomach.

The borderline nauseating feeling doesn’t get any better as you get whisked away from Bakugou’s apartment unit in a matter of seconds, suddenly finding yourself sat as you emerge in what you think is an SUV—judging by the size of its interior. You squirm in your seat—too caught up in the discomfort of being squished between Kouki and Omiru in the back—to notice it.

But then you look up, and when you do, the churning from earlier stops and your stomach drops entirely.

From where he’s conveniently plastered in the driver’s seat, Masaki turns to fully face you, smiling.

Or at least you think he is, based solely on the upturn of his lips.

Because hiding his gaze is what seems to be hardened, high-tech goggles.

Goggles that completely block your view of his eyes.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

You vaguely register Masaki thanking Kouki for bringing the three of you to him, and you think Kouki must’ve teleported away judging from the faint swell in wiggle room at your sides. But you couldn’t recall when that was exactly, and this very thought sends another shot of panic through you, the taste of bile now blooming in your throat.

You know what you have to do.

Clenching your eyes closed, you center your attention on the primary emotion you’re feeling—fear, unmistakable fear—and pull.

Instantly, you feel your facial muscles relax, cautious enough to let the change appear slowly—both in your face and in your frame.

The last thing you need is to inadvertently confirm any suspicion about your quirk.

Even if it means using a huge chunk of today’s reservoir on yourself.

Taking a deep breath, you let your eyes flutter open, and you’re once again met with the sight of Masaki, whose torso is now turned towards you.

Shit.

You scramble for something to say.

“I-isn’t it a bit too early?” you ask, averting your gaze toward the car window. “Is the Prime Minister even around at this hour?”

You don’t get to see Masaki’s reaction to your sudden question—you wouldn’t be able to study his eyes anyway—but you hear him shuffle in his seat, turning back to face forward. “Yes, he’s expecting a visitor.”

A million questions come up in your head—how he even knows that information is one of them—but what you end up asking is: “How about the rest?”

That must’ve been the right query to ask, because Masaki hums in what you think is approval. “People will be there, Y/N. When the Prime Minister’s around, most of the employees are expected to be present.”

You guess that makes sense.

You don’t say anything else after that, opting to peer at Masaki through the rearview mirror instead. To your surprise, he shifts his head towards the very same mirror, and you’re almost sure he’s looking straight back at you.

He smiles again. This time, a little too knowingly.

“Is there something—” he starts, before trailing off and pointing to his eyepiece. “Oh, this?”

You bristle. Still, you feign ignorance. “Huh?”

“You seem to have been staring at my glasses.”

You let your brows furrow, as if in confusion. “I…don’t think I was?”

“Cut the crap, Y/N,” Omiru suddenly spits at you from the side, and you startle.

“What the—”

“Now, now, Omiru,” scolds Masaki with that placating tone of his. “Y/N might’ve been lying to us but we still have a mission to finish.”

You blanch. “Lying?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” comes the leader’s quiet response, who’s watching the scene unfold behind him through the mirror. “It’s a pity our surveillance men took so long to notice, how you had us acting strangely, that day we met.”

Masaki cocks his head to the side, before: “Your quirk works via eye contact, doesn’t it?”

You stiffen.

“Thought so,” he concludes, and you bite back the urge to close your eyes in defeat. It’s too early to give up.

“Don’t worry, though,” he adds on after a beat, finally bringing the engine to life. “Nothing will happen as long as you cooperate and use luck when I tell you to.”

…Luck.

Did he just say luck?

Your eyes must’ve widened a bit at what he just said, because he continues. “Ah, Bakugou?” he asks, and suddenly you’re hit with the guilt of not thinking about the pro-hero.

Especially when he says the next thing.

“Like I said,” Masaki drawls, “As long as you cooperate, no one gets harmed.”

A pause.

“Even him.”

Your question gets answered as soon as you stop at the guard house.

Masaki’s quick to take off the goggles before rolling down his window, greeting the primary security guard with such innocence you definitely couldn’t have guessed he was on his way to an assassination if you based on just the encounter alone.

The guard flashes him an easy grin as he greets back, before bringing the walkie-talkie that’s velcroed on his shoulder closer to his mouth. “Masaki Kento of the Korean Consulate, heading towards Building C. I repeat, Masaki Kento to Building C.”

A bunch of static emanates from the device, immediately followed by a robotic voice. “Copy that. Let him in.”

At that, Masaki salutes him a thanks, which the guard returns fervently. You don’t even get to catch a glimpse of the former’s eyes before he’s got the window up and the eyepiece swiftly back on his face.

“Let me guess,” you pipe up as Masaki rounds a curb and drives more slowly as you enter the grounds, “You’re a consul and these two are your domestic bodyguards.”

“Yes,” Masaki readily confirms, “That is correct.”

That explains why he’s almost never present in the headquarters.

“Huh,” is the only thing you can muster, focus now trained on any human that you pass by.

The less they are in number, the better—is what Bakugou said. So far, most if not all of them are decked out in attire guards would normally wear, which you think isn’t much of an unfamiliar sight in this estate.

Eventually, you arrive at the front of what you believe is Building C, stepping out of the vehicle with your handbag in tow a moment later, smoothing the crinkled lines of your slacks. You pretend not to pay attention as an again bare-faced Masaki hands over the keys to the valet, who is off with the vehicle in seconds to what he said was the multi-story car park.

You don’t dare utter a word as you trail behind the man carrying a bulky briefcase you’re positive contains nothing but bombs, with the twins walking in step behind you. You keep your eyes fixed on the staircase as you do, painfully aware of how your nerves are coming back alive, and this time, somewhat more fiercely than before.

You know better than to waste another ounce of your quirk on yourself, though.

And so with ragged breath, you trudge on with anxiety creeping back up your spine, up until you’re met with another guard at the entrance, who makes a quick work of identifying the four of you. You’re introduced as Masaki’s new personal assistant, while the others just reiterate their established titles. The guard then grants you entry, but not before instructing you to register your name at the reception desk.

Masaki thanks the man on your behalf, and then finally—you enter.

The second that you do, though, you can tell something’s wrong.

For one, right behind the desk that you were ordered to approach, was nobody. Not one receptionist.

Nor are there janitors, guests, employees, or anyone that could possibly be in the Prime Minister’s Office at this hour.

Masaki, who just put on the goggles again, must have thought the same thing, because you catch him physically tensing, like this wasn’t part of the plan.

You’re about to ask him—genuinely—why the place seems to be deserted, when it happens.

Something fast lurches from the shadows in your peripheral vision, and you stumble back just in time to see Hiroto slammed to the ground by no other than Kirishima.

The male twin lets out a yelp in pain as the hardened hero wrestles him in his grip, all at the same time as a long string of tape suddenly fills your vision. You look up, and sure enough, there’s Sero swinging right into Omiru foot first, hitting the woman square in the jaw. She staggers violently backward, right into you—but the collision doesn’t happen, because a hand grabs your wrist out of nowhere and you’re pulled to the side.

A tidal wave of relief washes over you as you let yourself get forcefully dragged, but it’s instantly replaced with terror when you look up to see Masaki’s backside instead. From a distance, you hear Kirishima’s voice call out your name, and it snaps you out of your fear-driven trance. Renewed with unbridled strength, you put as much of your weight as you can on your soles and try to wrangle your hand out of his grip, but it’s too strong.

Masaki manages to haul you toward the end of the hallway, throwing you right into an elevator and punching the close button before you can pick yourself back up on your feet. You barely see him pressing the top-most floor before he turns around and grabs you by the shoulders, pinning you hard against the wall.

“You told them about us, didn’t you,” he seethes, manic, but you don’t dare say anything. At your silence, he lifts you a breadth’s hair away from the surface only to slam you back against it. You can’t help it—this time, you cry, a sharp pain sent straight to your back.

