#i started compiling this while working because this job is exhausting me

[mythvoiced]

-. Ji Hyun - Celebrity verse (Under Construction)

Manifesting Ferre and Alex's bullet points power abilities, I'm compiling this little post with things about Hyun for this verse before polishing it and eventually adding it to their about (and bothering the SHIT out of Lynnie's characters, I MEAN-); I just need to put the brainstorm brain bubbles somewhere, YAOH-

Hyun is human for this verse, so all details of her main verse pertaining to her gumiho nature are understandably removed (hehehe, past lives though?).

She's physically perma-fem presenting, but she/they genderfluid (closeted, I mean, consider the industry, leans slightly more into 'she') Pansexual, but still very much single-ship with @theimpalpable 's Yeong Boram, that's just... the way it be, I love love. (Which, by the way, means her boyfriend is a CEO~ PLEASE read up on Boram, I love him so mUCH)

Hyun is a 30-year-old super-model of sorts in the South Korean modelling industry, she's made her debut some-time in her late teens and has climbed the ranks of relevance, desirability and brand-deals ever since. Even at an 'old age' such as hers, her youthful appearance (and expertise within the industry) still garners her love and admiration from especially the impressionable female audience following her on social media, and agencies who like working with someone who knows what they're doing.

A few years prior to the 'present', Hyun has publicly announced her interest in venturing deeper into the entertainment industry and stepping out slightly from the beauty industry: not a very welcomed move. Models transition into acting relatively often enough, and actors are almost always simultaneously models, brand deals, ads, sponsorships, not to mention you can only truly make it into both industries if you flex your pretty privilege. Which is why it's so much easier for the populi to forgive a bad actor for being bad if they're at least pretty. Not to delve into how race plays a part in determination of beauty standards, Hyun was set out to make the transition just as easily... so what happened?

If there's one thing people hate about women and fem presenting people... is that they're women and fem presenting people. A woman is adored... until she does something someone else considers 'stepping out of line' and BOOM, dead in a ditch. Hyun does like stepping out of line: prioritizing brands and agencies she actually likes, refusing to work with people she doesn't, caring more about the crew than whatever fashion designer shows their face around, openly expressing her general distaste for the fashion elite, honestly... a bitch. At least according to the people, once news of her 'ungrateful, unprofessional, diva behaviour' started flooding the internet.

A scandal ruined her chances of an easy transition from modelling into acting.

You might argue, WAHOO, feminism~ Hyun is a hero~ No. A lot of people get hurt all the time, a lot of women and fem presenting folks have fought and lost these battles. Hyun never even took political stances, pretended nothing bad ever happened to the world in her bubble of notoriety and fame. The world has never helped her, what does she care about helping the world. But now that bubble burst. And while Hyun doesn't crumble with the lack of it, it sure as fuck pissed her off.

Problem is... she's just a model. Most people in the regular world know her as mannequin of expensive things, she doesn't manage her accounts, she doesn't talk to people, she barely even shows up to places: her beauty is the primary reason for her success, not her PR-ing. So... how to move on from here?

The scandal: I have NO IDEA yet, but I do believe she intended moving into acting for very specific reasons, either to get back at someone or destroy something from within, Hyun may not act like it in any verse but they do actually absolutely hold grudges, one of the things most debilitating to their mental health at times; so whatever happened, was orchestrated specifically to ruin her reputation.

Someone did something they shouldn't have, something he shouldn't have, a man most likely, maybe some kind of harassment, maybe something along the lines of Pro.misi.ng Y.oung W.oma.n but kept hush hush, maybe it wasn't anything that serious but definitely a personal attack against Hyun and Hyun simply snapped, either way... she's hear to make a few pigs squeal in pain.

Hyun also doesn't partake in 'scenes' and 'public scandals'; if she's attending some big social event (against all odds) and you start shit with her, throw a drink at her, she'll laugh in your face (if she can be bothered) and bill you the damages. Head held high, continues sipping on her drink. There's a good chance she just goes get changed and comes back. She is very condescending to people who try to start drama. I'm saying shit like 'oh sweetie, I don't play with kindergarteners' or instantly cutting all ties if she sniffs that kind of behaviour. If befriending Hyun elevates your status, best believe she does not care and will get rid of you if you start shit, good luck keeping that status. This also works against her, if you play your cards right, making her look even more like a diva.

Her way of putting you in your place is not even deeming you worth the trouble.

Now, the question: is this attitude always possible in these industries? Nay~ There are always consequences, there'll always be people stronger than you, with better ties. That's the fun of the plot, though~

She works in the fashion industry specifically and has had some minor cameos in shows as herself mostly.

I tried to sweet-talk around her demeanour but she really simply is a diva isn't she lmao at least she doesn't lose her shit as quickly as Some Celebrity Characters

YOU KNOW WHAT SHE'D DO? She'd help Kang Yohan. I don't know why I thought of that but she'd fuck around and find out and help TDJ's Kang Yohan if he needed a model's services, she'd be down to mess around there.

She's... odd, when it comes to how willing she's to fight for human rights, things she actually does secretly care about, feminism and classism and queer issues and systematic issues, but... she never EVER uses what platform she has. Ever.

Her Instagram handle is @/rubonyhyun which stands for Ruby Onyx Hyun (reference to a pet name Boram has for them in canon verse, I will name-drop Boram as OFTEN as possible) and her PR team runs it... most of the time, at least. She refuses to get a TikTok (she has one, but it's private for mindless scrolling), and her KakaoTalk is obviously private.

[gguk-n]

Chapter 2- Secret and Surprises

Unravelling Max's Mystery (Max Verstappen x Online Friend!Reader)

Series Masterlist

Summary- Y/N has lost out on a few of her publication dreams while juggling 2 jobs. Her crush on Max has only led to failed relationships. She dreams of one day meeting and being with Max. But Max has a girlfriend and a career she knows nothing about.

{Reader's POV}

I finally moved out from my parents's place a few years back when I decided to pursue Literature. It was a very difficult time for me but I had Max by my side. Trying to convince my parents that I want to understand the art of writing and then doing what I love was very challenging. I moved to a another city with my dream university. Even today, they detest my choices and hope that I would take my life seriously. It has been difficult but seeing them once or twice a year only has made it easy.

Max and I are still very close. I still have a crush on him; it got worse after we started video calling each other after I moved out. I wasn't about to get 'caught' talking to a guy under my parents's roof. The consequences would be disastrous. Max is still the same, slightly older, has a stubble. I still don't know his full name, but he doesn't know mine either and I don't mind keeping it that way.

Having Max as a friend has hindered quite a few relationships either because they weren't him or they were jealous of some guy I would drop everything for. He still has a horrible sleep schedule, I've scolded him a couple time, but he doesn't listen. However, he has the cutest cats, Jimmy and Sassy. They love their dad a lot; I really wanna get cats too but I'm barely keeping myself alive, I'll kill my pets.

My job pays shitty, I'm a primary school teacher and freelance editor. I had hoped that being an editor for bigger and well established authors would help me improve my writing and get my book or poems published; has yet to happen. All my clients are kind people and very understanding of my predicament. Alas, this doesn't leave me much time in the day; teaching, lesson planning, correcting papers, editing other's stories or poems, talking to Max. Max has gotten pretty good about not disappearing like he did a couple years back. I still have no clue what he does, not like he knows what I do specifically. But he said he does something along the lines of cars; I knew he loved cars. I hope his job pays him better since he moved a few years back when I was still at home. His place looks lavish, either he gets paid well or it's from the company. I will never know. He's seen the shit hole I live in, but has yet to comment on my poor living conditions. I have too much of an ego to let my parents know I am struggling; I would rather starve then let them know. All I would hear is that they were right and I should mend my mistakes. What mistakes should I mend when these were my choices and I'm happy with them.

I've compiled 20 of my poems and even wrote a book, I've sent it to so many publishers in hopes that it will get picked up. This is like my fourth or fifth time. I mean, I haven't exhausted my resources and till the day all the publications shut down I'm not giving up. I've been rejected quite a few time, sometimes at the initial stages or after first reading and preview. They make publishing a book look so easy on shows and movies. I wish it was that easy in real life, but it isn't.

Being on spring break makes it so much easier for a while, till I have to return. However, I can focus on my book and the editing gig since it pays better than teaching. There's this guy I'm editing for currently and he's so annoying. I want to stop working with him except he pays the best. The life of being chained to capitalism. I was fixing up his errors when my phone rang, it was Max on video call. We spoke on video call a lot after I moved out. He's attractive, blue eyes; truly all my weaknesses combined. When the screen popped up, he almost fell out of frame when Jimmy jumped on the phone. Max placed Jimmy on the floor. Max- Hey, Schat. Sorry about Jimmy. Y/N- Hi, honestly I would rather talk to Jimmy. (I laughed) Max- Sometimes, I think you are friends with me for my cats. Y/N- Yeah, I would've stopped being your friend had you not adopted them. Max- Wow! I'm hurt. (He placed his hand on his chest) Y/N- Stop being dramatic. I'm just living vicariously through you. Max- You should get cats too, you seem lonely. Y/N- I wish, I'll end up killing them since I'm so busy. Max- hmmm, I hope you find a companion. I did find a companion Max, every time I get a boyfriend, we break up directly or indirectly because of you I thought. Max- What happened to Finn? I thought he was smitten for you. Y/N- Yeah, things didn't work out. We both were too busy with work. In actuality, when we finally got close after months of talking and the first time we had sex I moaned out Max's name. He left immediately. I wasn't about to tell Max this. It would ruin everything, I believe. Max- What were you doing? Y/N- Editing that ass's book. Max- You know maybe, you should leave some blunders, not the most obvious ones but one's that would make him look stupid. Y/N- I wish Max, he pays me a shit ton to do my job. (I laughed bitterly) It's fine, honestly. I'll be done soon and I'll never have to see him again, hopefully, fingers crossed. Max- I hope so too. Y/N- Max, you should date someone. Instead of worrying about me. I've never seen you date anyone in all the years I've known you. Max- ahh, yeah, I'm too busy with work to do that. Y/N- If we lived closer, I would've set you up with someone. That someone being me, but he doesn't need to know that. We haven't even met yet; we never even spoke about meeting each other honestly. Max scratched his neck, shaking his head. Max- I'm good, schat. You should find someone, maybe you'll stop being cranky. Y/N- I'm not cranky, at least not with you. Max let out a deep laugh. Max- Well, I've got to go. My sister's visiting. I'll talk to you later. Y/N- Sure, say hi to Victoria for me. Bye Maxie!! Max- bye Y/N.

Talking to Max always brightened up my mood. But since, Victoria's visiting, he won't be available to talk as often. That means I'm gonna have to spend all my free time scrolling through Instagram. It's all fun and games until I'm on hour 6 of some random video on Youtube. I spent the next couple of days cooped up in my home, just to enjoy waking up late. There were still a few months still summer break and I intended on enjoying them to the fullest.

School started way to soon for my liking. Max would send pictures of Jimmy and Sassy to cheer me up. It did cheer me up. Max travelled a lot for work, I've seen quite a few hotels and I think they are 5 star hotels. So, his work place is rich rich. I wish Max would hire me, I lamented, maybe then we might meet. I've thought about meeting him but he never showed any inkling that he would like to meet me. I wasn't about to seem desperate; I would probably jump him if I did. I mean he is single, so it's fine.

When the school started after spring break, I got handed a new author to help edit her work. I spoke to her and she was very nice to talk to. The book she was writing was based off a sport. On further questioning, she told me it was Formula One. I had heard about it when my city hosted a Formula E race a couple years ago. I don't remember much because I'm not sure if they held it again but what I can tell you is that traffic got so bad, I hated leaving the house for a couple of days. I don't really see the appeal of watching people go around in a circle in fast cars. I think I would panic if I found out how fast they drove. The author asked me to do some research on the topic. I was a good student and I wanted to be of help, so I decided to spend the next couple of hours going through Formula One and their rules.

There's something I have to clear up, I have a type of blindness bias. If I'm not interested in a topic, it would be like I live under a rock. Nothing could phase me and I couldn't care less. That's how I ended up on the wikipedia article of Lewis Hamilton, Micheal Schumacher and then current champion Max Verstappen. Schumacher and Hamilton were very good, reading about them made me awe struck. What really shocked me was a guy named Max Verstappen, who looked awfully like Maxie. I've stared at Maxie more than I would like to admit, so I'm sure they look alike. As I went through the article, my heart seemed to beat harder; not sure why. I felt like this was my Maxie however I believed that Maxie would've told me if he was a Formula One driver. I had to lay my doubts to rest, so I ended up on Youtube with the search bar reading Max Verstappen. My doubts laid to rest in a place I didn't want them to; Maxie was Max Verstappen. I could recognise that voice anywhere. He talked a lot, I could recognise his voice in a crowd of people or in my sleep. All my suspicions were cemented when I saw a picture of 2 cats who looked like Jimmy and Sassy and were called by the same name. My heart was ready to jump out of my chest. Max had lied to me; but was it really lying when I never prodded him for answers. Worst of all, he had a girlfriend and a kid. That's when I felt I was lied too. How could he not tell me? I would've genuinely been happy for him. We would've celebrated his 2 championship wins. My throat felt dry and my eyes wet.

Life wasn't fair when I've been trying to get my book published while my best friend, don't even know if I can call him that, is a 2 time world driver champion. He never even told me, while he has been in Formula One almost all our friendship and karting all his life. I felt the ground slipping from under my feet. Was I that unimportant to not share such a crucial part of his life or huge accomplishment in his life? Was I even his friend? All these questions raced through my mind, while tears streamed down my cheeks. The pillow wet from my tears when my phone rang. It was Max on the other line, and for the first time in 10 years I did not answer his calls even though it rang for a 4-5 times. He finally stopped after sending me a couple of worried messages; asking how I was and where I was?

[Max was freaking out. Y/N never missed his calls, no matter the time or place. Worst of all, she didn't even reply to his messages; not after 5 minutes or 10 minutes or 20 minutes. Max didn't know where she lived, he didn't know who to call, or who to ask about her. His hair was a mess, he was pacing the room so much so, that his girlfriend’s daughter asked him what happened. He couldn't tell them, no one knew of this secret internet friend he had. Who was he supposed to contact to file a missing person's report? He tried to calm himself down and think happy thoughts but all his thoughts were Y/N]

[garbinge]

Flower Shop

Richie Jerimovich x F!Reader

For @the-slumberparty's Bingo Challenge! Bingo square: Flower Shop A/N: This is NOT the same reader as my other Richie fics. I've decided to compile those fics into their own multichap because I've gotten some Bear fic ideas outside of that little universe I've created. ALSO, huge shout out to @kind-wolf for this idea!!!! Seriously sparked so much inspiration, thank you x 10000000 I hope you enjoy :) Warnings: Cursing, arguing, light angst, mentions of harassment, and someone being drunk and disorderly.

The Bear Taglist: @drabbles-mc @justreblogginfics @quixscentsposts @dadbodfanatic-x @adorable-punk-superheroes @lodeddiperrodrick @isalver @captainweasleybarnes @musicwithteeth

“We’re across from that stupid fuckin’ flower shop.” Richie spoke into the phone. “Yes, that one.” He was staring out the window at the shop he mentioned, annoyance growing as he stared out. “No, I don’t know if they’ve got white roses, look, will you just tell me when my meat delivery is gonna be here, I gotta fuckin’ feed people.” Richie had slammed his hand down on the table like the person on the other line could see his frustration. Before the conversion continued, Richie saw movement where he was staring across the street. “I gotta go, just deliver the fuckin’ meat.”

As you stepped outside of your flower shop, dragging to large potted plants to sit alongside the front door, you heard the familiar bell of the shop across the street. At first the noise went unnoticed, the first few weeks it was just part of the Chicago hustle and bustle but two months in, you began to notice it because it usually meant that someone was about to start yelling at you. 

“I thought I told you that putting that shit out on the street causes distractions and traffic!” The man yelled out to you. 

Right on schedule was the thought in your head as you huffed and stood up to yell back. 

“I thought I told you to mind your fuckin’ business, beef boy!” You usually had discourse like this on a daily basis but between the early start you had and the exhaustion from pulling these plants out of the back storage room, you were a little more rowdy today. 

“Beef boy?” He scoffed. “Stop blocking the sidewalk, you–you–flower fuck!” He tripped up on what to call you there and it made you smile. 

“T-t-t- today, Junior!” You mocked him back. 

“Are you making fun of me by quoting Billy fucking Madison?!” 

The cars of traffic were moving on the roads in front of you, the audacity they had interrupting your heated discussion. But nonetheless, you weren’t going to let it stop you from going back and forth. 

“Why are you such a fuckin’ jagoff?!” You called back out at him. 

The comment made the slightest smirk grow on Richie’s face, you were too far to notice it which he was grateful for but hearing the word that he called people so often out of someone else’s mouth was amusing. 

“I don’t know, why don’t you look in the mirror and tell me why you’re such a jagoff!” He lifted his hand up and pointed his finger, throwing it at you as he spoke. 

“Wow.” You started clapping. “Great comeback, what are we 10? I know you are what am I?” You called out in a immature tone. 

“I’m gonna go back inside and work because some of us put our blood sweat and tears into our jobs, while other people sit up on their bouqueted pedestals and fuck over us hard workers!” 

You had no idea what he was saying, what he meant by it but that was also a pretty normal and everyday occurrence so you didn’t think twice about it and just yelled out before going back inside your flower shop. 

“Go fuck yourself, beef boy!” 

These things happened pretty often, not everyday but often enough that your comebacks got funnier, they got more detailed, more pointed, on both sides. When you went out to water the plants on display in front of the store and Richie went out for a smoke break you yelled across at each other. When you both were at the window looking at the rain clouds forming or the rain drops falling, you’d throw middle fingers up and mouth profanities at each other. When you’d stay late and look across the street to see Richie there at the restaurant late, you’d stare at each other, give mean looks and turn the lights off to work in the back offices at your shop. 

It was strangely something enjoyable, for both of you. It was a way to get out so much frustration and build up tension that had accrued in the days. It wasn’t healthy, and you knew that but you weren’t exactly looking for the textbook solution to your problems these days. 

As you stood outside, past closing time, sweeping up the dead leaves and fallen petals from the day, Richie was out for what was likely his 5th smoke break of the day. It was late, and you both tended to keep it down when curfew hours hit, out of respect for the block, not each other. As you moved along your storefront, you heard a voice that wasn’t familiar. 

“Yo, can I please get some flowers, my girl’s mad at me and I need something to bring home.” The voice was slurred, the person sounded drunk. You looked up and saw the person who had stumbled up to your store. 

“I can give you a mix of stuff for $10.” You weren’t in the mood to cause problems so you thought this would be a good compromise. A bouquet like that would normally be double so you thought this was the perfect meet in the middle deal. 

“Nah, I don’t got any money. Just let me go in and grab something small, no biggie, alright?” The man started to push by and tried to get in the door that you had already locked.  

“We’re closed, I can go grab something for you, and you can give me $10 for it, that’s it.” Your voice was firm as you stepped in front of the door. 

“C’mon!” The guy whined. 

“Alright, new plan. No flowers, and you get the fuck out of here.” There was no whine in your tone, you weren’t playing games which is why the push you gave the guy was more aggressive than your initial block. 

While the push worked to get him away from the door, the man didn’t leave. 

“Pretty sure she told you to get the fuck out of here.”

That sentence was said by someone else and it made both you and the man turn to look at where the hardened voice was coming from. You saw the man from across the street, now much closer on your side of the street, on your sidewalk. He looked different closer up, you could see the features of his face better, despite it being late at night you could see things that the space hid. The bags under his eyes, the roughness of his stubbled beard, the wrinkles in his forehead and eyes, he was worn, he had been through a lot, you could tell. You also could tell that he had been used to these type of run ins, or you so assumed as you looked at the gun in his hand that wasn’t being threatened yet, but was ready in the case it needed to be.   

“But my flowers…” The man stumbled slightly as he spoke. 

“They’re her flowers, not yours. Go home, get the fuck out of here.” Richie stepped forward, using his body to show force and slightly raising the gun to let the man know it was there. 

And it worked. The man left, drunk and defeated, leaving you and Richie on the sidewalk in front of your shop. 