“Answer me,” he demands, and you’re just about to knee him in the balls when the elevator dings. You wait for Masaki to get distracted and look away so you can deliver the blow, but it doesn’t happen. His gaze seemingly remains fixed on yours even as he lugs the two of you out of the box, grip unrelenting as he approaches the nearest fire alarm device, smashing the glass before pulling down the lever.

Almost instantaneously, tens of alarms ring out not just on your floor but on the ones below you, and you can only watch in horror as the numbers on top of the elevators freeze.

“Kouki,” Masaki rasps into his earpiece, his two hands busy holding you at arm’s length. “Kouki, do you copy?”

You growl, a surge of indignation washing over your entire body at him blatantly ignoring you. You extend your leg from underneath in an attempt to trip and then pin him down, but he takes notice in the nick of time and staves off your attack.

“Kouki,” he tries again, even as you manage to ram a punch into his stomach, “Answer me!”

You grit your teeth, feeling your limbs quaking as you fight to fend off his grip. Still, your mind wanders as to why he’s calling Kouki now, of all times.

What, so he can teleport him and the twins out of here?

But then he speaks again, and you see crimson red.

“Kouki, kill him now!”

Your body moves before your brain can think—you throw yourself onto Masaki and grab him by the neck. He stumbles backward until he collapses and his back hits the floor, and you take that as an opportunity to immediately straddle him, increasing the pressure on your chokehold. He splutters for a bit, arms flailing and scratching at you, but before you can even think about trying to rip off his eyepiece and potentially taking the upper hand—at least until Kirishima and the rest arrive—he rolls over and has got you pinned under his weight in seconds. He pulls the same move and roughly wraps his hands around your neck, instantly cutting off the air to your lungs. You wheeze, and yet you still struggle even as you feel the last bits of oxygen die out.

He grins at you, and one look at the man’s face tells you he’s gone mad. “You’re on the wrong side of history, Y/N.”

Great, you think to yourself. Those can’t be the last fucking words you hear before you die.

You make one last attempt at seizing his wrist off of you, but—just like many other things in the past five minutes—that doesn’t get to happen, because something flashes in the corner of your eye—so quickly you think you must’ve imagined it. You squint, and in hindsight maybe you shouldn’t have, because, in the second that you do, Masaki is kicked off of your body and slammed straight into the far wall.

Shellshocked, you crawl backward with your forearms as fast as you can, not knowing what the fuck just happened.

But that’s when you see him.

You can only watch in disbelief as Bakugou propels himself across the room in a matter of a millisecond, towering over Masaki’s body instantaneously. “Get back!” Bakugou shouts, and it takes you a beat to realize that he’s talking to you.

You didn’t need to be told twice.

With the little, remaining strength you can muster, you manage to stand back up and hobble towards the corner of the room, farthest from where the two are currently engaging in a fistfight.

It doesn’t take long for you to realize that Masaki’s holding up better than you expected him to, and the very same realization must’ve dawned on Bakugou, because the pro-hero swiftly switches gears and starts detonating small explosions toward the man’s direction.

But then the weirdest thing happens.

Instead of being hit by Bakugou’s blasts, Masaki absorbs them—right where the combustions meet his body—

And then, in the blink of an eye, releases it—almost twice in size—straight into Bakugou.

You hear the pro-hero curse just as he barely manages to dodge the hit. The discharge reaches the wall, leaving scorched marks and massive craters on the surface.

This is bad.

And you don’t even have to look at Bakugou to know that.

Still, the pro-hero presses on, and you stand there—restless—as the fight resumes in front of you. Bakugou’s stopped using his quirk to attack altogether, only using it to expertly maneuver himself in the air. Masaki’s fending off the strikes well enough, even landing a few hits here and there. You try to hold eye contact with him—but it’s no use. He’s still wearing the goggles, and you’ve studied them long enough this morning to be fairly sure that it’ll take more than just a perfect kick to the head to have it taken off.

That’s when it dawns on you.

You can’t manipulate Masaki. That’s for sure.

But you can manipulate Bakugou, who—based on what you can see—is becoming more and more frantic by the minute.

No fucking time to hesitate.

“Bakugou!” you shout, and the man doesn’t even glance in your direction, only shouting back: “What?!”

“Look at me!” you yell, pupils darting in record speed as you follow Bakugou’s volatile line of vision. You weren’t about to miss him when he does.

He doesn’t question your request, but he doesn’t immediately look at you either, too wrapped up in hitting Masaki and not getting hit back.

But then Masaki’s suddenly got him pinned against the wall across you, and you find yourself immediately face to face with him. You scream, “Now!”

Exactly right on cue, Bakugou’s gaze drifts from Masaki’s face to yours, and when you lock eyes, you pull.

Manic adrenaline to laser-sharp acuity.

Acuity that he’s always had since you met him in high school.

As hard as you fucking can—and with all that you have left—you pull.

And just like that, Bakugou’s entire countenance changes. You can only watch as the metaphorical gears in his head seem to come alive and shift—just as he throws Masaki off of him with unmatched force.

But then he does the unimaginable.

He starts bombarding the man with explosions—one blast after another, not allowing him the chance to even sit up and shield himself—and you stare in outright shock as Masaki’s body glows redder and redder.

Just as you think Bakugou’s completely lost his mind with the series of attacks, he launches himself from the wall and dives into Masaki, grabbing the man’s arm, tugging him to the nearest door with one hand and yanking the slab of wood open with the other.

And only as Bakugou throws Masaki into what you think is a janitor’s closet and locks the door behind him does it hit you like a ton of bricks.

“Come on!” Bakugo shouts at you as he presses his entire weight against the door—the door that Masaki’s desperately trying to get through. “Help me lock him in!”

You look around the room for something you can use, your eyes immediately landing on a chair and a moderately-heavy-looking desk. You waste no time grabbing the two pieces of furniture and hauling them toward Bakugou as fast as you can. Taking the chair first, you tilt it by the backrest and lodge it underneath the doorknob until it’s secure enough. You then hurriedly drag the desk to the other side and slide it in front of the door, just as Bakugou propels himself upward and out of the way.

You don’t get to do anything else before Bakugou snatches you by your waist and boosts the two of you toward the floor-to-ceiling windows, smashing against them shoulder-first. You hold onto him for dear life, wincing at the impact even though Bakugou took most of it.

And you’re glad you did everything the way you just did—because not even a second later, the explosion finally goes off—an eruption so massive that you’re both thrown forward from the sheer magnitude alone, the sound of shattering windows and crumbling walls booming in the background. Bakugou loses his balance for a second and you shriek, but he manages to get back into thrusting you into the air with his detonations, carrying you securely in his arms until you reach the ground, gently letting go of you when you do.

The moment your toes touch the concrete floor, though, you’re quick to jump on your feet and hobble away from him.

“Hey—”

Quickly, you tell yourself as you feel the tell-tale pinpricks of tears at the corners of your eyes. Before it’s too late.

But you don’t get to go far enough because Bakugou grabs your wrist, spinning you to look at him. “The fuck do you think you’re go—”

He cuts himself off, the scowl that was just carved on his features instantly falling when he sees your face. “Are you—crying?”

“N-no,” you choke out, although you know it’s no use denying it. You’re already feeling the all-too-familiar closing-in sensation that comes with you overextending yourself.

“Yes, you are, dumbass,” Bakugou retorts, before bringing up his other hand to lightly touch your cheek. “Tell me, what’s wrong?”

At the contact, you clench your eyes closed, fighting down the urge to whimper at the steadily increasing pace at which your heart is irregularly racing.

There’s no doubt about it.

It’s now flooding you—the terror that you’ve secretly been tamping down with your own quirk this entire mission—but especially today.

“Fuck—” you warble, and now you’re sure.

You’re having an anxiety attack.

It all happens in a blur—your brain too muddled with palpable fear to keep track of everything around you—but you vaguely register Bakugou wrapping his arms around you and rubbing soothing circles on your back, as he tried to guide your erratic breathing with his.

You remember shaking violently in his hold, gasping for air and barely managing to will yourself to breathe normally as an undercurrent of dizziness coursed through your veins.

You recall sweating bullets but being cold to the touch, and Bakugou ripping out one of his sleeves to use to wipe away your perspiration. It didn’t really help.

And you don’t know how much time passes with you fighting the nausea on top of everything, even as you heard the distant sound of police sirens, but it does—it somehow does—eventually and strangely finding yourself carried away home.

Home to Bakugou’s.

˖⁺‧₊ as always, reblogs, replies, and tags are appreciated <3 feel free to drop an ask, too—i'd love to chat with you. have a nice day!

tagging. @bunnysaursushii @yawnzzzzzzzz @cholios @kashee-h @iluv-ace @lotuslovers @elarakive @sugurusmoon @napbatata @k0z3me @h0ngh0ngh0ng @honeyoru @yoongiwithglasses @hellokitty-doll @lilsebnem @tetsuukuroo @crangrapel0ver @syrhra @qyuin @lotusstarr | @junehasnotbeenfound @sugalarity @haechansbbg @sikuthealien @reiniella3 @ita606 @xoxoblueyy @mutsu422 @eyesforbkg @kalulakunundrum @venus-xxoo @lemuhr @pinkpantheris @ashers-playpen @bakugouswh0r3 @certaindreampost @3ve88 @tsumuus @4acoffee @anonymity-222 @lousypotatoes @homeless-clown @sk8wh33l @jungkookslittlecarrothoe @jax-the-oregonian @shosuki @reisore @babylambdietcoke @sleepyyhabii @adherethecomingofage @hakvyxo @squishybabei @gin-n-chronic-illness | @matchat3a @harryzcherry @h0nestly-though @cc1306 @gold24fish @bakukags @zennypiee @wannabewolf @kameko-ko @lovra974 @arc6021 @kooromin @surprisemodafakas @ilovedenk-i @st4ntwic3 @j1tterbugaboo @call-memissbrightside @arael-asuka @bakugosgothhoe @biancatomlinson @reads-stuff-quietly | @js-favnanadoongi @stxrrielle @panikk-attackkk @ordola @simpforeveryone @typsichryle @arsonfrogger | @vitoshi @floverisland @confusedmomfriend @poemzcheng @cheezemanz @cax-per | @rorel1a @astolary @trashyforashy @sunaraii @reisore | @beepboopcowboy @kyluskaye | @moonz33 | @lovesabreeze @reblogwhoreowo

[ssa-dado]

The Ship of Theseus (prelude)

Aaron Hotchner x fem!bau!reader Genre: fluff, hurt/comfort (?), pining - I really do suck at tagging Summary: Never fuck your boss. Never fuck your best friend. And definitely never fuck Aaron Hotchner. But you did anyways. And now you’re left with the post-coital edition of Mr. Practical and all the messy aftermath that came with it. And a makeout too. Apparently the big scary man fell asleep right into your arms. Warnings: It's mentioned that they fucked. Whoops. IDK. In doubt - +18 MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. No actual smut, but it's STEAMYYYYY... way too suggestive. Also, some cuss words here and there. Hotch being a softie. Word Count: 4.1k Dado's Corner: It’s a Chekhov’s gun of Ethics but without the actual gun… unless, of course, we’re talking about Aaron’s GUNSHOTS - oh, wait, there it is! The gun! Aaron’s thick, throbbing GUNSHOTS - oh shit, that’s so cool

masterlist

If there was ever an Olympic event for post-coital efficiency, your dearest friend – and funnily enough – your boss Aaron Hotchner would be taking home the gold.

Truly, what a sight to behold.

One moment, he was wrecking you within an inch of your sanity, and the next - barely a minute later - him and his ridiculously long legs were back in your bedroom, carrying a towel in one hand, a damp washcloth in the other, like the world’s most disciplined housekeeper.

So proper, so effortlessly composed, even now.

Because of course Aaron Hotchner - former prosecutor, Unit Chief, insufferable neat freak - would handle post-coital cleanup like it was just another task on meticulously organized, color-coded to-do list.

Sex: Completed (highly successful, performance rating: exemplary)

Orgasm(s): Confirmed (3, official review pending, though “best orgasm of my life” was strongly implied)

Post-coital hydration: Pending (but water bottle is within retrieval distance)

Aftercare protocol: Initiated (warm washcloth acquired, towel deployment imminent)

Debriefing & emotional processing: Ongoing (mission parameters unclear, subject remains evasive yet sarcastic)

Sheets: Ruined (replacement required, but can be postponed in favor of further activity)

Boss/subordinate ethical violation acknowledgment: Not yet addressed, deliberately ignored

Cuddling: Proposal under review (high-risk scenario)

Exit strategy: TBD (complications may include the inability to leave this bed for the foreseeable future)

And, obviously, you could not let him get away with that.

"Look at you, being all domesticated," you teased, propping yourself up slightly as he walked over.

"Someone has to take care of you," he shot back smoothly, dropping the towel onto the bed and kneeling beside you like this was normal.

Like you weren’t both still bare, still caught in the strange, floating space that existed after.

That was the problem, wasn’t it?

The teasing - the constant, insufferable push and pull - was easy. That was your rhythm. That was safe. But this was something else entirely.

Something that left you both a little flustered, a little unsteady.

Even you - you, who could talk your way out of anything, who thrived on throwing him off - found yourself at a loss, your mouth opening, reaching for something to say, for anything that would keep this from feeling like more than what it was.

But then he touched you.

Pressed the warm cloth to your skin with so much care, with so much intent, and whatever sarcastic remark had been forming on your tongue just evaporated.

It wasn’t fair how tender he could be, how his hands - capable of so much control, so much discipline - could be this gentle, this careful. On you.

"You don’t have to do that," you murmured, breathless and barely audible.

"I know," he said simply, his gaze flicking up just long enough to see you before returning to his task. "But I want to."

So you let him. Let him take care of you.

Let yourself watch him, tracing the way his thick brows furrowed with concentration because he wanted to get it just right, the way his jaw tensed and relaxed as he worked, annoyingly meticulous, like this was just as important as everything that had come before it.

Gentle. Steady. Intimate. Intentional.

In a way that made your chest ache.

In a way that made you terrified of what it meant - now that the lust had passed, now that you were both just... here, bare, with nothing but each other.

And especially when he started pressing slow, lazy kisses along your knee, your already-marked thigh, your hip - like he needed to, like he couldn’t help himself, like he wanted to remind you that he had been there, that you were safe with him, even now.

Every second was more devastating than the last.

When he finished, he set the towel aside and leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead, lingering there for a beat, then another, then another, until he could hear how fast your heart was pounding.

"There," he murmured, lips still brushing against your skin. "All set."

You shook your head, forcing a smile, forcing yourself back to safer ground. "So thorough, Hotchner. Truly, I’m impressed."

His mouth quirked, but apparently, he wasn’t done being insufferably tender, kissing your cheek up next. Wasn’t he just adorable?!

"I aim to please," it was so utterly him it made your stomach flip, but not even more Aaron Hotchner than when, suddenly, he was back to bossing you around in your own home.

"Now, we change the bedsheets, take a shower, and then I’ll see you back here so we-"

And then he stopped. Oh no. Cat got your tongue, bossman?