“I had it handled.” The glare you had was still on the man walking away and when he got out of your view, you turned to the person still next to you. 

“Most people just say thank you.” He scoffed as he put the gun in his back waistband. 

“You have a history of showing up armed and ready to shoot someone?” You raised your eyebrow and leaned on the broom handle. 

“No, I just–do you have to argue everything?” He was frustrated. 

“I just assumed that was our thing.” Your shoulders shrugged so nonchalantly. 

Richie let out a laugh and shook his head as he took a step off the curb and was now standing on the asphalt of the street, slowly making his way back over to the restaurant. “I’d buy yourself a piece, get yourself familiar with it, this block can get hot sometimes.” 

“Who says I’m not familiar?” You called out to him with a smirk on your face. 

“My mistake.” He lifted his hands up in surrender with a similar smirk to your own before turning around fully to step onto his side of the street. 

“Hey, beef boy!” The humor in your voice was being held back by a thin thread as you smiled through your words. 

Richie turned around, his hand on the door handle ready to enter back into the restaurant as he stared at you. For the first time ever, you weren’t going to yell profanities at eachother, give rude gestures or annoyed looked. For the first time you smiled at him and truly had no sarcastic attitude in what the next two words out of your mouth would be. 

“Thank you!”

[reading-stains]

hello!!do you have skk fic recs?

Introduction

Yes, I do. I’m sorry it took so long to give you a reply, but I wanted to give you a comprehensive list and was busy preparing for my last day in high school, and then I got a job 12 hours later, and then I traveled to New York for a couple Broadway workshops. But now that today’s been dealt with, I have my wonderful notes.

So here’s the gist of it. I have three focused reviews on some of my favorite Soukoku fanfics ever, but I felt like copy pasting it would kill you a little, so I’m going to use a simplified format that echoes what I once did for two other ships years ago.

Canon Space

Here I compiled four fanfics that take place in main canon spaces (so not BEAST). While I encourage you to read, I also ask you to make sure to check the tags of the actual work for any possible triggers. Furthermore, the styles these characters are written in, and the way they are portrayed, vary from writer to writer. Some are more “canon” based than others, but they all carry the essence of this ship. And if they don’t in your eyes, then you’re just reading a great novel with Japanese names. 

i'll bleed out for you by StarshipDancer

Synopsis: After getting impaled together, basically dying in each others arms in a joint mission with the Port Mafia and the ADA, and getting brought back by Yosano, this shattered Soukoku is asked to go into hiding. In this time, things seem to start healing. But the impending call asking them to return to their positions in their groups haunts them, and when it arrives, things fall apart all over again.  

Tags: Caretaking, PTSD, A Singularly Important Rat Is Present, Canon-Divergence, Post-Port Mafia Days, Love Confession, Pet Co-Parenting, Angst

Word Count: 71,848

Notes: Rattata is the best character. I remember reading this fanfic between the airport and my flight, and when chapter four ended, I had to board the plane, with my shaking hands and quiet sniffles. Please read this one.

If you kiss me (I might let it happen) by encsiimomo

Synopsis: Chuuya’s done watching this. Dazai’s literally dating a new girl every week. He dates based on who asks him first that Monday, he breaks up with them that Sunday, and it goes on again. And again. And again. It’s driving him insane. So he does the only thing he can think of to earn himself a break – He asks to date him for that week’s cycle. Dazai’s surprised. Chuuya’s exhausted. But once the sparks fly, they’re unable to be put out. 

Tags: Canon Divergent & Kind of Canon Compliant, Dark Era, Smut, Mutual Pining, Light Angst, Silly

Word Count: 52,127

Notes: I loved this fic because it encapsulates a pretty carefree tone that isn’t associated with Dark Era. It’s pretty smutty, but it’s really lovely to read them. It’s not a reflection of what these characters canonically represent. And while it definitely stays as a loose interpretation of these characters, it keeps the essence that makes this ship so sharp and wonderful. I loved Oda’s appearances too, they made me laugh.

A Doll's House by Abyss_In_WonderLand_likes_sexy_cannibals

Summary: After coming to contact with an ability-powered artifact, Dazai and Chuuya are forced to work together to overcome the ability’s trials, and face the bubbling sentiments they keep trying so hard to ignore. 

Tags: Teamwork, Ability Loss, Poisoning, Denial of Feelings, Confessions, Light Angst

Word Count: 45,288

Notes: While definitely not a character study, this fic goes and shows how wonderfully warm a Double Black fanfic can be. You’ll giggle in some moments, be entranced in others, and it’s just fun. This is for those that aren’t scouring for the angst. This was the first fic that sunk me into a skk fanfiction hunt all throughout the winter holidays.

On Deathless Feet by AbsoluteNegation

Synopsis: Chuuya always knows the monster can get out of control, but it doesn’t get any less surprising when Arahabaki powers through him. For a while though, it’d been comforting to know Dazai could always reign it in, make it go quiet. Because he did when they recently met, when they rose through the ranks, and at the brink of their end. But after years of disconnection, and the consistent waves of betrayal, is Chuuya capable of trusting him? And is Dazai capable of letting him?

Tags: Caretaking, Controlling Arahabaki, Port Mafia, Post-Port Mafia, Mistrust, Non-Linear Storytelling

Word Count: 71,848

Notes: This story is just breathtaking. The writing style is incredibly vast and detailed, which may seem scary when described, but it flows so easily when you read it. You cannot negate AbsoluteNegation’s incredible skill. The story takes place in an event where Chuuya loses control of Arahabaki in a  Post-Port Mafia Soukoku time. But because of its non-linear style, one gets to understand their past experiences with each other in a manner that contextualizes and weighs in the events of their reunion. 

Fanon Spaces

Before I begin, I’d like to note that there are so many AUs in this fandom, that I had to really search for the canon ones in my list. So understand that if you want more of these, I DEFINITELY have more of these. Also, again, while I encourage you to read, I also ask you to make sure to check the tags of the actual work for any possible triggers. 

I’ll crown your inner child with laurel by acuteguwu

Synopsis: Chuuya has worked in a Michelin Star restaurant. So he really has no place in losing this cooking competition. But a sudden newcomer, who seemingly has no previous experience in the field, seems to want to tell him his bechamel sauce isn’t ready. And really, who does he think he is?

Tags: Chef Competition AU, Character Study, Slow Burn, Chuuya Is A Blunt Perfectionist, Dazai Is A Culinary Genius

Words: 197,090

Notes: I read this in two days, and I finished by waking up at four in the morning to finish up before going to a drag queen brunch. So really, my experience was incredible. You get to really know these characters, who are very themselves, and it’s lovely. Please read, it’s so worth it.

music for our funeral by itotypes

Synopsis: Dazai has always been lost on what exactly he wants to be. Chuuya knows exactly what he wants. Working with such incredible differences proves to be a difficult challenge, ending in at least a little bit of violence multiple times, but they make it work. Because their music sounds beautiful. Because they’re better geniuses beside the other. And maybe because once it started, they can’t seem to process this journey can ever end.

Tags: No Smut, Angst, 70s, Musicians!AU, Drug Abuse, References to Child Neglect, Lowkey Pretty Violent, Emotional Cheating (w/ Main Ship)

Word Count: 67,723

Notes: Look, there’s a whole genre of Soukoku music AUs. And I could tell you to read the famous “still, still, still” by icedlightroast, or the even more famous “I Was Screaming Your Name Through The Radio” by ElectricSplatter. Which really, they’re both INCREDIBLE fics that I think you should read (IWSYNTTR literally inspired me to try and write music, which led me to do an album for a school project, so I’m not kidding when I say they’re life changing), but I also know that these are famous fanfics that you can find in almost any big skk reader thread. So disregarding the following recommendation, I try to give you fanfics I found through a long scrolling process. 

Everything or Nothing by Wellthathappened (Cataclysmic_Calamity)

Synopsis: Chuuya has never been able to experience much. So when he meets Dazai on the night of orientation, he lets himself explore. So as lips sink into his, and as he lets himself be free, Dazai lets him know how unimportant he is by walking away when kids walk in on them. Cut to a month later, they’re paired as roommates, Chuuya’s gotten what Dazai insists is a douchey boyfriend, and Dazai Osamu has to recognize it wasn’t true. It wasn’t a night’s fluke. He really, definitely isn’t straight.

Tags: College AU, Pinning, Chronic Illness, Creation & References Of Illegal Panini Rings,  Confessions, Miscommunication, Past Sexual Abuse, Bad Parenting, Cute Dates, Dazai’s Really Rich

Word Count: 264,937

Notes: I recognize I just put in my notes that there’s no major point in recommending these big fanfics, but I just read this because the person that introduced me into the fandom in the first place really loves this one. And it’s incredible. Worth every moment. I laughed a lot, and cried a lot. It’s those pieces of work that resound with you that keep you engaged. This one builds off of that.

Inseparable by milwritescausewhynot

Synopsis: Dazai and Chuuya have been joined to the hip since day one. But they’re not best friends. Or enemies. Or, worst of all, lovers. They are, however, great at pranking each other. Until one goes close to dangerous, and things begin getting complicated afterwards. 

Tags: High School AU, Pranks, Light Angst, Denial, Pining, Confessions, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Crazy Kouyou, Childhood Friends, No Smut

Word Count: 107,804

Notes: I hadn’t saved this one in my compilation, but I couldn’t not find it. This fic is so charming, and I most enjoy how the characters move through the story. You can feel the way they're in-tuned from the get go. Definitely recommend.

In Conclusion

Again, I’m sorry for such a late response. I’m literally falling asleep right now but I felt too guilty leaving this for tomorrow morning. If you have any questions, notes, or looking for something specific for your reading, we can talk about it. 

Anyways, thanks for asking! Hope you love them, and sorry for any mistakes

[verfound]

FIC: "Luka's New Bike" (MLB; Lukanette; LBSC Lukanette Month 2024)

@lovebugs-and-snakecharmers is doing a Lukanette Month for September 2024, and we all just kinda tossed some prompts in the disco to compile a list?  We ended up with 71 prompts, so I decided I’d roll some dice to pick a prompt, do a twenty minute (ish, bc we all know sometimes they run away from me) sprint, and try to get some short fics out this month?

Read on Ao3

Prompt 68: Learning to Drive/Ride a Bike

When Luka had first expressed interest in getting his motorcycle license, it had been for a more practical reason than anything else.  The Captain had had a bike for as long as he could remember.  She’d also had the old van, but it was easier to get around for her day-to-day needs on the bike and the van really only came out if she needed to haul something.  He’d spent a lot of time on the back of her bike growing up, so somewhere in the back of his mind getting a bike when he was old enough just seemed…practical.

Plus, he already rode his bicycle  everywhere, and he loved it.  He did.  But sometimes you needed something…faster.

He’d started working on his license as soon as he’d turned sixteen.  The Captain had already warned him the process could take years – at least two to get his A2 license, and he couldn’t even start on that until he’d had his B license for a few years.  It would be another two until he had his full A license, so he had known from the start he’d probably be twenty before he could get his own bike.

…but he’d been delivering pizzas since he was fifteen.  Busking on random street corners even longer.  Picking up odd jobs catering or helping the Captain or teaching guitar where he could.  He hadn’t managed to sell any instruments yet, but he was skilled enough to do a damn good repair job – and that skill was invaluable among his classmates, who were all willing to pay his cheaper prices instead of going to some of the more expensive mainstream shops.

And then Jay had asked him on tour, and while Luka still wasn’t entirely sure the road was the life he ultimately wanted…the paycheck was nice.

It was almost too easy, procuring a decent bike, after that.  He could have even afforded a more than decent bike, but he wasn’t greedy.  He just wanted something that ran well.

And now that he was back in Paris, A license and keys to his new bike in hand…he had just wanted the damn thing because he liked bikes.  They were practical.

But this…this was a decided perk.

When he jogged down the gangway that morning and made his way to the street just to find one Marinette Dupain-Cheng sitting on his new bike, her creamy thighs pressed against the sleek black metal like…he knew it was summer but who gave her permission to wear shorts that short????  She couldn’t ride in those.  She’d burn herself.  The soles of her flats would melt against the exhaust.

…but damn if she didn’t look…

“Excuse me, mademoiselle,” he called, hoping his smile looked more easy-going and less leering as he approached.  She looked up, her entire face lighting up when she saw him, and for a moment he forgot how to breathe.  How did she always manage to do that…?  “Are you sure you’re old enough to be sitting on that?  I’ll need to see your license.”

“Oh, shut up,” she laughed, grinning at him.  “Isn’t that my line?  I’m the one starting at the Ministère next year.”

“I still can’t believe you’re going to be a cop,” he chuckled, shaking his head.  “Well.  Maybe I can.  Ma almost shit a brick when I told her.”

“It feels like a good fit,” she said, smiling softly at him.  She looked back at the bike beneath her, her smile growing as she wrung her hands on the handlebars.  “Even if the company wasn’t going under, I hated working for Gabriel.  Even if I hadn’t…most of them there hate me, anyway.  I’m the intern that unmasked Hawkmoth, remember?  I’m the reason most of them are losing their jobs.”

“You saved Paris,” he said, frowning.  In more ways than one, he thought, even though the rest of the world only knew about her involvement outside of the mask.  “Marinette –”

But Marinette was sick of talking about Agrestes.  She had been for a while now.

“Anyway!  The Ministère!” she said, bouncing a little in her seat.  “Think you could show me how to work this thing?  I’ll need to start studying for my own license, if I want to be on the force.”

“Your B license should be fine for that,” he said, his smile slipping a little at the way she just…dismissed the whole Gabriel thing.  He felt he should be concerned about that.  She looked back at him, a pout on her lips.

“It should be fine, yes, but what if I want to ride a bike?  Not a cruiser?” she asked.  She looked back at his bike, smiling again.  “I always loved riding with my nonna.  And your bike looks so cool, Luka.  Could you take me for a ride, at least?  If you won’t teach me?”

“I never said I wouldn’t teach you,” he said.  He stepped up behind her, his hand finding the small of her back.  “I can teach you.  But maybe let me get used to her first?  I’ve only ridden her home.  I can’t teach you on a bike I’m not familiar with.”

“Her?” she asked, giggling.  “Your bike’s a her?  Should I be jealous?”

“Every bike’s a her,” he said, rolling his eyes.  “Like boats.”

“So I should be jealous,” she said.  He looked up at her, his eyebrow lifted.  Her cheeks flushed, and he felt dizzy again.  “…I missed you, you know.”

“I missed you, too,” he said without hesitation, because it was true.  He had.  Terribly.  Sometimes, he thought she was the main reason he still hadn’t committed long-term to Jay’s plans for him.  How could he, when Marinette was back in Paris and he wasn’t?  “You…you look good, Mari.”

“Just good?” she teased, her eyebrows lifting.  She looked down at herself with a frown.  “I was hoping for a little more than just good.  I dressed down for you, Couffaine.”

…he was pretty sure his jaw had dropped at that.  His mouth certainly felt dry enough, like it was hanging open, and she was certainly smirking enough, like she had gotten one over on him and knew it.  She ducked her head, her bare shoulders bobbing with her giggle, and when she peeked up at him there was a glint in her eyes that made him swallow.

“You…are horrible, Marinette,” he chuckled weakly, shaking his head.

“No, that’s you,” she said.  She tapped her fingers on the handles, glancing at the watch on her wrist.  “Do you realize you’ve been standing here almost five minutes now, and I haven’t seen you in almost five months, and you still haven’t kissed me yet?  What’s up with that, Luka?”

He hesitated again at that.

“I…wasn’t sure you’d want me to,” he said.  Their last kiss…it had been kind of amazing, but she hadn’t brought it up since he’d left.  She’d kissed him, and sent him on his way, and then they’d never talked about it again.  Nothing had changed, even if for one dizzying, amazing moment it had felt like everything had.

Of course he’d wanted to kiss her again.  And again.  Often, every day, for the rest of their lives, if she was willing.

He just…hadn’t been sure she’d be willing.

He’d never been the bravest, when it came to her.  After the last time…well.  He’d always been afraid of screwing things up again.  He’d never been brave enough to push for more again, because if he did and she didn’t want that and he lost her completely…

“…huh,” she said, tilting her head to the side.  He frowned, but she was still smiling at him.  “I always thought Juleka called you stupid because you were her brother.  I never actually thought it was true.”

“…hey,” he laughed, shaking his head, but then her hands were fisting in his jacket and tugging him closer, and his hands quickly found her hips when for one precarious moment she started to lose her balance and the bike wobbled.  He swallowed when she was suddenly so much closer, and he looked up at her to find that dangerous little smile was still on her lips.  “You really want me to teach you how to ride?”

“I want you to shut up and kiss me,” she said.  Her grin grew.  “For a start.  We can talk about the bike lessons later.  Maybe after you take me for a spin on this thing.  After you kiss me.  I’ve been waiting five months, Luka.”

“You never said anything, Marinette,” he reminded her.

“Would it really be fair of me to whine about how much I missed you, how much I wanted you back home for kisses and snuggles and all the coupley things we could be doing if you just stayed, when you were supposed to be focusing on your job?  I wouldn’t do that to you, Luka.  It’s your dream,” she said.  He shook his head, smiling.

“You’re my dream, Marinette,” he said.  “Music…music will work out.  Somehow.  Please, go ahead and whine about those things.  I need to hear them.  How else will I keep my priorities straight?”

“Ok,” she said, nodding.  “Then I need you to kiss me.  And stick around for a bit so you can teach me how to ride a bike.  But mostly the kissing.  I really need you to stay for the kissing.”

He brushed the backs of his fingers against her jaw, dragging them along her check until he was tucking her hair behind her ear.  She grinned up at him, and he grinned back as he leaned in.

“I thought you’d never ask,” he breathed before pressing his mouth to hers.

They…didn’t actually get to any bike lessons that day.  Or biking.  He made some perfectly valid argument about shorts and burns that sounded reasonable at the time, but he was also pretty sure his point in pointing out her shorts had not been to get her out of them.

…he wasn’t complaining when that’s what ended up happening anyway.

And he wasn’t complaining about anything that followed.

…they had time.  They could ride the stupid bike later.

He wasn’t planning on going anywhere.

[rodolfoparras]

No Alec you can't be straight, this isn't you!! 🥺🥺 Please look at me- you'll get through this and we will all be here for you- Price is there to love and support you while you go through this difficult and delusional period!! Think of your family (all of us and Price and your kids with him) and what will this do to them 🥺🥺 /j

Jokes aside, work is relatively alright. Just as exhausting as I remember but there are also also stretches of time where there is nothing to fucking do and I just switch between games and apps while waiting to go home but hey, not complaining too much. If anything, I think I want to take this time to maybe write more and hopefully post something? I have whole ass compilation of ideas and some things written here and there so hopefully??

And another exciting news, I'm gonna be in a play!! There is this organisation that visits countries around world and organises plays and I was in one few years back (I am theatre kid through and through) and they came back last year again but I was unable to participate unfortunately. However, since I started working and probably won't be visiting my family this year, I'll be able to participate and I'm so happy!! We're doing Midsummer night's dream!

-🔮

Sugar bee I thought you were going to say think of prices fat ass bouncing back on your cokc and his sloppy hole sucking you in and I was about to respond well you have me convinced I am now lgbt!

Hello that’s good to hear! It may seem boring at times but I’m really happy for you because it means the job will go easy on your body and soul and you’ll get paid in those boring moments! And hello sugar bee that sounds super exciting!!! You know you’re always welcome to join our little community!! There really aren’t many active writers atm so any and everyone is more than welcome and sososo appreciated

And sugar bee that sounds amazing!!!! I’m so happy you get to participate this year around and I hope you have sm fun!’ I am genuinely so in awe that so many of yall here know how to act and feel comfortable performing in front of big crowds! You’re really amazing for that!!

[twelvegrimmyplace]

Nick Grimshaw looks back: ‘Rihanna, Kate, Naomi – Mum was never fazed by them. But she did lose it over Alan Titchmarsh’

The broadcaster and his mother recreate an old photo and recall their wild nights out together

Born in Oldham in 1984, Nick Grimshaw is a presenter best known for his time on BBC Radio 1, as well as his mischievous charm and A-list social circle. Starting his career as a runner for MTV, he went on to present T4, became a judge on the X Factor, hosted the Radio 1 Breakfast show and now has a culinary podcast, Dish. He lives with his fiance, the dancer Meshach Henry, in London with his two dogs. His memoir, Soft Lad, is out now.