"We what?" you prompted, raising an eyebrow, watching with unholy satisfaction as the tips of his ears turned red.

He cleared his throat, hesitated in a way that was so unlike him it almost hurt to witness."We… could cuddle. If you want. Or talk. Or whatever you want to do, really. No pressure. I can leave, all you have to do is tell me."

The longer he spoke, the redder he got, his words tripping over themselves, and honestly, it was taking everything in you not to burst out laughing right in front of him.

"You’re adorable, you know that?" you said instead, leaning in to press a kiss to his flushed cheek, hopefully to calm him down – or at least that was your excuse. "Big, scary Aaron Hotchner, suggesting cuddling in the same breath as ‘no pressure.’"

You mocked him, because humbling him was your second nature, and judging by the glare he was giving you, you were winning yet another round. Still, you didn’t want him to just leave. That much was obvious.

He exhaled slowly, gaze steady. "So… what do you want?"

You pretended to think about it, dragging it out just to see that little furrow in his brow deepen.

"Well, I suppose I could settle for cuddling… " you mused, letting your fingers ghost along his shoulders, "but only if you’re the little spoon."

He scoffed, shaking his head. "Little spoon?"

Oh, wasn’t it just glorious. 2-0

"My house, my rules," you said smugly. "If you don’t like it, next time we’ll do it at your place, and you can do whatever you want."

And the second the words left your mouth, you definitely wanted to die.

Next time.

As if this was a thing. As if you had even talked about what it was, what this meant. As if you had acknowledged that what you’d just done was completely, wildly, against every rule in the protocol - and common sense as well.

Especially because he was your boss.

"I’m joking, of course," you backtracked quickly, though you felt the heat creeping up your neck.

"Of course," he echoed, but there was something in his expression, something behind his eyes that said he wasn’t entirely convinced, probably because he caught you with your hands in the cookie jar. "This was…"

Great. The talk.

"An accident," you supplied.

"Against protocol," he continued.

No shit, Sherlock.

"Because you’re my boss-"

"We work together," he chimed in, but his voice was softer now, trailing.

"Could cost us our careers," you pointed out, waiting for him to acknowledge it, to confirm the obvious.

"When there’s a pattern of offending behavior," he murmured, almost to himself, slipping into technicalities - because of course he would.

But then - he smirked. Just the slightest tilt of his lips, still – he smirked.

Oh.

And that could only mean one thing.

"A pattern," you echoed, watching him carefully.

And just like that, because he was only a man - logical, brilliant, but still just a man - he reached the same inevitable conclusion you had, just a breath later.

His fingers found yours, intertwining, and it was stupid how calming that simple gesture was.

Or maybe it wasn’t the touch itself but the truth laced between your hands.

Or maybe both.

Or maybe it was just this - how the whole conversation had shifted without either of you stopping it.

It didn’t mean you wouldn’t push and pull anymore. Didn’t mean you wouldn’t still play cat and mouse. You would. Just differently now. With your lips on the other’s skin instead of just grazing the air.

"We’re very good at patterns," he murmured, lips brushing your jaw, pressing a kiss there.

"At recognizing patterns," you corrected, your breath hitching as you tilted your head, catching the corner of his mouth with yours.

"What is a pattern, after all?" His lips moved along your cheek, his hands sliding up your spine, settling against your back.

"A repetition," you answered, barely above a whisper, pressing a kiss just beneath his ear.

"A repetition," he echoed, voice rasping, pressing one to the curve of your jaw.

"Exactly that." You murmured as your fingers traced patterns over his bare shoulders.

"Depending on a series of factors," he continued, shifting slightly, pressing another kiss to your collarbone.

"Such as…?" You exhaled against the bruise you left on his throat.

"Subjects involved," he murmured.

"Location," you supplied.

"A very important factor," he agreed, flashing his intoxicating dimples, nudging his nose against yours.

"Fundamental in analysis," you teased, smiling against his lips.

"If the location changes," he murmured, pausing just long enough to press a kiss to the tip of your nose, "the recognition of the pattern could be…"

You barely heard him, too focused on the way his breath ghosted over your skin, but still - hearing him talk like that, with his voice all low and thoughtful and dangerous, made you shiver.

"Devious," you countered, barely referring to legal theory anymore.

No, he was devious - the way his mouth was just barely touching yours, his hands skimming your sides like he wanted to devour you but was forcing himself to behave.

You've had enough. You tilted your head, catching his lips in a kiss, cutting off whatever legal analysis he thought he was about to give.

"Faulted," he corrected, the words slipping straight into your mouth, delivered onto your tongue by his, deepening the kiss without hesitation.

"You can never be sure…" your voice faltered, swallowed by the way he pulled you flush against his bare body, his fingers digging into the skin of your lower back.

"…if it’s the same pattern," he finished for you, just before his teeth caught your bottom lip, just hard enough to make you gasp.

"Or a copycat," you murmured, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze, feeling completely dizzy, straight-up autopilot - you barely even knew what you’d just said.

Judging by the way he chuckled, though, it was probably nonsense.

No, definitely ridiculous, because now he was repeating it back to you, still grinning, "…A copycat? You’re crazy."

Still, he never looked away.

Right… you definitely weren’t exactly talking about unsubs now.

"So one single act can still be admissible?" you asked, fingers idly tracing over his cheek.

"It was just a little lapse in judgment," he chuckled, but you could already feel the gears turning in that brilliant lawyer’s mind, already bending the rules in real time, looking for the inevitable loophole in the very system you both swore by.

"...At your place," he added, like that alone made all the difference. "And that’s just one location."

You smirked. "Not your apartment."

"To be precise," he murmured, his mouth brushing over yours, "it was just your bed… which means that technically-"

"Technically", you could still fuck each other everywhere else.

"Oh, I love the way your brain works…" you hummed, punctuating your words with another kiss, this time against the sharp line of his jaw. "So… not the shower."

And just like that, it became a game.

A list. A reckless, bucket list.

"The desk," he murmured, and fuck, you had to squeeze your thighs together at that one, trying so hard not to let your brain go there - not to picture which specific desk you wanted him to bend you over, not to imagine the feel of his hands gripping your hips, his voice low in your ear, telling you to keep quiet.

Definitely not the one in his office. No. That would be unethical.

"The kitchen counter," you whispered, voice already a little breathless.

"The floor," he added, lips dragging just beneath your ear, voice husky, teasing, unfair.

"Of all the rooms in this apartment…" you trailed off, tilting his chin just slightly so you could press a slow kiss right between his brows, smoothing away the tiny crease there.

"The couch," he murmured. Low blow.

You bit your lip, because that wasn’t fair, because now all you could think about was straddling his lap, sinking down onto him, rolling your hips while his hands dug into the flesh of your thighs, holding you in place, watching you come undone.

You had never wanted to ride a man so badly in your life.

"Against the front door," you suggested next

“The armchair” he added, and okay - so he really wanted you to ride him. Noted.

"The stairs," you countered, throwing something ridiculous just to regain some control.

"We don’t have stairs," he said, lips curving against your skin.

"Fine," you huffed. "The car."

"Backseat or front?" he asked, way too inclined to indulge in your proposal.

"Front if I’m driving," you mused.

He groaned at that, and you took the opportunity to press your advantage, brushing your lips over his throat, smirking against his skin as you felt something become quite… hard.

"My bed," he rasped suddenly, and damn, you knew you were done for the second those words left his mouth.

Because that - that was dangerous. The thought of being wrapped in sheets that smelled like him, tangled up in his warmth, surrounded by the scent of sex and sweat and that insufferable, frustratingly attractive man…

You would not survive it.

"The elevator," you rasped before you could stop yourself.

And that was when he froze - for half a second, you thought maybe he hadn’t heard you. And then-

"Jesus Christ."

"I don’t think that one’s possible, Hotchner.."

Still, his mouth parted, his pupils blown so wide there was barely any brown left, and for a second, you genuinely thought he was about to die right then and there. Would’ve been tragic, really - death by horny legal loopholes debate.

Explain that to Erin Strauss...

But then he groaned, deep and wrecked, dropping his face into your neck like he needed a moment to recover. Maybe he wasn’t going to die just yet.

"The elevator?" he muttered against your skin, muffled, bewildered, like he couldn’t quite believe he was having this conversation.

"The elevator," you confirmed, absolutely shameless.

"Jesus."

"I’d prefer it be just the two of us, if that’s not a problem for you," you deadpanned.

He let out a deep, suffering sigh against your neck, like he was physically restraining himself from debating elevator logistics.

"I don’t even know what to do with you," he muttered.

"I have some ideas."

He exhaled, then lifted his head just enough to look you dead in the eye. "We are never having sex in an elevator."

"That sounds like a challenge."

"That sounds like a lawsuit," he corrected, still so visibly distressed that you could not stop laughing.

"Thought you used to be a good lawyer, Hotchner," you teased, your fingers dragging lazily along his spine. "Wouldn't you know your way around a legal loophole?"

"Oh, I do," he sighed. "I also know how to avoid federal charges."

"You’re truly a prude."

"You're truly reckless," he shot back, eyes closed, mentally revisiting every questionable decision he’d made in the last hour… or maybe the last two…

Honestly, who was even keeping track at this point?

You smirked, shifting until you were draped half over his chest, resting your chin on your folded arms as you gazed at him. "Oh, c'mon, Hotchner, live a little."

His eyes opened just enough to give you a look.

You huffed. "Okay, okay, fine. No elevators. If you really wanna be lame about it."

"Thank you," he said flatly.

A pause. Then, you couldn’t help it. "The jet."

His entire body went rigid. You swore you felt his soul attempt to leave his body.

"The jet?" he repeated, voice hoarse.

You nodded sagely. "The jet."

"Oh my God."

You grinned, slow and so wicked. "Can you imagine it?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

"Small, enclosed space-" you started.

"Oh my God."

"-turbulence, you pinning me against the-"

"No." He cut you off.

You cackled, absolutely delighted by his suffering.

"The team is on that jet," he tried to argue.

"Not always," you countered, “sometimes Strauss is there too.”

His entire face drained of color. For a solid three seconds, he just stared at you, mouth slightly parted, horror creeping into his very being.

"Get out."

You wheezed, collapsing against his chest, “Of my bedroom?! You can’t really dismiss me here unfortunately for you.”

"I don’t ever want to hear the words sex and Strauss in the same sentence again," he grumbled.

"I believe you just said them yourself, Hotchner"

A slow blink. A deep sigh. He was so close to reconsidering every single choice that had led him to this moment.

And yet-

Instead of answering, he just exhaled, letting his weight sink into you, his forehead dropping onto your shoulder like admitting defeat.

Because you both knew exactly what this was.

A game.

A flimsy, shameless, beautiful excuse to keep doing this - to keep falling into each other, to keep breaking rules and bending logic, to keep pretending it wasn’t something more.

But neither of you said that.

Neither of you needed to.

Instead, you simply thrived in the ineffable, in the space where words didn’t need to be spoken. In the way his body melted on top of yours, drawn to you despite himself, despite the attitude, despite everything.

Because with you, he could just be.

Simply, truly, exist in his truth.

Not Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner. Not the unshakable leader, not the man who carried the weight of everyone else’s burdens on his back, never allowing himself to falter.

Just Aaron.

The six-foot-two little spoon who swore he wouldn’t be, yet here he was, folded into you like he’d never belonged anywhere else, all because you’d jokingly set it as a condition for him to breathe this close to you.

At least, that’s what you told him.

But in reality a part of you wanted this.

A part of you wanted the man who always stayed close – from the victims, to the UnSubs, and everyone he cared about, always making sure he was the one who bore the weight so no one else had to - to have someone stay close for him.

To let him know what it felt like to be held.

Because the thought had been lingering at the edges of your mind for far too long now - unwelcome, unavoidable -

If he was there to protect everyone, who was there to protect him?

Not that you were volunteering. Not like that.

Actually if you said it out loud, he’d probably just laugh at you, and use that damned dry humor of his and tell you “How can you protect me if you can barely shoot?”

And you’d laugh, you’d tease him right back - and nothing would change.

But you knew the truth - you’d been his anchor for the past decade.

And so your fingers traced idle patterns along his back, thoughtlessly, feeling the tension unwind from his muscles, bit by bit, until there was nothing left but the slow, steady rhythm of his breathing, the rise and fall of his chest against yours.

"You’re warm," he murmured after a while, rasping at the edges, making your heart ache in a way you didn’t want to think too hard about.

"You’re a bit heavy," you murmured, lips quirking slightly.

"Mhm." But he didn’t move, didn’t even try.

You smiled to yourself, dragging your fingers gently through his short hair, feeling the strands slip between them, coarse and slightly mussed.

"You don’t have to do that," he said softly against your skin.

"I know," you whispered, your hand still smoothing over his back, still holding him close, like you weren’t fooling either of you. "But I want to."

A pause. A deep breath.

Then-

"Thank you," he sighed, pressing a barely-there kiss to your shoulder, too tired to move, too tired to do anything but exist against you.

Just holding each other.

Just existing in the same space, in the same breath, with no expectations, no pressure, no future to consider beyond the feel of his heartbeat against yours.

"You know, there’s a philosophical dilemma called the Ship of Theseus-" you started, your voice a gentle hum in the quiet, earning a small huff from him in response.

"It questions whether an object remains fundamentally the same if all of its components are replaced over time. If every original part is gone, is it still the same thing? Because technically, it’s not… if identity is tied to its physical components and not something more abstract, like function or form."

You felt the slow, subtle curve of his lips against your shoulder.

"Which brings us to," you added, lips curving now too, " is this even the same bed if we just change the sheets? On some criteria, following this logic… it isn’t."

A beat.

No reply.

Just the steady, even sound of his breathing.

And - oh.

Oh.

He’d fallen asleep on you. Mid-philosophy. Unbelievable.

Great. So apparently, you were the boring one now. Perfect.

But before you could dwell too much on your bruised ego, he stirred, mumbling something barely coherent against your skin.

"Mmmh… we change the sheets… shower… come back here and-"

“’And’ what?” You sighed, your fingers still lazily running through his hair.  “Aaron, you sound like a low-battery version of yourself.” You huffed a laugh, shaking your head.

"M'practical," he slurred, as if that was a valid argument.

"You’re half-asleep."

"Still practical," he muttered.

"If you move, I’ll take care of the sheets. You go shower," you offered, voice quiet, fond.

He barely responded, just a low, unintelligible grumble against your collarbone before-

"Mm-mm… we don’t… shower together?”

You sighed. Of course that was where his sleepy brain went.

"Will we just shower?" you asked, knowing full well he wouldn’t have the energy for anything else.

A beat of silence.

Then, his voice barely above a whisper-

"What if we don’t?" he muttered, already half-asleep. "S’not against the rules…"

You laughed softly, shaking your head. "Aaron-"

"The ship… applies to your shower too…" his words trailed off lazily, completely nonsense, but you could hear the hint of a smile in them. "If you replace the soap… ‘s a different shower…"

Well, at least even in his on-the-brink-of-unconsciousness state, he was committed to following through with your logic...

"I’m saying this for your own good, Hotchner, because you really don’t have the energy for another round."

"I do," he grumbled, shifting, his arms tightening around you like you had to believe him.

"Sure," you murmured, kissing his forehead. "I’ll believe that when you make it to the bathroom without falling asleep in the doorway."