Eileen

Nick always wanted to be the centre of attention, and was a very comical child. In that picture, he was probably eight, and it would have been Children In Need night. When that happened, my God, he made everyone sit down. He’d get you nuts, crisps and sweets, and you’d have to watch the whole lot. He’d get obsessed like that with everything – television, radio, music. There was a dog book fad, too. He knew off by heart every breed and he’d take it to church when we went to mass, hiding it inside the hymn book so nobody could see.

Nick’s talkative. It was like switching the light on in the morning, then it was all day, nonstop. He was known for it, and would get in trouble at school because of it. He knew from a young age that he wanted to get a job at Radio 1. He said: “That’s where I’m going to work” and his dad replied: “Mmm, you and a million other kids.” But Nick stuck by it.

As well as chatting, he was in a band, playing the cornet. It was terrible. When I’d get my friends round – there’s a group of nine of us, we call it Girls’ Night – Nick would worm his way in. The cornet would come out. Once or twice he’d say: “I don’t want you to look at me while I do it,” so he’d have his back to us. He was way out of tune and we’d be bursting not to laugh but his dad would say: “Brilliant! Fantastic!” He got thrown out of the band in the end and I had to try to talk them into letting him back in.

When he left home for university we thought we’d gone deaf because it was so quiet. His house was a dump. You’d wipe your feet when you came out – it was atrocious. Then he was off to London. He wouldn’t really tell me what was happening down there – he’d just say he was handing out flyers.

I didn’t see a lot of him back then, but sometimes he’d bring his friends up for Christmas. Nick asked if Amy Winehouse could come one year. I said: “Why?” He said: “Well, she’s got nowhere to go.” She didn’t come in the end, but I did speak to her when she rang the house phone.

Nick’s very thoughtful. Even more so as he’s got older. He’s grown up, and I now see him settled with Meshach, and they’re so lovely together. My friends all say I’m so lucky he wants to include me in everything he does. I’ve had some brilliant holidays with him, but when I visit him in London it’s always a bit full-on. I get there and he says: “Don’t worry, we’ll have a nice quiet weekend” but it never is. He’s bumping into people, or there’s a party and we’re not home until quarter to six the next morning. It’s exhausting, but I do think, you know what? While I’m fit and able to, I’m going to enjoy it.

Nick

That was the prime spot in our lounge. I was getting ready to watch the telly and cuddle with Eileen. The green mark on my hand was from painting – possibly a frog. My milk teeth hadn’t fallen out but my adult teeth started growing – so you can see a single fang in the picture. My family were like: “Oh that’s horrible! That’s so gross.” They used to call me Wolf Boy. How mean.

I was enjoying my life at this point. I loved primary school. It was in a bungalow, and it didn’t feel as if I was doing actual work, just running around seeing gerbils or a stray dog. We’d do skipping or play rounders or welly chucking. It was about this time that I got into Hardcore Ecstasy – a rave compilation that I loved. At secondary school I had friends but I was never in a clique or a gang, and I wonder if it’s because my reference points were off because of my older brother and sister’s influence. I was less excited about the Spice Girls because I was like: “Yeah, but have you heard the Slits?” Pretty annoying. I obviously also loved Girls’ Night.

I don’t know what it was about cities, but I always wanted to be somewhere bigger. I grew up in suburban Oldham and enjoyed the chaos of going to central Manchester. Once I realised I wanted to do radio, I knew I had to go to London. It seemed there was so much life for young people there versus being on my mum and dad’s watch, listening to wood pigeons and having a potato hash for tea. I wanted a racket.

I ended up meeting Mairead [Nash] and Tabitha [Denholm] from Queens of Noize when I was doing student radio. That night we went out together and didn’t come back for 24 hours. My friend Jenny dropped me off the next day at my parents’ and my dad was in the front garden. As the car pulled up he said: “Where the bloody hell have you been? Look at the bleeding state of you!” I looked straight ahead and said: “Drive on.” He chased me down the road with clippers and I hid at Jenny’s. London was such a big fast city, so the friends I made I bonded with quickly. When I was unemployed, me and Amy [Winehouse] would get drunk in the day in Camden, and Mairead and Tabitha really looked after me. Sadie [Frost], too.

When my dad died [in 2016], a family friend, Sarah, said to think of it as the start of a new sort of relationship with my mum. We could be adults together rather than mother and son. I was worried about her feeling alone after such a monumental change, but we ended up becoming good friends and she’d come out with me to parties, or we’d go away with Sadie’s family.

Mum was never fazed by any of my friends. Once I took her to a Stella McCartney fashion week dinner and everyone famous was there – Rihanna, Kate, Naomi. None of it bothered her, although it was good gossip for her when she got back home and could tell Girls’ Night how gorgeous they all were. That being said, she did lose it when she met Alan Titchmarsh. The night before, I’d taken her to DJ with me at one of [stylist and journalist] Katie Grand’s fashion parties and we ended up having a big night. I was so hungover the next day when we were supposed to go to the Chelsea flower show together, that we ended up getting drunk there to get over it. Then she saw Alan. She was like: Alan! Alan! Weak at the knees for Alan.

My mum has also been a victim of many pranks on the radio. Once Alan Carr called her and said he was a casting agent who wanted to know if she’d like to be Pauline Quirk’s mother in Broadchurch. Another time, I called and said I had all these demands for when I visited next: that I wanted a kilo of wheatgrass and an ostrich egg. It was so funny that we made a song on Radio 1 of my mum going “Wheatgrass?” over banging techno.

When I was younger, I’d call her when I needed something – and also because contractually you should ring your mum. Then I called her for pranks. Now I phone every day because I want to gossip or to hear her news. Even though I’ll keep taking her along to parties, my favourite thing is still staying at home watching telly with Eileen.

[source]

[five-rivers]

Danger First

Chapter 3

@pocketramblr (also please let me know if you would like me to stop tagging you on these, I don't want to be annoying. :))

"WAIT!" shouted Nana abruptly, as Izuku was talking to his (weirdo) teacher. "I know who that is! Quick, get ready to turn everything off!"

"Turn what off?" asked En. "We live in a formless mental void. We don't even have electricity."

"The quirk! That's Eraserhead!"

"Oh, yeah," said Yoichi, while everyone else (sans Second and Third) scrambled to grab onto the quirk. "I remember Eight meeting him, now! So, he's a teacher, huh?"

"How do all of you forget the one person who might be capable of one-shotting All for One?" demanded Nana.

"Doesn't his quirk not work on mutations?"

"Stop daydreaming and get over here, Yoichi!"

The quirkspace began to glow faintly, ominously red, and the ghosts pulled hard on the quirk, holding it temporarily out of Izuku's reach.

Then, the red glow abated and they dropped it back into place.

"Well, that was exhausting," said Banjo. "So, we'll have to be constantly ready for that, huh?"

"As long as he's around, yeah," said Nana.

"Why did we just do that, anyway?" asked En.

"So we can continue to masquerade as a normal, non-haunted quirk?"

"We could have just let him think he didn't have a quirk, or that the anxiety-"

"Super anxiety."

"-isn't part of it."

Yoichi gasped, as if scandalized. "You'd want us to lie to Izuku?"

"Okay, seriously, what is up with you and Nine?" asked En.

Despite not having a body, Yoichi began to visibly sweat. "Nothing, nothing at all. I just... think he's neat?"

"If you're going to lie to us, can you not do it with archaeomemes?" asked Nana.

"No, no, actually, I can get behind this," said En. "Would you say Izuku has... vibes?"

Yoichi nodded solemnly.

.

"Young Midoriya!"

Izuku shrieked and jumped back from the sudden sound as All Might suddenly emerged from an otherwise innocuous bush.

Both of them froze, staring at each other.

"Are you..." said All Might, hesitantly, sounding much more like he did in his small form than usual, "alright?"

"I... think so?"

"That's good, then." All Might coughed slightly into his fist. "I was wondering if you had a few minutes."

"Of- of course!" said Izuku, immediately.

"Then allow me to lead the way!"

All Might led him through a door labeled 'staff only' and immediately deflated. "All the staff know about my condition," explained Mr. Yagi.

Izuku nodded. Then a thought occurred to him. "Mr. Yagi?"

"Yes, my boy?"

"Why, um, why don't you teach, um, as Mr. Yagi? Instead of as All Might? Wouldn't it save your time?"

Mr. Yagi stopped and scratched his head. "I hadn't really thought about it before," he admitted. "But part of the reason I took this job, other than wanting to help train the next generation of heroes, of course, is that I want to get people used to the idea that I am going to retire." He tugged on one of his bangs. "Also, ah, I'm not sure if my qualifications to teach are quite up to par without my reputation."

"I'm sure it would be fine! You're the best, after all!"

Mr. Yagi chuckled. "I'm glad you think so," he said. Then he reached behind him and opened a door. "In any case: my office."

"Wow," said Izuku, quietly, stepping in. "All Might's office..." Who knew when he'd get another opportunity like this again? He kept his eyes wide to drink in the details.

The rather sparse details. The office was rather bare. Which made sense, seeing as All Might was a brand-new teacher. It was sort of... disappointing, as thrilling as it was.

Mr. Yagi sat down behind the desk and gestured for Izuku to take one of the other chairs. It had a lot of cushioning. A lot a lot. Izuku sank down into the fluff as Mr. Yagi fiddled with a drawer on his desk. He got the drawer open, and pulled out a notebook. A notebook of the same brand Izuku liked to use, actually.

"Since your experiences with One for All are so different from mine, I thought it might be a good idea to do some research into past holders and take a leaf out of your notebook, as it were." He passed the notebook over to Izuku, who took it with shaking hands and a slightly open mouth.

"I'll treasure it," he declared, voice wobbling.

"Not so much that you don't use it, I hope," said Mr. Yagi. "As it is, it's only an overview. The earlier holders, especially, don't have many records associated with them. Consider it a starting point. I haven't had much time to work on it."

"I can't believe you found the time to write this at all," said Izuku, flipping through the pages. The information was sparse, but each holder had a basic profile, all the way back to the fourth. "I mean, between being a hero, training me, and preparing to be a teacher, I'm stunned nothing fell by the wayside!"

Mr. Yagi proceeded to turn a very interesting color.

"Uh, nothing fell by the wayside, right?"

"Why don't you take a few minutes to skim through. If anything jumps out at you right away, we can talk about it. And then I'll let you go get changed and go home, and we can discuss more later, after you've had more time with it."

"Okay!" said Izuku. He'd start with just the basic profiles. Name, date of birth, date of death, quirk... wait, those ages... "They all died young," he said, softly.

"Hero work is dangerous," said Mr. Yagi, hand going to his side.

"There's something else, isn't there?"

"Not something you need to worry about. I took care of it, years ago." The hand holding his side spasmed slightly.

"... Six years ago?" asked Izuku, aware he was pushing his luck. But this sounded both important and relevant.

There was a long pause. "Yes," said All Might, finally. "A villain with a longevity quirk. He... had a history with the first user."

Izuku got the feeling that was an understatement. It also seemed unlikely that the only application of the villain's quirk was longevity, given what he'd done to All Might. But the subject was clearly making All Might uncomfortable, so he dropped it in favor of burying his nose in the notebook again.

(Social fumbles aside, this was the most secure Izuku had felt for... a while.)

"The sixth user had a smoke quirk?"

"Yes, it seems so. Although it doesn't seem to have been actual smoke, but a biological compound."

"I wonder if that has anything to do with all the steam you release when you deflate. Actually..." he flipped back through the quirk. "I wonder if you're using Float, too, subconsciously, when you jump."

"What?"

"I- I mean," said Izuku, "I noticed, when, um, when I grabbed your ankle and also in videos of you- Your hang time is kind of messed up? You're in the air for longer than you should be, but it isn't, like, consistent? Plus, you can change direction mid-air, which I thought was because you were shooting out blasts of air pressure with your quirk, but with me on your ankle, you definitely didn't do that. There was- there was a forum I was on where some people thought your quirk tapped into magnetic fields, somehow, but that doesn't make any sense, because you'd expect a lot more electronic interference and that similar locations would produce similar results, given the Earth's magnetic field, but they don't. But subconscious, low-level use of a telekinesis-based flying quirk would explain everything. If we take into account what you said about my anxiety after the entrance exam, then that's minor expressions of three out of four of the quirks listed here, not counting the base stockpile and enhancement quirk. Do you think the unknown quirks of the second and third users might have partially manifested for you as well? Have you experienced anything else that's atypical for a strength enhancement quirk?"

Mr. Yagi stared at Izuku.

Oh, no, he'd gone too far.

"Nothing immediately comes to mind, my boy," he said, faintly. "But... magnets? Really?"

"I told you it didn't make any sense."

Mr. Yagi rubbed his chin. "There might be something, but... it's too unclear to say either way. I'll keep an eye out. It's just... a lot to take in. I thought One for All was done surprising me."

"When has it surprised you before?"

"Oh, under the influence of certain mental quirks, you can wind up hallucinating the previous users."

"Hallucinating?"

"Yes. But being under the influence of a mental quirk is always the larger issue, so..."

"Mr. Yagi," said Izuku. "That's really the kind of thing you should let people know about up front."

"I- is it?"

.

The ghosts all stared at Nana.

"Hey, don't blame this on me! None of us explained that kind of stuff before passing One for All on."

"In our defense," said En, half raising a hand, "we were usually dying when we passed it on."

"More importantly," said Hikage, "do you think Ninth is right about the quirks?"

"It would make sense," mused Yoichi. "Although then we'd have to wonder why Blackwhip didn't manifest similarly."

"Is it too much for me to get someone to use my quirk? My extremely awesome quirk, that has no downsides?"

"It is powered almost exclusively by rage."

"No downsides."

"You-"

"No. Downsides."

.

Aizawa passed him an envelope labeled 'quirk counseling' along with the standard schedule and orientation packet he was handing to everyone else. It didn't look like any of his class mates had noticed, though, for which Izuku was grateful. He didn't want to be known as a weirdo who didn't know what his own quirk was.

He heavily suspected he was tapping into Danger Sense, somehow, but he didn't know how, and the fourth user of One for All had lived so long ago there weren't any records of him. Not easily and publicly available. Everything Mr. Yagi had written in his notebook (that Izuku had probably stayed up way too late reading... and texting Mr. Yagi about it... and comparing it to his notes... and texting Mr. Yagi about that... and reviewing old All Might compilations and theory threads... and having Mr. Yagi threaten to call his mom if he didn't go to sleep...) about the fourth user had been retrieved from the journals Mr. Yagi's mentor had passed down, according to one of the source notes in the margin.

(Mr. Yagi had really neat, small handwriting, which Izuku wouldn't have ever expected from his large, dramatic signatures as All Might, and his notes were meticulous and carefully cited. If Izuku didn't know better, he would have thought it belonged to a secretary.)

But despite Izuku's suspicions, he didn't actually know. He didn't know it's range, what it defined as danger, whether or not it 'ranked' dangers, how to distinguish it from normal anxiety, or- Well. Anything, really. And he would really like to.

He opened the envelope quietly. Inside was a handwritten note instructing him to pick one of three schedules for quirk counseling and return it to Aizawa by the end of the day. The other pages were printed, with times and possible locations. Options for both before and after the school day.

Izuku felt his eyes tearing up. This was easily the nicest thing a teacher had ever done for him... Although he was nervous about being alone with Aizawa. Some of his other teachers, when they asked him to stay after class it was... not good.

Nothing bad happened, not like in movies or TV shows or the awareness videos the school had shown sometimes. The teachers didn't hurt him, really, didn't do anything to him, other than talk or yell, mostly, but it still wasn't good.

Maybe he could ask Mr. Yagi or Recovery Girl to sit in... But he already felt bad, taking up so much of their time.

He picked one of the after school schedules. He was already staying late on the other days to work with Mr. Yagi, and if something did go wrong, he wanted to have the night to recover before he had to face Aizawa again in class.

He put it to the side, so he'd remember to give it to Aizawa before he left, then looked over the class schedule. Homeroom, Math, Hero Art History, History, and English in the morning. At least this morning. The history classes alternated with something called Heroics-Applied Science and Hero Law and Ethics. Afternoons, meanwhile, were entirely occupied by Hero Basic Training.

And every class would be taught by a pro hero. He wondered if it would be rude to ask for their autographs...

.

Shouta grunted as Hizashi flopped down onto the couch next to him on the couch in the staff breakroom. "What a morning! I just love seeing all those bright little faces at the beginning of the year. Anyone have a favorite first year yet?"

Shouta kicked Hizashi through his sleeping bag. Sadly, this had no effect on the man.

"I think mine might be the little green guy. He's the only one who was actually paying attention, and you know how rare that is, when everyone is anticipating their first heroics lesson. The rest of us just pale in comparison."

Shouta attempted to kick Hizashi again, this time for an entirely different reason. Midoriya was already All Might's favorite (probably)- he did not need more pull with the staff.

"I know who my least favorite is," said Kan. "Kid's certainly dedicated and competitive, but I wouldn't be surprised if he threatened his middle school teachers into giving him those glowing reviews. His personality needs a lot of work. How did you get Nezu to saddle me with Bakugo, anyway, Eraser?"

"I had nothing to do with it."

"Don't give me that, I was going to have Monoma. At least he's a team player."

"You're being illogical," said Shouta, zipping his sleeping bag closed over his face.

"How about you, Nemuri?" asked Hizashi, cutting off Vlad King vs Eraserhead round five hundred.

"It's hard to choose! They're all so cute and eager! Full of the passion of youth! I think they're all my favorite."

"You always say that..."

The door opened and closed.

"All Might! What about you? Any favorites yet?"

Yagi coughed. "I've only had the one class of third years so far. Don't you think that's rather... premature?"

What an incredible nonanswer.

"How did that first class of yours go, anyway? They didn't sour you to the whole idea of teaching, did they?"

"Not at all! The students were wonderful. The third years are very advanced, aren't they? For some of them, I wouldn't be shocked to see that skill level on an active sidekick."

"What can I say? We start them off right," crowed Hizashi.

"They did seem a little surprised by the scenario, however."

"So was I, t'be honest," said Snipe, who was in charge of the third years.

"Ah, was it no good...?"

"It was fine. Lesson plan was a bit rough around the edges, but you and Nezu'll be goin' over that later. But... quirk traffickin' doesn't quite seem like your thing."

"Ah, well, set-pieces," he said, using the slightly derisive underground slang for large-scale spotlight hero battles, "may be what I'm known for, but before my injury, the majority of my battles and investigations weren't publicized."

"Shield laws?" asked Nemuri.

"Generally, yes, but some of the investigations were tied to others, so we were using the organized crime secrecy laws to keep those under wraps. Simply put, my popularity isn't the only reason I keep the number one spot despite Endeavor having more completed cases than me on paper."

Shouta had known there was more to All Might than 'punchy, over-the-top, eyestrain-causing, bombastic muscle guy,' but part of his stupid, illogical brain was annoyed at Yagi for pummeling that image into imaginary dust, anyway. It seemed like the man's only two flaws were horrible interpersonal skills when not using his public persona, and his vast suite of health issues, the latter of which all heroes who operated long enough picked up.

Oh, and a possible inclination towards bribery.

Made it hard to dislike him, which Shouta wanted to do, because he was loud, flashy, and gave him headaches, literal and metaphorical. He ignored the fact that Hizashi was the same way, and had forcibly become Shouta's best friend. Clearly, there was no connection here.

"By the way, why is young Aizawa completely zipped in like that?"

"Nap time," said Hizashi, solemnly.

.

"Sir?" said Iida, raising his hand.

"Yes, young man?" boomed All Might.

"There are nineteen of us. How are we handling the odd person out?"

"Excellent question! In other exercises, we may handle it differently, but for today, one of you will be working alone! Occasionally, a hero may find themselves isolated when they originally expected help. However, for better balance, I have also arranged it so the odd hero out will be taking part in the last battle, so you'll have more time to strategize!"