He made a low, unintelligible noise, like he wanted to argue, but his body had already betrayed him, too heavy, too settled against you.

"Go," you whispered, nudging him gently.

A deep sigh. Then-

"Fine."

He peeled himself off you with the effort of a man being dragged out of bed by force, his body moving like it was actively resisting him.

You bit back another laugh as he stumbled toward the bathroom, catching himself on the doorframe for just a second before disappearing inside.

And, of course-

When you finished your own shower and stepped quietly back into the bedroom, he was already collapsed against the bed, completely dead to the world.

Or so you thought.

Because the moment you eased yourself into bed, trying your best to be quiet, he shifted -

One sleepy, instinctive movement.

And suddenly, his arms were wrapping around you without thinking, his body curling into yours, his head tucking against the crook of your neck, snuggling.

Clingy.

"Annoying little spoon," you muttered.

You felt a muffled hum against your skin. "Next time… we switch."

You sighed, pressing a kiss to the top of his head, letting your fingers drift through his hair one more time. "Go to sleep, Aaron."

He sighed against your skin, warm and content, the weight of him only settling deeper into you.

"Mmm. ‘M already sleepin’…" he murmured, words barely holding together.

A beat.

Then, even softer-

"You should too… two hours ‘til work."

Oh, he just could not help himself - spent a full minute reminding you, over and over, that you just fucked your boss.

Damn it, Aaron. At least he could try to pretend...

"Actually, it’s one and a half." you bit back.

A pause.

Then-

"Shit."

Shit indeed.

Phi's Corner: BOTTOM HOTCH RIGHTS!!!!!!!! Also don't worry filthy goyals, you will be fed with some actual smut tomorrow. And probably some context too... maybe?!?! hope you enjoyed this anyways...

taglist: @beata1108 ; @c-losur3 ; @fangirlunknown ; @hayleym1234 ; @justyourusualash ; @khxna ; @kyrathekiller ; @lostinwonderland314 ; @mxblobby ; @oxforce ; @person-005 ; @prettybaby-reid ; @reidfile ; @royalestrellas ; @ssa-callahan ; @softestqueeen ; @theseerbetweenus ; @todorokishoe24

[baphometsss]

my childfreeness is projecting again so here, have some of my childfree headcanons

Solas is sterile because he's old as fuck and his balls just don't make baby batter like they used to (Trick lk confirmed this teehee 🩷)

Did they ever work though?? I mean he literally just manifested as a fully grown man like all the ancient elves did. Iirc that's why modern elves don't have DNA. We never seem to find out when they started having babies naturally so it's possible he was always sterile (kind of like in TRC when Ronan pulls people out of his dreams and they don't even have internal organs)

Taleani Lavellan has always liked spirits and animals more than people because they're kind of uncomfortable around kids and people in general so not breeding is a very natural choice for them

Not to say they don't care about them at all bc she had a duty as her clan's midwife and helped all the new mothers out etc but she just doesn't have a clue how to talk to kids and has no desire to learn

Solas also doesn't know wtf to do around kids and either ignores them or talks to them like they're fully grown adults while they stare back at him blankly

He also canonically doesn't like loud noises and bollocks Blackwall for training the kids right outside his room in DAI

"Not now kitten Daddy's lamenting his war crimes and I have to talk him down again"--Lavellan probably

Being childfree makes them focus on each other a whole lot more. Makes me think about that old photo of some soldier returning from war to meet his kid for the first time ever and just shoving it under his arm upside down so he can kiss his wife. That would be Solas as a dad

Seriously they would have 0 time for that kid while the other was present . Tough luck kiddo your mother's wearing a low cut top today and her titties look divine. Go play in the Fade and don't come back for at least a couple of hours

Straight up Gomez and Morticia Addams if the kids weren't there

Absolutely fucking awful parents . No time to be normal when there are blighted titans to deal with

Also they can explore the Fade much further and learn so much more without having to get a spirit babysitter in

They can nerd out over all the new discoveries they make and do all the dangerous experiments they like without having to worry about the safety of a person with no sense of danger

They can have impromptu shags on the kitchen table and not worry about getting walked in on and scarring that kid mentally with their outrageous sex life

When they're stressed from a hard day of titan soothing and they just want to relax and talk they don't have to fight the bedtime battle or deal with whatever stinky mess the kid made

Lavellan doesn't have to worry about losing her teeth, or becoming incontinent, or having any of the myriad health issues that arise from pregnancy and childbirth with limited resources to do anything about it

Solas can teach Lavellan how to take a big wolf form like him once he binds her to his life force so they can live forever and it won't endanger the kid

Taleani doesn't give a shit about having a legacy but who needs one anyway if you live forever?

No kids stuff littering the house means more space for books and dangerous artefacts and frescoes that won't get ruined by sticky hands

No arguments about how to best raise a child. Just arguments about philosophy and war crimes

No kids mean they can sleep all they want and have epic dream escapades without interruptions

Just. No kids in the Fade prison allowed. Or the Fade. Or within a 500 mile radius of Solas and Lavellan. Seriously who the hell thought that was a good idea in the first place

[limbus-limousine]

Made samjo animal a clean ref. I think his shirt looks so stupid ( ❤️ )

Extra doodle i think. I want to draw yisang too

[sundial-bee-scribbles]

"my education is my highest priority" everything returns to vocaloid

[daddyplasmius]

okay, so, I've collected a bunch of DP fandom stuff that I remember off the top of my head, specifically in chronological order & colour coded here in this post (fics/comics, tumblr posts, important imo) for no reason other than I saw a post asking for Phandom history & it triggered my biggest, most long-running hyperfixation & now I'm curious if anyone else remembers stuff.

this link is going to be the permanent version I will be updating, but I'm posting what I currently have (gonna go through my old laptop later for more) just to let people know. you can also find the link on my blog, but only on desktop. It isn't colour coded there, sorry.

please share more if you got anything else cuz I'm 100% sure I'm missing a lot of stuff & am too interested now. the biggest reason a lot of stuff isn't here is that I simply can't find it. second biggest reason is i forgor. things not included here aren't "unimportant," this is just the first stuff that comes to mind.

putting it under a cut 'cause it got kinda long

Mars by JadeRabbyt (2005)

Checkmate by pearl84 (2006)

Conversations of a Ghost Gabber by Cordria (2006)

The Foley Maneuver by bluemoonalto (2007)

One Thousand Years by Nylah (2008)

Lab Rat by AnneriaWings (2009)

Lost by Cordria (2010?) [1] [2] [3] [4] [5]

Phantom of Truth by Haiju (2011)

Ghost Deaths (2012)

Through Coals and Rain by Kakawot (2012)

Shadow of a Doubt by Haiju (2013)

Pink Pants (2013?)

Wes (2014) [original] [1] [2] [3] [4]

this "I'm Inevitable" gif (2014)

Space AU (2014)

Treading Water by The Full Catastrophe (2014)

Danny, you dead IDIOT!! comic (2014)

wash away the darkest days by anthrop (2014)

Reverse Trio (2014)

Inverse Trio (2014-2016) ALT

Halfas are "feral children" (2015)

Burn the Streets, Burn the Cars by anthrop (2015)

It's Not Gay if He's Dead by phantomrose96 (2015)

You Smell Like Death by starfleetrambo (2015)

Ghost Bird AU by @rest-in-peachs (2016?)

Things I Can(not) Do In Amity Park by RedHeadsRock1010 (2016)

KEtTLE by Cordria (2016)

Deeper, Darker by Silvermoonphantom (2016)

Danny Phantom Punches Butch Hartman In The Face by MistressVintage (2017)

Dannypocalypse (2017)

Ghost Train (2017?)

Ghost Physics by jayrockin (2017)

Ghost Infographics (2018)

The Taxonomy of Ghost Cores: An Observational Study (2018) Communicating with Ghosts Professionally: A Study (2018)

Species in Danny Phantom (2018?)

Diddles Piddles by diddly-darn-ghost (2018)

Broken Ectoplasm by ghostanimal (2019)

Ghost of Heroes by Enigmaris & ScarletNightFury (2019-2020)

do not stand at my grave and cry (i am not there, i did not die) by blueh (2020)

Undercover Phantom by artistfingers (2021)

Corruption is a Two Way Street by datawyrms (2021)

Things That Bleed by artistfingers, kkachis, & Perfectly_Inconspicuous (2022)

10,000 works on AO3 (2022)

Ghost Speak:

Danny's handwriting (2015?)

Cordria (2015)

Fiver-Rivers [1] [2] [3] (2019)

Rubber Chicken Sounds (2019)

[slingbats]

I am going to need that rewrite on my desk by tomorrow, 12 point font, times new roman, double spaced

noOOOOOO IT'S TOO MUCH WORK!!! I DON'T HAVE TIME AND I DON'T CARE ENOUGH........ girl help!

my rewrite where uhhhhhhhhhh. everything is the same except the writers actually care about female characters. a lot of decisions were made because of actresses no longer being available so plotlines like fish's are more or less the same but like, Ivy either gets to grow up normally or is never a child at the beginning to start with (you can go the weird plant body route if you have to keep her relatively younger since this is a prequel ig), and I don't... even know what to make of KK or Isabella, and Sofia should just be fucking. dont tell me there isn't a single female italian bodybuilder who can act, I don't believe you. let her be buff. let her take up space. let her be huge and wear vintage fashion.

also Oswald is fat and trans

[thethingything]

I find it kind of interesting that we have a couple of delusions (and the hallucinations that come with those) that just kind of involve gruesome stuff happening to us, especially because they weren't as gruesome at first but have gotten more so over time.

the hallucinations are all somatic ones (sensations instead of visuals or audio) but they're stuff like I guess what our brain thinks it would feel like if our organs were decomposing, or being eaten by maggots, or just stuff with a similar vibe to that?

I can put up with it for the most part, but like I did nearly throw up on the bed because of it earlier and I'd really like to not experience that again

[rotationalsymmetry]

I don’t know if this is what you are looking for exactly, but I enjoy writing for Postcards to Voters because they focus on non-presidential races. I am currently writing postcards against an anti-choice constitutional amendment proposition in Ohio.

I wish more people would do things like that, instead of making posts that guilt trip people for not being excited enough about voting for the Blue sexual harasser instead of the Red one.

Thank you for your highly sensible response.

I guess there's a thing where "just because someone takes 15 seconds to shoot their mouth off online about something that's annoying them doesn't mean they have the time/energy to do anything actually constructive, even more so for the people who took .5 seconds to hit reblog now on someone else's shooting their mouth of post" but I think it would be strictly better for people to spend that .5 second exerting a smidgen of self control and going "either it's actual GOTV or it's not, and if it's not I'm going to not reblog it."

And as the election is over a year away...I don't think "vote blue no matter who" is actually a Get Out The Vote action at this point in time. It's annoying enough when people do it in person but at least then there's occasionally some chance of having a reasonable discussion about it, but on social media between people who don't really know each other? Ha snowball's chance in hell.

(I haven't done Postcards to Voters the last couple years, but I did around 2019-2020 or so and they are fairly low barrier to entry as long as you have stamp money, super introvert friendly, you can be as creative or non-creative as you want to be, and as you can do it from your home on your own schedule pretty darn spoonie friendly as well. As well as covid-safe. And yes, there's a big focus on local/state campaigns, which warms my participatory democracy loving little heart.) (ughh sounds like an important campaign maybe I should pick this thing up again.)

[salsflore]

ummmm

[dexaroth]

i cant believe the day but i finally got a full tower pc. bought it already built and at a considerable discount of some 320 dollars off. its fucking huge and theres so many things going on inside... i was initially planning on choosing the parts myself but finding the graphics card was so hard and everyone else convinced me to just buy it built and honestly? good. id probably have fucked this up so badly by myself

i cant use it yet bc i took too long to buy the monitor that was also on sale and now its regular price -_- tho i managed to find a discount used one for now. well see how that goes since ill get it tomorrow. i tested it on out living room tv and it had some kaspersky thingy open and like thats so cute. i hope they left some treats in the browsing history for me to search through before i wipe it clean

[petorahs]

not gonna lie my characterization and rationalization of akira's character has been easier to do once i found out he shares the same personality type as me.

like sure it's subjective or whatever but as one myself, ENFP akira makes a lot of his actions make so much more sense. same with ENTP goro. god it makes everything so much easier with arguably complex characters like them.

[icharchivist]

I haven't played Dragon Age before btw but I think Veilguard looks really interesting. I hope I can get into it despite being a complete beginner

oh damn

I hope you can too.... from experiences while th DA games clearly follow heavily on one another, the fact each entry has it's own protagonist, they usually use it to really go "we can't assume you know what happened previously so here's a run down". I've seen people who never played the previous games get fully entranced by da2 or dai, and i have no doubt da4 will do the same on that regard, so if this is the way you want to go about it, i'm sure the game will be accomodating. and the game does look a hell of fun.

Personally i think it's a terrible idea but i'm also a person who has been living those past 8 years on the incredible high DAI's ending left me on with its major plot twist that literally changed everything, all while actually having been set up for all 3 games that going back to any of the prev game is a treat in term of treasure hunts of how "everything was there all along, we just didn't know any better" and genuinely i'd be saddened by people being introduced by the twist /first/ when the games have set this beauty up in 3 games.

The current promo cycle revealed also very early 20mins of the gameplay (not the very beginning and it skips around on a few scenes, but it's basically huge part of the prologue), and they will throw you into it right away (and there's no way it won't spoil the prev game, like, at all lmao), which is... so exciting as a long time fan, but is going to be a lot of biased exposition dump too.

("biased" bc the person who's going to fill you in on the situation has a history with the character it's about as well and the chara in question is so incredibly built through all of DAI and is such a nuanced, interresting character, that describing him in a few sentences is. very likely to get you the wrong idea about him. *mumbles* not like playing DAI has ever stopped people from being wrong about him, but,)

(Because yeah also 2 major characters/companions from da2 and DAI have been confirmed to coming back, as well as one of the most detailled secondary characters from DAI becoming a companion in DA4, so there's a lot of history there. The concept arts also teased a lot of returns from possible DAO, DA2 and DAI characters as well.

Not to mention they also confirmed the protagonist of DAI is coming back for a considerable portion of the game to "finish their story with [one of the major character of DAI (and possible romance option) that is going to be super important in DA4]" and has been mentioned to have a significant part to play/that sometimes you'll have to play them.)

But hey i'm talking from the place of someone who spent the last 8 years replaying the three games so often i have 700 hours on the first game, 600 on the second, and nearly 1500 hours on the third one (i've been replaying it those past few weeks, i'm 130 hours in and i am still "early" ish in the plot lmaoooo, and i already planned to replay the game when i'm done.), and have diven into everything the saga has to offer, from books to comics to movies to TV shows and webseries.

(speaking of TV shows, Dragon Age: Absolution on netflix was released a couple years ago and it was a great entry. It also has spoilers from DAI but if you decide to still going on with playing DA4 despite that, you can also watch DA:A to see if the universe compeels you to get deeper into. The show is short, 6/8 episodes? And the full cast (aside from Fairbanks being a big npc on dai and the cliffhanger refering to prev games as well) are new characters so the story can work as a stand alone thanks to that. and it's 2D animated, it's lovely)

point is i'm fully biased and the one thing that thrills me more than anything else about the game is really just rereading the pages of lore and seeing how they connect, so while to me the twist is 100% worth discovering in full, it's also just /my/ concern personally.