But the other team would also have more time to strategize, Izuku noted. He really hoped it wouldn't be him... not that he wanted to force it on any if his classmates! He just didn't want yet another handicap on the first day of training.

All Might walked around with the box of ballots, pausing for each student to take one. He reached Izuku and held the box out to him with a wink. Izuku smiled back, reached in, and grabbed one.

A chill ran up his back and he froze, fingers wrapped tightly around the little ball. Something told him this was definitely the cursed, single-person ballot. Could he let it go? Would it be considered cheating if he picked a new one?

But All Might was already walking away. Every part of his body tense, Izuku turned his hand over and forced his fingers apart.

J.

The tenth character of the Latin alphabet. For the tenth, last, team.

He watched as everyone else started to pair up, and All Might looked at him apologetically.

Izuku approximated a smile. Plus ultra, right?

[kominum]

semoto (corpse x fem!reader)

4 times you think tuxedo mask!corpse could be yours + 1 time you learn to stop feeding your own delusions 

pt. 1 + background info can be found here! please read for context. 

basic rundown of classic!sailor moon (anime) lore ‘creatively’ used in this two-part:

sailor moon and tuxedo mask are star-crossed lovers/soulmates that faced tragedy in a previous life. 

sailor mars (aka you/reader) had a crush on tuxedo mask’s non-hero persona, darien/mamoru, for a while 

sailor moon is the moon princess and tuxedo mask is the earth prince.  

sailor moon’s non-hero persona, usagi/serena, bickered a lot with darien/mamoru.

fem!reader // tw: death mentions, bodily injury, unrequited love to the very end, some unresolved tension. 

1. “Whaddup, baby?” 

Without much reason, you and Corpse trade off calling each other whenever a new monster is defeated. You’re figuring out all of this as much as he is, but he doesn’t have much guidance besides some supernatural force within him. He’s not taking instructions from a black cat and white cat like you and the other girls are who can help fill you in on the gaps -- all he knows is that he’s pivotal to maintaining Earth’s existence, and he’s not exactly thrilled about it.

But the calls are never about the fights, never about your secret identities. In fact, you’d be willing to bet half your grocery funds that he still hasn’t made the connection between you and your Sailor Mars persona and part of you wants to keep it that way. Sometimes you’re mentally exhausted and just want to forget about the events for the day or night, which is why you usually end up calling him soon after everyone disperses or vice versa. It’s almost instinctual these days, and you wonder how long it’ll be before you accidentally crack. 

Right now, the rule of thumb seems to be, “Never trust new flashy shops that open with no warning and have too-good-to-be-true grand opening offers.” This time, some luxurious salon opened up by a famous local hairdresser had been the said attraction. All of you weren’t ignorant enough to believe the sham, but the star of the show had taken the chance to say, “Let’s go scope it out!” when really, she wanted that free haircut. You had called her out on it, but she argued that if anything happened, then perfect, you all could take care of it right then and there. Needless to say, you do not want to be attacked by a monstrous version of Edward Scissorhands ever again. Corpse had made a dark, humorous entrance, a style he’s really adapted to because he knows it pisses Sailor Moon off, 

About an hour later, you’re home and bandaging up some cuts and rubbing salve on bruises, phone on speaker and dial tone blaring through the bathroom. You’re addressing the scrape on your knee when he picks up, a low drawl of, “Whaddup, baby?” comes through and your heart stutters.

The girls call you a number of terms of endearment: sweetie, honey, love, dear, babe, queen, but the last person to address you as ‘baby’ with any amount of affection was your ex-boyfriend.

You scoff to hide how flustered you actually are, quietly hissing as you attempt to put some Neosporin on the scrape and catch onto some stray skin. “Are you drunk?” You ask jokingly, knowing full well he wasn’t. 

“Drunk? Nah. Tired? Yeah. But that’s always.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

“It’s old news. But uh, what’s up? Been a while since we last talked.”

“We talked like...three days ago. You called me, remember?”

“Feels like forever. I like talking to you.” 

You wonder if it’s irony or plain, cruel fate that this man will probably be the death of you.

2. “Don’t lay a fucking hand on her.”

It’d been a bad day overall. Lack of sleep compiled on by a growing pile of assignments in addition to having to get your tires checked out for an air leak because your car said, “Not today, honey,” -- everything came together in torrential hurricane and the last thing you needed was to be caught fighting another force of evil.

You’re so tired.

Sailor Moon seems to have all the energy in the world as she dodges attacks left and right, but your muscles are screaming in agony. You’re constantly hunched over and panting, but looking for the right openings to weaken the monster. Luckily, the creature has its back towards you when it dashes over to Venus and you muster everything you have to summon a bow and arrow made of fire, pulling back and making sure your arms don’t quiver. 

But at the last second, your lack of oxygen gets the best of you and your flame sniper barely manages to graze the monster’s side and narrowly avoid Jupiter. It’s enough to cause a distraction, but the anger in its glare as it’s directed at you elicits surrender in your heart. There’s nothing left in your bones to help you run or hide, and your knees buckle painfully onto the concrete. Everything else hurts so bad that you’re not bothered by the sediments digging through your skin. Venus is running towards you but she’s not quick enough, and you feel your eyes begin to slip. If this is what death feels like, then so be it. You hope that the girls’ mourning will be short, that they can still complete the ultimate mission, and--

“Don’t lay a fucking hand on her,” an angered, frustrated baritone spits out and you’re torn between laughing or crying. In a separate romantic context, you’d like the idea of wholeheartedly leaving your life in his hands. But in this reality when either of you could die at any moment and the world be consumed in darkness, it’s something you would never wish upon anyone. It’s a different situation than your bonds with the girls. 

The pain is enough to send you in and out of consciousness for the next few minutes. But strong, warm arms sit you up, though they’re slightly trembling and keeping you awake. “Hey, you okay? What happened to you? You’re stronger than this.” 

“G-great way of telling me, fuckthathurts, that I was...shit today,” you joke, but hiss when you try to move your legs and the deep scrapes scream in agony. 

“Take it easy, ‘kay? Or your princess is gonna have my head--”

“Thanks man, but we got it from here,” said princess interjects, hoisting you up with the help of the other girls. “You can go.”

“Speak of the devil,” Corpse chuckles and helps make the transfer less painful, a lot less awkward jostling around. “Look, I saved her--”

“And I said thank you. We’ll see you around,” your stubborn friend dismisses. 

“You’re welcome, baby.”

“Not your baby, piss off!”

3. “I’m always gonna be there for you, no matter what.”

It’s soft yet sonorous, deep yet light. Twilight hours are cast high above you both, separated by walls and buildings connected over wires and unseen forces. Technology is the sharpest, double-edged sword you’ve seen and used on this planet, because Corpse has never felt so close yet so far than in this moment. Your mind deludes you further by indulging in believing he’s right there next to you, strong arms holding you much like he did when you were on the brink of unconsciousness just two weeks ago.

Wishing, hoping, wanting. Dangerous, dangerous, dangerous.

The one year anniversary of your ex-lover’s death looms over you on another sleepless, caffeine-fueled night. It’s no surprise when his custom ringtone chimes softly throughout your room during these graveyard hours, but it certainly raises your eyebrows when after a minute or two, he asks tentatively, “Are you gonna go visit him?”

There’s no question as to who or where “him” is. You haven’t been since the funeral, if you’re honest, swept up by work, classes, and your new side job. But Corpse doesn’t know that, and you know it’d be the right thing to do. Maybe it’d help settle the storm of anxiety (or guilt?) that swirls in your gut on a daily basis. 

“I think so,” you reply quietly after a moment of silent contemplation, already thinking ahead to what the drive might be like. “He deserves better.”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

Charming, compassionate, thoughtful, absolutely too good for this world -- the three-letter affirmation nearly slips off your tongue without a second thought. You can’t risk him seeing you, putting two and two together, and potentially forever losing him to his long-lost princess. Selfish delusion creeps through your veins and you fight back the shiver of guilt that runs down your spine. 

“I think I’ll be okay. Might be a visit made best alone, but I really appreciate you even asking.”

“Let me know if you change your mind. You know I’m always gonna be there for you, no matter what. Right?”

Warmth. Strength. Oblivion. 

“I know. Thank you.”

4. “I don’t have anyone else but you.”

“Why are we doing this again?”

“Because we can’t sleep and have nothing better to do.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it,” you chuckle into your phone, free hand swirling a pot of instant ramen. “I have better things to do at 3 in the morning than watch The Poltergeist with you.” 

“Then go fucking do it,” Corpse laughs teasingly. 

“And leave you high and dry? I don’t have the heart.”

“I mean, you really don’t have to--”

“Seriously, I was awake anyways. Just giving you shit.”

“One of these days, you’re gonna fucking regret it.”

Ramen done and lamp on, you snuggle beneath your blanket and start the traditional countdown to pressing ‘play’ on the movie. Neither of you really had the technology to screen share on this Discord call (your laptop is almost on its last leg and your apartment WiFi can be spotty at times), so it seemed better this way. 

The next roughly 2 hours are filled with laughter, small jump scare yelps, and quiet yelling at the ignorance and twisted logic of horror movie characters. But towards the end of the movie (and arguably the climax), your eyelids start to droop, body succumbing to the warmth of your bed. The screaming and cheesy, orchestrated music are all background noise as your breathing evens out, shifting in and out of consciousness. Ending credits roll on screen before you know it, and the only think that rips you awake is Corpse’s gentle calling of your name. 

“Sorry, fell asleep,” you murmur tiredly and squint at your screen, languidly closing out the window and letting the Discord window take precedence. “Tells you how riveting I found this movie.”

“Should’ve just let you sleep, my bad,” he chuckles. “Thanks for staying up with me.” 

“Yeah of course -- I wanted to, just got a little sleepy. Wanna watch another one?”

“ ‘m actually gonna try to sleep. Don’t wanna bother you too much. You got work tomorrow?”

“Not ‘til noon so it’s okay. You sure?” 

“Yeah...yeah. I’ve only had like...3 hours of sleep lately. Fucking awful.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

“You do enough by just letting me call at the fucking crack of dawn, seriously.”

“I’m your only option, let’s be real,” and your voice is a mix of fatigue, humor, and some bitter sardonicism. There’s no malice intended, and you really hope it’s conveyed accurately. 

“...I don’t have anyone else but you,” he all but murmurs. Your heart clenches painfully, anxiety and fear and love surging through your lungs. Those words don’t hold the connotation you desperately wish for, but what matters most is that he knows he’s not alone and you’re not the only one he’s got. You verbalize as such and he only hums back in a façade of agreement before wishing you a good night. 

And sometimes, while you do know that your girls have your back and that you love them to death and would take a bullet for them any day, there are nights where you really do feel the same.

That you have no one else but Corpse. 

5. “He was never yours.”

There’s nothing you hate more than psychological monsters. You’d probably take physical pain over mind games any day because at least, it’d heal faster to some degree, or there would be a more surefire way of minimizing symptoms. But sometimes, there are days when the egotistical chess players of hell come to wreck havoc on the world, and you get lost in their trap. It’s annoying, a pain in the ass, and affects you a lot more than it should at times. 

This particular instance makes you want to quit. It makes you, Sailor fucking Mars, guardian of the planet of fire and passion and perseverance, leave all of this behind right here and now. You’ve never hated yourself more for feeling so weak. 

You’re not sure what to call it -- altered dimension, distorted reality -- but all you know is that you and the princess are kept in separate cages hanging from an endless ceiling, labelled as baits for tuxedo mask/Corpse to come. The enemy lets you both stew in the confines of the metal, watching with glee as your partner attempts to cut through the rails with her tiara and ultimately fail. It seems they’ve thought of everything because you’re not their #1 enemy today. Or maybe you are. You’re not sure anymore, even as they launch into villainous speech. 

“Nothing brings me more joy than watching you lose all your energy to fight, both physically and mentally. I’ve seen all your dreams and wishes. Nothing’s more fickle and double-edged than love, no? We shall see who the prince really belongs to.”

Mention of the prince has you snapping your head to meet the enemy’s eyes, slowing squinting as they catch yours and begin cackling like your demise is racing at the speed of an oncoming train. Your princess looks confused, but dread is heavy mercury filling your veins because you know, you know, your best held secret is coming to fruition. 

“What the fuck are they talking about?” She hisses across the void. 

“I don’t know,” you lie through your teeth, eyes flicking toward every corner of the cage now to find a way out. This isn’t how you wanted it to happen, much less happen at all. 

“Are they talking about Corpse?”

“Is there any other prince they’re referring to?”

“Do you always have to be a smartass with me?”

“Somebody’s got to,” you allow yourself a slight reprieve of laughter. It’d be dumb to try to set fire to this thing, knowing you’d only burn yourself in the process. Your exorcism tags also have no use and you can hear the clock ticking down in your mind. 

“Think it’s pretty fucking rude to keep a couple of girls in cages, not gonna lie,” a baritone voice cuts through. It sends temporary sparks of relieve down your spine. Perhaps you’ll have a fighting chance to get out of here. 

“Welcome, welcome! I’d like to get straight to the point, but maybe we’ll up the stakes a little bit before you answer my question,” they tease cartoonishly and you want to roll your eyes.

“Is this a fucking test--”

Both you and sailor moon yelp as the cages drop into a miraculously (or not) appearing large body of water, but still hanging just above the surface so you have enough air to breathe. You look out and down to see how deep this pit is, and though it might be some elaborate illusion seemingly defying all laws of physics, you see nothing but descending darkness. You don’t even have to hear the question to know what the enemy is going for, to know that they’re trying to hit you where it hurts the most, and you loathe how cliché and goddamn unfair this whole situation has turned out to be. 

“So, dear prince. Pretend that the fate of the world depends on the princess. Before you are just two girls you know and care for, stuck, captured, and on the brink of drowning. You may only save one. Who would it be?”

It’s fucked up. Corpse seems stunned, perplexed by the question. “What the absolute fuck is this? Just let them go if you had an issue with me.”

“Quite frankly, I have an issue with allof you, so this is only fair. Now, what’s your answer?”

Corpse catches your eyes first. Is it from the water that your eyes seem to be brimming with unshed tears? Is it stubbornness or defeat in the way your hands clench around the cage bars?

And this is why, once again, you hate enemies who strictly play mind games. Confirmation that Corpse would never love you the way you do him, knowledge to the princess that she’s the source of your deepest unhappiness despite the bickering friendship, realization to Corpse that the girl he’s treasured so dearly and maybe unknowingly kept as a bit of a placeholder was doomed to love him -- pain on all of you, lashes and scars on what was once believed to be unbreakable bonds, as soon as the villain explains it all with sick glee. 

“Do I have to give you an answer?”

“If you don’t, I’ll really consider drowning them since I honestly wasn’t before.”

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

“Ah, just to make things a little more interesting -- I’m aware you and the princess speak regularly outside of all this.”

They what? This was certainly news to you. 

“And?” Corpse asks somewhat defensively. 

Don’t say it. Don’t tell him. Please don’t--

“Say Mars, don’t you enjoy those late night calls with him, too? Though I must say, meeting in a hospital while your ex-boyfriend is having life-altering emergency surgery seems rather morbid in its own respect.”

You don’t have to look at him to know and hear the gears turning in his brain, the villain allowing this brief silence to let everything sink in. There’s a disbelieving whisper of your name, your real name, but he’s cut off from saying anything more. 

“You have 10 seconds.” 

You know the stories. You know the couple’s tragic end in their previous lifetime. You know that as much as the princess denies feeling anything but annoyance towards Corpse, she looks forward to seeing him. There’s a certain softness that he treats her with, different from the platonic affection that he showers you in. You’ve lied to yourself for too long. 

The countdown has no chance to finish when Corpse spits out a name that’s not yours, your eyes squeezing shut to fight back the tears that threaten to flood over. Everything disappears and you land on your butt -- a quick sweep of your surroundings registers two things: Corpse running over to your princess and the villain standing proudly at the chaos they’ve created. It’s instinct that has brings your powers to surface, arms and fingers quickly notching a fiery arrow with pinpoint aim at the imaginary target on their head. “Move!” You yell at the two and they scramble to gather their bearings and avoid your rage. 

They don’t run or cower. The maniacal grin only grows wider and more sinister and you’re this close to screaming expletives. 

“Hurts, doesn’t it, to know that he was never yours?”

It’s the last thing they say before you release the arrow, watching with no remorse as they burn and disintegrate. When the dust disappears and the dimension shifts back to some abandoned building with an exit, you run. 

You run until your lungs burst, until they scream over the aching of your heart, until your costume dissolves and you’re finally buried under the blankets. You turn on ‘Do Not Disturb’ and only allow notifications from a select few important numbers.

And maybe you’ll keep running. Maybe you’ll go off the grid. Maybe you’ll let your voicemail inbox fill up with unheard messages, apologies that you don’t and never will deserve. 

But the love you feel and cherish will never fade. It’ll run alongside you; a bright, burning star, forever bittersweet--

Forever out of reach. 

[iatethepomegranate]

A fic in which Caleb buys a house in Rexxentrum with Beau and Yasha, becomes a professor, and learns how to be a person.

Chapter Summary: The sands of time stop for no one, and the Nein eventually go back to their separate lives. Caleb grapples with the responsibilities of his new position, invents the support group, and Astrid gives him some rather unsettling news.

Notes: Caleb and Essek's scene together is a little spicy, but not explicit. Chapter title is from In the Embers by Sleeping At Last.

*** Chapter 5: Like fireworks we pull apart the dark

Caleb was smiling when he got back home. Veth aimed her crossbow at him.

“Quick! Tell me something only Caleb would say!”

Caleb sighed and held up his hands in surrender; he should have expected this. “You almost inscribed a rune upside-down today. I lent you my spellbook.”

“I don’t know, man,” said Beauregard, lounging across Yasha on the couch and completely fucking with them. “An imposter could’ve interrogated Caleb and forced him to recount his day. Caleb is pretty squishy.” Caleb almost reminded her he had been taught to withstand torture, which he’d first told explictly her while compiling his testimony for Trent’s trial, but he didn’t want to ruin her fun.

��Oh, that’s very smart,” Yasha said.

“Thanks, babe.”

“Say something else,” Veth demanded. “Something not from today. How did we meet?”

“In prison. You stole a bottle of cherry wine. I had Frumpkin retrieve a piece of wire so you could pick the lock and then I set the jail on fire and screamed for help. The guards ran away and we walked out. We have been best friends ever since. You were also a goblin at the time.”

“But wouldn’t an imposter have asked about Caleb’s known associates?” Fjord supplied.

“Fjord, I can and will burn your hair off. And, unlike Aeor, it will not grow back overnight.”

“Ha!” Veth put her crossbow away. “Welcome back. Sit down. Cad’s making tea again.” She dragged him over to the blanket nest that no one had bothered to put away, and shoved him in it.

Essek poked his head out of the kitchen. “How was your meeting?”

Caleb didn’t want to get into it. “I took the job.”

“Woo!” Jester yelled from the kitchen. She poked her head out, just next to Essek. “Did Astrid like the cookies?”

“Ja. She says thank you.” Caleb felt fine, except from the fact he was fucking exhausted. He tipped his head back, landing on Beau’s shin, and closed his eyes. “Uh, Beauregard? She says to look into Headmaster Zivan Margolin, who is also the Archmage of Conscription. He’s a link to Trent. A weak one. Apparently he has been running his mouth about how he saw my potential from the beginning. Ludinus is uncomfortable with the implication and may throw him to the wolves to save his own neck.”

“I’ll pass it onto Yudala tomorrow. Take a nap while we wait for dinner.”

“The head of your school is also in charge of conscription?” said Fjord. “Wait. You’ve said this before.”

“A long time ago, ja.”

“Look, I’m only a few months old,” said Kingsley, who had been sprawled behind the couch the whole time, apparently. “And even I know that’s kinda fucked up.”

“No shit.” Caleb was half-sleep already, eyes closed. A small body curled up against him. Veth.

“Caleb, that’s really awful,” said Jester. “I’m so sorry.”

“Jester, I appreciate that, and I love you very much, but I am exhausted and cannot talk about this anymore.”

Caduceus saved him by bringing a tea tray into the room. “Let’s all unwind for a bit. Dinner will be ready soon.”

Caleb drank half his tea and fell asleep on Beauregard, who had to kick him awake for dinner. Well had to was a strong way to put it. Regardless, he shoved some food in his face and then went to bed with Essek.

****

Astrid sent him tidbits of information as more details of his professorship were finalised. He would assist Professor Weber with the beginner and intermediate Transmutation classes. He would also assist Professor Winterheart with the beginner Evocation class, due to his experience. He would also be on call to assist with other classes as necessary.

What really shook Caleb, however, were Bettina’s plans for Advanced Transmutation. She told him herself over coffee in the ex-smut shop.

“Astrid has assured me of your capabilities,” she said, stirring sugar into her mug. “And she’s of the mind that the Advanced students may need your guidance the most. You may end up with a few former Volstrucker students, if we can get them back in class.”

“That is a big if.”

“Ja. Would you talk to Astrid about it? I don’t want to overstep.”

“It has been on my mind. I will talk to her.” If Caleb hadn’t been dead on his feet last time they had spoken, he probably would have brought it up. It would take time to track all of them down, and Caleb had not been in the right headspace to handle that kind of work previously. But things were more stable now, even if he cried at the drop of a hat these days.

“Danke. Now, Advanced Transmutation. The advanced students start on the third week of term, so you will have had some time to find your feet. I want you to take the lead with them.”

“Bitte?” Caleb wasn’t sure he understood what she was telling him.

“I want you to teach the advanced students,” Bettina clarified. “I will be on hand if you need, but I think you can handle it once you have a few classes under your belt.”

“Bettina, I have no experience.” Caleb was about three wrong words from hyperventilating. This was ridiculous. And irresponsible.

“I know that’s not true, Mr Widogast. Sorry, Professor Widogast.” The slip was deliberate. Bettina used his first name most of the time. She was making a point of his new title. “Astrid has spoken to your expositor friend, who said you have been teaching magic to one of your friends for over a year, and that you helped her run a summer camp for adventurers in Nicodranas. Expositor Lionett also insists you are very good with children.”

“My friend’s young son, specifically. He is not a difficult child.” Well, Luc was a handful for his parents, but Caleb didn’t have to worry about controlling him like they did. “And… advanced students are teenagers, not toddlers.”

“I understand this is a lot to ask,” Bettina said evenly. “I am asking because some of these children have been through a lot. My inaction, whatever the truth of it, will not instill confidence. You put Trent in prison. You were an adventurer. You can relate to them. Not only can you be a safe person for them, but you are interesting. Teenagers respond best to people who are genuine, and genuinely interesting. Even the children who have not been pulled into Trent’s web have just been through a war. Some of them may have lost family.”

“Bettina, I appreciate you are trying to explain your reasons, but it is not helping.”

“I will be there in class for as long as you need my help,” Bettina promised. “I will only leave when you are ready. I promise. You can ask for help at any time. I will help you with your lesson plans and give you all the advice I can. You will be fine. I would not suggest this if I thought you couldn’t handle it.”

****

Caleb went back home after his meeting with Bettina. He was still worried, but he was having a decent day overall, so it wasn’t overwhelming him at the moment. He stepped inside Beau and Yasha’s side of the house, the scent of freshly baked bread filling his nostrils. It was almost lunchtime.

Most of the Nein had gone home by now, except Essek and Caduceus. They were in the kitchen with Yasha, inspecting a fresh loaf of bread on the counter. The top of it was sprinkled with rolled oats.

“I think it worked,” Caduceus said. “Ah, Caleb. Rye bread? Does it look right to you?”

It smelled like the Vollkornbrot Caleb remembered from his childhood. “Ja. This looks close to what my mother used to make.”

Yasha and Caduceus high-fived over Essek’s head. Essek’s nose wrinkled a little bit in a moment of endearing, petty irritation. Yasha cut the bread into slices and constructed a sandwich to take to Beau, who was at the Archive. She buttered a slice and shoved it into her mouth before she rushed out the door.

Caleb sat with Essek and Caduceus. The latter finished serving up the bread with a generous spread of butter.

“Did you start this last night?” Caleb asked. It was chewy as intended and tasted like home, maybe a tiny bit saltier, but that was fine.

“Yeah,” replied Caduceus. “You were pretty out of it. We looped Essek in once you were out of the house this morning. This one seems doable for Yasha to make without us. You might have to help her.”

“I can do that.” He used to help his mother with the bread whenever he was home. The memories were not too painful today, just an ache.

“How was your meeting?” Essek asked. He had been hesitant to leave Rexxentrum until Caleb was a bit more settled, but the hourglass was almost drained of sand.

“Good, I think.” Caleb chewed, mulling the whole thing over. “Professor Weber is giving me her advanced transmutation students.”

“You look worried,” said Caduceus.

“I am. It’s a lot of responsibility. She thinks the older students need me the most. As a safe person. I was their age when I… when everything went to shit. She thinks we may have a few survivors of the program in the class, and other students will have lost family in the war.”

Essek’s shoulders slumped. He ate quietly.

“And the Professor doesn't think she can be that person?”

“She insists she didn’t know what Trent was doing, but she expects the survivors will only see the face of someone who didn’t help them.”

“That is very self-aware of her. Do you feel that way?”

“No. But I’m not seventeen years old.”

“True. Well, I think you have the tools to help the kids, if you feel up to it.”

“I… maybe. Bettina said she’ll help me in class until I don’t need her anymore.”

Caduceus nodded slowly, with a smile. “You’ll be great.”

****

Essek and Caduceus had dinner at the house, and intended to spend a few more hours there before teleporting to the Blooming Grove, where Essek would trance before heading off in the morning, only short of one big spell instead of two. Caleb almost wanted to ask him to burn a second spell to trance here instead, but he knew Essek found the Grove calming. And one of the few places he didn’t have to worry about the Dynasty or the Empire. Caleb wouldn’t take that from him.

But they had a bit of time, which Caleb and Essek spent in their room together. Caleb let a few of his dancing lights float around the space, so he could see Essek for the last time in who knew how long.

“You were better today,” Essek said softly, slowly unbuttoning Caleb’s shirt.

Caleb watched him concentrate on the buttons, memorising his tiny frown that also graced his face when focusing on intricate spellwork. “Being here is getting easier. Thank you for the bread.”

Essek chuckled softly. “I did very little.” He pushed Caleb’s shirt off his shoulders. “But I’m glad it made you happy.”

“The best bread is the kind made by someone I love.” He shivered a little in the cold. Essek pressed his lips to Caleb’s shoulder, remaining there as the seconds ticked away. Caleb got to work on Essek’s shirt, finding the strings on the back through sheer muscle memory. He picked the bow apart and slowly unravelled the lacing. He pulled Essek’s shirt over his head and kissed his collarbone.

They had a few more hours. Caleb intended to treasure every second Essek could give him.

Essek pulled Caleb’s ponytail free and ran his fingers through the braids he had made that morning until they twisted apart. He cradled Caleb’s head as they kissed. Vulnerability between them had been hard won, and now it was as easy as breathing. Easier, sometimes.

They separated, and Essek slowly dragged his thumb across Caleb’s lower lip. “I will message you every day I can.”

“You better. Or I will hunt you down.”

Essek smirked, and it did things to Caleb. “And if I misbehave? Will you give me detention, Professor?”

“Essek, I love you, but never say that again.” Caleb shut him up with another kiss. “I do not want one of my last memories of you to be… that.”

“Not so adventurous after all,” Essek teased.

“We are not bringing our professions into the bedroom. That will not go well for either of us.”

“Hmm.” Essek’s eyes were distant for a moment. “You are… not wrong. Whenever I hear the word Shadowhand, I think of my mother.”

“Could be worse,” Caleb said dryly.

Essek wrinkled his nose. “Yes. Well. That has killed the mood.”

“I can fix that. May I?”

Essek sat back on his hands, raising an eyebrow. “Do your worst.”

“Challenge accepted,” Caleb murmured. He shoved Essek onto his back, straddling his hips. Essek was a lot smaller than Caleb, though the force of his personality and his floating cantrip had once hidden that reality. Now, however… Caleb could keep Essek in place with his weight alone. And Essek liked it when he used that objective fact to their benefit.

Essek’s lips parted, and it took him ten seconds of shallow breaths to find his voice. “Challenge completed,” he said breathlessly.

“It’s one of my many skills, Liebchen.” Caleb knew his voice became extra husky when aroused, and he knew how much it broke Essek’s brain.

Essek opened his mouth again, but nothing came out except a soft, breathy laugh. He reached up and pulled Caleb’s hair until Caleb leaned down and kissed him hard. The throaty mmph noise from Essek was satisfying as fuck. It was very easy to get Essek aroused at the right moment. The harder part was finding that moment. He was sensitive to Caleb’s emotions, and it was hard for him to get in the mood if he had even the slightest inkling Caleb was not having a good day. For now, at least, it meant what sex they did have only happened under the best circumstances. It was a far cry from the last relationship Caleb had been in, where most of the sex had been after a bad day, all three of them on the brink of falling apart.

Caleb pulled back a little bit to lightly brush his fingernails across the sensitive skin of Essek’s lower abdomen, just above his remaining clothing. Essek’s breath hitched.

“Caleb. Please.” Essek was flushing red beneath the purple of his skin, turning it a lovely plum tone. Caleb kissed his stomach, and slowly undressed him like a long-anticipated present he was afraid to break. Essek squirmed beneath him, no matter how hard he tried to hold still to make the job easier.

“What do you want, Kätzchen?” Caleb said quietly, stroking the inside of Essek’s bare thigh. Caleb never used terms of endearment like this in casual conversation. He liked to save it for special moments, specifically because he knew it broke Essek’s brain very badly to be called things like kitten or sweetheart in Caleb’s own tongue.

Essek let out a shaky breath; his violet-blue eyes were half-lidded and he was out of his fucking mind. “I want… anything. Everything. You. I can’t think.”

“I know,” Caleb said, sliding off the bed, just out of Essek’s reach. “I like it that way.” He slowly unfastened his pants, watching Essek twitch in a half-aborted attempt to move closer to him. “Stay right there.” He let them drop, kicked them aside, finished undressing. He lingered out of reach until Essek bit his lip, gazing up at him with a silent plea. Only then did Caleb climb back onto the bed, settling between Essek’s shaking legs. “Let me take care of you, ja?”

Caleb caught Essek’s lips in a messy, breathless kiss as their bodies fit together at long last.

Later, they lay together under the covers. Caleb had extinguished his lights. Essek could see him perfectly well. Caleb had almost left the lights on so he could drink in Essek’s features for a little while longer, but he was sluggish and borderline mindless from his most recent orgasm. He would rather spend what little concentration he had on running his fingers across Essek’s features so he had a few more memories to keep him warm until they could meet again.

“I will stay until you fall asleep,” Essek said softly. “Then, I will message you tomorrow after I leave the Grove.”

Caleb hummed quietly, not trusting his voice beyond that. This goodbye was hard every time.

“I’m proud of you, Caleb.” Essek kissed him, and then pressed their foreheads together. “You will be an incredible teacher. You already are.” Caleb swallowed against a lump in his throat. He was not going to cry. He was not going to make this harder for Essek than it needed to be.

Somehow, he managed to find his voice. “I finally had a good example.”

Essek chuckled softly. “That may be the one thing in my life I did right.”

“It’s an important thing you did right, but not the only one.” Caleb found his hand, twining their fingers together. His grip would slacken in sleep, letting Essek extract himself without too much difficulty.

“I try to remember that. Thank you. Get some sleep.”

Caleb didn’t want to close his eyes, knowing Essek wouldn’t be there in the morning. But Essek had to leave sometime, and he was giving Caleb every moment he could spare. So Caleb closed his eyes and relaxed into the pillow.

“I love you, Essek.”

“I love you, Caleb.”

Sometimes they didn’t need to say it. It was always true, whether or not they put it into words. Tonight, however, they both felt just a little more fragile, a little more vulnerable, and the words helped.

And then Caleb slept. The last thing he remembered was Essek’s fingers dancing sweetly in his hair.

****

Waking alone, Caleb tried not to be too dour in the morning, but given Yasha kept trying to find things around the house to keep him busy, he was clearly not doing a good job. He had to meet with Astrid (and probably Wulf) later in the day to discuss work some more, and he needed to bring up the Volstrucker survivors. Maybe Astrid had already been working on contacting them, but it wasn’t clear. It needed to be.

For now, however, he let Yasha drag him out to the garden. He liked having his hands in the soil, coaxing life out of the earth. After dealing so much death in this world, it was nice to put life back into it. He knew Yasha felt the same. It also let him reminisce about some of his less painful memories of home. Planting green beans with his mother.

It was also a little easier to bask in the afterglow of last night out here in the sun.

“Did you have a good time last night?” Yasha asked. Caleb was glad Beauregard was already at work. She wouldn’t tease him, but he knew she would have to restrain herself.

“Ja,” Caleb said quietly.

“He’s soft with you. It’s lovely.” She watched him, and she saw a little too well. “You miss him.”

“A lot, ja.”

“You’re good for each other,” she said. “I’m glad you have him, even if it’s not all the time.”

Caleb knew his smile was incredibly sad, but it was a smile nonetheless. “Me too.”

Essek’s Sending reached him in that moment. “Hello, love. I have arrived at my destination in one piece. A little further away than intended, but unharmed. How’s your morning?” A slight pause. “I love you.” Ah, he’d realised he had three words left.

Full of warmth from the sun and Essek’s word economy, Caleb responded, “Hallo, Essek. Glad you are safe. I am gardening with Yasha.” She waved. “She says hi. We had leftover bread for breakfast. Talk soon. Love you, too.”

“That’s very sweet, Caleb.”

He chuckled, and it sounded a little more fragile than he would’ve liked. “Careful. I will start crying again.”

“Hey, that’s okay. I’ve been crying a lot, too. I think it’s a good thing.”

Maybe. Caleb found it too unsettling to have that view on it. He stood up from the ground, knees damp with morning dew, and dusted the grass off his trousers. Establishing a garden here, and actually putting his own hands in the dirt this time, felt permanent. Unless something went very wrong, they were going to be here for a long time.

Yasha hadn’t had a stable home for years, either. And she also had awful violence and loss baked into her past, and terrifying blank patches in her memory. It was easy to spend quiet time with her, because they understood each other in a way the others sometimes couldn’t.

They enjoyed a quiet cup of tea on the steps linking the back door to the garden. Yasha was partway through repairing the fence back here, and she insisted on working with it alone; magic would end the project too quickly.

The sun reflected in her whitening hair, glowing like the radiance inside her. She deserved all the gentle mornings; she wore them well. Yasha gazed out at the barest beginnings of their garden, and she smiled.

“This suits you,” Caleb said.

“I’m getting used to it,” she replied softly. “After so long, I get to just be a…” She caught herself. “Well. I’m not a wife.”

“For now.”

She chuckled. “For now. It’s nice here. I get to bake bread, and grow a little garden, and welcome the people I love when they come home. And I get to love whoever I want. That’s all I ever wanted.”

“You deserve it. You deserve peace.”

Yasha smiled into her teacup. “Beau tells me that every day. I think I’m starting to believe it. What about you?”

A short question, with a complicated answer. “Sometimes. I do not know if I will ever feel like I deserve this without reservation. It is getting easier. Having a mission helps, I think.”

“We can do this,” Yasha told him. She said it quietly, but with every ounce of determination she had. Yasha had a lot. Caleb was struck by her soft strength, as he often was. Letting oneself be gentle after years of violence and pain was one of the hardest things to do. Caleb knew that all too well.

Caleb held out his fist, and she bumped it. “Ja, we got this.”

And he actually believed it. If only a little bit.

****

Caleb had an easier time walking into Soltryce Academy this time. Starting from a far more energised and calm place than last time carried him through the memories. Entering Astrid’s office was still a little painful, but he was strong enough to handle it.

Astrid and Wulf were seated in armchairs in front of the fireplace, reading. There was a pile on the table between them, and evident gaps on the bookshelves. They had rarely gotten to read books from Trent’s personal collection. The silent fuck you was vindicating, even vicariously.

“The old man had some interesting material,” Astrid said in Zemnian, skipping over the pleasantries. They didn’t need them at this point. She messaged him frequently enough that it felt like they were simply picking up a briefly dropped conversation. They usually spoke Zemnian when they did not have non-speakers to contend with, and Wulf followed suit. They would occasionally borrow a word or phrase from Common if the sentiment worked better.

Wulf snorted. “Pretty dry reading. You’ll like it, Bren.”

Caleb shrugged. “Once a nerd, always a nerd.”

Wulf set the book on the table, stretching; his shirt rode up a little bit and Caleb kept his eyes on his face with a great deal of effort. “If you want more colourful reading, the smut shop you were asking about is on the north side of the market.”

“Kingsley asked me.”

“Uh-huh,” Wulf said flatly.

“Listen, you cannot flirt with all my friends and then take that tone with me.”

“Just did.”

Caleb resisted the somewhat mild urge to scream. Wulf and Astrid were both very good at putting him off-balance, in very different ways. “Whatever makes you happy, Wulf. Astrid, can we talk about Advanced Transmutation? I am going to explode if I don’t talk about this in the next ten seconds.”

Astrid had been watching his exchange with a cocked eyebrow, but she smoothed out her expression and gestured towards a third armchair, closer to the fire.

He sat down, holding one hand out towards the warmth. “Astrid, I say this with all the respect in the world: what the fuck?”

“The advanced classes are in a delicate situation,” Astrid replied. “Professor Weber and I want as many of the Volstrucker program survivors back in school as possible. You are a better person to work with them than Bettina, and with any students who lost loved ones in the war. She told you her reasons, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Then what is the problem?”

“Aside from my lack of qualifications and the fact I never technically graduated from the Academy?”

“Bren, your practical experience outweighs all of that. Bettina will help you with the rest.”

“Astrid suggested you take the advanced students,” Wulf said casually, leafing through another tome as if he wasn’t throwing a bomb into the conversation.

Caleb felt an ache in his gut, and he had to close his eyes and compose himself. “Astrid. Why?”

“The Academy is about to throw those children into the world,” she replied quietly. “Whatever lessons you wish to impart, you have to impart them now. Not only that, but Bettina is not well-suited to teach survivors of the Volstrucker program. She has spent her entire life in the Academy. They will not take her seriously. Some may resent her for not doing something about the abuse happening right under her nose. She told you that.”

“How many survivors do you expect we will have?” asked Caleb.

“I am still trying to track them down,” Astrid replied, with an edge of frustration.

“I was meaning to talk to you about the Volstrucker.” Caleb had been racking his brain whenever he had the time and energy. There was no formal infrastructure to support the survivors of the program. If Caleb hadn’t met Veth, and then later the Nein, things could have gone very badly for him in so many different ways.

“Talk,” Astrid said.

“These people need help,” he said. “Unless we get that mental health support I asked for, we are effectively on our own. Even if the Assembly throws us crumbs, nobody can understand what it was like except others like us. We need to talk to each other. Regularly, if possible.”

Wulf’s eyes stopped scanning the page. “Do you really think Volstrucker will want to talk to each other about this shit?”

“Who else is there?” Caleb said plainly. “They--we deserve the chance to support each other. Regular meetings, if we can. A support group, I suppose. Low pressure. Just a group of people who understand each other going through yet another upheaval in a life filled with them.”

Astrid watched him closely, eyes narrowed in thought. “Interesting. I think I understand where this idea came from.”

“We got each other through a lot back in the day,” said Caleb. “But we weren’t equipped for it. There was no blueprint for what we were to each other, but we did our best. Until it wasn’t enough. And later, I had the Nein. I would not be here without them. I owe them everything. Not everyone has people like that.”

“I’ll find us a place and let you know,” Astrid said.

“Thank you.” Caleb had expected he would be a little emotional about it, so at least he was prepared to ward off tears. “Thank you so much.”

Astrid averted her eyes, gazing into the fire. “As for your job, most of the children in the program have been located. Some of their parents have pulled them out of school. I am… trying to talk them out of that. The last thing we need are traumatised, half-trained adolescents running around unchecked.”

Caleb was hung up on her wording. Most of the children had been found. “There are some unaccounted for?”

“Two. Felix and Nicolaus. They’re both seventeen.” Astrid didn’t need to point out why their age was a problem.

There was no time to panic; Caleb needed details. “What do we know about them?”

“I worked with them a little,” Astrid replied. “They are close, not unlike the three of us at their age. If we find one, we may find the other. They are from Blumenthal. The Crownsguard are keeping an eye out, but I do not trust them to handle this with the care this situation requires.”

“Specialisations?”

“Both Evocation.”

Caleb didn’t need to say aloud how bad this could be. Two missing Evocation wizards, on the edge of graduating the Volstrucker program, who had possibly had their memories modified and orders distributed. It had been a few months since Trent would have last had contact with them. The worst could already have happened. Then again, Caleb had been in Blumenthal not that long ago to visit his parents, and he hadn’t heard anything that would have given him pause.

“I was in Blumenthal a few weeks ago,” Caleb said. “If they followed through on an order, it was likely after that. I’d… like to think I would have noticed otherwise. Most people seem to agree that I am rather intelligent.” The dry humour probably wasn’t appropriate in this moment, but he needed to keep himself calm and sarcasm usually worked a treat. “In more recent times, I would assume word would have gotten back to you. Maybe we are not too late.”

“Optimism is a new look for you, Bren,” said Wulf.

Caleb would never call himself an optimist, but he could see why Wulf was uncomfortable, even if he hid it behind one part sarcasm and one part a veiled flirt. “Wulf, I have seen a lot of things in this past year alone that have… changed me. There was a time, not too long ago, when I did not expect to survive the week. And… look at us now. We are sitting here in Astrid’s office, reading Trent’s old books because he is stuck in a dark hole and cannot do anything to us. I spent the morning gardening with Yasha. My friends bought me a quilt because it reminded me of my mother. Things are better for me than they have been in a very long time. So, I am trying new things, like having hope sometimes.”

“Point taken,” Wulf murmured, averting his eyes. Tense. Uncomfortable.

“I’ll let you know as soon as I hear anything about the boys,” Astrid said. “Whatever happens… I think you should be there.

[lovetenya]

𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬 𝟏𝐚.

warnings: these are just headcanons mostly focused on them, but the reader is gn, of course!

note: this was suggested, and inspired by this. also, i haven’t written for some of these characters before, so i hope i do them justice!

scenario: ua’s normal childcare professional is out sick, so you’re teamed up with another class 1a student to take care of the ua teacher’s kids while they’re at a hero banquet. all of the kids are well behaved, but most of these guys aren’t around kids much, so it’s a learning experience.

mina ashido.

mina is great with kids because she fits right in with them and will listen to them babble about their interests for HOURS because it truly is interesting to her to learn what makes them happy

and she’ll ask you “wow! did ya hear that y/n? she just said that pelicans can turn their stomachs inside out! isn’t that great?”

she just wants to learn whatever she can from them, because she thinks that they have just as much to teach us

i feel like mina is the type of person who gently inserts self love rhetoric and feminist ideas into her conversations w the kids, because she just wants everyone to be uplifted and for them to notice their strengths without being held back by other people’s opinions

she’s always felt that it was easy to be outwardly excited and to have fun, so she’s really good at getting shy kids out of their shell and helping them to let loose, and will encourage you to open up to them a little bit and be a little warmer

she loves to dance, so she’ll host dance parties with the kids and start something goofy like a conga line and lead them around the common room, making them all giggle like crazy

tsuyu asui.

tsu doesn’t really like the loud noises that kids sometimes make, so she’s more likely to organize a game or put on a movie for the kids to watch to keep things calm and steady

she’d let em pick a nature program or an animal-related movie so that she could chime in & give little facts here & there and make them smile!

tsu is a good babysitter because she encourages kids to be curious about their surroundings, and doesn’t mind at all when kids ask questions about her quirk

she’ll show and tell them whatever they want to know, and will even leap out of excitement sometimes!! she’s so cute!!

katsuki bakugo.

contrary to what other people sometimes say, i don’t think that he’s going to be outright rude to kids or yell at them constantly. yes, i know, he was brash with them in those couple episodes, but he’s blunt—not a bad person. he’s not going to just scream at kids for no reason.

sure, he might get frustrated, but he still wants them to feel safe and protected. that’s what heroes do.

and what better way to keep them feeling safe than teaching them self defense techniques?

he’d be all serious like, “alright, so if a villain has you in a chokehold, what do you do?”

and they’re sitting in front of him, all wide eyed and starry lookin, entranced with what he’s teaching them

“who teaches kids this kind of stuff?” you think. (he does)

i also think katsuki is the kid of person who’s going to cook for them and keep them occupied in that way.

he usually likes making complicated stuff, but he has no problem making it less spicy if it means they’ll calm down for a little bit to eat

while everyone’s eating, you look over to him and see him helping a kid hold their chopsticks, before softly praising them, “there ya go. you’ve got it now.” and giving them a small high five

he’s not someone who’s going to be outwardly soft, so doing things for kids like teaching them things or cooking them meals is how he shows he cares.

tenya iida.

tenya likes to tell and read stories with kids, or help them with their homework if they’ve got any

he’ll do terrible voices for all the different characters and make all the kids laugh

he’ll sit patiently with them and will explain the stories or problems just like a teacher would

and he’ll notice if you sneak them any candy, and will call you out discreetly by holding out his hand for some and saying “what? you’re not going to give me one?”

any and all messes will be cleaned up by the kids, and they’ll be lined up & ready when the teachers are ready to come and get them

kyoka jirou.

i think she’d be better with older kids because they’re easier to maintain and entertain (in my opinion)

they don’t ask as many random questions, which sometimes overwhelm her, and they’re more likely to listen to what she has to say

i can see her being really flustered with the attention they give her, because they think she’s so cool, but she’s still pretty relaxed cuz she doesn’t wanna freak them out

she’ll let them have lots of snacks and would play music for them!!

“does anyone know what this instrument is called?”

“that’s right, good job! wanna hear what it sounds like?”

she’ll show them as many instruments as they wanna see, and tries not to blush too hard when they cheer and applaud

denki kaminari.

if you think kids bounce off the walls with energy, they’re about to meet their match with mr. denki kaminari.

he’s the kind of person to challenge them to foot races and to go way too hard in go fish

and he’d do little pranks where he let outs a little shock when they high five him

needless to say, the kids are exhausted when they make it back to their parents

eijirou kirishima.

he. loves. kids.

he thinks they’re so fun to be around and that they’re the next generation of heroes, and they’re full of endless potential!

he’s 100% willing to be a human jungle gym and will play wrestle with them to their heart’s content while making sure they’re not being too rough with each other

he’d compliment them for the smallest stuff, saying “wow! that was super manly, kiddo!” cuz he doesn’t want other people to question their abilities

he’s not the greatest cook, but he’s helpful, so he’ll help you cook for them!

he’ll encourage the kids to help however they can, and will let them stir the bowls while encouraging them!!

lots of high fives and “woo-hoo!”s

izuku midoriya.

izuku adores children’s curiosity and how their questions never seem to end

he can relate to it, because of course he loves compiling information and learning as much as he can about a topic

if one of the kids was a fan of all might??? they’re babbling together about all might’s greatest moments and they’re demonstrating how the move went and how the villain ran away pathetically

he’s very soft w kids because he knows how weird he is.

he agrees that it doesn’t make sense for someone of his size to be that strong, but reminds them that everyone’s quirk works differently, and that they shouldn’t judge people for their quirk or how it chooses to manifest

he’s so understanding and kind w the kids whose quirks haven’t manifested yet, because he knows how bad it feels to feel like you’re es than average, and assures them that it’ll come soon! and even if it doesn’t, you can still make a difference!

which is all the more reason for him to be as gentle as possible, following around the little ones like a mother hen and making sure they’re not gonna walk into something or put a toy into their mouth

would probably tire himself out trying to keep track of all of them and they would all fall asleep in a big hug pile 🥺

mashirao ojiro.

has a lot of fun with kids, because he’s used to being overshadowed by some of the higher achievers in class 1a

but kids think he’s cool because his quirk is so unique and they can’t help but be fascinated and ask a million questions on what he can do with it

he’s happy to share, because lots of people underestimate him and don’t pay attention to what he has to say

would give them rides on his tail and let them pet it (like denki does!)

hanta sero.

he just kinda lets them do their own thing and follows along to make sure that they don’t hurt themselves

would strap a baby to his chest with some tape just to keep them secure with him

and would answer a thousand questions about his quirk without tiring, because he remembers what it was like to be curious of peoples quirks, and he knows they’re not staring to be disrespectful

i think he’s another one that would cook for them, and feel really accomplished when they’re all satisfied

mezo shoji.

although he’s a badass, that’s exactly the reason why he’s the one most hesitant to deal with kids because he’s afraid that he’s going to scare them away

however, he didn’t account for them finding him to be the most fascinating person they’ve laid their eyes on

he would scoop them up in his arms and carry them around and let them use him like a jungle gym

he’s very very gentle with them because he tends to underestimate his strength and would never be able to forgive himself if he was to bring them harm, but he never does because he’s so careful

shoto todoroki.

shoto never really dealt with kids, so he’s hesitant about everything he does.

he’s seen the destruction that his quirk “causes”, and he’s horrified to thing of what could happen if he gets overwhelmed.

shoto underestimates his tolerance and patience. he’s very good with kids, and is very good at getting them to listen.

all it takes is a little flurry of snow and they’re suddenly at full attention for shoto.

ochaco uraraka.

she likes kids, but she’s not very good at being strict with them

they want to read another story? of course she can read another!

they want another snack? sure! why not?

she tries not to let them walk all over her, but they’re just so cute, and she can’t resist.

she’d make their toys float around the room to make them laugh

and they think she’s a princess because of her “magic” and how she wears pink :)

momo yaoyorozu.

momo is like a mom!

shes great at planning things for them to do and keeping them in line and occupied

games are organized and cooperative, so nobody loses!

although she’s not usually like this, she’s more than willing to give hugs and feel better kisses if someone is to bump their head :(

she would feel terrible if someone got hurt on her watch, so she’s encouraging them the be safe if they’re going to be active!

makes lots of fun little snacks for them to eat, with cute faces and stuff, and doesn’t mind to see her hard work enjoyed by such good kids!

end!

[itsmeevie01]

A Moment in Time- Ch 11

MASTERPOST

wow, this took a while! in all honesty? it was the effort it took to get back inside Tim's head. moving on, please check the A/N at the end, for the rest of the going ons and comments on the...cannon compliance. or lack of, therefore. a warning? I threw cannon out the window before I started. oh! and this ch mentions kind of vague suicide? so, if that's a trigger, skip the headlines about Adrien. (don't worry, I haven't killed him..yet)

While Marinette was giving Adrien a heart attack, across the ocean, the girl was also giving Tim Drake one.

It had been almost 24 hours since he had heard from the very prompt Marinette. After their last email, he had gone to bed. When he had woken up the next day, he had lunged for his computer only to find that his inbox sat empty. When he had checked it again after his first coffee, Tim was again disappointed.

After that, he had set his inbox to notify him if something from his friend came in.

Now, as he sat in his car after work, Tim anxiously hovered his finger over the email icon. He had stayed late to distract himself and had fallen asleep at his desk.  It was 11 at night, and his phone had gone off with a call from Alfred. The butler had been trying to get in contact with him, concerned that he had been kidnapped again.

Hesitantly, Tim thumbed his way into the drafts of his email and looked over the top one.

 From: timdrakeeeee99@gmail.com

To: Mari_Beri2001@gmail.com

Marinette,

I apologize if you feel that I have overstepped in the past 24 hours. I truly did not intend to find out from Jason. I had intended to ask you when you came for the Gala.

I know that we usually average 2-3 emails a day, but I wanted to give you some space to process if you needed.

I look forward to you joining us in Gotham, in a few weeks. I know that with all that is going on with Hawkmoth, you must be relieved to leave the city for some time. Alfred will probably reach out, but I was wondering if there was anything we could do to make your stay more enjoyable? Times around the galas are always a bit hectic, and I don’t want to make your life any more difficult. On another side note, will you be traveling alone? International travel can be quite hectic, especially if you are flying somewhere new.

It turns out that my father’s company likes to throw curveballs, and I will be flying to Paris in the next week. If you have time, maybe we could sit down and talk?

I was reading back through our emails and realized that you may not have heard. Jason and Gina have left on some sort of adventure. The only thing that they said was that we should start checking Italian news. Do you have any idea what that may be about?

I hope to hear from you soon.

-Tim

P.S. is the offer for the super coffee recipes still open? Those coffees are sounding more and more appealing.

After hesitating one more time, Tim hit send and watched as the message disappeared from his screen. With a sigh, the teen turned his car on, and made his way out onto the late-night streets of Gotham.

When he rolled out of bed the next morning, Tim blindly reached for his phone. Before he could open his email and look for a message from Marinette, a notification caught his attention.

ITALIAN GANG EXPOSED AS ROOT OF GOTHAM DRUG ISSUE

Rolling his eyes, Tim opened that headline. There the story went into more detail and the young CEO was able to see his older brother’s fingerprints all over the discovery. At the end, it mentioned two ‘biker vigilantes’ who had ridden through town and mostly done what they could to defend those who needed help. The author noted that the duo was gone by the time the gang had been brought to justice. It was rumored that they had been the ones to take the gang down.

With a roll of his eyes, Tim sent Jason a screenshot of the story and a good job, before flipping to his email.

There, sitting at the top of his inbox was…nothing from Marinette. A frown worked its way onto Tim’s face as he refreshed his email again. When nothing came up, he moved to his computer. As he navigated to the French news site he had bookmarked Tim reminded himself that there were heroes in Paris and that there was nothing to worry about.

He quickly revised the thought as he looked at the top headline.

ADRIEN AGRESTE MISSING.

The next one read very similarly.

GABRIEL AGRESTE CLAIMS SON RAN AWAY! IS HE HIDING THE INNER BEGINNINGS OF SCANDAL?

With a click, Tim opened another news site based in Paris.

A MOTHER’S SUICIDE. A SON’S DISAPPEARANCE. A FATHER’S ABUSIVE NATURE. AN UNFILTERED LOOK AT THE AGRESTE HOUSEHOLD FROM AN INSIDE SOURCE.

Worry settled in the pit of Tim’s stomach. If there were legitimate news sources running this kind of thing, something must be going on. Marinette hadn’t mentioned anything about the boy, and most likely they weren’t friends. Hell, they probably didn’t even know the other existed. He tried to brush off the headlines as the media overdramatizing things again. However, his gut just wouldn’t let him.

With a sigh, Tim opened a separate tab and set up his computer desk for the long haul. He was going to dig into the Agreste kid. After he checked on Marinette.

It had been a lot easier to find what he was looking for than he expected. Within the first hour, Tim had tracked down the people Adrien was close to because of his father and moved onto the boy’s school friends. When he had pulled up the school the missing teen attended, Tim froze.

It was the same Lycée that Marinette attended.

In a flurry of typing, Tim pulled up the school records. There was Marinette. A few familiar faces. And then…there! in the same class was the missing blonde boy. As the young vigilante stared at the class roster, Tim felt his stomach sink. Adrien and Marinette were in the same class.

While Bruce had shrugged off the worry that Tim had, the teen knew that he had a valid concern. There was a sinking in his gut, a tightness that he couldn’t explain. All Tim knew was that this connection between Adrien Agreste and Marinette was going to change the situation in Paris, drastically.

It was at three in the morning when Tim’s email box binged.

The teen’s head was resting on the keys, his arms slack at his sides. On the screen, where the cursor was blinking a line of unintelligible letters was running. As the bing went off again, louder, and Tim jerked up in surprise and blinked owlishly at the screen.

He had begged off patrol in favor of looking into a ‘case’. He had spent the entire evening camped out at his desk digging further into all things Paris. On one window, he had the files he was compiling on the names that kept coming up, while in another he monitored three different news sites known to report on Akumas. In one of the windows that was hidden behind piles of rabbit holes, was a file with one line typed

         MARINETTE DUPAIN-CHENG

As understanding ran over his face, Tim opened a new window and clicked into his email. There, waiting for him at the top of the inbox was an email from Marinette. 

From: Mari_Beri2001@gmail.com

To: timdrakeeeee99@gmail.com

Tim,

 I am so sorry that I disappeared! One of my friends had a family emergency and I have been spending time with him helping with the fine details.

I appreciate the apology, but I can’t really blame you when Jason was being an idiot. It feels good to know that you now understand why and how Jason and I know each other. As for my older brother, last I heard, he was coming back to Paris on his way to Germany. He promised to be back in Gotham in time for the annual Holiday Gala.

You mentioned that you were coming to Paris before the Gala? Is everything ok? I would enjoy meeting you if there is time. Of course, much of my schedule will be revolving around finals, so maybe an ice cream break would be in order? Let me know when you arrive, and we can make plans!

That reminds me, I won't be on my computer much and I've been enjoying talking with you. If you want, you can text me at XX-XXX-XXXX-XX.

Have a good day,

~Marinette

P.S. I was going to send you the coffee recipes, but it would be better if I gave them to you in person!

Tension ran out of Tim’s shoulders as he reread the email. Marinette was ok, she didn’t hate him. but, as the teen reread his friend's (were they friends?) email, he realized that there was something off with her email. He couldn’t pinpoint it, but the young vigilante chalked it up to his exhaustion.

With a sleepy smile, Tim clicked out of his email and stood from the desk. A moment later, he was tumbling into bed. For once, he was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

As Bruce Wayne climbed the stairs to the upper levels of the Manor, his eyes caught on a computer bag that had been left in a nook off the stairs. With a small smile, the billionaire picked up the bag and collected the notes that had been left from whenever Tim had last worked there. it was late, and the teen had begged off patrol tonight to work on his own projects in preparation for his trip to Paris. At this time in the early morning, it would be hit or miss whether he would still be awake. Many times, when Bruce would check on Tim, the teen was passed out at his desk or on his bed surrounded with projects.

Bruce knew that Tim was working himself to the bone before his trip to Paris. The teen had dug into the supervillain problem that Jared Stone’s niece had mentioned to him. Bruce really hoped that Tim hadn’t put together that Jason was related to the girl, because that could cause problems within the family. Not because of the actual connection, but the secrecy that he and Jason had used to handle it.

With sending Tim to Paris there was a certain media risk. The only reason that Bruce was willing to risk the media was the fact that his son was the most informed on the supervillain situation. That, and there was actual clean-up work that needed to be done after finding corruption in their Parisian office.

As the billionaire cracked open Tim’s door, a smile crossed the man’s face. The teen was curled up in bed, his desk cluttered with work, his computer still running. His shoes were kicked off to the side, and his skateboard was leaning against the wall by the closet door. At the end of the bed was his carry-on, open and partially packed. At the top of the bag, just visible from the door was a box that had been wrapped. In Tim’s (surprisingly elegant) script was the name ‘Marinette’. Bruce studied the box for a moment, before shaking his head and nothing to ask Tim in the morning.

Leaving the door cracked, Bruce stepped into the space and put his son’s bag and cacophony of papers on the top of his dresser, where he would look when it was time for him to pack his bags in the morning. With one last glance at the sleeping teen, Bruce closed the door to let the boy sleep.

Skater Tim? Skater Tim.

hiiiiiiiii! I'm back! what did you think of the look back into Gotham? I wanted to do something that would look at things from outside the little bubble of Mari and Tim, so we got some Bruce time. am I keeping Bruce as a good dad? yes, I am. I think that *technically* Tim didn't get adopted (I looked it up, but dudes, I got every version of yes and no out there. if ANYONE KNOWS FOR SURE, LET ME KNOW.). ANYWAYS I decided that I was throwing out any and all cannon early on, so if you know what the official version is, lmk, but it's really only so that I have references to work off of for character references.

now that we are expanding the miracusquad, should Tim get a Miraculous? which one? also, the reason that Mari is kinda...distant, is because she is planning on how to kick hawkmoth's ass.

Luka is getting his miraculous soon! will I actually follow cannon for once? Nobody knows!

tag list!  @moonlitceleste @redscarlet95 @ultimatetornshipper @mochegato @liquid-luck-00 @maskedpainter @trippingovermyfeet @nathleigh @m0chick0furan @susiej1118 @t1dwarrior-of-earth @sassakitty @remy-289 @solangelo252 @corporeal-terrestrial @woe-is-me0  @toodaloo-kangaroo

[heymacy]

where do you find the time and energy to not only start and complete TD but then immediately afterwards have another different au multi chapter ready to go with supplemental material? I write 5k a week and I'm exhausted doing just that and need another week to recover.

okay it’s time for Let’s Get Real with Macy 💛 aka the brutal honesty hour nobody asked for 😭

[cw: hypomania/bipolar depression]

while writing TD, i was very hypomanic. even though i didn’t receive my official bipolar diagnosis until last month, i’ve been dealing with it for my entire adult life. prior to my diagnosis, i was incorrectly diagnosed with ADHD (which has since been “reversed” so to speak) and was put on a stimulant to help with my executive dysfunction/inattentiveness (i was also still in school at this point which was the main reason for the meds). well, unbeknownst to me at the time, adderall can trigger manic + hypomanic episodes. who’d’a thunk it? so for the majority of TD, i was unreasonably productive and put out long ass chapters every two weeks because all i did was work + write while sleeping maybe 3 hours a night (i dropped out of school right before i started TD but that’s a whole other story). i got off the meds in July and lost all my motivation, which is why it took so long for chapters 8 & 9 to come out. i had to re-learn how to get myself to do shit, and to be honest, i’m still struggling with that. motivation doesn’t come easily to me and never has, but i’m also not currently medicated (i will be soon, hopefully) and in a bit of a uhhhhhhh Sad Place for the time being. i can only motivate myself to do shit i already want to do, which is hard when you can’t always choose what that is.

now mental health shit aside, i started working on TLO in march. which mean it’s been in development for almost six months. which is a LONG time for me to gather photos, make playlists, make edits, watch movies, compile lists, etc. films + television have been my main source of happiness, entertainment, & joy for the bulk of my life, so engaging with media is something i always enjoy. for a long time i tried to write stories about shit i didn’t actually care that much about, but when i started writing stories about the shit i love (music with TD, film with TLO) and finding a way to make it work for the characters, writing didn’t feel so much like work anymore. instead it felt like an escape. escapism is my primary coping mechanism (don’t worry my therapist approves lmao) and when i write, it feels like i’m escaping into another world. and i ONLY feel like that when i write about shit i care about. so that’s my best advice. write about shit you know and love, or write the shit YOU’D want to read or watch. that’s my biggest thing - if i wouldn’t wanna read it, i don’t wanna write it.

i think the most important thing to remember is that everyone has different abilities, circumstances, and motivations. i’m a hypocrite for saying this but please try not to compare yourself to anyone else when it comes to writing. i’m currently unemployed (my new jobs starts at the end of the month) and i literally don’t do anything because i’m terrified of covid and never leave my house (yes i’m vaccinated but i’m also immunocompromised + have a history of respiratory problems so i avoid the outside world like the plague, pun intended). so i probably have a lot more free time right now than most people. i don’t have many other hobbies, very few in-person friends because i moved to a new city right before the pandemic, and my wife works nights, so i write while they sleep. my life is very conducive to a productive writing schedule right now, but that hasn’t always been (nor will it always be) the case.

i wish i had better advice, or a better explanation, but i’m honestly just as confused about all of this as anyone else 🥺 but i’m always here to talk, or offer what little advice i do have, or be there to bounce ideas off of. writing is fucking hard and exhausting and beyond draining, but i think the payoff has always been worth it, and that’s what keeps me going 💛

[kim-bobbae]

54. “I made reservations.”

I miss him so much and I hope he’s resting up, I just want to take care of him and be his comfort person TT

“To be really honest, I have no idea what he’s busy with until I see a recording or photoshoot of his on my schedule, and then I’m summoned to do his hair and makeup,” You laughed. “At this point I think it’s a relief he renewed his contract with AOMG instead of signing with H1GHR, don’t you think?” 

“I’m right, he really is the dad that’s never home,” Wonjae chuckled, tugging lower on his beanie. 

You were in the car on the way back to the AOMG headquarters after Wonjae’s photoshoot where Pumkin had dropped by in support since it was his first ever solo shoot for W magazine when the topic of Jay came about as you guys discussed the responses received from the interview they had done that was uploaded just a few days ago. With how busy Jay had been and how rare it was to see him around at the AOMG headquarters, their questions on what he had been up to very naturally fell on you because who else would know better if not for his girlfriend, right? 

Wrong. You had absolutely no idea either. 

Yes, there was the H1GHR compilation – you knew that much – but so did everyone else. The fact that you didn’t know much more than that surprised them, to say the least. 

“Do you want me to nag at him a little and drop him a hint or two? I could do that,” Pumkin offered. 

“Oh please no, I don’t think he’ll be too pleased if he finds out I’m whining about him to you guys behind his back.” 

“Not exactly, we’re the ones asking you about him,” Wonjae rebutted. 

“Yeah, when was the last time you guys went on a date?” Pumkin asked. “Don’t count the ones where you guys order delivery from the office or his studio, those aren’t counted.” 

“Why not? Those are dates…” 

“I see where the problem lies now,” Wonjae snickered. 

“C’mon, you guys are making this a bigger deal than it actually is,” You remarked. “We’ve been dating for years now, we’re past that.” 

A few days passed since then with nothing really out of the ordinary except for a dinner with your friends that you’ve managed to fit into your schedule after clearing an important deadline. With a couple of music releases coming up, you were attending meetings with different artists, talking to them about their ideas and concepts, proposing hairstyles, make up and clothing that would be suitable for their music videos and teaser images. 

While the job did sound manageable, the very act of browsing endless collections of the latest fashion releases was extremely time consuming, and squeezing in a short conversation or two with Jay via text message was, in fact, pretty much the norm these days with the both of you being so busy. Not that you minded – you just got used to it. 

And so did he. 

You understood though, really. You understood that he was a busy man and while you were important to him, he simply could not afford to put you in the center of his world. But he tried, and he did all he could to show you that. Yet, with that workaholic nature of his and all the people he had to put on for, work would always be his priority. 

It was just hard facing up to it last week when you tried your luck at getting some affection by cuddling up to him while he was reviewing some tracks during the ten minute window that the both of you were left alone in the studio – you couldn’t help it, it’s been a whole month (!!!) – only to earn a ‘I’m working, babe’ in a tone you don’t usually appreciate. He apologized, of course, realizing that he had hurt your feelings from the way you retreated quietly to another room, but it did enough to keep you from attempting it again for the remainder of the week. 

“Dinner tonight?” 

A message notification flashed across your screen. It was Jay. 

You didn’t think much of it though and readily agreed to it. For a split second, you wondered if Pumkin had a part to play in this and the smirk on his face as the receptionist walked in to the office towards you with a bouquet of roses in hand only confirmed your suspicions. 

“Looks like someone sent you flowers,” She said, handing it to you. 

Now Jay wasn’t really one who’d be into these flashy, romantic gestures, especially in front of his employees, and the number of heads that turned towards your direction with knowing smiles on their faces made you understand exactly why. 

Take a longer lunch break to get ready if you need to, I’ll be at the office at 7pm to pick you up.

You raised a brow at the formalities as you read the message on the card. Having been together for years, being on the receiving end of this somewhat grand gesture all of a sudden needed some getting use to again but with everyone’s attention on you and the extremely elaborate bouquet, you quickly set is aside, an embarrassed smile the best you could muster in response to their reactions before you got back to work. 

Consumed by your pile of work, you had completely lost track of time since then but it wasn’t hard to tell that it was already 7pm from the way your colleagues peeped curiously from behind their desk dividers, stifling their excited giggles and from their reaction you could already guess that Jay was here. It wasn’t every day that they could catch a glimpse of their boss’s love life, after all. 

“Ready to go?” He asked, and what ensued was a moment of confusion the second you turned around to face him. 

He was all cleaned up in a black tee shirt and dress pants, hair styled back and you were pretty sure those were some new shoes from his two hundred deep sneaker collection while there you were, in a pair of skinny jeans and oversized sweater and it was obvious that you guys weren’t dressed for the same occasion. 

You hesitated, “…last minute schedule to attend to?”

“No…I’m taking you for dinner?” He mused, gesturing to the flowers. “I made reservations.” 

“Yeah but…you didn’t tell me that I had to get dressed up,” You replied sheepishly. 

“I did,” He laughed. “You just didn’t take me seriously.” 

“You said ‘if you need to’,” You argued in a hush whisper. “Plus, the last time you picked me up we had tacos at the diner just down the street.” 

For a while he stared at you, and so did everyone else and in all honesty, it was getting slightly embarrassing by now. Thankfully, Jay caught on your discomfort from the way you played with your fingers and bit on your lips as you waited for his reply. 

“It’s okay, we’ll sort this out,” He reassured in a soft voice, grabbing the bouquet in one hand and yours in the other. “Let’s go.” 

“Where are we going…?” You asked once the both of you were in the car. 

The fact that one of his managers wasn’t driving you guys and that he was instead driving his Bentley for the first time in ages did explain something about what he had planned but for now, everything about this made you nervous. This was so unlike him – excluding the first year of your relationship, that is. 

“We’re going to your favorite Italian restaurant,” He explained. “But I guess we should drop by your place to get you dressed up first, huh?” 

“Sorry about that,” You murmured, and he couldn’t help but titter at the way you stared down at your outfit with a sigh. 

You wasted no time and tossed your bag aside upon reaching home, making a beeline towards your wardrobe and immediately started sieving through your dresses. Despite the rough start, you had to admit that this was rather exciting. Heck, you couldn’t even remember the last time the both of you had a proper date night and the fact that he had taken the time to plan this amidst his schedule? Damn you were about to dress the hell up. 

You hastily put on the dress that you had picked out, a fairly new one from the few that you had saved up for rare occasions like these, then scurried to the living room where Jay was waiting. 

However, the sight of Jay burying his face in his hands looking absolutely worn had you somewhat stopping in your tracks. 

He was seated on the couch, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his lap as he squinted at his cracked phone screen. His brows furrowed as he tapped away at what sounded like a new message notification, then brought his phone up to his ears as he listened to what probably was a demo of one of the tracks off the album. Sure, he was dressed up, absolutely stunning, but how stressed he looked was definitely not a good look on him and at this point you weren’t sure how you’d feel about dinner if his mind was going to be miles away, back in his studio. 

“Wow,” He beamed upon noticing you then set his phone aside as he stood up. “You look beautiful.” 

“I could say the same for you, too.” 

“You okay?” He asked, cocking his head upon noticing that you seemed to be distracted in thought. 

“Yeah, of course.” 

“Come here, let me help you with that,” He smiled, noticing that the back of your dress was unzipped. 

But as he placed his hand on the zipper, you reached around to tug on his fingers, then turned around to face him. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Why don’t…we just have dinner at home today?” You suggested, observing his reaction carefully. 

“Why the sudden change of mind...?” 

“I don’t know,” You sighed. “I mean, you seem really caught up with work, and I love that you took the time to plan a date, but I’m not sure if I can sit through that pretending that I am not seeing for myself how exhausted you are.” 

“No, no it’s fine,” He insisted. “I’m taking the night off to spend it with you.” 

The both of you glanced at his phone as it beeped again and then back at each other, and you could almost tell how he was already itching to respond to it. 

“I’ll cook us dinner, and we can postpone this date until after the album is released,” You told him. 

He looked at you, not quite sure if he was allowed to give in to you, especially after the little episode in his studio last week that had also been due to his work. 

“I’m not mad, I promise,” You giggled, reading him like a book. “Let’s stay in tonight.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yeah, go get your MacBook from the car and carry on with your work while I cook but all I ask for though...” You started. “Is for your undivided attention after that. I’ll cook a stew if it gives you more time.” 

He exhaled deeply, taking a step towards you and pulled you in for a long embrace, “How do you always manage to make me feel better even though I’m the one who screwed up?” 

“You didn’t screw up,” You said, wrapping your arms around his broad frame. “You tried, and I appreciate that.” 

“That makes me feel worse...” He replied, cupping your face and stroking your left cheek with his thumb.

You leaned into his touch, smiling, “It’s no big deal, this is just one of your busy phases. Once the album’s released, I’ll have my boyfriend back. Easy.” 

“I’ll make up for it, alright? I promise,” He said, then leaned in to kiss you sweetly. 

“Seems like the only way to get kisses nowadays is to let you work, huh?” You taunted. 

“Baby…” He whined, the littlest pout creeping to his lips. “Let’s not go back there.” 

“I was kidding,” You sniggered. “Now give me another one to shut me up.”

[marvelousstevetony]

So this is kind of a random prompt, but sick Steve doing an interview and trying not to sneeze. However, he ends up having a fit and is really embarrassed by it, maybe his first public sneeze like that?

When he gets home, Tony tries to take Steve’s phone because he doesn’t want Steve to see the new trending hashtag on Twitter which is “GodBlessAmerica” and some people trying to be funny about it, maybe posting the video with patriotic music edited in. Maybe Steve does find out and Tony shows Steve a sneeze compilation of himself online or something that people did relating to Tony’s sneeze to help him feel less embarrassed/make him laugh?

This is such a sweet concept! And nothing like anything I’ve written before, I don’t think, so I hope this is okay. Please accept 4k of shy, sick Steve and Tony being the sweetest... as usual :)

Steve presses his knuckle to his nose for the 100th time today. The cold he had caught a few days ago seems to have hit its peak, because ever since he woke up this morning, his nose has had that warm, buzzing feeling to it that just never fades.

“You ready, Steve?” Tony asks and puts a steadying hand on the small of the taller man’s back.

“Y-yeah,” Steve manages and sniffles when his nose quivers. “Ready to get it over with,” he amends and Tony offers him a sympathetic smile.

“Last one for today.”

Steve nods and sighs deeply. “Last one,” he echoes

———

Steve wants to pay attention, he really does. Tony is speaking, and Steve loves listening to his boyfriend’s voice, even if all he’s doing is making quips and witty remarks at the interviewers’ questions. Okay, especially when he’s making quips and witty remarks at the interviewers’ questions.

But he just doesn’t have the energy today. He feels his eyes threatening to slip shut at any minute, and he probably would have drifted off at some point if it wasn’t for the slight tingle in the back of his nose.

He swipes his index finger against his septum, then holds it there when he’s afraid the tickle will blossom into something more. It doesn’t though, and instead he exhales slowly and gives his head a brief shake.

It happens another three times. The tickle is right on the verge of turning into sneezes, but Steve is famously stubborn, and by the power of sheer will and all the focus he can muster, he fights it off.

That is until he is startled by someone nudging his shoulder. “Steve.”

His head snaps up to see Natasha cocking her head at him. He looks around, confused, then smiles sheepishly when he notices a blonde reporter who’s looking at him with an expectant expression. “Sorry,” he says, clearing his throat, cheeks turning pink, “Could you repeat that?”

She smiles overly sweetly at him, and Steve tries not to think about how much he hates these things, hates how arranged and phony they are.

“Of course. Captain, you’ve been the leader of the Avengers since its origin...”

The blonde woman continues speaking, but Steve just hears her voice trail off into silence. He keeps his eyes on her, though, for as long as he can before his vision begins to blur as well. He clenches his jaw and holds his breath, trying to resist the urge to rub at his nose to stop the building itch from blooming.

He can see her lips moving through the tears that are accumulating in his eyes, but he hears nothing but white noise and then his own sudden, desperate gasp.

In the very last second, he manages to bring his fist to his face and move a little back in his seat to turn away from the crowd.

“ng’tCHh! h-H’tsngshh!”

The first sneeze is almost completely silent, but stifling it just sends a throb through his nose, and although he tries his hardest he can’t fully hold back the second one.

When he turns back, everyone has gone silent. A few people, including Natasha who’s next to him, as well as the reporter, bless him, and he feels the heat creep up his neck.

“Sorry, uh, excuse me,” he says and touches his nose gingerly, then rubs his neck. “You were saying?”

“Right,” the blonde continues. “As the leader of the Avengers, do you feel more responsible—“

“huh’TCHushh! uhhCHUSH!” A second round of sneezes catches him off guard, and he barely gets a chance to catch them in the  crook of his elbow, body jerking with the sneezes.

Next to him, Natasha squeezes his knee and whispers a blessing that Steve ignores as he quickly turns back to the reporter, acting as if nothing had happened. The flush spreading all over his face from embarrassment didn’t signal the same thing, though.

The reporter smiles tightly before continuing. “—do you feel more responsible for all the damage your team has caused?”

“The purpose of the Avengers is to make the world a safer place. With our job, we try to save as many lives as possible. Unfortunately— snf! Unfortunately, that doesn’t m-mean everybody,” Steve says and touches his nose quickly when he feels a slight tickle beginning to form. “I strongly believe that without the Avengers’ interference the number of casualties would have been significantly higher—“

“What our good Captain here means to say is that without us, you’d all be toast,” Tony suddenly cuts in, earning laughter from the audience and flashes the crowd of reporters a blinding smile. Then, while the chuckles die down, Tony glances quickly over at Steve and smiles again, but it’s softer and way more real. “Okay, next question,” Tony says, turning back to the reporters.

Steve can’t help but let out a sigh of relief when the next question is directed to Natasha, happy that the attention is on anyone but him.

He ducks his head to rub his nose against his knuckles and give a few quiet coughs. When he looks back up, he catches Tony looking at him with a concerned expression, cocking his head to the side.

You okay? he reads Tony’s lips. He nods weakly and smiles shyly back. He then averts his gaze from Tony, knowing that if there’s one thing that could distract him from keeping himself together, it would be Tony.

The rest of the press conference is a blur, really. Steve avoids answering anymore questions thanks to Tony and Natasha quickly taking over whenever he was supposed to answer. Instead, he sits back in his chair, pinching off a tickle every once in a while.

When Steve walks off the stage, Tony is waiting for him by the door, placing a hand on the small of Steve’s back when they walk through. “You alright?” he asks quietly.

Steve is about to nod, open his mouth a say that he is, but he ends up sighing instead. “I don’t know... I made a complete fool out of myself out there,” he says and bites his lip nervously.

“No you didn’t. No one’s going to think anything of it, Steve,” Tony reassures and kisses Steve’s shoulder when Steve looks dubiously at him. “C’mon, let’s grab something to eat and then head home. There’s this diner a couple of blocks away. It’s small, but there’s a table seated away from all the rest. We can sit in private...”

“Sounds perfect.”

———

Like Tony said, the diner is small, but it’s cosy and warm and Steve welcomes anything that makes him feel less like he’s turning into a human popsicle again. Steve scoots into the small booth, and Tony sits on the opposite side of the table.

It’s Tony who orders, a sandwich for each of them and a bowl of chicken noodle soup for Steve as well.

“Soup too?” Steve asks, his voice grateful and eyes soft.

“Sick person essential,” Tony shrugs and reaches over the table to grab both of Steve’s hands in his own, brushing a thumb over Steve’s knuckles. “Bless you?” he asks when Steve lets go with one hand and opts for few napkins from the box on the table.

Steve nods, eyes fluttering shut, and pulls his other hand away as well to cup the napkin firmly over his nose and mouth.

“heh’CHmmphh! utschmphh!” The sound of the sneezes is muffled by the napkins, but the way Steve’s body shudders is indication of just how strong they were and how tired he must be.

“Bless you, honey,” Tony says again. “You look about ready to drop. I’ll text Happy, tell him to pick us up here in 30,” he adds when Steve shrugs shyly.

He pulls his phone out, but something in his expression changes. His brows furrow and his lips turn into a thin, tense line.

“Everything okay?” Steve ask worriedly.

“What? Oh. Oh, yeah, all good,” Tony says dismissively and slides his phone back into his pocket. “Look, food’s here!”

———

“How about a phone-free night?” Tony suggests as they enter the penthouse and smiles a little tighter than the way he usually beams at Steve; the way his eyes crinkle at the corners and his nose scrunches up. Steve knows Tony’s smiles too well to be fooled by this oddly fabricated one, immediately growing suspicious.

“Uhh, sure,” Steve says hesitantly, wrinkling his forehead. “Why the no-phone rule, though?”

“No reason,” Tony shrugs a little too quickly, then draws in a deep breath and exhales slowly. Taking a step closer to Steve, he reaches for Steve’s hand and brings it to his lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “Just don’t want any distractions tonight... no work, no social media. Just you and me and a box of tissues for your sniffles.”

Tony says the last bit in a low, fond voice that makes Steve’s heart clench with fondness and his cheek go a dusty shade of red, speculation suddenly all forgotten.

“Yeah?” Steve ask a little shyly, biting his lower lip and looks at Tony through his his lashes.

“Yeah,” Tony confirms. “And a cup of tea as well, that’ll feel good on your throat.” He lifts his hand to lace his fingers through Steve’s hair, and Steve melts into the touch, closing his eyes contentedly.

“You’re too good to me,” Steve murmurs, exhaustion seeping into his voice as he nuzzles his head against Tony’s hand like a cat seeking attention from its owner.

“Nothing could ever be too good for you, darling. Now, off to the shower,” Tony says firmly, but his tone is still gentle. Steve nods, and he starts to walk towards the bathroom, but Tony stops him. “Wait!” he exclaims. “Your phone.”

Steve looks down at his pocket where his phone sticks out, then pulls it out and hands it to Tony with a sigh and a shake of his head. “You’re ridiculous,” Steve chuckles.

“Mhm... you love it,” Tony says confidently and smirks as Steve rolls his eyes in a playful manner. “Now. Hop to it, Captain.”

———

Steve doesn’t even think about not having his phone on the bedside table when they snuggle up in bed. The warm steam from the shower had broken loose some of the congestion in his head, but now he’s sniffling uncontrollably, and even blowing his nose half a dozen times does nothing to stop his runny nose. It’s tiring, and he’s so ready to just doze off against Tony when he joins him under the covers with a fresh box of Kleenex and a cup of hot tea with lemon and honey.

“Thanks, snf!” Steve says and takes a sip of his tea. It does feel heavenly, like Tony said it would, calming the scratchiness he’s felt in his throat all day.

“You’re welcome, baby.” Tony kisses the top of Steve’s head and lays an arm over his shoulders, inviting Steve to cuddle in close while he scrolls through their watchlist on Netflix.

By the time they’ve picked a movie, Steve has finished his tea and is resting in head on Tony’s chest, already half-sleep. Tony still has his arm wrapped protectively around the larger man, and his cheek has come to lean against Steve’s forehead. It’s comfortable and safe, and even though it’s somewhat new to them, being together and all, it feels familiar, like it’s always been this way.

Within 10 minutes of the movie, Steve is snoring softly from trying to breathe through his stuffy nose, and Tony is not far behind him. His own eyes have slipped shut, and he asked Jarvis to turn off the lights as soon as Steve’s breaths had evened out so he could let himself fall asleep.

———

They eat breakfast in the communal kitchen the next morning, making easy conversation over two plates of scrambled eggs and turkey bacon, coffee for Tony, and ginger tea for Steve.

He’s feeling a little better today, less like his head is stuffed with cotton and more like there’s just a faint sort of pressure on his sinuses. His throat feels better, too, and Steve thinks it must be the combination of a good night’s sleep and all the tea Tony’s made him drink over the last couple of days since he started coming down with his cold.

He’s still very sniffly, though, and he sneezes about seven or eight times from the time they wake up ‘till they’ve eaten their breakfast, Tony blessing him each time, sometimes following up with a sweet term of endearment or a quick kiss pressed to his cheek or hand.

They’re about to load the dishwater when Clint enters the kitchen, seemingly in a good mood, if the way his face is lit up is anything to go by. “Morning, lovebirds,” he says as he pours himself some coffee from the pot. “You feeling any better today, Cap?” he asks and takes a sip from the mug.

“I am, thanks,” Steve says, happy that Clint cared to ask. He quickly furrows his brows, though, because how would Clint know he had been sick? “How do you— weren’t you on a mission this past week?” Steve asks confusedly. He hadn’t been at the press conference yesterday, and he’d already been gone for a few days when Steve started coming down with his cold.

“I was, yeah. Came back late last night.”

That just makes Steve even more confused. “Then— then how did you know I’ve been sick?”

Clint frowns at him, looking just as confused as Steve feels. “Haven’t you...” he trails off, seemingly stumped. “You’re all over-“

“All over our group chat,” Tony cuts in hurriedly, interrupting Clint. “I made a text chain to let the team know you were under the weather. ‘Be nice to Steve, he’s sick’ and that sort of stuff,” he laughs nervously, glancing between Steve, whose expression has softened slightly, and Clint who’s still gaping at him.

Tony widens his eyes and cock his head at Clint when Steve goes back to filling the dishwater, mouthing get out now that Steve’s not looking.

Clint catches on, or at least he gets the impression he should just leave, because he quickly turns on his heels, mug in hand and exits the room. “Well, have a nice day,” he calls over his shoulder when he walks through the door.

“That was... odd, don’t you think?” Steve says, closing the dishwater and leaning against the counter.

Tony shrugs. “It’s Barton,” he says simply, as if that would explain the strange encounter. It makes enough sense to Steve, at least, because he just mirrors Tony and shrugs as well.

“I guess you’re right. Do you still have my phone, by the way? I should check my emails,” he says, looking around the kitchen to see if Tony put in somewhere in here.

Tony stills for a second before stammering out a, “N-no! No... I think it’s in the living room, but, uh, maybe you should take a day off,” he splutters, suddenly looking uncomfortable. “You know, just to make sure you’re not working yourself too hard when you’re sick.”

Steve smiles at Tony’s concern. “I’m feeling a lot better, thanks to you, so I think I’ll be good to look through a couple emails.”

Tony swallows around nothing, then clears his throat. “Okay,” he mumbles. “If you’re sure. Just... maybe you should stay off social media today. I think it’s best to give yourself a break from all that, especially when you’re still just getting better.” Tony winces at how illogical that sounded, and Steve picks up on it, too, because the frown on his face has returned and he look just as perplexed as before, if not more.

After a couple of seconds of uneasy silence, Steve sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Tony, what is going on? Why is everyone acting to weird?” He might be a pretty face and all, but Steve isn’t stupid. He can tell when something’s off, even if he subconsciously tries to ignore it.

Tony holds his breath for a moment, then exhales defeatedly and pulls out his phone. “You’re gonna hate this,” he mutters under his breath and hands the device to Steve, who takes a look at the screen.

Aww, poor Steve, he looks so tired and cute when he’s all sick and sneezy #GodBlessAmerica

I never thought I’d call a sneeze hot, but damn, the way cap flexed his bicep when he sneezed was h a w t!! #GodBlessAmerica

I thought he couldn’t get sick anymore? #GodBlessAmerica

Okay, but captain america sneezing is actually adorable #GodBlessAmerica

Steve lets out a noise that sounded like a mix between a frustrated groan and a pained whimper. So apparently he’s now a number one trending topic on Twitter… great.

He slides the phone onto the kitchen counter, the screen facing downwards so he couldn’t see Tony’s Twitter-feed. Burrowing his face in his hands, he sighs fretfully. “Why?” he mumbles, the sound muffled by his palms. “Why? This is the most embarrassing thing I’ve ever experienced.”

When he emerges from hiding his face, he pouts, then sniffles when a warm, tingling sensation starts at the back of his nose. He scrunches up his entire face in an attempt to fight off the sneeze, but it’s useless.

Tony looks at him fondly and pats his back when he raises his arm to catch a rush of sneezes.

“huh’UTSSchhh! ehhIIShhoo! uhTSC’uhh!“

He keeps his nose and mouth covered for a few seconds, waiting to see if the lingering itch will actually turn into anything more than that. It doesn’t, not right away at least, and instead he just snuffles into the soft material of his hoodie. “Ugh... sorry, I’mb such a mbess.”

The sneezes seem to have re-established the congestion, and Steve fumbles with the tissue box that’s in the countertop, pulling out a couple.

“Bless you,” Tony says warmly. “You’re just a little sick, honey.”

“A sick mess, then,” Steve says into the tissue, and he looks a little bashful when he has to blow his nose, turning away from Tony.

Tony leans in to press a kiss to Steve’s shoulder before reaching around him to grab his phone. Unlocking it, he reopens Twitter and starts scrolling. He doesn’t get to read more than a few tweets before Steve’s large hand covers the screen.

“Don’t look at that,” he whines. “It’s horrible.” Steve knows he sounds petulant and childish, but he’s too annoyed to care.

Tony chuckles, though, which makes him even more annoyed, and Steve huffs, not understanding why Tony is suddenly laughing at him. When Tony catches Steve’s glare, he just smiles.

“They’re not so bad,” Tony shrugs. Steve rolls his eyes and start to pull away. “Hey, they could’ve been a lot worse. Most of these are either just people being concerned or saying how cute you look, which I wholeheartedly agree with.”

Steve hesitantly removes his hand and peeks over Tony’s shoulder as he continues going through the trending topic.

Most them are actually quite sweet, Steve has to admit, and he even finds himself smiling at a few of them.

“See, that’s cute,” Tony says, pointing to a tweet that reads,

I hope our precious bean remembers to take care of himself and get plenty of rest and drink lots of tea. @tonystark pls give @captsteverogers all the cuddles! #GodBlessAmerica

Steve hums, the corners of his mouth quirking upwards as he nuzzles his nose into Tony’s hair. Then a video pops into view, and Tony scrolls past it, but Steve is curious and asks Tony to go back up.

“What’s that?” he points to the video.

Tony taps on it, and footage of Steve at the press conference yesterday pops up. The camera is zoomed in on him, and Steve immediately recognizes the scene.

At first it’s just the nose rubbing and consistent throat-clearing, but 20 seconds into the video, though, a familiar melody starts playing in the background, and Steve sighs. He’s so tired of hearing Star Spangled Man being played in any situation let alone this one. The rest of the recording basically just shows all of Steve’s sneezes, the almost-sneezes, and coughs with the underlying music, and that’s really all Steve remembers, because he wants to pretend he never saw that video as soon as it’s over.

“I know I was just starting to accept this but I take it back. This is horrible,” Steve groans. He tries to take the phone out of Tonys hand, and he would probably delete the Twitter-app if he got the chance to do so.

Tony clutches it to his chest, though, and shakes his head at Steve. “Look, I know you think this sucks, I thought so, too, the first time. But come on, Steve, it’s funny,” he claims, smiling while saying it. “Besides, look at all your fans! They adore you, they just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“What do you mean you thought so too?”

“Uh, sorry—?” Tony blinks at Steve, brow furrowed.

“You said you thought it sucked the first time too. What did you mean by that?”

Tony exhales, laughs a little, at turns to look into Steve’s eyes. “You think none of my sneezes have been caught on camera?” He asks, raising his eyebrows.

Steve doesn’t know how to answer. He just looks blankly at Tony, like he’s still not quite sure what Tony’s trying to say.

“There are numerous compilation videos of me sneezing on the internet,” the brunette explains. “Interviews, press conferences, talk shows, even just videos of me walking down the street. But that’s what you get for being a public figure. They sometimes catch you at the worst moments. God, the amount of content they must have of me sneezing through all of allergy season would be truly astonishing—“

Steve chuckles a little, tightening his arms around Tony.

“— and yeah, it’s a little embarrassing at first, but looking back on it, it’s actually quite funny.”

“I really don’t see how you can find that funny, babe,” Steve says, smiling and shaking his head at Tony.

Tony seems to take that as a challenge and quickly goes to YouTube, typing something into the search bar.

“Tony, I don’t—“ Steve doesn’t accept the phone when Tony tries to hand it to him.

“Come on, Steve, just watch it.”

Steve sighs and takes the phone. The video is about 2 and a half minutes long and just like Tony had said, there’re videos of him sneezing in a variety of different settings: some at a talk show Steve can’t remember the name of, some at a some sort of conference, a couple of Tony walking through Central Park. There is even one of him right after a battle, still wearing the Iron Man armour but with his helmet off.

“They’re different now,” Steve comments when the video ends.

“Sorry?” Tony says, not understanding what Steve meant. “What’s different?”

Steve’s lips quirk upwards. “Your sneezes. They’re different. Now you always lean away from however you’re talking to, and you always excuse yourself beforehand...” Steve smiles bashfully, realizing he knows all these small details about Tony that are so obscure but so clear in Steve’s mind.

Tony smiles too, probably realizing the same thing. “That kinda sounds like someone I know... I think you’re rubbing off on me, Rogers,” he says and stands on his tiptoes to reach Steve’s cheek with his lips.

Steve leans into the soft touch of warmth and returns the gesture with a kiss to Tony’s forehead.

“I kinda get what you meant about it being cute when I sneeze, though” Steve mumbles into Tony’s hair after a few moments of silence.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah... You looked adorable in that video, with your face all scrunched up like that.”

That makes Tony laugh, makes his eyes gleam and crinkle slightly at the corners. Then Tony’s eyes draw away from Steve’s and move further down his face until his gaze reaches the pink tip of Steve’s nose. With a mischievous look, he leans up to place a delicate peck right on the centre of it. His lips barely touch Steve before his nose twitches and he has to duck his head into his shoulder.

“hehhIIssh! tchSH!”

Wasting no time, Tony takes Steve’s face in both of his hands, pulling him down into a deep, eager kiss before mumbling against Steve’s lips, “God bless America.”

[themilky-way]

in the night

gif credit: pedropcl

pairing: javier peña x fem! reader

summary: when you’re asked to partake in a dangerous task, you form a sudden and unexpected bond.

warnings: mentions of the mob and alcohol, a very vague implication of a gun

author’s note: this man lives in my mind rent free good-fuckin-night  

----------

life in columbia sure as hell wasn’t easy, but being a dea agent working against the downfall of the world’s most powerful criminal took the proverbial cake. your mission had seemed fairly easy: travel to bogotá and help the columbian authorities catch escobar. except, the ambassador didn’t mention any sort of infiltration, one that had to be done by none other than you. 

there was no fighting it. the job carried many (dangerous) responsibilities, and someone had to fulfill them. to help, steve had reached out to carillo and asked him to substitute one of his own men, which, in a way, wasn’t any better because someone’s life was still at risk, but it was denied. connie made the wait for you as easy as she could by sending you dinner with peña a few nights a week, and although you loved that woman like your own blood, she couldn’t make a bowl of rice even if her life depended on it. 

by being a helpful friend though, connie had unintentionally brought her husband’s partner closer with you. you knew of him and how he worked, an unavoidable aspect if you operated where he did, but your role slightly differed from his. the week you had been assigned for undercover was spent in the privacy of your apartment, ensuring important documents were locked up, sorting a couple of suitcases as if this was a leisurely trip instead of a guaranteed death sentence. the following week wasn’t any less hectic, but it was the first time connie sent out a personal order to you. her chosen delivery man? yeah, you guessed it.

it became a regular occurrence after that. the days leading up to your departure began consisting of javier residing in your home for hours at a time. there were moments where he showed up at your door without a small bag of food, claiming steve was in charge of dinner that night and how he’d never forgive himself if he let you take a bite of it. you noticed how on some nights, he’d linger for just a few more minutes than he should’ve by washing spare dishes or going over routes crucial to the cartels. he didn’t need to do any of that, but the difference here was that he wanted to. 

“so,” steve started off one morning, “you and peña- you guys a thing?” he ended it with a small smirk perfectly hidden by the bottom of his coffee mug. indeed, an unprofessional topic for an unprofessional man.

“to my knowledge, he’s just being a friend and a very bad delivery person,” had been your answer at the time, never once looking up from the jumble of words constituting your report. nothing else mattered as much as your security on that mission; you truly didn’t have the time to delve into emotional matters and invest any thought into silly questions like this. “he keeps me company, that’s all.”

perhaps you were lying to yourself about this whole thing, afraid of what might happen if you allowed emotion to regulate the demanding life you led. a vase of lively flowers would replace the holster on your coffee table. scattered papers and pens and pictures would find a home in neat sections of a drawer rather than the floor. a few photographs might even color the opaque walls. these were trivial aspects of your life, and the aspirations to contrive them hardly appeared in your mind, but now? well, now they were everywhere. 

during the third week, javier didn’t even need steve’s wife to deliver anything. excuses to knock on the hard wooden door of the complex were compiled up in his brain, and they were eloquently spilled in order to pass its threshold. “you see these papers? yeah, we need to go over them,” he’d say all rushed and hurried, holding up a stack of articles with sloppy handwriting. the thoughts-hopes-from before would start then, and they’d take up every ounce of your reasoning as if nothing else mattered. from that point forward, javier’s attention was yours, and your’s his. watches’ were discarded and left on a random end of a couch, the sounds of the clock drowned out by the now casual chatter instead of a business delegation. nights of the exact nature transcurred one after another, with the agent leaving closer to dawn no matter his imploration to keep you company. “call me if you need anything, alright?”

ultimately, everything had led you to the couch your legs were crossed upon, javier sitting in the space between it and the small, rectangular coffee table. one leg lay calmly folded on the pearl-tinted carpet while the other was bent, an elbow resting sturdily on top of his knee. a blanket covered the bottom half of your sitting form with a few of its edges tickling the man’s arms, but it seemed he didn’t mind the feeling. you’d offered him one, and upon his negation, you’d offered him to share yours, which earned you a cocky remark. tonight, he didn’t bring any documents or transcripts to revise, only what he insisted to be the best take-out meal in town. additionally, being the friend he was, he gifted you a bottle of whiskey that was to be celebrated with, except he was on his third refill, and you weren’t even finished with the first. 

“unless you wanna sleep here tonight, i suggest you slow it down,” a small joke as you leaned over to place the glass down. you assumed he’d laugh as he did with all your past banters, but was met with nothing but the sound of his ice rocking against his cup. naturally, you turned to face him as you reached back, catching a delicate smile below the curve of his stache.

“yeah, i’m sure you’d like that, huh?” he took a sip as coolly as ever. the glass came down next to yours, his newly free hand propping up on your knee closest to him. granted, the close intimacy wasn’t new-none of it was, at this point-but your very own mind was spinning and wasn’t due to the alcohol, or potential food poisoning, or even goddamn nerves wracking your system about the ordeal you’d be facing. “no, seriously. would you like me to stay?”

“i mean i wouldn’t technically mind it if i had company. i’d prefer connie but you’ll do, i guess,” to this, javi did release a hearty laugh, followed with a expression of feined insult. 

a few hours trascurred beyond that moment before exhaustion creeped up on the both of you. it was arranged that he’d sleep on the sofa while your bed awaited you in the adjacent dorm, and it appeared quite modest. “i’ll, uh, i’ll be right back, hold on,” you assured him, discarding your day clothes for something more comfortable in private. you brushed your teeth next, and then fixed your disheveled hair into a style suited for sleep. 

“oh shit, javi-” you found him sitting at the edge of your bed tucking in a sheet that almost threatened to come off. he’d taken the liberty of adjusting the variety of pillows and blankets how he deemed fit you best. “did you just un-make my own bed?”

he got up to lift one cover to motion you under it, replying with, “yes, ma’am, i sure did.” javier ensured that every single limb was secure under the safety of the sheet, standing up straight to peer down at his work and, regarding it “perfect,” said his good night, but cold fingers unsheathed themselves to encircle around his wrist to prevent him from leaving. “oh, come on, i did such a good job-”

“please stay with me. just for a little while,” you plead. it took him more than few seconds to properly register your words, but eventually he twisted his hand to take a hold of yours and bring it into his lap as he sat back down on the cushion. he didn’t mind-he never would. you spoke to him about random things, conspiracies and books and movies and in turn, he offered his own insight. amidst slurred words, the entanglement of your fingers to his occurred. javi’s thumb drew softly on the edge of your own; throughout the silence that suddenly filled the space, he cautiously lifted the top of your hand, as if to wait for a withdrawal, and when he saw none, he kissed it softly. 

“murphy asked if you and i were a thing,” he mumbled. 

“what’d you tell him?” you asked.

“that we are.” he kissed your hand again before letting it go, rising up to stand over you. with the same gentleness as he’d done to your skin, he inched down to press another to your forehead. “get some rest, i think you’ve seen enough of me for today.”

“i don’t really think that’s possible.”