(and i can't even begin to touch on the specific high i've been on for the past month by the fact the trailer + gameplay showcase already went on to confirm theories i've been having for /years/ and there's a specific type of high that comes from "oh my god i picked that up!!! i did!!!! holy shit!!!" that would be lost on a new player who's introduced to it right away)

but it's MY way of experiencing DA and i think if you want to go into da4 first, esp since the other games are intimidating in some way (and god knows i've tried to drag ppl into DA and they all ditched early in DAO because DAO has some slow gameplay and some slow built before really hooking you in, so while i can't relate i know it's a deal breaker for some people when i say "no please start from the start"), i'm sure you'll still be on for a treat and everything.

If you end up getting into da4 without playing the other games, if you have questions my inbox is opened. I tend not to talk about DA much on main bc i can't stand the fandom esp on here and don't want them to find me at all (which is why every single of my completely unhinged rantings about DA have been confined to private conversation with friends and spamming my private twitter account i mostly have my IRLs on), but at least in term of lore clarification i should be able to help o7

anyway sorry lots of thoughts about it but i've been thinking about it a lot lately especially as i'm replaying DAI and i'm constantly crying just playing exploration phases because i'm just so enamoured with the way the game saga grew and rewards you for caring yaknow? and how as happy as i am people are interested in DA4 because i do want the game to do well and personally i feel in every fiber of my body that it's going to be a blast, but it saddens me to think the whole saga and the way the twists and turns affected one another will not be experienced fully by newcomers.

but again. ranting of a raving fan, and the game itself will surely ease you through it, so don't mind me too much about it.

I genuinely can't wait, my brain has been only DA for the past month.

happy it got your interest though <333

[thewhizzyhead]

anyways on this episode of izzy's gender fuckery crisis we have this update: oki so like being referred to as a girl and solely a girl and being forced to be feminine because "syempre babae ka kailangan ka maging babae (ofc since u r a girl u have to act like one)" irritates me to death. Other modes of feminine presentation aka skirts and dresses and anything that makes me appear too much of a feminine person also legitimately SCARES ME TO DEATH especially when I'm forced to do so.

however, that being said, upon further introspection on the chick i once really really liked that is now presenting more masc than ever, I have realised that I am not too comfy presenting myself as too masc either. like, I don't want people to look at me and perceive me as a duuuuude , but I don't want to present myself too femininely either as it legitimately makes my skin crawl. like, I find myself comfy in men's clothes and styling but if I imagine/see myself presenting way too much like a man, then I feel very weird and not in a good way - which is weird kasi I thought I would like being more masc presenting given my absolute panic attack-inducing aversion to appearing typically feminine. So anyways the gist is androgyny is my best friend and I would rather be perceived as a blob than as a specific gender

[zincbot]

the amount of call of duty i have consumed in the last week....

[blkkizzat]

YAKUZA!TOJI X MILF!READER —aka toji on some joe goldberg bullshit

⟢ rating: mdni.18+ each episode will have its own ratings but general warnings— lactation kink, face riding, drugs (weed, alcohol, cigs), infidelity, yuji is sukuna x reader child, size-kink, milf kink, breeding kink, voyeurism, masturbation, dubcon/noncon, squirting, pussy talk, biting, creampies, obsessive tendencies, heavy manipulation, yandere, Toji in daddy and dad mode. this will be fem black reader coded as reader is foreigner and uses some aave but no other descriptors. ⟢ total run time: 𝟏𝟑.𝟒𝐤 of ? ⟢ opening theme: Rich Baby Daddy - Drake

⟢ subscriber access: tag request in comments, previous tag list from the teasers are already accounted for. ⟢ director's note: this fic is to celebrate my year of having this account! literally this is the first fic i thought of and wanted to write and have been working on it since nov'23. so full circle moment fr! i hope you enjoy it. ⟢ executive producers: special thanks to @littlemochabunni, @ryomens-vixen, @yung-notorious and @buttercupblu143 for helping me beta this and bounce off ideas and listen to me be crazy for the past 9-10 months about this fic 🥹.

꒰ disclaimer: this is a plot-driven eventual smut fic and is told mostly in Toji POV through flashbacks until the end of episode 3. so if you stick with me i promise you a freak nasty pay off in episode 4 💕🤭. the build up makes it 100x better, trust~ ꒱

🎬 𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐃𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓—

🎞️ 𝐒𝟏 𝐄𝟏: ❝ I STILL GOT SOME LOVE DEEP INSIDE OF ME, PLEASE DRAG IT OUT OF ME ❞

⟢ Reflecting on the last 3 months of meeting you during a time of organizational unrest, how did casual desire turn into a sinister obsession for a deadly yakuza assassin like Toji Fushiguro? It's your fault though, as a new resident of the yakuza luxury high-rise, The Nursery—shoulda known better than to have smiled that brightly at a single-dad widower, mamas. episode run time: 𝟒.𝟕𝐤

🎞 ️𝐒𝟏 𝐄𝟐: ❝ POPPIN' MY SHIT COME WITH CONSEQUENCES, POST NUT CLARITY I CAME TO MY SENSES ❞

⟢ With tensions in the organization at an all-time high and a traitor still on the loose, everyone is on edge. Fortunately, Toji has been watching over you for weeks, especially since Sukuna has been even less attentive. But when Toji notices you making a new friend—a potential lifeline apart from him—can he keep his jealousy in check? Just how far will Toji go to have you all to himself? episode run time: 𝟖.𝟕𝐤

🎞 ️𝐒𝟏 𝐄𝟑: ❝ WE FROM TWO DIFFERENT WORLDS BUT IT'S A MATCH TO ME ❞

⟢ Forced to make difficult choices this past week, it's becoming increasingly clear Sukuna's loyalties lie more with the organization than you. But of course, as chance would have it, Toji is there to console you when you have no one. Who needs Sukuna, friends, or anyone else when you have Toji? Toji can see the cracks forming in your resolve—but when he pushes, will you still be able to resist his charms? Or will you crumble in his hands? episode run time: ⩇⩇:⩇⩇

🎞️ 𝐒𝟏 𝐄𝟒: ❝ JUST SAY GOODBYE TO HIM, THEN TAKE THE RIDE TO ME, RIDE TO ME ❞

⟢ Circumstances align and you're practically served on a platter to Toji, he takes this as the prime opportunity to finally claim you as his. Toji deserves you. You know this though, so he won't have to do a thing—you'll come to him all on your own like a good sexy lil' milf won't you, mamas? Nevermind about your world falling apart around you—Toji has already made all of the arrangements to see that you and Yuji are taken care of. episode run time: ⩇⩇:⩇⩇

🎬 𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐔𝐒 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓—

🎞️ 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐒𝟎 𝐄𝟏: ❝ WANNA STICK AROUND FOR THE RIDE? BABY HOLD ON TIGHT ❞ AKA "DON'T DROP THE PANCAKES"

Prequel/Standalone. Yakuza!Sukuna x Exchange Student!Reader. ⟢ Moving to a foreign country for school ain't all sunshine and rainbows—especially when your student status prevents you from acquiring legitimate employment. Good thing a friend of a friend has a connect for under-the-table work. Although, being a topless maid for a ruthless yakuza leader wasn't on your bingo card for your new life abroad—especially when you end up pregnant. episode run time: ⩇⩇:⩇⩇

©𝐛𝐥𝐤𝐤𝐢𝐳𝐳𝐚𝐭 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒. 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐨𝐫 𝐠𝐟𝐱, 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞.