#i tried i failed. sorry but its not working. i have things id rather be doing instead

[catfishofoldin99colours]

mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm Bad.

[sar3nka]

My mother pissed me off again. God give me strenght.

[sturniologals]

Make it up to you -m.s

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆ ☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆ ☆

Dom!Matt x fem!reader

in which~ y/n had a crush on Matt but his friends/football teammates found out and teased you about it, he joined in on the teasing to hide the fact that he has feelings for you but six months later, you’re desperate for a ride to school and Matt is your only option.

warnings~ p in v/ unprotected (don’t be silly,wrap up your willy)/ use of baby, sweetheart, y/n, praise kink, cursing

───⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───

I stretched my limbs as I tried to peel my eyes open from my sleepy state. "y/n! Hurry up!" My mom shouted at me, afraid id miss the bus.

"Frickity frickity Frick" I mumbled to myself as I looked over at my phone and saw the time reading 7:15, my bus runs in literally like 7 minutes, theres no way I was gonna make it. I opened up my contacts and called and texted at least five of my friends in hope that I could get a ride from one of them but I failed.

I clicked on my last contact I was going to try and started to call my friend Nick.

She answered and her soft voice spoke "Hey y/n!"

"Hey Nick! Is there any possible way that you could give me a ride to school today?" She hummed to herself as she thought about it.

"im sorry girl, Matt took my car today. He has some thing after school but I can call him. He should be able to pick you up!" He chimes.

"No no no, id rather walk. Thank you tho." I say before we bid our goodbyes and hang up.

I meant that, i really would rather walk. Matthew sturniolo has been my biggest enemy since last year, when I first started high school and became friends with Nick. I had an obvious crush on matt even though he was a bit older. His friends found out because matt overheard me talking to Nick about it one time and his friends started to tease me about it and eventually matt joined in and ever since then, they make jokes and poke fun at me anytime I see them.

"y/n! Why are you still in your fucking pajamas?" My mom says angrily from my door.

"Mom its okay, matt is gonna give me a ride!" I spurt out quickly, just not wanting to get into an argument with her.

“Matt? oh! It’s been forever since you guys have hung out.” My mom says, her mood quickly changing to a more joyous one. I roll my eyes at her words and she tells me she loves me before she leaves out for work.

I stand up and put on a pair of black jeans and a dark blue body suit that accentuates my body perfectly. I finish straightening my hair, my luscious blonde locks flowing perfectly down my shoulders. I sit down at my vanity and apply a few makeup products, really just mascara, and a bit of highlighter. Mid way through my routine, i remember i haven’t called Matt yet. My hands start to tremble a bit as i scroll through my contacts in search of his name.

I reluctantly click the call button under his name and the ringing of my phone makes me shudder. After just two rings, he picks up.

“Y/n?” His deep voice grumble from the speakers on my phone.

“Hi Matt! Can you give me a ride to school?” I say peppily, not wanting him to give me any shit.

“I’ll be there in five.” He says before hanging up.

well, that was easy. i think to myself before spritzing myself with some perfume and slipping on my shoes. I grab my bag and walk through my house.

I get to the front door and see trey pulling in.

perfect timing.

The sight of Matts truck parked in my driveway makes me nervous. I push the nervousness down, pulling all of the courage i have out of me and I start walking down my driveway.

Once i step out of my door, he immediately steps out of his truck and walks to the passenger side and opens the door up. He stands leaning on the door, a small smile on his face.

why is he being so fucking nice?

“Hi y/n.” He says in a seductive voice while his eyes trail over my body. The way he’s looking at me sends a heat straight to my core but i try my best to ignore it. I shoot Matt a side eye and a nod of my head as i step up into his truck. He places his hand on my lower back for support as i climb into his vehicle which has me crossing my legs in the passenger seat. Matt looks at me with a hungry look in his eyes as he shuts the door for me and walks over to the driver side.

He climbs into the seat and takes a deep breath in before turning the key over.

“Thanks for picking me up.” I say in the most nonchalant way that i can.

“Yeah, i mean- you haven’t talked to me in almost 6 months so i was surprised you’d wanted me to.” Matt says while looking at me, our eye contact holding strong.

“I didn’t have any other choice.” I say with a shrug of my shoulders and i can see the pain flash in his eyes as i finish my sentence off and i immediately feel bad.

“No- I didn’t mean-“ I start to correct myself but he cuts me off.

“I get it y/n. I really do- don’t apologize sweetheart. I’ve been an asshole to you for so long and i let my friends make jokes and i’m just- i’m so fucking sorry. I was a coward because you made me- feel things.” Matt spurts out, his confession surprising me but making my heart skip a beat and my pussy convulse at the name he called me.

“Matt-“ I start to speak but he cuts me off yet again.

“Can you come to my football game tonight?” He asks impatiently as he starts to pull out of my driveway.

“Matt, you know i hate going to school functions.”

“Please” He says quickly.

“Okay, i’ll be there.” I say reluctantly. I don’t even really know why he wants me there but it seems important so i agree.

The rest of the ride is silent, just Matt glancing at me every few minutes and at some point his large hands made their way to my knee, slowly trailing up my thigh as i squirmed around in my seat, Matt glancing at my neediness but his hand never moved to my heat.

“Here you go sweetheart.” Matt says as we pull up next to the busy school entrance.

“Aren’t you coming?” I ask him.

“I’ll be here later.” He says with a small smile as he unbuckles my seat belt for me and walks around to open my door. His truck is raised high off of the ground but Matt is so tall that his head is still up to my level when he’s standing on the ground in-front of me. He puts his hands around my waist and picks me up out of his truck. I giggle as he sits me down on the ground. He chuckles and tells me he’ll see me later.

As i walk into school, all that’s going through my head is Matt.

the things he said to me were definitely more than ‘friendly’

why is he being so nice?

is this another joke?

the way his hands were all over me tho…

sweetheart?

why does he want me at his game tonight?

i made him feel things?

what things?

i spend the rest of my school day and the whole ride home and the whole time i’m getting ready for the football game also thinking about Matt. The thoughts about him in my head are inevitably erotic and i genuinely can’t help it.

My mom drops me off at the game and i pull at the tight shorts on my legs as i hop out of the car. I walk up into the bleachers and i find a seat that gives me a perfect view of the field. Matt comes out of now where and runs up to the fence that separates us.

“c’mere!” he says loudly, i can see his friends behind him starting to laugh and i get nervous and all of memories of them poking fun at me make me sick and i want to run out of there.

“y/n baby, i said to come here.” Matt demands in a soothing yet firm voice that makes me feel safe. His friends behind him starts staring and looking confused. I am too but i listen to try and walk over to stand over the fence. His eye black is starting to smudge and his hair is tousled perfectly and i’m so close that i can smell his manly musk.

As soon as i’m standing slightly over Matt, he pulls his hands up to my head and pulls me down to him and immediately shoves his lips onto mine. The feeling of his mouth moving over mine is something i’ve wanted to feel for so fucking long. I groan into his mouth as his tongue slips into mine and i can taste the saltiness of his mouth and i’m

craving more. I audibly groan when he pulls away, his lips swollen and pink as he runs back to the field. His friends just staring at him angrily and confused as he flips them off and walks down the field with a smile on his face.

what the fuck just happened?

and why is his whole football team staring at me?

Matt yells at his friends from across the field.

“hey! shitheads! stop staring at my girl and get your asses down here.”

I get butterflies at him calling me ‘his girl’ but then i remember the months of teasing he let his friends do to me and i wipe the smile off of my face quickly. Maybe i should let myself enjoy this tho?

Throughout the whole game, my internal monologue argues with itself. By the end of the game, i decide i want to give him a chance. I believe what he told me. Matt sweaty figure runs up to the fence at the end of the game, they won of course. I’m clapping and smiling at Matt, his eyes looking directly into mine. He puts his arms out over the fence and motions for me to walk over. I do so and he puts his hands on my waist and picks me up over the fence and pulls me onto the field. I smile up at him and he immediately kisses me again.

His friends and even his coach “oooo”-ing at us as he gives me a desperate yet gentle kiss.

“I’ve wanted to kiss you ever since you showed up to my house with your fucking sparkly pink jump rope for cheer practice almost two years ago.” he whispers into my ear as he pulls away. My face goes red with embarrassment.

“You played good.” I say with a proud smile.

He flashes his white teeth at me before one of his friends, jacob, comes up behind Matt. i sigh and immediately get nervous because jacob was one of the main people who teased me. Matt looks over at jacob with sharp eyes, as if he’s warning him to not say anything to me. Jacob just smiles at me. “I’m sorry y/n, i was a dick to you and owen for a long time.”

I nod with a small thin lipped smile.

“you wanna get out of here sweetheart?” owen says to me. I nod my head and he smiles at me as he takes my hand and walks us out of the stadium.

as we walk through the busy parking lot, murmurs from people in our small town are heard.

“ew he’s like- old as fuck.”

“didn’t he literally bully her?”

i block out the noise, Matt squeezing my hand as a sign of comfort.

We get into his truck and i immediately look over at him. “Matt. why?”

he looks at me confusedly. “why what?”

“why did you want me to come tonight?” i ask timidly. He laughs out loud and i grow confused.

“you’re oblivious. I wanted you here tonight so i could kiss you in front of all of the assholes who used to give you shit.” he says with a genuine smile of happiness as he rubs his hand up and down my leg.

“Oh.” I say quietly as it clicks in my head. “Oh!” i say once i get it.

“cmon sweetheart it’s late. i’ll get you home.” Matt says as he reaches over to buckle my seatbelt for me, his long fingers grazing over my chest. Butterflies erupt in my stomach and heat grows between my legs as owen starts his truck and pulls out of the parking lot. His hand is resting on my thigh and quiet music plays, my window cracked slightly allowing some of the cold friday night breeze to flow through the cab of his truck. Every smidge of cold air that hits my skin makes me shudder. My body is extremely sensitive to the touch right now. I look over at owen and his dark eyes are trained on his hand that’s resting on my leg. “you’re so beautiful y/n.” Matt says in a low, seductive voice as his thumb draws circles on my inner thigh.

“pull over.” I say nervously, trying to muster up all of the courage that i have. Matt smirks, knowing what i want as he pulls over by an empty desolate park by some trees that offer a good enough coverage. As soon as he shifts into park, i immediately swing my legs over his lap so i’m straddling. My lips are on his in a hot, sweaty and passionate kiss. The smell of sweat and grass still on Matt makes me impossibly needier.

All of a sudden- Matt pulls my face back.

“Patience baby.” Matt says with an attractive chuckle.

“you’re not gonna fucking tease me all day and then tell me to have patience Matt.” i say firmly as i slowly start to rock my hips back and forth on him, making him groan out.

“oh- don’t- god, y/n.” he says as he throws his head back and shuts his eyes in pleasure as his eyebrows knit together.

“Nuh uh, you owe me six months worth of apologies. You’re gonna be the one making me feel good, yeah?” i say deviously as i cease my movements. Matt eyes open up and meet mine, a smile playing across his features as he laughs and nods his head yes.

“i guess you’re right about that one sweetheart.” he says as he quickly puts a hand on my back and turns me so my back is against the passenger door of his truck as he pulls my ankles up to his shoulders. I groan out as i arch my back needily.

“calm down pretty girl. let me take care of you.” he says softly as he pulls my shorts down my hips. His eyes clench shut together for a second. “you’re so perfect.” he praises as he starts to kiss up my thighs.

“Matt…” i moan out as he gets closer to my core.

he starts to kiss over my clothed cunt before slowly pulling my panties down.

“you’re so soaked. all because of me?” he speaks seductively as i bring my fingers up to his hair and pull his head closer to my pussy impatiently. He laughs out loud before licking a stripe up me which pulls a loud moan out of me. His tongue moves against me quickly and skillfully, pulling more and more noises from me.

“Oh you’re doing so good for me sweetheart.” He says against my cunt before ducking on my bundle of nerves.

“Matt- i’m gonna-“ i pant out, unable to form a coherent sentence.

“Finish in my mouth, let me taste you.” he says, which sends me over the edge, screaming his name as his head gets squeezed between my clenching thighs.

I pant out as i come down from my high as owen continues to lick me clean like a starved man.

“good?” he asks with an egotistical expression on his face.

“i’ve had better.” i say sarcastically with a shrug.

“Yeah i bet.” he says as he pulls my shorts back up my legs for me.

I sit up straight and fix my hair in his mirror before i buckle my seat belt and Matt starts to drive again.

“y/n” Matts deep voice speaks out, diverting my attention to him.

“hm?” I hum out.

“I love you.” he says with a small nervous smile on his face. My stomach immediately erupts in butterflies and a smile forms on my face.

“I love you too.” I say as i intertwine my fingers with his.

[thebibliosphere]

Hi there, ive come from your post about ADHD and emotional disregulation, firstly thank you so much for putting it into words, its such a complicated part of how i deal with emotions and i havent ever been able to articulate how to why.

Secondly, in that post you mentioned how you've used stress as a motivator and how eventually your stress regualtion broke, i was wondering if you'd be willing to talk about that? (If not, its not a problem)

I feel like the same thing has happened to me but until i read your post i had no idea that something had... snapped? I suppose? I struggle with motivation all the time and in the past id have a week or a few days left and id be able to suddently push myself very hard to complete whatever it is before the deadline, just barely making it in most cases. However now it seems that i can't find that motivation anymore, deadlines come and pass and i can't being myself to work on anything, and i just end up spiralling into shame and guilt. That motivation was the only thing that I was able to rely on sometimes for things like uni, and i conviced myself that it was just me growing lazy or trying to get out of responsibility as to why the "last minute panic-mode" doesnt work anymore.

Again, if you don't wanna tackle this can of worms or if it's something youd rather not post online i totally get it, its no biggie! thanks so much for making the original post as well, it means a lot

Hello friend, thanks for the message. I'm sorry you're also dealing with this.

The good news here is that I've already talked about this using the rubber band analogy my therapist gave me. (Stress is like a Rubber Band)

If you don't have the mental bandwidth to read all of it now, the tl;dr is "stress is like a rubber band; it can stretch to hold numerous things in place when you need to, but if you do it too often or keep adding more and more strain under the band, the elastic eventually becomes brittle and snaps, taking your mental and sometimes physical health with it too."

I've been in intensive therapy for this for roughly three years now, and trying to piece my brain back together after my last bout of stress-induced productivity gave me a total mental breakdown.

It's... odd not being able to use stress and having to actively avoid it to avoid a relapse. But it is doable. Medication would help, but alas, I've got weird health issues and am unmedicated at the minute.

(And just in case that sparks anyone to go, "Oh, you do all this unmedicated! Wow, that's so inspiring!" as sometimes parents do to me on here as they then tell me they don't want to medicate their kids, I've unfortunately also written a post about what that kind of success looks like from an unmedicated perspective and the kind of suicidal ideation I deal with on the regular because I cannot take meds. It is not pleasant reading, but it is necessary for some folks, specifically anti-med, "if you just tried harder" people.)

A book you may find helpful is Burnout: The Secret to Unlocking the Stress Cycle, by Emily and Amelia Nagoski. It was very validating for me to read about other people going through the same things, and made me feel less of a "this is a personal failing on my part" and more of a "Oh okay yeah, no stress literally breaks people."

It helped soothe some of my own internalized "I just need to try harder" and helped cement me on the path I was already going down with my ADHD therapist toward changing how I view myself and how I manage my ADHD.

I hope that helps! If you've got more specific questions or I didn't touch on something in my old post, I can try to answer them :)

[thesherrinfordfacility]

I am actually curious your thoughts on Aziraphale and accountability as, and I really don't mean this is as an attack (❤️), several of the meta I've read recently have seemed rather uncharitable towards Crowley, and not how I generally perceive his character at all. Which, having certain biases for characters is fine, but I am curious your thoughts on Aziraphale and that 😊

hi anon!!!✨ definitely not seen as an attack; im aware that i do talk a lot about crowley and a good proportion of those opinions/interpretations are definitely more critical than most. and i realise that a good amount of that comes across as biased, but the only thing i can say that i promise i don't mean to be, and tbh - i just find aziraphale so much harder to analyse (and as such, what follows is basically word vomit im sorry)

there are equally multiple instances, in aziraphale's case, where he doesn't appear to acknowledge his own accountability in situations when he arguably should.

to labour on a longstanding example; he lies to crowley about where the antichrist is in s1. i think personally it's important to note why i think he lies; crowley's solution is to either kill a child (specifically, have aziraphale do it) or to run away to alpha centauri and sack off humanity altogether. neither of those options are reconcilable to aziraphale, and i think he keeps the location of adam to himself in order to safeguard him - he similarly gets bad vibes from the archangels, and lies to them too. but when he tries to reach god, fails, and then finds out that the metatron - the next best thing to god and, we're told, is her voice - is absolutely in support of the apocalypse, the first thing he does is ring crowley, and immediately tell him he knows where the antichrist is.

now, im not saying, at all, that aziraphale is apologising by calling crowley, because he isn't. he doesn't admit to having lied, having not trusted crowley (no matter how justifiable that decision might have been at the time), and for leaving crowley in the dark. as far as crowley's aware, from his perspective, aziraphale never lied in the first place. but from the audience perspective, it can be read like aziraphale admitting that crowley was right, and making amends. yes, it's born out of panic that heaven is no longer a solution, and the de facto, last-resort solution needs to be crowley (which comes with its own implications, but again, things have to be pretty dire for aziraphale to even risk the option of killing the child), but it also feels like a silent, 'you were right, you had it right all along, and i see that i was wrong to trust heaven. let my actions speak for me.'

but that's tenuous at best, right? i agree. so, id like to look again at the apology dance, and the circumstances that put them there - the So Did I argument. i have multiple thoughts, that im going to repeat a lot of before, but writing it out sometimes helps me work out what im (eventually) trying to say!

crowley isn't wholly forthcoming/truthful with why he doesn't want aziraphale to help gabriel; it's a bit more than the simple fact of gabriel wanting to throw aziraphale into hellfire. crowley's personal adversity to gabriel are the words he said (as he later admits). it would have been incredibly vulnerable for him to do so, but had crowley spelled out for aziraphale in the So Did I argument why he was so vehement against sheltering gabriel, it may not have changed aziraphale's mind but it would have at least put them on a level playing field. aziraphale, i think, shows crowley exactly why he wants to help him - kindness and compassion, with no ulterior motive than the fact that gabriel just simply doesn't have anyone else.

that being said, aziraphale appears to remain completely ignorant to, or have intentionally disregarded, what the boundaries of 'our side' actually is, especially in crowley's eyes. crowley has only ever meant it to be the two of them, and noone else gets a look-in. i think it's fair to say that aziraphale's perspective is less cut-throat, and more blurry, than that - that he still considers that there should be room for Everything Else. i can imagine that has to feel like a big betrayal to crowley, and in that context it's understandable that he then seems to retract the idea of 'our side' altogether. the heated lines that ensure then detail the conversation entirely:

crowley then storms out, and what aziraphale is left with is the feeling that he is doing the Right Thing, helping someone selflessly, and crowley is refusing to do that (and therefore 'in the wrong'). he's also left with the sense of abandonment; he told crowley about the Something Terrible, that he needed help (something that aziraphale doesn't do often/at all - hence why 'i need you!' hits so hard in the final fifteen imo), and crowley still walked away

so when it comes to the apology dance - crowley is on the back foot purely because of the BOL threat. there's no way he's going to walk away this time, now that aziraphale has been directly threatened - essentially, crowley is trapped into whatever aziraphale wants from him, even if he'll put up a bit of a fight before doing it - aziraphale is steadfast that he deserves the apology dance this time*, that he's in the right

but the one thing they don't do is literally discuss why the dance would be needed in the first place - there's no discussion whatsoever that would even begin to unravel why either way party would be hurt by what the other did. the dance is a farce, one crowley performs with an ulterior motive in mind, but aziraphale only sees it as crowley apologising for the fight.

but what aziraphale doesnt stop to consider is that he may have had a part in it; aziraphale is a highly analytical character, and the equation that he arrives at is, 'argument' + 'crowley doing the dance to mark the unspoken apology (good enough)' = 'crowley was wrong, i was right'. *it doesn't even cross his mind to think beyond the words that accompany the dance, and consider that he had a part in it too. the two of them, for all the lessons that we see them experience in s2, seem to think rather a lot in absolutes - and aziraphale most of all.

i dont think aziraphale magically reaches any kind of epiphany about what he said/did that hurt crowley, and what he therefore needs to take accountability for... unless perhaps we count this?

this is all speculation, of course, but does aziraphale clock that crowley has agreed to help hiding gabriel, have performed the joint miracle, but he might have done it only for aziraphale? it definitely doesn't seem that crowley has suddenly found a hidden, altruistic facet to himself, and he hasn't done it because he considers himself gabriel's friend (quite the opposite, the vehemence in his voice would attest). so, does aziraphale's look signify his realisation that crowley has come back purely for aziraphale himself? that he hasn't retracted 'their side', like aziraphale possibly feared he had, and they are still a team of the two of them? does aziraphale then think that perhaps this is crowley's real apology, and reflects that he needs to reexamine his part in the argument, and how crowley perceived?

as im writing this, it does all feel a bit of a stretch - but it can't be denied that aziraphale then spends the rest of the series, in his very unique (and i say that tongue-in-cheek) way trying to demonstrate to crowley just what 'their side' means to him, what crowley means to him - even if it doesn't quite land 😬 he might not have apologised out loud, but his actions thereafter seem in to suggest that he's aware of what he did wrong. but, in typical fashion, he's trying to speak to crowley in the language that crowley uses with him - he tries to show crowley, when crowley could do with being told.

i think special mention also needs to be paid to the fact that both of them - but especially aziraphale - are absolute terrors when it comes to fucking about with humans. i don't think i necessarily need to wax lyrical about this, but through a combination of messing about with maggie and nina's relationship, fucking about with the two guys in the edinburgh graveyard, the couple in the pub, the whole-ass ball... s2 in particular is a disaster when it comes to aziraphale toying with autonomy and agency, with free will, without any conscience - he doesn't recognise that it's wrong. LWA has pointed out that aziraphale does reach that assessment in the airfield scene of the book, but its pretty clear from his continued behaviour in s2 that this hasn't exactly translated into the show!canon in the same way.

he recognises at the airfield that he was wrong to assume that adam needed to be 'good' in order to make the right call, rather than being simply 'human', but that's not the conclusion that he ought to reach that would indicate that he accepts full responsibility for his actions. this is particularly telling in these two statements:

aziraphale operates in the rather blissful state of mind, in the security, that he is intrinsically good; ive discussed this concept a lot, strangely, when it comes to looking at the metatron and how he might view himself (and speculating on his character being explored in s3), but if aziraphale labours under the same misapprehension that he is completely good, without room for nuance, how can any of his actions therefore be wrong? what does he have to apologise for, if he's always been in the right? (which tbh adds another layer, for me, re: his pissed-off mood when recounting all of the times he did the dance)

i do think he starts to accept the part of himself that contradicts this - his comment on him being light grey in 1941, but also his bashful expression at the end of s1 ("just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing") - but if we consider his inability? reluctance? to admit fault or error, we could surmise that he still largely holds this mentality... until, perhaps, here in ep6? when he realises through the medium of another couple, another angel and demon, that the sides literally do not have to exist?

idk if this has answered your ask sufficiently, anon, and reading it back im wincing at all the bits where im straying once again into the aziraphale bias, but i promise ive tried to be as balanced as possible!!!✨

[officialkatie]

just putting a long vent under a read more (i hope)

i should have guessed that after a week of sleeping well (bc sick) i wouldn’t be able to sleep. also i hate my monday class. i have 10 left but god at what cost its completely unbearable and the professor is one of the reasons i dont want to teach anymore. how could you say to people going to school to be a teacher “youre gonna be so stressed and good luck bc it sucks”

i know i dont want to be a teacher anymore and im finishing my degree to get the job i DO want. but at the same time i dont want any job. i hate working. how do people do it. how has my high school italian teacher taught in the same place for 51 years and still going? how does he not feel defeated? i havent even started a Real Job yet and i hate it. i havent had a moments peace or a day without something looming over me since ever. since at least before covid. but then that added ANOTHER thing to loom over me that will never go away.

i hate that i have to have a checklist in my mind of all the things i have to do before i graduate. it should be easy!

-finish classes

-student teach

-get certification

but its NOT that easy. bc in order to finish classes thats this semester. thats 10 more sucky mondays with an awful professor in which i also have to observe 15 hours at a school (on top of the 100 required hours i already did, im not currently in a school and i didnt know about this and we were all so pissed and just another reason i hate this professor), 1 more week of incredibly intensive classes which GREAT! more time for the stinky class. 9 more tuesdays bc the schedule is so weird, all while working part time and doing homework and figuring out student teaching and having personal responsibilities and a relationship and maintaining my health. its no wonder im sick. then once the semester is over its work work work. bc i cant work while i student teach. no break for katie. i have to focus on holidays and pretending to care about people who cant even remember my birthday. its not that hard to remember. i remember all of yours so whats up with that. then i go to orientation for student teaching and then i do it. i dont know where yet! bc i have to email the man who’s been screwing me over every step of the way (another thing for the to do list). and once a week while i student teach i go to a seminar class. a new update to the academic schedule means my class could end at 10:40 pm. who does that. i live an hour away from campus. if my class ends at 10:40 im going to fail. then i do that for “75” days (in quotes bc there’s not even 75 school days in the spring semester yet thats my requirement?) and then i graduate. should be easy peasy. then i go to the real word and back to my part time job while i look for real job so i can move out and live with the one person who gets me and doesnt make me feel bad for living. and we’re gonna have a great life together but thats another to do list. find an apartment find a job move pay rent pay utilities try not to kill yourself make friends even though you’re socially inept ever since leaving college and your social life is in shambles. eat healthy.

im literally a mess and im so congested and i hate not sleeping and this is just making it worse. i have james taylor in my head and my stomach hurts so bad bc i ate like shit today. i wish i could turn off my brain and i tried using headspace app and thats another thing. i updated my student status and they sent me a confirmation. yet charged me for full price. and you cant even unsubscribe yourself. you need to email someone and so i did and they sent me back “we got ur email! sorry we’re taking so long:(((“ and charged me with a full smile on their stupid faces. if i can figure out how to rip from that app you bet your asses i will

i really need a break.

i feel so bad getting this degree and its not bc im wasting my own money. my parents are paying and they’re so supportive and dont care that id rather do something education-adjacent and my boss at my part time job says she’d be so happy to have me while i figure my shit out after graduation. all i have to do is drag my lifeless body across the stage at graduation. i have a part time job after that and i wont be tackling things alone after that. i have good references and im qualified for the job i want. all i have to do is get there but its SO HARD and i can’t stop thinking about how much its going to take to get me there. its like looking at a number line. sure YOU see the whole number integers but to me there’s a universe in between 1 and 2 and 3 and 4 and 5. im trying so hard to not get caught up in those universes but man does that take brain capacity i do not possess.

if i have to work forever into an endless oblivion im going to hit myself in the face with a brick. i love having days off and going to museums and walking through the park and going around to coffee shops and record stores and just enjoying life. if my quality of life enjoyment is diminishing NOW what will it be like when i have to go to work every day instead of having off two days a week for school and to catch up on life?? am i doomed to be boring and hate life?? how can i live if i cant LIVE? (2 am drama,everyone.) the thought of taking “personal days” seems like hell to me. i just dont want to work on a schedule like that. i can give 10000% at work its been seen its been done but i control the schedule right now. take that away and it’s over

at least my dog barking at 2 am did not wake me up. i am already up sir and i feel like my butt is on fire. and my legs are so restless.

and another thing? he’s barking bc my sister is coming home. ever since she moved back home things are worse for me. she’s so messy and i am so not and it really gets under my skin and overwhelms me. and she is inconsiderate of other people and takes my stuff. why do i have to parent my older sister. doesnt she know she’s building up my resentment for her. i dont want to spend time with her and my mom looooves to guilt me about it bc of her relationship with her sister. but then she and my dad go and mumble under their breath about how they cant wait for her to finish her masters thesis (not gonna happen,im gonna graduate with my masters before her and she’s two years older than me and has been working on thesis for 3+ years now) and leave bc she’s turning our house into a trainwreck. why cant she just live with her boyfriend who is (to me) deadbeat. nice guy but like i dont even know what his job is? is there one? (also not fair to him bc the standards for partners in my family have been set verrry high: see above future roommate. he is universally adored while sister bf? jury is still out. also i maintain that my sister is a homewrecker. i guess both figuratively and literally at this point.)

anyways my tumblr is getting laggy so i guess thats my sign to end this. im sure that i will not sleep.

[my-never-ending-nightmare]

Here’s an example of the sort of overthinking that has plagued my existence for as long as I can remember: I cannot stop thinking about that call I missed three nights ago from someone with their caller ID turned off. Haven’t received another call since; from anybody. And that was the first call I had received in over a week when work called me – and even that was only because they couldn’t reach me on my work cell. That’s how rarely anybody calls me lol. So the fact that I not only got a call so late at night but also from someone trying to remain anonymous makes me think that it was someone important in my life trying to reach out to me. But at the same time I don’t have much of a reason to believe that other than wishful thinking. Like, it very well could have just been a scam caller or something… but don’t they usually mask their phone # with one that looks local rather than disabling caller ID altogether? Idk. I just know my thoughts keep circling back to one thing: I know who it might have been. And that’s what I’m so hung up on. Because if it was them then I feel like I failed them. The last time I spoke to them I told them as we were saying our goodbyes to hold onto my number and to call me anytime if they ever needed me. I’ll always answer, I said. And they thanked me for that because it was a promise to always be there for them – so what if I wasn’t? What if they needed me? Not what we used to have – but me as friend; someone to talk to – and I wasn’t there for them? I feel like I may have broken my promise, and I feel awful because of that. Like, if they were reaching out to me then it was because in that moment that had nobody else to turn to except for me. But in that moment I wouldn’t have been there for them. And I know how horrible it is to have nobody to turn to. So I feel incredibly guilty about having potentially left them feeling that way… but at the same time this all feels so ridiculous of me. This is all only potentially after all. It’s not like this person has given me any reason to expect a call from them since the last time we spoke. But still… I assume the worst. And I’ve really been beating myself up over it. So much so that it’s begun to creep its way into my dreams. Even though I know how silly this all really is.

Oh, and side note: I’m not too happy about something I said here yesterday, either. And it’s been weighing on my mind just as heavily. I was trying to express how no matter how lonely I feel on any given day I’m always thankful that I’m not somebody who goes out and gets myself into relationships for the wrong reasons – because in my life I’ve seen tons of people who were staying together for reasons other than love (my parents included) and none of them have seemed like happy people in healthy relationships. And I feel genuinely sorry for those people because it seems to me like it’s an absolutely miserable & hopeless situation to be in. And I experienced first hand how that misery trickles down when you add children to the mix. But in retrospect the way I said it yesterday seems very condescending. What I was trying to express got lost in translation and if you’ll permit me to do a bit of armchair psychoanalysis of myself then I’ll say that it was because of my fear of vulnerability. Like, it’s incredibly difficult for me to admit to being lonely. Far more difficult than it is to talk about depression. As a guy there’s more of a stigma about it – as if it’s a result of failure/weakness. And I feel like such a loser talking about it. So not only had I made myself vulnerable like that, I had also embarrassed myself by admitting in the same post that I believe in soulmates. I didn’t believe them for most of my life until something rather profound changed that; so I can understand how fantastical or even absurd the notion is to a lot of people. And I felt silly because of it. I was making myself vulnerable and that made me uncomfortable/embarrassed so I think I tried to hide behind an inappropriate attempt at humor. As if by finding a way to end that post with “lol” could shield me from any embarrassment. But I wish I had just had the courage to say how I feel.

Instead I overthink everything. Constantly.

It’s quite the curse.

[rosierin]

Studying with you

pairing: tsukishima x fem!reader

synopsis: after finding out about your gradually decreasing grades, your teacher urges you to change your studying methods and decides to find you a tutor among the class. shame that tutor is literally the biggest jerk known to man. you swear he knows nothing but insults and that his heart is made of stone. or is it?

genre: fluff

type: oneshot

word count: 1.6k

a/n: i hate love this guy, srsly

"Oi, (y/n). Wake up, we're not finished." 

Your head jerks up and you let out a loud, drawn out groan as your eyes refocus on the man in front of you. He's sneering, same as usual, and you wish you could suddenly go back to dream land where you were happily baking cookies with Hinata and Kageyama. 

Beneath your arms are two gaping algebra textbooks. One is riddled with scribbly notes and an unnecessary amount of pointless doodles, except the one of Tsukishima— scowling with a head drawn way too big compared to the rest of his skinny body. The other is filled with neat, detailed formulas, pastel highlights and all the correct answers which you've been struggling to find for the past two hours.

"I'm up, I'm up, geez.." You yawn with your head still on the table and look up at Tsukishima with drowsy eyes. "You could've woken me up a little nicer, ya know."

"Yeah.. no. How about you hurry up and finish so I can go home?" He looks more than done at this point and huffs, pointing at a formula jotted messily on your paper. "And you got that one wrong again, by the way."

You squint at your work, then realize he was right. "Oh. My bad."

Wanting to get things over with, you get back to work but your eyelids are so heavy it's ridiculous. Not to mention your brainpower has reached its limit.

You can feel your grip on your pen loosen as you try and correct your work but before you know it, your head drops again, only to be jolted awake by a sudden smack to the back of the head with what feels like a textbook.

"What the— Do you mind?!" You snap. 

Tsukishima doesn't react to your outburst in the slightest, just nods to your unfinished work with a look of lazy authority. "Algebra." He stares at you with a deadpan expression when you pout. "Now." 

"Fiiine." You sigh, annoyed that your puppy dog eyes didn't work on Tsukishima. Not that you thought they would. Tsukishima didn't seem like the type to particularly like animals, except maybe for dinosaurs. He had a small keychain of one buried deep within his pencil case, you found. "You know, you'd make a terrible teacher."

This time, it's Tsukishima's turn to yawn, stretching his long limbs and you have to force yourself not to focus on the pull of his lean muscles despite yourself. Then, he turns to look at you with a look of false innocence. "Sorry, go on?"

"I hate you."

"Great. Now ask me if I care."

You suck in through your teeth as you hold back from socking the blonde straight in the face. He's been sassing you non-stop since the beginning of your study session and you'd think you'd be used to his perpetual cocky remarks by now but alas, he was still a huge pain in your ass.

"Where're you going?" You ask as Tsukishima gets up from his chair that's in front of your desk, dusting the eraser shavings off your textbooks.

"Aw. Think you'll miss me?"

You bite your lip down and he notices, smirking contently before deciding to answer: "going to get some water. That question better be finished by the time I get back."

He's gone before you can retort, long legs granting him a quick escape. However halfway down the hallway you hear him add: "or I'll make you do three more."

Great.

"Yessir," you sigh, though you have absolutely no intention of following through.

You glance down at your textbooks for good measure— textbooks which are practically staring at you, and you can picture them with beady little eyes as though they're chanting— soooolve ussss.

You shudder. Man, you really were tired.

"Yeah, no. Sorry, Tsukki."

Pushing your homework aside, unfazed by your salty tutor's threats, you decide it's time for an actual break. You deserved it, right? Yeah, yeah you did. So without second thought, you let your attention drift to the scenery outside instead.

You'd been so focused on your homework (and Tsukishima's sass) that you hadn't even noticed the beautiful sunset that was now setting over the hills of Karasuno High. You always loved the way it looked at this hour, basking the buildings and tall, lush trees in its warm light. It was all too soothing, so soothing that you hadn't even realized you were once more falling asleep, eyeslids fighting to stay open until they finally gave in and what little willpower you had left, left your body.

"Right, time's up. You better be finish—"

The moment Tsukishima walks back into the classroom, eyes settling on your current state— sprawled out on your desk, mouth slightly agape and completely out cold, he's overcome with the urge to sigh.

He walks over to your desk and sits down opposite you, then as he leans his cheek into his palm, he lazily pokes your cheek— once, twice, but gets no reaction in response.

"You've got to be kidding me.." He sighs. But he decides to not bother and wake you up this time. What'd be the point? You clearly weren't in any shape to study and honestly, he didn't have the patience in him anymore to try in case it'd drive him crazy.

For a second he debates just leaving you there, passed out of your classroom desk, but quickly decides against it in case he gets an earful from your parents about leaving you alone or something. The last thing he wants is any extra trouble.

Therefore he agrees, albeit begrudgingly, to let you sleep. Just until you were rested up enough to work again.

⭐

Thirty minutes go by, you're still fast asleep.

During that time, Tsukishima took it upon himself to slip his headphones on and listen to some beats, hazel eyes flitting beyond the window to watch the last of the sunset, hoping it'd make the time go by quicker.

Usually, this would be right up his alley; peace and quiet, chill lofi and a sunset, however when sat on a painfully uncomfortable, wooden chair rather than his comfy and plump single bed, the experience was significantly less appealing. Therefore, after trying to find a comfortable sitting position and failing for the fourth time he decides to take his headphones off and focus back on his studies— he might as well, only when he reaches for his pen, he realizes it isn't there.

Amber eyes scan the table. Usually it'd be in his pencil case; he doesn't remember taking it ou—

Ah, never mind. It all makes sense when he sees it. Not in his pencil case after all, but balanced precariously between your fingers.

He rolls his eyes.

Why didn't she just use her own pen?

Reaching for it, he attempts to pull it out of your grasp only to freeze when you begin to stir.

He doesn't know why at this point— he could just wake you up, that's what he'd initially planned. But now, for some reason, there's something that prevents him from doing so. Maybe it had something to do with the way you were sleeping so peacefully.

He tries to pull at his pen again— gently— but this time, it isn't you stirring that makes him seize up, but the way your index and middle finger hook around his own.

His brain stutters.

Well, this is new.

Tsukishima's back straightens an awkward amount, completely unsure of what to do. Nothing like this has ever happened to him before. He becomes painfully aware of that. He's also painfully aware that you could possibly wake up while holding him like this.

Thankfully, you don't. And although the tenseness of his body is beginning to hurt, he still takes the time to admire your sleeping form.

You're laying crossed armed, head nestled between them, facing him. He watches your body rise and fall ever so gently, can almost hear your quiet breaths. It's picturesque, almost; the way your hair glows beneath the bright full moon. Unknowingly, his thumb twitches nearer, gravitating towards the warmth of your hand and he can almost feel—

"Enjoying yourself there?"

Suddenly he's frozen. Though it only lasts a second, for the next he's already retracted his hand, folding it under his arm like it was never there to begin with.

"Wh— How long have you been awake?"

"Long enough," you say, smiling curiously at him and for once the tables have been turned; the teased having become the teaser. "So you can be nice sometimes."

Tsukishima's expression is anything but impressed as you mock him, his face caught between confused and annoyed, and dare you say even a little bit embarrassed? He's quick to shake it off though, sparing himself of any sly comment as he regains his usual cool demeanor.

"Please. You're the one who grabbed me first," he scoffs.

"But you didn't try to move," you shoot back.

There's a strange atmosphere that settles in the room as your mishief-glinting eyes bore into his, and Tsukishima doesn't dare talk back for once, having been robbed of all witty comebacks. He hates being at a loss for words, but he hates even more so, the beginnings of a grin forming on your features, one that he knows is a result of his shortcomings.

"Whatever, (y/n) just pack up your stuff. We're done for the night," he says as he himself starts tidying his belongings.

You chuckle then nod your head. "Sure thing, sensei."

"...don't call me that."

"Sensei."

"Urgh, shut up."

⭐

⭐

⭐

Later that night, when you're lying in bed, ready to fall asleep, your eyes snap open as your phone buzzes underneath your pillow. You pull it out and press the home button, wondering who could possibly be texting you at this hour. When you do, you're surprised when it's Tsukishima's ID that pops up.

He had sent one message:

"Oh and by the way, you drool when you sleep."

[imagine-loki]

Midnight Stroll

TITLE: MIDNIGHT STROLL

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: One Shot

AUTHOR: mooncat163

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine that you struggle with sleep walking, and one night you manage to get to Loki’s room. The next morning he wakes to find you snuggled against his back, and wonders how you ever got past the security spells he’d cast.

RATING: General

NOTES/WARNINGS: just fluffy stuff, sleepwalking

— —

You’ve been up for close to seventy-two hours straight, copying VHS surveillance tapes to digital in an attempt to isolate and identify players suspected of gearing up for a major weapons heist. Any attempts to make you rest before you collapsed were rebuffed: you were determined to complete the process and make positive ID’s as soon as you could.

“Hey.”

The greeting was soft so that you weren’t startled when Steve came up behind you. He glanced over the monitors before looking at you.

“Hey, Cap,” you replied, and turned your head slightly. “I’m almost done, just have about twelve hours left-“

“That's why I’m here,” he said. “You’ve been at it for close to three days, and you need to rest.”

“I’m good,” you protested. “Jarvis has already isolated footage for me, I just have to-“

“Rest,” he said, firmly. “Jarvis, bookmark where she’s at, but she’s not allowed to start again until she’s eaten and slept.”

“Yes, sir.”

“But I-“ You turned your chair to face Steve after the computer monitors went blank.

“No.” He urged you out of the chair and then ushered you from the room. “Tony agrees, and none of us want you to become overtired.”

You still wanted to protest, but there wasn’t any point in doing so. Jarvis wouldn’t allow you to access the files until Tony or Steve agreed to it, and there wasn’t a way to subvert the AI. You knew this because you’d tried several times, just to see if you could and to see how badly you could annoy Tony.

You had managed one small victory: you’d renamed some of his music files, so that instead of the heavy metal songs he liked to blare at random, Jarvis would end up playing teen bop songs. Tony didn’t talk to you for a week after that, although you could see by the gleam in his eyes that he was slightly impressed by the feat.

Computers had always been your ‘thing’, and you could set up networks and track down problems in record time. When you worked with the electronics, your mind visualized the connections and routes in schematic form, enabling you to pinpoint the failing areas. When it came to analyzing data, you could do so just as quickly.

Steve led you to the elevator, and the ride up to the Avengers’ level was made in silence, then his hand in the small of your back guided to the dining table, where the rest of the team sat.

“Glad you could join us,” Tony said, grinning when you cut your eyes at him.

You sat down across from Loki and Thor, then helped your plate with food as it was passed to you. You offered them both a tired smile, which Thor returned with a wink. Loki nodded, and although he didn’t smile, his green eyes were lit with amusement. A warmth spread through your veins, making it hard to look away from him, but you finally managed.

If only he wasn’t such eye candy, you thought. Or maybe such a snack...a tall, tall, snack…snack-a-licious…

You smothered a giggle that almost escaped, but then strangled on the sip of water you’d just taken. While you coughed into your napkin, Bucky tried to help by patting your back, but his strength knocked you forward enough where you almost face-planted into your plate.

“Bucky!”

“Sorry.”

You composed yourself while keeping your attention on your food. You weren’t very hungry, even though you’d subsisted only on coffee, protein snacks and candy over the last few days. As you began to eat, it became difficult to keep your eyes open. Now that you were still and quiet, the lack of sleep caught up with you fast. The others watched as your head began to drop lower and lower, until your fork clattered onto the plate as you fell asleep while sitting upright.

“Come on, sleepyhead.” Steve scooped you up and carried you to your apartment, where he put you to bed.

— —

Later that night, Tony was still in the common room when you padded quietly on bare feet into the kitchen. You went to the fridge and stared at its contents for several minutes before taking out a yogurt cup.

He watched as you shuffled to a drawer for a spoon, and he started to ask if you needed help when you struggled to open the yogurt, but you did manage to get the lid off after a couple of minutes.

“Are you alright?” He asked as you consumed the yogurt in four large spoonfuls.

You didn’t respond, just dropped the spoon into the sink, and the empty cup into the garbage, and left. Once back in your apartment, you crawled into bed, pulled up the covers and went back to sleep.

— —

Several hours later, Loki stirred from a deep sleep when something woke him. He listened for any movement in his apartment, but all was quiet. Something wasn’t right, though, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

He started to get up, but then realized what had disturbed him: a warmth against his back, along with a bare arm across his waist. To say that he was stunned would be an understatement, since neither should be there.

Loki carefully grasped his bedfellow’s wrist and raised it enough to try to determine who had invaded his space, and he didn’t need three guesses when he recognized the intruder’s bracelet.

Pixel.

He couldn’t help but think of you by the nickname that Tony had burdened you with due to your computer skills. None of that was important, however. What was important was why you were in his bed, and how you had managed to avoid the spells that he cast each night that would alert him to any intruders. It was a habit that he kept, even though it was unlikely that he’d be attacked in his own suite, and he felt a bit uneasy that you hadn’t triggered any of them.

Loki carefully shifted until he faced you, and the movement was enough to turn you on your back. He braced up on one elbow while he looked into your face, and recognized the exhaustion it reflected. He knew that you’d been working hard on the surveillance videos; too hard, it seemed. He frowned at that, and decided to speak to Stark about letting you stay awake for days on end, as it wasn’t necessary since Jarvis could easily help run comparisons.

“Hey, Pixel.”

He brushed hair out of your face before shaking you gently, but you didn’t stir. He tried again, with no success: you were dead to the world. He considered taking you back to your own bed, but an urge for mischief kept him from doing so. He rather wanted to see what your reaction would be come morning. So, he adjusted position slightly so that your head was pillowed on his arm, then he put the other arm across you and pulled you closer.

— —

Early the next morning, well before dawn, you awoke slowly to find that something was very, very wrong.

Your sheets were softer than you recalled, you were curled against someone’s side, with your head on their shoulder, and this someone had their arms around you. Slowly, carefully, you sat up, and the shock when you recognized your bedfellow had you turning toward the edge of the bed.

Loki.

Before you could disengage fully from his embrace, he turned with you, and drew you even closer to his chest, where he held you firmly. You laid still for a couple of minutes, not wanting to disturb him, hoping to escape before he woke. Then you carefully tried moving his arm from across your waist so that you could slide from beneath it.

“What’s the fuss, pet?” Loki asked, sleepily.

“Why are you in my room?”

“Your room?” You felt his smile against your temple.

“My room! And my bed!”

“Are you certain about that?”

Your brow furrowed in confusion while you slowly looked around, then your mouth fell open in astonishment when you realized where you were. Nope, not your room, but his.

“How did I get in here??”

“That’s the million dollar question, isn’t it?” He asked, while burying his nose in your hair. “How you got in, and got past my security measures.”

“I don’t—wait, security measures? You mean booby traps?” You whispered, aghast.

He almost laughed aloud at that, and would have if your tone hadn’t been so horrified at the notion of triggering one of his spells.

“Don’t worry, Pixel, there isn’t anything that will cause lasting harm,” he chuckled. “So, first order of business: why did you come here?”

“I’m not...oh...cripes…” you rubbed your face with a groan.

“Yes?”

“I’m so sorry...I must have been sleepwalking.”

“Oh?”

“I haven’t done it in years, though...I guess being up for close to four days straight triggered it.”

“I see,” Loki mused over that for a moment. “But how did you get past my spells?”

“I don’t know, I really don’t,” you replied. “Are you sure they’re still intact...never mind, forget I asked.”

You’d backtracked on the question when his arm tightened slightly; you could imagine that his expression would remind you that he was a master sorcerer who was at least nine hundred years in age, and that he would know if his spells had failed.

“I should go,” you told him as you tried again to move his arm. “I’m very sorry for invading your space…”

“It’s early yet, why not stay?” He asked. “You’re delightfully warm.”

“Yeah, I don’t think I should.”

You were painfully aware that your gown’s thin straps left your arms and shoulders bare, and the hem only reached to your knees. There was no way that Loki hadn’t noticed it either, just as it hadn’t escaped your notice that his chest was bare. Thankfully, you could tell that he had on pajama bottoms. Thank God for small mercies.

“I was a perfect gentleman last night,” he commented. “Don’t you trust me?”

“Of course I do,” you replied, quickly. But do I trust myself?

Loki hummed softly before he ran his hand down your arm and changed your gown into one that covered you from your chin to your feet, and from your shoulders to your wrists. You were quite sure the thing would strangle you, since you were a restless sleeper.

“Geez, did you raid Steve’s grandmother’s closet??”

“Just trying to be helpful,” he replied with a chuckle, before he changed the gown again.

This time it was a green shirt with flowing sleeves, open neckline and a shorter hem which reached your knees. It wasn’t lost on you that he’d put you in his color.

“Better?” He asked.

“Yes, thank you,” you replied. “But I should go....”

He held you more firmly, and drew his legs up behind yours to trap you further. He was reluctant to let you go now that you were in his arms. He’d watched you for months now, slowly warming up since you treated him the same as anyone else, perhaps even better. He wasn’t sure how you’d managed to get under his skin, but he found himself wondering how it would feel to hold you, to kiss you...to have you.

When Loki refused to let you up, your heart began to race at the implications. Was he interested in you? Or just being mischievous because you had accidentally climbed into his bed? Either way, the proximity to his bare skin had you shaking; it wouldn’t take much for you to give in to his request.

“I’d like for you to stay,” he whispered, before he’d turned your face toward him.

When his lips found yours in a gentle kiss, your reticence flew out the window.

Yes, that did it.

[burnedbyshoto]

disconnected

— Kirishima answers a phone call that wasn’t intended for him, and of course he can’t help but be interested in the beautiful voice and soul that angrily began to rant about their day. —

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

pairing: kirishima eijirou x fem!reader

warnings: fluff, lil angst (lol sorry), cursing

word count: 7,786

a/n: this was a stupid thought that slammed into my mind, and here it is!!!! now I have a calc midterm tomorrow that I did not look at because why think about double derivatives and integrals when I can think about kirishima????

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

It was eleven at night when Kirishima strolled out of his bathroom, ready to go to bed. After a rather long day, he was looking forward to sleeping and not having to wake up at the crack of dawn. Tomorrow for the very first day in a very long time, he wouldn’t have to work at the local coffee shop he was hired at. It was a job he had acquired with his good friends on the promise of it being a manageable job on top of his college work, and of course, the pretty girls who would go in.

From what Kirishima had gathered from the four months working there was that there were a lot of pretty girls who entered the coffee shop — most of which were focused on the angry ash-blond friend of his — and that it was so unnecessarily stressful. 

Some days he was up at four in the morning to open at six for the morning regulars, then he’d go to his afternoon classes, only to return for a two-hour shift in the middle of rush hour, and would leave while trying to keep the peace between a certain ash-blond and two new hires. To say the least, it was hell on Earth at times. 

Regardless, he didn’t have to open tomorrow morning, so he was content! On top of not having classes tomorrow, Kirishima was excited to sleep in.

Falling on his bed with a massive sigh, Kirishima snuggled his face into his pillow, rejoicing in the way that the laundry detergent still clung to the fabric and relaxed.

Sleep sounded so—

RIIING.

RIIING.

Kirishima’s eyes slammed open, his head snapping to see his illuminating phone on his nightstand. He had no idea who the hell was calling this late. There was no way it was Bakugou; he was asleep already at this point. Sero had broken his phone two days ago during a failed stunt and wouldn’t be able to get a new phone until the weekend. Kaminari only called him when there was a bug in his apartment, but he was currently closing… maybe it was Mina? Kirishima shook his head, no, he hadn’t spoken to Mina in ages.

Grabbing the phone, he didn’t bother to look at the caller ID and answered.

“Hello—?”

“Oh my god, I am fucking raging! You can’t believe what kind of fuckery I just went through tonight!” a voice shouted into the receiver, and Kirishima flinched a bit at the loud and angry voice. “So you know how I wasn’t supposed to work today, right? Because my coworker had sex with her ex-boyfriend like an idiot, and I owed her for covering my shift three months ago, but anyways irrelevant. I’m taking the order of this one group of adults. That’s right, A-D-U-L-T-S, adults! They are completely staring at my tits the entire time, and not my face. At first, I thought maybe you know, I had spilled something on my tits earlier, no. No! NOTHING! So I call them out on it, and they say something along the lines of ‘you could be a camgirl with that body, but like not in a sex sort of way’ I’m sorry, WHAT?! Like yes, continue sexually harassing your server who is a college student and therefore has no will to live, so will gladly beat your Gucci belt wearing ass into a bloody pulp! What they gonna do? Sue me? I have one dollar to my name, fucking take it, I don’t care, I’ll find another dollar in the sewer after I beat their asses up!

“But you know, I’m saying all this in my head because I’m broke and can’t afford to be fired from this place because the tips are hella good here. But they continue saying dumb shit, and then the obvious ringleader — I know he was the ring leader because his beard looks like it was the first picture printed on a new ink cartridge and his manspread was ten times wider than all of theirs — have the fucking audacity to slip his number while only tipping TEN DOLLARS ON A TWO HUNDRED DOLLAR TAB!!!!” Kirishima doesn’t know what to say, his jaw on his mattress, breathing having stopped while your voice wheezes from your lack of air. He makes a croaking noise, wanting to speak up and apologize for what had happened and for not being the person you thought it was, but it seemed that you weren’t over. “AND DON’T GET ME STARTED ON THAT FUCKING KAREN!!! ‘I didn’t like the way you looked at me so I won’t be tipping you tonight!’ yeah, well maybe if you didn’t order enough FOOD TO FEED AN ARMY AND KEPT SENDING IT BACK I WOULDN’T BE LOOKING AT YOU LIKE THAT!!!”

There was a pause, and Kirishima, while feeling entirely sorry for you, finally spoke, “Fuck, that sounds... horrible.”

“Damn right, it was horri— wait, who the fuck is this?” your voice squeaked, and Kirishima almost started to laugh at the difference in the tone your voice took. Once so loud, angry, and entirely ‘fuck the world,’ had changed into a meek and embarrassed voice.

“Um, this is Kirishima. Kirishima Eijiriou?”

“This isn’t Hagakure?” you moaned into the phone. “03-9082-2395? That isn’t this number?”

“2-2-9-5,” Kirishima repeated his own number back, a small smile overcame his features knowing that you had accidentally misdialed a number.

“Fuck my fat fingers,” you cursed, and Kirishima chuckled lightly at the mutterings that were poorly picked up. “Well, um, I am so sorry for calling you and dumping that unnecessary bullshit on you—”

“No, no,” Kirishima interrupted, rolling onto his back, staring up at the dimly lit ceiling. “It’s totally okay! You seem less stressed out now too, and it really isn’t a big deal!”

“You are very kind, Kirishima Eijirou,” you laugh, and Kirishima can’t help but imagine a figure curled up on a couch.

“Thank you!” he beamed, a hand threading through his hair, “um, but what happened with the Karen? And why were you typing in your friend’s phone number?”

“Do you really want to know?” you ask after a fit of bubbling laughter; it seemed that you were not at all convinced.

“I work at a coffee shop for one, so I totally understand the Karen situations! Secondly, all my contacts are on my phone, I don’t have a single one of them memorized!”

“Okay, okay, okay, I do not have this number memorized! Hagakure is my roommate, and she has a new number that she left posted on our fridge and because Mr. Sprinkles left in the middle of my rant, I called her to finish it!” you explain in what Kirishima could only consider being childlike glee. “And a coffee shop? Oof, Kirishima, you might have it just as bad as I do then.”

“Ever had a boiling cup of coffee thrown back at your face?”

“Shut. Up.”

“I wish I was joking!”

“The nastiest thing I’ve ever been put through is a highschool couple breaking up in the middle of the restaurant, and a bowl of cold soup and milkshake were thrown at me! And I had to work for another five hours!”

“That… that beat mine by a long shot…”

“Okay, but like, it was cold. If you hadn’t dodged, you’d be dead!”

As time passed Kirishima soon found himself sitting up on his bed, his back pressed against the headboard, a lamp on so that he wasn’t in the dark while he talked to you. Somehow conversation flowed so perfectly between the two of you, so smoothly, so naturally. You had extremely compelling energy and a pretty bright one at that as well. Your stories were exceedingly extravagant, most derailing into hundreds of side stories before making its way back to the main point, but he didn’t mind. Though there was no proof, he imagined that your arms were swinging around while you talked, a bright smile on your face, and lights shining in your eyes.

“So anyway, I had to beg my professor to let me remake this exam because, for some reason, my brain would not switch back to Japanese. I almost cried because I was only speaking in English, and I think because I am an amazing person, my professor let me do that!” you laughed after explaining an issue with being fluent in a third language. 

“My English skills deteriorated after leaving high school, I’m rather jealous you can speak three languages,” Kirishima admitted, his head falling back onto the cold wall. “My Japanese professors probably think my Japanese sucks too.”

“Just because I am amazing and can speak three languages doesn’t mean I’m perfect at it,” you laugh, obviously trying to make him feel better about himself.

“Mm, I don’t know, you’re painting yourself as a pretty perfect person,” Kirishima sighed. “Or you have an enormous ego…”

A loud scoff came from your end of the phone, and Kirishima waited for your verbal retaliation but was met with a moment of silence.

“Oh! Welcome home!” you called out, and Kirishima quickly put together that your roommate Hagakure was home. “Yeah, no, I’m talking to someone right now! ...who? Oh, um, a friend! ...no, I tried to call you when I got home but misdialed your number and got him instead! NO! You’re not going to get a pic of him! Wait, it’s what time?!”

Kirishima’s eyes fell over to his alarm clock and saw in the dim red light that it was 04:57. 

His jaw dropped.

“Well, um, Kirishima, it seems that our call is going to end,” you whisper into the phone, and Kirishima lets out a breathless chuckle, sudden sleepiness creeping into him. “It was pretty fun chatting with you stranger, thanks for putting up with that ranting in the beginning! Most normal people wouldn’t have picked up or let me rant like that!”

“It’s no problem,” Kirishima smiled softly, his fingers stretching out to turn off the light. He licked his lips, five hours on a phone call with an absolute stranger, and he didn’t have your name, and better yet, a part of him wanted to ask if it was okay to be friends. You were magnetic to him, and he wanted to know more about you, even if this was this weird modern and accidental penpal thing. “I didn’t have anything to do today, and you were fun talking to!”

“Aww, thank you!”

Silence.

Ask, he thought, his teeth biting down onto his bottom lip. Ask!

“Um, I know this is weird and all, but do you think I can keep your number?” you ask, your voice almost timid and meek.

Kirishima’s heart rate spikes at those words, he very much wanted that, but his mouth had a mind of its own it seemed. “Why?”

“Wha— well, I just had a lot of fun talking with you! It was fun, and I don’t know, you seem like a pretty chill guy!”

His fingers gripped his phone, a warmth spreading through him when he relaxed under his sheets. “On one condition.”

“Oof, if you’re going to ask to decide between Crimson Riot or All Might you’re going to be—”

“No, no,” Kirishima lets out a snort, his shoulders rolling while he imagines the curious look coming over your face. “I would like to know your name?”

“My name? Why would you want— HOLY SHIT! I never gave you—” there was a loud noise on your end of the call, and Kirishima heard you apologize profusely before returning in a hushed whisper. “Sorry! Sorry! I didn’t give you my name?!”

“No,” he laughed loudly, one that was pushed from his belly, spreading warmth through his body. “You never did, but I did learn every name of every person you’ve ever talked with!”

“God,” you groan, a small whine emitted from you. “I’m an idiot, I’m so sorry! Y/l/n y/n at your service!”

Y/l/n y/n, that’s a pretty name, he thought while imagining just what you could look like. 

“Well, goodnight y/l/n, I’ll save your number, and we’ll see if you still would like to be friends when you wake up?”

There was a small noise of agreement, “I’m like a drug, Kirishima, you’ll be back for more.”

“Okay, okay, goodnight…”

“Goodnight, sweet dreams!”

“Sweet dreams.”

Kirishima listened to the line ending, and he pulled his phone away from his ear and no sooner did he do that, a text came in at what he believed to be your number:

don’t let the bed bugs bite! 🕷😱‼️

He snorted and replied back before eventually letting sleep consume him.

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

“You’ll never believe what just happened!” you squealed into the phone, and Kirishima laughed while wiping his sweaty face with a white towel. You had called thirty minutes earlier than usual and had caught him leaving the gym.

It had been a bit over two months since your misdial, and things with you had been going pretty well for strangers. The two of you didn’t talk every day, most weeks going by with just a single call, but they were always delightful talks. You worked most nights, and he most mornings, the two of you discovered. So most calls took place the night he didn’t have to work the following morning. 

“You got a customer who complained that there was too much salt in their meal that had no salt in it?” he asked, pulling a random story of something that had happened at his own coffee shop today. You let out an amused snort, a clear indicator that he was wrong, but found his guess to be amusing at the very least.

“No, but oddly enough, someone did ask for an insane amount of salt on their food and hated it!” you sang, clearly happy with how you found their distress to be funny.

“Close enough!” Kirishima laughed, but he was straight out of guesses, so he stopped. “So, what happened?”

“I tried coffee for the first time ever today!” you squealed loudly, and Kirishima cheered happily.

Through these two months, there were some hard facts that Kirishima had learned about you. One, you were living in the same city as him. Two, you worked at a semi-classy restaurant. Three, you had two roommates named Hagakure and Jirou. Four, you were twenty, just like him. And five, you were a child who only drank hot chocolate and tea because you were afraid of coffee.

~

“Caffeine is a drug you know,” you had snarkily teased him one night when he said he was going to make a cup of coffee. “Nice to know I’m friends with an addict!”

“If drugs were as amazing as coffee, I’d be an addict!”

“You know…” your voice whispered, your voice suddenly taking a guilty approach. “I’ve never actually tried coffee…”

“WHAT?!”

~

“Wow, look at you, becoming an old woman in front of my own eyes!” Kirishima chuckled, starting his walk back home. 

His fingers pushed the headphones to be more secure over his ears, hopeful that there it wouldn’t pick up too heavily on the wind of the outside world. 

“To be honest, it wasn’t that good, your taste buds are just tarnished from drinking that bitter crap all day!” you huff and he half imagined you turning your nose up.

“Okay, okay,” Kirishima laughed, a warmth flooding in his chest at the sounds of your muffled laughter. A visible indicator that you were also amused at this. “I hated coffee until I started working at a coffee shop, and that was because I needed to know my shit.”

“Wow, you only got that job while not being a coffee addict?” you tease. “Seems like a fake barista to me.”

“It’s pretty hard to believe, I know,” Kirishima stated his tone one of fake melancholy. “I’m so sorry for deceiving you, and honestly, I am a shit barista.”

“Aww, don’t say that!” you exclaim, and it seems like you’re ready to fight him. “I bet you put all those fancy TikTok baristas to shame!”

“TikTok?” he laughed, his pace speeding up just a bit so he would get home faster. “Wow, I am honored you think that!”

The light conversation continued, nothing too deep or too intense, just chatter about today's shifts and classes. Eventually, Kirishima made it back into his apartment complex, and stumbled into his room, collapsing onto his bed. 

“Can I ask something?” you ask suddenly, and Kirishima lets out a small hum.

“Yeah, of course, what’s up?”

“What do you look like?” you asked softly as if you were curled up in bed, seconds from letting sleep consume you. “I haven’t come up with a mental image that I like, and well, I want some hints.”

“I can just send you a picture of me,” Kirishima smiles, his eyes closing. “It would be much easier than me trying to explain to you what I look like.”

“No!” you disagree, and there's a long sigh from your end of the phone. “I’m not ready for that kind of information yet, Kiri. I just… I can’t accept a pic of you without sending one back, and I’m not mentally ready for that yet…”

“Don’t tell me the big fat Gucci bougie you is shy?!” Kirishima exclaimed, humor drowning his words as he referenced you to something you had called yourself one drunken night weeks ago.

“Not shy!” you bemoan, your voice muffling out at the end of it. “I’m more scared you’ll find me ugly and ghost me…”

“I don’t think that’s possible,” Kirishima interjected, his voice stable and confident.

“Which part?”

“Both parts.”

“How do you know that? You don’t know what I look like…”

“...call it… Kirishima’s intuition,” Kirishima slowly stated, his eyebrows furrowing. “I find your voice and your personality to be attractive on their own, so I would never ghost you. And of course, appearance isn’t anything; plus, there’s no way you’re not gorgeous.”

He says these words with honest truth, and a part of him fears he overstepped and made you wildly uncomfortable with the amount of silence that is heard from your end of the line. But finally, as Kirishima is ready to apologize to you, a soft exhale is heard.

“You’re a dork,” you whisper, and a soft grin spreads on his own face. “Anyways, I’ll ask questions, you answer them first, and then I’ll do the same.”

“Sounds good!”

“Hair color?”

“Black, but I dye it red.”

“Mm, edgy teenager, I like it, and also knew that because you complained about your stained sheets! Eye color?”

“Red.”

“Oh, am I sensing a theme? How tall are you?”

“I’m… a bit over six feet?”

The list went on, most questions becoming more of a joke than anything else, but he was glad that you were asking these things because now he had an insight on how you looked too. You had told him your eye color, your hair color, how tall you were, and a whole bunch of trivial things he would have never thought to ask about to begin with.

“Okay, last question!” you cheered, happy to have finally included Kirishima into your inside joke that revolved around your eyebrows. “Do you have any distinguishing features?”

“Well, I don’t actually...” Kirishima admitted, his fingers brushing against the scar on his eye, and then it hit him. That was one! “Oh, wait—” CRASH. A loud crashing noise emitted from your side of the call.

“Shit, hold on!” you curse and Kirishima can only remain silent while he hears you yelling in the background, it was too far away for him to quite understand, but it was enough to know that it didn’t sound okay. 

Kirishima sat on his side of the call, the phone pressed to his ear while he tried to strip his gross and sweaty shirt from his body. His teeth bit into his lip, his canine pressing into the permanent indent of his lip, an indicator of how anxious he used to be. 

“Fuck, Kiri?” your voice suddenly snapped back onto the call, your tone frantic and quick.

“Everything okay?”

“No, Hagakure showed up drunker than… a drunken drunk, I don’t know expressions, ANYWAYS I know tonight is our unofficial official call night, but anyway I can get a rain check?”

There was guilt that swallowed your voice, a pang of guilt that made Kirishima warm a bit because it showed that you valued these calls, just like him. 

“Of course, I don’t have class or work Friday morning this time around, so Thursday night?”

“That works perfectly,” you sigh, gratitude. “I owe you, text you later if you don’t fall asleep! Goodnight, sweet dreams, love ya!”

Kirishima couldn’t repeat the whole statement before you hastily hung up, but he couldn’t keep the smile off his face the entire time he showered. The shower didn’t take too long, and by the time he emerged from the shower, towel around his neck and his waist, he had a text message. 

sero - hey bro!!! i can’t pick up my morning shift tomorrow i know you have tonight to speak w y/n but todoroki and bakugou can’t cover it!

Kirishima sighed, he definitely didn’t have anything tomorrow anyways, he could manage with going in for an extra shift to help a friend.

kirishima - yeah sure what time?

sero - youre a life saver T-T im covering 8 am - 3 pm!!!

Kirishima sent a simple affirmative emoji before finishing up his nightly routine. 

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

Kirishima looked at his apron while he was assembling himself in the backroom. The aroma of roasted coffee beans and pastries was almost pungent in the back, and he was eager to get out of there. As per employee regulations, he was to wear a black apron, a name tag, and something to hold his hair because it was a bit too long, for that, he wore a white bandana around his forehead.

“Wait, where’s my name tag?” Kirishima called out, his eyebrows furrowing when he turned out to Kaminari, who was currently in the back with him.

The blond froze and scratched the back of his neck, laughing awkwardly, “About that…”

So Kirishima was in the front of the store with a shiny silver name tag that read Hanta Sero. Because Kaminari was the best barista they had on hand currently, he was busy teaching Midoriya — their newest hire — around the bar. For now, Todoroki was nowhere to be found, and Kirishima was handling the cash register. 

Today was a slow morning, most people had their day off today, so morning coffee rush wasn’t in existence. Sure, there were a few outliers, but it was never chaotic. 

The gentle bell of the front door rang, and Kirishima automatically called out.

“Welcome!”

You had walked into the store, your eyebrows furrowed while you prayed that this was the coffee shop your roommates had been raving about. You’d never been here before, but it was the closest coffee shop available that wasn’t something generic and basic like Starbucks. You looked up from your phone at the voice, a thank you automatically being repeated while you neared the register.

You froze when you saw the red hair and the red eyes of the handsome man at the register. A careless thought entered your mind, Kirishima said he had red hair and red eyes… but he said he didn’t work today… 

A kind smile sat on his face, his eyes taking you in, waiting for you to approach him. 

This couldn’t be him, right?

The last time you had assumed a redhead working in a coffee shop was Kirishima, it had ended embarrassingly. 

“Um, hi,” you drawled out, your eyes reading the board to figure out your own order. 

Kirishima couldn’t keep his eyes off of you, you were exactly what you had described to him, but he wouldn’t ask until he was sure. He would ask you for your name after collecting your order for either tea or hot chocolate, and if it was you, he’d reveal that he was Kirishima. But he didn’t want to be wrong; he didn’t want to pin any other person as you, after all.

“I’ve never been here before,” you confess, your hand rubbing the back of your head. You were transfixed on the caramel macchiato that was spelled in the prettiest font, though, plus Hagakure promised all their coffee was good. 

“Oh, well, welcome! If you need any recommendations or have anything else to order, I can put those through while you look?”

His smile was kind, and you felt blood rush to your face, something you desperately tried to fight off by thinking of anything you didn’t like. 

“Oh! I do have two orders, though! There’s going to be one chai tea latte with three pumps of vanilla, and a lavender tea with a splash of oat milk.”

Kirishima nodded his head, “Will this be for here, or to go?”

His voice sounds so similar to Kirishima, you hoped, studying his face. While you answered that it was to go, you saw a distinctive scar on his right eye. Kirishima had said he didn’t have any distinguishing features… 

“What are your favorites here?” you ask, your eyebrows scrunched in confusion, your thoughts very evident in your face.

Kirishima couldn’t help but find hope bubbling up in his chest, there was always the possibility that you two lived in the same city-based off the same area code, and with what seemed like an incomplete knowledge in coffee, maybe…

Kirishima rambled off about the different seasonal drinks right now, his recommendations leaning towards the teas and non-coffee things primarily after his general and basic list. You seemed to take every word out of his lip like gospel, agreeing and nodding when appropriate, and his lips stretched into a grin when you bluntly exclaimed your ill knowledge of this all.

“To be honest, I only step into coffee shops to take a cute pic and then leave,” you laugh, pressing your hands against your lips and screaming a bit in your throat. 

Kirishima laughed, more confidence blooming through his body over the hope that this was you. It had to be you.

Your eyes then found the nametag on his apron, and like a sinking ship, you read Sero.

Not Kirishima.

“And for you?”

“I’ll have the caramel macchiato,” you decide, a grateful smile on your face while he looks down and writes the orders.

“A name?”

“Penny,” came your automatic response.

You never used your real name in coffee shops.

Kirishima suppressed the way that his mouth wanted to drop into a sad smile, and like two rejected teenagers, the money was exchanged. Before Kirishima could attempt to calm his disappointed soul, you walked out of the shop with the coffees and tea in hand.

“What was that about?” Kaminari asked, his eyes wide. “There was so much flirting and then poof, gone from both sides. Come on, dude, it’s my job to fail at flirting, not yours!”

Kirishima laughed, ignoring the way that his three friends looked at him with concern and curiosity. “Nothing, I just… the customer looked like how y/n described herself to be…”

“Oh… sorry, bro.”

“Nah, it’s all good,” Kirishima waved it off, and without so much as another slap on the back, he went back to work.

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

“What the hell are you doing?”

Kirishima looked up from his phone, his fingers mid-type pausing only for a millisecond before continuing to text blindly. 

“Oh, hey, Bakubro, what’s up?” he cheerfully spoke, ignorant to the controller in the ash blond’s hand. 

“It’s your turn, shitty hair, pay fucking attention!” Bakugou barked, tossing the plastic controller into his chest. Kirishima grunted, the feeling of the plastic slamming against his chest was less than ideal, but the smile on his face didn’t waiver while he offered his best friend the controller back.

“It’s all good, you can have another turn, I can handle being out this round!”

“Kiri, that’s six rounds in a row,” Kaminari spoke up, his face in a teasing smirk.

It was then that Kirishima’s face turned approximately the same color as his hair. “I didn’t—”

“Awww, Eijirou has a little crush on y/n!!!” Kaminari sang, resulting in agreeing with noises from Sero and Midoriya. Only Bakugou and Todoroki remained silent. 

Kirishima only laughed, he knew he couldn’t deny that fact, but he wouldn’t say it aloud — especially because Bakugou seemed to hate you. It had been now four months since the two of you had ‘meet,’ and while he still had no face to imagine you with, things had taken a slightly flirty route between the two of you.

Calls were much more frequent, nearly all nights the two of you would speak, even if it was just a measly summary of the day and a ‘sweet dreams’ and a ‘goodnight’ and an ‘I love you.’ It always happened nowadays.

Tonight was an exception, of course, because he was out with his friends, and apparently, you were doing the same. 

“You can’t be fucking serious?” Bakugou spat, a laugh spluttering from his lips, but it was cold and held no humor. “You caught feelings for a person who’s too much of a fucking coward to reveal a picture of themselves?”

“That’s not fair; besides, it's not about physical appearance!” Kirishima waved him off, pressing send to his text message.

have fun tonight! text me when u get back home if ur able to!

“Just how naive can you be?” Bakugou sneered, his hand taking the phone from Kirishima's side. “Six months of talking every week, texting every day, and this y/n still hasn’t trusted you with a single picture of them? I know you said that she told you how she looked, and all that shit, but let's be real, it’s so easy to lie about how you look like when you don’t have to provide a picture. What y/n say? Big tits? Big ass? Small waist? What about her did she say that made you so fucking insane over her?”

“N-Nothing! We didn’t talk about our body types!” Kirishima’s eyes widened significantly, the once comfortable atmosphere of the room wholly gone while Bakugou’s vermillion eyes seethed silently. “None of that matters! I told you the truth! I like y/n because of her personality, she’s manly, and I like that a lot! It’s not about her appearance, how pessimistic can you get, bro! I promise you, she’s trustworthy!”

“Is she really?”

“What?”

“How can you be in love with someone who you trust entirely, but doesn’t trust you at all? You said that y/n won’t show you a picture of herself because she’s scared you won’t like her? How is that trusting you? How is that fucking fair? To me, that sounds like some fucked up catfishing thing.”

“We talk on the phone, dude,” Kirishima said softly, but those thoughts were invading his mind. Did you not trust him? He knew he wasn’t the best option in the world, and he had accepted that in time and by improving on what he thought he was best at. But did you, after all this time, really not believe him when he claimed nothing would change when he saw you? “Catfishes don’t even do that… besides, the first call was by accident, why would someone—”

“Dunce face, what’s that one fucking idiotic thing you do for fun?” Bakugou snapped at the blond, not even bothering to look at him.

“Well, there’s a lot of things I do that you—” Kaminari laughed awkwardly, his smile tight and awkward.

“Kaminari.”

“I call… random numbers… pretending to have a big issue to see how they react…” he admitted, and Kirishima’s stomach clenched.

“And?” Bakugou snarled.

“I pretend to be a girl…”

“Don’t be stupid, Bakugou, this is more than one time!” Kirishima groaned.

“It's a voice that you can’t attach a face to, who knows if this is a person you can trust! People with voice acting exist in this world, how the hell do you possibly know that they’re not one of them?! Be fucking real, if ‘y/n’ trusted you, if that’s even their name, they wouldn’t be hiding their face from you.”

Kirishima didn’t say anything else, the acid piling in his throat was too much for him to even look at his friend. The night didn’t really recover from that conversation, and Kirishima eventually found himself back home.

He sat at the edge of his bed, his phone in his hands, waiting for a message from you. He couldn’t sleep, and even though he had work tomorrow morning, he found himself wide awake, unable to let sleep consume.

It was three in the morning when you sent a text, his eyes still wide awake, and with shaky fingers, he read the message.

i just got home can you believe that i drank three cups of wine and didnt get tipsy??????? thats on being a raging alcoholic ;D

Kirishima wanted to laugh; on god, he would’ve found this beyond delightful to read because he knew you couldn’t handle your liquor, but that bitter stream of acid destroyed the humor in his thoughts.

Were you really telling the truth? Was this all a lie?

He didn’t text back; instead, his finger pressed the call button, and he held his breath.

“Helloooo?” a voice picked up on the second ring, but it wasn’t your voice. It was a voice he didn’t recognize at all.

‘Voice actors,’ Bakugou’s voice reentered his thoughts, and the phone in his hand nearly dropped.

“Sorry, hello?” the voice he knew as you finally came through, and Kirishima let out a shallow breath, one so small, so mediocrely weak it burned his lungs.

“Do you trust me?” he asked softly, maybe too softly because you asked with a strained laugh for him to repeat his words. “Do you trust me, y/n?”

There was a pause on your end, too long a beat for Kirishima to be comfortable with.

“Of course I trust you, Ei, are you okay?”

“Do you actually trust me, or are you lying?”

“Woah there,” you said a small laugh on your tongue, but there was only confusion in it, not your contagious sound. “Did you drink? It’s a work night, you never do that!”

“Answer the question,” Kirishima spoke with finality, his shoulders tense, tears pushing past his eyes while he struggled to maintain composure.

Prove Bakugou wrong, please, prove Bakugou wrong.

“Of course I do,” you spoke with genuine clarity, but still, Kirishima was rattled, his confidence blown. “What’s going on?”

Did he want to confess to his insecurities? Was it worth it? His breathing became frantic, almost as if he was going insane just thinking about where his thoughts were. But Kirishima was never good at hiding things, no he was as open as a book.

“Why won’t you let me see you… we’ve been friends for six months, and the only thing I know about you is your eye color and your hair color. It’s so insanely generic that I can’t… I can’t do this.”

“What are you trying to say?” you ask, your voice small, almost a whisper of all the energy one could have at this time of night.

“I can’t be friends with someone who doesn’t trust me, who’s using me,” he spoke with perfect clarity that hid away his insecurities about this all. “For all, I know nothing about you is real, that this is all just some ploy to hurt me in the end. Six months and you can’t trust me with a single meet up or even a picture? I just… has this been a game for you, y/n? Or is that even your name.”

The call ended and a single message held on his screen, this call has been dropped, but you didn’t seem to want to call him back.

Kirishima didn’t sleep a wink that night, his words coming back to bite him in the throat each and every time he thought he was close enough to sleep. Insecurities riled up in him, consuming him entirely.

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

He tried to call back.

For fourteen straight days, Kirishima attempted to call you back.

Every time he called you, he would always hang up before he could take back his words. But each call, after he had prematurely hung up, he would recant his mean words to the unresponsive phone. He did trust you, he was weak, he was unmanly to assume those things. You could take, however long it took to finally trust him again because he would wait for you no matter what. He apologized again and again until the very last one he broke down into silent tears, a single message of ‘I hope one day you’ll forgive me’ hung weakly on his voice and put his phone away. 

It was sixteen days since he had spoken those cruel words to you, and in that time, he didn’t regret finally talking about his ill feelings towards wanting to reveal yourself to him. But he did regret the way it came out; instead of it being a deep and personal conversation, it came out as bitter and one-sided. The two of you were disconnected, and he felt empty.

But he couldn’t focus on it, not today, after all, it was Bakugou’s birthday, and everyone was gathering at the local fancy restaurant to celebrate. 

Kirishima dressed up presentable, wearing a navy blue button-up, and dark slacks. He walked towards the entrance of the restaurant where Kaminari, Sero, and Midoriya were eagerly leading the group of them into the building. Typically Kirishima would’ve been with them in terms of spirit, but he felt energyless at the moment.

With the moon high in the sky, Kirishima stilled when Bakugou called out his name.

He stared at his best friend, the ash blond’s lip curled into a sneer while he huffed, “Listen, Kirishima, I’m sorry for what I said that night.”

“What? Oh, no, it’s okay, Bakugou!” Kirishima laughed, his hand slapping to the back of his neck. “You weren’t wrong.”

“I never said I was wrong,” Bakugou grunted, his eyes locked on Kirishima’s while he shoved his hands into his pockets. Kirishima stilled, unsure as to where this would be leading. “I just don’t want you to get hurt. I know that Mina hurt you badly, and you’re too big of an idiot to not see when things arise. Maybe y/n is genuine, but if you aren’t fucking honest with her about your own feelings about how she’s so secretive, it’s not going to work.”

Kirishima smiled softly, a weak shrug moving through him, “I know, thanks, man.”

Bakugou nodded, and without a word, he continued on ahead where Midoriya was yelling at them to hurry up and come so they could be seated. 

Kirishima sighed, rolling out his shoulders before following afterward.

Kirishima followed after the hostess, smiling at her gratefully when she sat the group into their own private room and left. 

“Bakugou’s paying, right?” Kaminari stage whispered to Midoriya while staring at the prices on the menu.

“Eat shit, dunce face, learn how to save up your fucking money the next time you offer to come to this fucking place!” Bakugou roared, hearing the whisper.

“I’ll be covering the bill,” Todoroki informed with a smirk on his face. Kirishima laughed, looking at the prices and indeed agreeing with Kaminari’s statement. Having a wealthy friend was very convenient at times like this.

“Hi, welcome to Eiko, I’ll be your waitress today!” a voice chirped from the entrance of the room, and Kirishima froze, he recognized that voice and face.

It was the person he had mistaken for you all those months ago.

By the smile on your face, it seemed that you recognized them all too.

“And what is your name,” Sero winked, his eyes captivated by you.

“Oh, haha, sorry, my name is y/n,” you smiled, moving the menus you held in your hand to show the silver nametag on your uniform.

“Oh, like Kirishima’s y/n,” Kaminari laughed, pointing a finger at Kirishima, not at all being as quiet as he probably thought himself to be. But it seemed that he wasn’t the only one who thought that because while Kirishima was staring at your face, embarrassingly taking you in, you followed Kaminari’s finger.

Your sight sat on the redhead in the middle whose name was Kirishima, and you straightened up in what felt like panic. 

“You’re Kirishima?” you asked quietly, your finger grasping the menus so tightly, your knuckles turned white. “Kirishima Eijirou.”

“The one and only,” Kaminari voiced for him, his arm thrown over Kirishima’s shoulder while he nodded like a scholar. “And why do you ask?”

“Shut the fuck up, dunce face.” Bakugou hissed.

Kirishima continued to stare at you, a million words running through his head, yet not a single one being translated on his tongue. You were beautiful.

What should he say?

What could he say?

Your lips pursed, and you shook your head, a smile of disbelief spreading across your face, “Unbelievable.”

“Y/n—”

“Be quiet,” you snap, your tone angry, but your eyes beyond hurt. “What can I get you guys to drink?”

Dinner wasn’t exactly a pleasant time, you came in and left faster than anyone could blink, and yet none of their drinks went empty, nor did they really have a problem. Much quicker than Kirishima would’ve liked, they were done and were soon piling out of the restaurant after Kirishima decided to leave a very, very generous tip.

“I’m going to stay until I can speak to y/n,” Kirishima said, waving off his friends who were expecting him to follow. But he couldn’t, not when he felt like the world's biggest ass for what he did to you.

“Good luck,” they all wished him well before eventually leaving, knowing better than to stick around.

So there at the outside bench, Kirishima waited.

Two hours he sat there until you emerged from the front door, your hair was no longer put back, you held your apron in your hand, and your purse on your shoulder.

“Y/n!” he called out, his feet no longer cemented into place; he strode after you.

You didn’t seem to pick up the pace, nor did you slow down. You were focused on your car that sat at the edge of the parking lot, and you ignored his calls.

It wasn’t until his hand touched your shoulder, and he appeared before you did Kirishima freeze again. Angry hot tears slid down your face, your face screwed up, your shoulders stiff.

“What do you want, Kirishima?” you spat, but there was only exhaustion in your voice, nothing bitter, nothing at all what Kirishima deserved from you.

“I want to apologize,” Kirishima whispered, his hands struggling to reach out and wipe your tears away. You were crying because of him, he did this to you. “I was a dick, I was… beyond unmanly to you, and I’m so sorry! I just let Bakugou get into my head, and I’ve never been a secure person because, well, I’m just… fuck, I don’t even know, but all I know is that you didn’t deserve this. And I like you so much, but I didn’t — I don’t know what to do?!”

Your eyes stared up at him, they were bright with tears, wounded beyond anything Kirishima could hope to fix.

“That night, you said if I didn’t trust you, but I did trust you! I’ve always trusted you—” your finger jabbed his chest— “but it was you who didn’t trust me! I get that it’s hard to not have a picture of someone you care about after a long length of time, but we were always fine for a while! It was going to happen, but while I trusted you, I didn’t trust myself, okay?! I couldn’t trust myself to see that if you were so much more handsome than me that I couldn’t be confident enough to let myself be friends with you! I constantly fuck up relationships when I have crushes on people because… I don’t know, I just do! But you were someone with no risk and the highest risk, and I wanted to be sure in my own feelings before giving you a picture of me! But… fuck, Kirishima, you didn’t trust me!”

Kirishima’s throat tightened, the tears on your face a guilty reminder that this was because of him. But how could he fix this?

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his hands grabbing onto your arms just above the elbow, and his head hung by your forehead, not quite touching you, but just enough that his spiked hair teased the atoms between you. You were taller than he expected, but it wasn’t anything he couldn’t deal with, no, not at all. “You’re right, I didn’t trust you, and you didn’t deserve that. I don’t think there’s anything that I can say, or do for that matter, to change your mind, and I’m sorry. I just panicked because who gets into this type of situation, how do I tell my phone friend that I have feelings for her? I was weak, and I am so fucking pathetic, and I just want to make things better. If you’ll let me be your friend again…”

He slowly looked back up at you, and you were frozen in your place, tears falling down your face still.

“I don’t think we can be friends,” you confessed, and Kirishima’s heart broke in two, his hands dropping from your arms in his embarrassment and humiliation.

“Oh, well, I’m sorry still, um… maybe I’ll see you again?” Kirishima smiled despite it all, he kept smiling despite the crack in his chest and his soul.

“You will,” you murmured, and before Kirishima could blink, your fists wrapped in his collar, and you brought him down for an ardent kiss that he was not quick to respond to. It took three seconds for him to wrap his arms around your waist and pull you in, kissing you again and again and again.

It didn’t seem to matter to either one of you that you were both now kissing without a care in the world in the middle of a parking lot, because you both had your emotions exposed to the other, and you didn’t want to be friends. At least not when the man who held your heart confessed that you held his in yours. 

The two of you weren’t truly disconnected, it was just a little lost moment in your call.

[ohnopoe]

Personal Hero | Marcus Moreno

Ship: Marcus Moreno x Reader Summary: When work is getting you down, you don’t need Marcus Moreno, the superhero, you need Marcus Moreno, your personal hero. Word Count: 2.6k+ Warnings: Some self deprecating thoughts (not many, but I’d rather you be safe than sorry) & food mentions Author’s Note: This is incredibly late, but for @meshlamando​​! I’m so sorry it took so damn long, I hope it has at least a little comfort in there for you! One day I'll learn the right compromise between hurt & comfort... I don't think I got there today...

The shrill ringing of your mobile cut through your office, sending thoughts flying in every which way at the sudden sound. Irritation bubbled away steadily as you put the damn thing on silent without so much as a glance at the caller ID.

Reports had been thrown in your direction from the moment you had arrived, a never ending list of time restraints and deadlines that seemed to be constantly encroaching on your mental stability, and, quite simply, you didn’t have the time for anything else that could be added to your to do list.

So, the call was quickly pushed from your mind in favour of, was that an accounting report? How had that become your responsibility?

Any thoughts of having your lunch break were dismissed, a luxury you just didn’t have time for as the pile seemed to grow before your very eyes. A fresh cup of coffee, that was all you had time for, and even that gained judgemental glances from your boss as you rushed back from the small kitchenette. But it was a break, of sorts. A few minutes to remind yourself that there actually was something outside of black ink on white paper and luminescent screens that were determined to give you a migraine.

But, as you made your way back to your chair, your phone began to vibrate in your pocket, demanding your attention once more. A quick glance, you could get away with that, surely.

A soft smile seemed to find its home on your lips in an instant as the name Marcus Moreno popped up with a ridiculous picture you’d taken of him some months earlier. But, as your gaze quickly met the disapproving  glare of your boss, you knew you couldn’t answer, even if it technically was still your lunch break.

Placing the phone down with a sigh, and more than a smidgen of guilt, you watched as it rang out, fading into a notification. Two missed calls, both from Marcus.

Well, if you hadn’t felt bad moments ago, you certainly did now.

But you didn’t have time to dwell on your failings when yet another manilla folder found its way into your inbox; the sticky note on top demanding it be finished before start of day tomorrow.

The hum of vibrations drew your attention from the email you had been writing, dragging over the surprisingly empty office to where your mobile danced across the corner of your desk, each vibration bringing it ever closer to the edge. A quick glance around to confirm you really were alone, another to check the time, realising just why you were so alone, and you were reaching for the device eagerly.

It didn’t matter that you still had hours of work ahead of you, or that your coworkers were all too happy to go home on time and leave you to deal with their messes alone. It didn’t matter that your stomach had been grumbling for hours now, or that your eyes felt so dry that the tears that threatened to break through at the thought of your situation would actually be a welcome relief. It only mattered that, for some miraculous reason, he was calling again, and this time you could finally answer, finally hear his voice and get a few minutes of reprieve from the insanity of your day.

“Hey, sorry I missed your call earlier, works been crazy,” the words came out in a mess, one falling into another as your exhaustion made itself known quite clearly.

“As long as you’re ok,” it would have been impossible to miss the concern in Marcus’ tone, even through your receiver and weary state of being. A small smile played at the corners of your lips, his words a gentle reminder of just how lucky you were, at least, when it came to your personal life.

“I’ll be just fine,” you offered with a sigh that sounded suspiciously like a yawn.

“You should come home,” Marcus offered with a soft chuckle, his voice warm and enticing, relaxing you far more than it ought to do.

A chuckle of your own escaped at the suggestion, shaking your head to yourself in the emptiness of your office. “Not likely to happen any time soon, I’m afraid. I’ve got at least a few more hours of stuff left to do.”

“As your boss, I’m telling you, come home, it’s after six, you need rest. I’ll order pizza, Missy’s at a friends, we can have a lazy evening on the couch…”

Damn that sounded enticing, but as you spun around in your chair, the sight of your to do list practically mocked you, silently reminding you of the deadlines you had been given.

It didn’t matter that Marcus was now the head of the whole damn Heroics organisation, your department head would never let you get away with leaving things unfinished, and she’d already made it quite clear what she thought of your relationship with the boss.

A heavy sigh, filled with exhaustion and wariness was the only answer you could give. You didn’t want to disappoint him, of course not. This was Marcus Moreno, for goodness sake, the man deserved nothing but the best, but there wasn’t much you could do. This was your job, and, as much as you loved him, as much as you wanted to be all the things he deserved, you simply couldn’t be that all the time.

“I’m sorry,” there was a weight to your words that went beyond simply coming home late.

It seemed, no matter what you did, you were disappointing someone of late. You weren’t working hard enough, you weren’t home enough, you hadn’t brought coffees for the entire department (when had that even become a thing?). No matter where you looked, it felt as though you were competing with something, something you couldn’t see, something you never had a chance of surpassing. People’s expectations.

There was a pause on the line, a silence that only solidified your guilt. Marcus was too nice to call you out on your absence of late, too sweet to remind you that you hadn’t had a date night in weeks now, but his silence reminded you all on its own.

It weighed heavily on you, as if it had been sitting in the shadows, slowly growing in the dark recesses of your mind without your knowledge, growing until it became the insurmountable mass that sat on your shoulders now.

Late nights, no time to relax, no time to recover, it all came together, wearing at you in a silent tundra of exhaustion.

“You have nothing to apologise for.” It was said softly, but there was a determination behind his words, a tone you heard so rarely, but one that you knew nonetheless. It was the same voice he’d use to reprimand a heroic who went too far or didn’t listen, the same tone he used when Missy had been caught sneaking out one night to go explore an abandoned skatepark with friends. There was no debating this, no need for a discussion. This was simply a fact, one Marcus was determined you would accept.

But it wasn’t that easy.

Just because Marcus believed something wholeheartedly, it didn’t make it so for you. He believed in the best of people, always tried to see the positive in things, and was, quite simply, one of the best people you had ever had the pleasure of knowing.

So, when he said something with such conviction, it was hard to disagree, hard to say no to, no matter how you felt.

A half hearted ‘hmm’ was all you could offer in response, neither agreeing nor fighting him on the matter, and resulting in an inaudible sigh from the other side of the line.

The silence that sat between you lingered on, acting like a vast gap that seemed to stretch on and on, only further dragging you into that endless aching. It hurt to be apart, to deny what you both wanted for what had to be done, but it hurt to disappoint him even more.

There was a reluctance in his tone as he spoke up once more, softly, uncertainly. “I should let you get back to it then,” the words came across forlorn, as if the certainty he had felt when dispelling your apology had faded into something sadder, something deeper, and it twinged at your heart.

You nodded in silent response, your tired mind only reminding you he couldn’t see you moments too late. “Yeah, I should try and get back to this,” you agreed, even if it sounded anything but enthusiastic. “I’ll see you when I get home,” you began, glancing over at just how ridiculous the pile still was… god only knew when you might actually get out of there. “Don’t wait up.”

Time was inching onwards, drawn out and slow moving, almost taunting you. You wanted to be getting through your work, wanted to at least feel productive, but no matter how long you pushed your way forwards, it felt like no headway was really being made. An hour had passed since you had spoken to Marcus, but it felt so much longer, especially with only one file being completed since then.

Worst of all, you truly were focused. It wasn’t as if your mind had been distracted, even if it had tried very hard to fill your thoughts with reminders of failures at every turn. You were working, and working hard, your attention only given to the work at hand, and it still didn’t seem to be enough.

You were so focused, in fact, that you didn’t even hear the doors opening, or the sounds of footsteps coming ever closer. You didn’t hear the half amused, half exasperated huff of laughter that came from the man who was making his way towards you, you didn’t even notice when his shadow danced over the paperwork before you, pulling figures away from the light as he stared down at you with an unreadable expression on his features.

No, it wasn’t until a large box landed on your notes, causing you to jump with a yelp, that you even noticed you were no longer alone.

Laughter came easier now, richer, softer, and actually noticed by you as you spun around in shock to take in the sight of one Marcus Moreno, long since changed into his casual attire, standing beside your desk, watching you with that fond smile you’d often catch from across the room.

“How long have you been standing there?” you asked as you attempted to calm your racing heart. It wasn’t the question you wanted to ask, no, but somehow it seemed easier, lighter even.

“I just got here,” he spoke with that same gentleness he always seemed to have when it was just you two.

Guilt played at the edges of your thoughts, trying to tempt you forwards into those haunting thoughts and regrets, reminders that he had to come back to work to see you, to spend time with you, when you’d only just moved in with him about a month beforehand. It shouldn’t have been this hard, you shouldn’t have been forced to be so distant, he deserved better.

But as much as the guilt and anguish tried to take over your mind, it had no real chance, not when that dimple was showing, not when you could breathe in his smell. No, Marcus Moreno was like a warden, keeping the negative thoughts at bay, as if they couldn’t bare to even try to cross him, as if they simply didn’t belong in the same room as him.

He was a hero, everyone knew that, hell, he was the leader of the heroics, but it was this, his very own superpower, far more special than his control over metal, that made him a hero to you. He held a power unlike any other, the power to let you breathe.

Even with exhaustion playing at your mind, even with the insurmountable piles of work still ahead of you, he could calm you with just his presence, and you would never cease to be in awe of that.

“Break time?” he raised his brows in question, pointing towards the box which had both given you such a startle, and been entirely ignored since his arrival.

You hadn’t even bothered to really look at it, so used to things being thrown on your desk throughout the day that seeing whatever offending item could have been added to your pile hadn’t even been a consideration. But now, with the embarrassment beginning to ease, and the delicious smells wafting in your direction, you could finally acknowledge the large pizza box that demanded your attention away from your papers.

“Marcus I-”

“No, you’re taking a break,” he shook his head as he interrupted what was no doubt about to be a slew of sad excuses for why you didn’t have time for this. “You’ve been working your butt off all day, it’s dinner time for goodness sake. We’re going to sit down, have some pizza, talk about something that’s not work related, and then, if you really want to finish whatever you have to do, well, we’ll do that together.”

There it was again, that tone that left no room for argument.

You didn’t want to bring this into your personal life, you wanted to shelter him from the crap your work often brought about, but how could you when he was right there, offering to help you through it?

“This is hardly the kind of work the leader of the Heroics should be bothering with,” you tried to laugh it off, gesturing to the reports and receipts that were littering your table with a wonky smile, but even that faded away as those deep eyes stole your attention as they often did.

It wasn’t sympathy or empathy, wasn’t anger nor irritation, in fact, none of the emotions you expected to see swam in that chocolate gaze. No, it was simply acceptance.

Pulling a chair from the next desk over, he plopped down with none of the finesse your colleagues were used to seeing in the news reports. No, this was a side reserved for you and Missy alone. The side that was clumsy and awkward. The side that had brought you flowers he saw on the side of the road when coming to pick you up for a date, not knowing it was actually a weed. The side that had managed to fall off the couch, not once, but twice during movie night early into your relationship.

This wasn’t Marcus Moreno, leader of the heroics. This was Marcus Moreno, your boyfriend, a term you had grown to increasingly love even with the juvenility of it.

This was your personal hero, the man who turned up at your desk when you had to work late to make sure you ate, took a break, and weren’t overworking yourself.

“Babe, I don’t know what you think I do every day, but I’m more than used to dealing with boring reports,” and somehow his words came far easier than yours, pulling the corners of your lips into something akin to an actual smile.

It was far too easy to smile around him, and he took far too much joy in dragging a smile onto your features as often as possible.

“But, that’s an after dinner problem. As is the fact your boss isn’t the one staying back late to deal with her own issues,” he huffed slightly, before shaking his head as if the action would literally shake the thoughts from his mind. “For now, we eat like- Do you think kings would eat pizza?”

And just like that, being stuck at work for the evening didn’t feel quite so bad. Nothing really could, not when you had that ridiculous man staring at you curiously as he shoved far too much pizza into his mouth at once, pondering a question that would make a toddler proud.

No. This wasn’t bad at all.

[queenmylovely]

Hey hope you're well 😊 i think the holiday advent idea is lovely! Id like to request something that just popped into my head if you would like to write it, no worries if not 😊 So I was thinking Queen are doing an album release party which also happens to be on new years eve and you work for a music magazine and have to interview the band members, you're nervous because its Queen and obviously you're a huge fan, and have a crush on rog 😁 and you bump into him before the interview and he has his flirt on but you're trying to stay professional because you know you have to interview him later, and then after the interview (which incldues a few suggestive comments and a bit of teasing) you bump into each other again on the dancefloor just as the clock strikes 12! 😁 sorry if its a bit cheesy but i think you could put your own cool spin on it😁 💕

bonus holiday advent post! since this was nye themed, I figured dec 30th was the perfect day to post it. Anyway, I really liked this and had fun with it so I hope you like it as well! (no warnings, 1.9k)

☆☆☆

Walking into a giant ballroom filled with lights, music, and people, you tried to take it all in and calm yourself with a deep breath. There were quite a few people you recognized and many you didn’t, but none of them would recognize you. This was your first big assignment for your magazine, after your editor had finally seen your worth when you filled in for a sick coworker at a Fleetwood Mac concert a month ago. Now, you were at a release party for Queen’s new album, News of the World, which they had decided to host on New Year’s Eve.

It had been one thing to go to a Fleetwood Mac concert and do a review, but going to a release party and actually interviewing the band was a whole nother level, and you were trying not to freak out. Not only your dignity, but your career, depended on you being able to hold yourself together professionally before, during, and after the interview. All of this was going to be harder as well considering you had a massive crush on the drummer, Roger Taylor. You had yet to see any of the members of the band on your initial survey of the room, a fact that you were glad for, and hoped that you could keep a relative distance until the time of the interview.

As per the directions of your editor, you had gone out and bought a nice outfit for the occasion with the company credit card. You had tucked your press pass into your clutch as soon as you were through the doors in a further effort to fit in, grabbing a glass of champagne from a waiter for the same reason.

Skirting around the edges of the room until you came to a group of high tables without chairs, you stood at one, content to people watch and get a good feel for the energy of the party so that you would be able to convey it well through your writing. Most people’s clothes ranged from cocktail party to black tie, though a couple were wearing something akin to circus performer costumes. This would have been confusing, but you had read and heard lots of far stranger things about parties hosted by rockstars, so you just accepted it.

You had finished your glass of champagne a few minutes ago but had decided not to get another so you could stay alert for the interview when you saw someone walking over to you out of the corner of your eye. Turning to greet them with a smile, your stomach dropped when you realized who it was: Roger Taylor.

“Hi,” you said, hoping you sounded normal while you fell to pieces on the inside.

“Hi,” he said with an easy smile. He held up one of the two champagne flutes in his hands, “Looked like you needed a top up.”

You bit your lip and hesitated for a second, but figured you just wouldn’t drink it all and accepted, clinking your glass with his and taking a sip.

“So, I don’t believe we’ve met,” he said, looking you up and down in a way that made your cheeks feel hot. “What’s your name?”

You told him just your first name, in case he knew who was interviewing him later. Even though you were completely flustered, you were going to use this opportunity to see what he was like not during an interview.

“I’m Roger,” he replied.

“I know,” you told him and he smirked, but since it was playful you laughed.

“So do you always stand off to the side alone at parties?” he asked as if he were just curious, but there was a mischievous glint in his eyes.

You rolled your eyes, “I like observing.”

“Hmm, I’m more of a partaker, but I’ll give it a try,” Roger said, coming around to the side of the table you were on and standing right next to you, the front of his left shoulder just inches behind your right one. You could practically feel the warmth radiating off of him but took another deep breath in to center yourself.

“So what exactly are you observing?” Roger leaned in to ask, his breath tickling the hair at the nape of your neck.

“Actually,” you said, turning to him quickly so he had to tilt his head back to avoid knocking your heads together. You suppressed a laugh, “You could probably help me out. I was wondering who those people are.”

Roger reluctantly broke eye contact with you to follow where your hand was gesturing, making a sound of understanding when he recognized who they were, “oh yeah, a couple years ago Fred went to some circus afterparty or something and ever since he’s invited whatever circus performers are in town to our parties because ‘we need them to offset all the boring executives.’”

He did a bit of an impression of Freddie Mercury that made you laugh, which he seemed to like.

“You know, I haven’t seen any of your bandmates in the crowd yet,” you said, hoping more conversation would distract you from how close he was and how interested he was making it clear he was.

“Well let’s see, last I saw Deaky he was up by the speakers; the man loves to dance. And Brian was over by the bar when I left him. Freddie could honestly be anywhere, but actually he’s wearing almost exactly the same color blue as you,” Roger told you, lightly touching the fabric of your dress, his palm just barely resting on your waist.

He watched your reaction, waiting to see what you would do next, whether you would welcome the contact or brush him off. You looked at his hand, then up at him, feeling his fingertips tense ever so slightly when he saw the look in your eyes. But you weren’t quite sure what to do; on one hand Roger Taylor’s hand was on your waist, on the other, you were supposed to be interviewing him very soon and any sort of fraternization wouldn’t be very professional.  

Before you could decide, someone walked towards you and you looked over to see who it was, Roger withdrawing his hand at the same time.

It was the man who you had set up the interview with, Jim something? You weren’t sure that he had seen Roger’s hand, but you really hoped he hadn’t.

“It’s time,” he said with a small smile, gesturing a hand towards a pair of couches you could see on the other end of the short wall of the room.

“Can’t the interview wait Miami, I’m in the middle of a conversation,” Roger asked, a bit of whine making its way into his voice.

“I actually was talking to her, but yes, you’ll have to come along as well,” Miami replied shortly, turning and walking away, not waiting for you two to follow.

Roger turned to you, his eyebrows practically to his hairline, “You’re the reporter?”

You started walking and Roger kept up pace with you, “Yes.”

He laughed wryly, “Oh you’re good, aren’t you?”

“You’re the one who approached me, actually,” you reminded him with the raise of a brow.

“Well-- I--” Roger spluttered, trying to find his way out but failing before you had reached the rest of the band.

You smiled brightly and introduced yourself to the other three, sitting opposite of them on the other couch. They exchanged glances between you and Roger, especially when he elected to sit next to you rather than squish in with the three of them, but didn’t say anything.

From there, the interview actually went really well. Roger didn’t seem to harbor any resentment that you didn’t tell him you were going to interview him. If anything, he was more open with his flirting, making little quips and innuendos that led to a lot of ducking your head. A couple times the others intervened with a “Sorry about him, darling” from Freddie, a couple of pointed throat clearings from Brian, and a somewhat subtle kick in the shin from John. Truthfully, you wouldn’t have minded what he was saying except that you were trying to act professional in front of his bandmates and their manager, as well as get your story.

But overall, the four of you got along great, falling into a good conversation rather than an awkward interview. They appreciated that you asked informed questions about their music, which you were happy about because you had done a lot of research in preparation. Another favorite topic was fashion and you and Freddie spent a good five minutes raving about the boutique you had bought the dress from. It was kinda sad to be done with the interview, but Miami intervened, telling the band they had to get back to meet with some executives.

While they went and did that, you went to the hallway, doing a quick happy dance at how well it went before finding the phone and calling your editor.

---

Brian and Freddie were taking the brunt of the interest from the executives as they had written the most songs, so Deaky turned to Roger and nodded towards the hallway where you were visible, talking on the phone.

“Bet she’s telling her editor all about how Roger the womanizer wouldn’t stop hitting on her during the interview,” he said sardonically.

Roger’s smile from seeing your excited gestures fell, “What?”

“I’ll just say that Fred and Bri will be disappointed if the interview isn’t focused on our music,” Deaky said, a warning in his tone.

Roger swallowed and nodded in understanding.

---

By the time your editor had let you off the phone, it was only about ten minutes to midnight. You made your way through the excited crowd to the packed bar, hoping to grab a drink in time for the New Year. It was taking a while but you were still smiling to yourself about the interview when you felt a tap on the shoulder.

It was Roger, once again holding two flutes of champagne.

“Need a drink?” he asked, his smile almost a bit shy.

You grinned back and accepted, cheersing and taking a drink with him.  

“So--”

“So--”

“Oh go ahead,” Roger told you.

“I was just going to say sorry that I didn’t tell you I was a reporter, if you want anything to be off the record, just tell me what and I won’t print it,” you told him quickly. “What were you gonna say?”

Roger huffed a laugh, “Just that I’m sorry if I distracted from the interview. I should’ve let you do your job.”

“I think a lie of omission and unprofessionalism are about equal offences. No hard feelings?” you asked, looking up at him.

He nodded, sticking his hand out for you to shake. You grasped it and couldn’t help but notice how warm he still was, and how the calluses on his fingers from drumming felt against your hands. Then Roger pulled you forward by your hand and you stumbled, laughing, until you had to let go to steady yourself with a hand on his chest.

You looked up at him, searching his gaze. His hand came back to your waist tentatively and you nodded, almost imperceptible, but he saw and a small smile graced his lips. Then you heard the crowd start the countdown around you and you smiled wide.

They got to one and yelled Happy New Year!, the sound barely reaching your ears as Roger’s lips pressed to yours, tasting sweet like champagne.

★★★

tagging bc it’s long: @drowseoftaylor @caborhapch @queenlover05 @johndeaconshands @stardust-galaxies @theblossomknows   

[bluerose5]

The Ghost of Paradise (Exile AU)

Chapter 2: By the Minute

Rating: M

Word Count: 3,796

Tags: Mass Effect: Andromeda, Scott Ryder, Reyes Vidal, Reyder, Pre-Relationship, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Exile, Flirting, Secrets, Complicated Relationships, Eventual Romance, Rivalry, Engineer/Mechanic Scott Ryder, Jealousy

[Read it here as well on ao3.]

“Our agents say that you were speaking with Reyes Vidal at Kralla’s,” Nola said. She didn’t even give Scott a chance to breathe. The second he was through their gates —which were still a work in progress— Scott was ambushed. “Do I even want to know what you have planned?”

Scott grinned at her.

“Why must I always have something planned?” Scott asked. “Reyes is a good friend. For all you know, we could have been catching up over drinks.”

“‘Could have’ doesn’t mean that you were.”

“Fair enough.”

As she fell into step at his side, Nola led him around while they spoke, appraising their growing community with pride.

“Scott, as governor of Paradise, should I not be made aware of any transactions that might affect us?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“Tell me what I need to know then. Nothing more, nothing less.”

As if he could refuse her insistent prodding. Every time he left, he always forgot how relentless she could be upon his return, but only when it pertained to matters that could have both predictable and unforeseen effects in their future.

In a way, Scott was grateful to have someone with that type of dedication on their side. They’re going to need it.

“I swear, it wasn’t anything particularly groundbreaking,” Scott promised. “I gave him some seeds from our latest project in exchange for a long-ranged scanner modification. That’s it.”

“Hmm… A decent enough trade.”

“Glad to have your approval.”

Of course, it was too much to hope that she would leave it at that.

“What is it for?” Nola asked.

Scott knew from experience not to lie to her face.

He sighed. “I’m going to scout out some of the Remnant ruins nearby. See if I can get a read on their bots, or a turret if I’m lucky.”

She cocked her head to the side and considered that for a moment, lips pursed.

“Promise to be careful then. I know you would gladly give your life to protect any of these people, but we don’t need you to throw it away because of pure recklessness,” she reminded him. “If it comes down to an altercation, we would rather have you here than some lousy turret schematics. Besides—” She shrugged. “You would probably be the only one who could make sense of them anyways. You and that stupidly genius brain of yours.”

Scott scoffed, suddenly uncomfortable as he shifted in place.

“Got it from my parents, or so they say.”

Ellen and Alec Ryder. The woman who literally gave her life to perfect biotic implants and the man who created a whole new type of AI. Quite the legacy to live up to.

Good thing Scott wasn’t living his life based on their achievements. Andromeda was a whole different playing field compared to the Milky Way. The work he was doing with Paradise was incredible in its own right. At least, he liked to think so.

If he could change at least one person’s life for the better in Andromeda, then he considered that a success.

Based on the feedback he was receiving from the residents, he was doing a damn good job, and that was enough for him.

But Nola had a point.

People relied on Scott now. As much as he was willing to dive headfirst into danger, he needed to refrain from doing so.

“I’ll be careful,” he promised her. “If things start to go south, I’ll ping you and Nakamoto.”

“Thank you,” she said, breathing a sigh of relief.

Scott hated to worry her so, but there was that one other matter.

“If it’s any consolation to you,” Scott said, trying for a lighter tone yet failing, “Reyes offered to accompany me on the trip.”

Nola stopped short, and Scott skidded to a halt. She narrowed her eyes at him with a sneer curling at her lip.

“No, that is not of any consolation to me. Scott Ryder, you know how he is.”

“Charming and witty?” Scott tried for his best smile, but Nola wasn’t buying into that bullshit, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Flighty and untrustworthy, especially once his back is against the wall.” Then, she amended her statement, taking on a slightly accusatory tone. “That’s assuming you didn’t pay any of his ridiculous service fees.”

“Puh-lease.” Scott chuckled. “If anyone should be spending their credits, Reyes should be the one paying me for my company. I’m a treasure not many can afford.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Nola snorted, “but at least you know your worth.”

“They say that time is money, after all. I’ll make sure to charge him by the minute while we’re together.”

“Please do, and make sure to get a picture of his face once you show him that bill.”

Scott was only happy to see her smile again.

“Will do,” he said.

“While you’re at it, drop a few hints here and there that Paradise might be looking to contract out some exclusive deals with top-rate smugglers. Leave out the ‘top-rate’ part, of course. Can’t have that going to the poor man's head.”

“His ego is already insufferable enough without the compliments,” Scott agreed, “but isn’t the whole point of secrecy for you and I not to draw attention to our connections here?”

“A woman can dream though, can’t she?” Nola sighed.

“So much for Reyes being ‘untrustworthy.’”

Nola didn’t even hesitate, brushing off his attempt to use her words against her.

“Skill is skill, and we don’t exactly have the people or resources to be picky right now. Everything is a commodity on Kadara, even integrity. If he betrays us, we’ll deal with him, simple as that.”

Right.

Still, it was laughable to think that the Charlatan would take on a contract with some of his direct competitors.

Although, that sounds like exactly the type of stunt that Reyes would pull. More than likely, he’d have an ulterior motive for doing so, but Scott could see it happening.

Did he support the idea, though? Definitely not. 

“I don’t know,” Scott muttered. “I couldn’t see Reyes limiting his business to one group, especially if we’re only starting to get our feet wet.”

“You would know how he operates better than I, but I suppose that attitude is understandable. Disappointing, but understandable.” Nola grumbled. “Well, if nothing else, tell him the least he could do is give you a discount.”

“Trust me, I’ve been working that angle for a while. No such luck.”

“Greedy bastard.”

As they finished up their routine patrol, they soon switched direction, heading towards Nakamoto's clinic to conclude their meeting. There, Paradise’s leaders convened. They reviewed the requests that their colonists posted on the message boards around the settlement. Together, they decided on what matters they could approve for certain and which ones would be placed on the docket for a community vote. After that, they moved on to logistics, including topics such as requisitions and inventory.

To draw the meeting to a close, Nola relayed their latest numbers for colonial development. Water production was steady. However, food stores would be struggling soon to keep up with the recent influx of residents, so security personnel and all of those who knew their way around a gun were strongly encouraged to increase hunting and foraging activities while out on patrols or while performing their daily tasks. A roster will be posted on the local message boards to look for volunteers who would like to fill a full-time hunter-gatherer role.

Hopefully, what few angaran scientists they had amongst their people would be able to process their first batch of nutrient paste after their next harvest. It wasn’t exactly the tastiest solution available, but it was a necessary one if they were to survive.

In terms of population, there was a rapid spike in enrollment when word spread that Paradise actually got shit done and held true to their promises, but they expected the effect to eventually plateau once people settled in. Angara enrollment was up at the moment, especially after Scott appointed Nola as governor, and they have even seen a few Initiative members join up, having made the journey all the way from the Nexus to be reunited with friends, family, and loved ones.

Scott asked that they spread word for people to be warm and welcoming. The request probably wasn’t necessary, but it was better to be safe than sorry. Their community would make no friends by tearing people apart, and they prided themselves on being close and tight-knit.

It was important that they not only claimed to be but that they acted like it as well, backing up their words with actions.

Security assignments were then posted. Patrols would have to be upped to make up for an increase that they were seeing with gang-related attacks. Once automated security measures were in place, they would revisit the matter in order to assess which sectors needed heightened security. Emergency drills would be held at the end of the week.

With all of their needs addressed, Nola called the meeting to a close.

Once the meeting was adjourned, Scott approached Nola and their Head of Security, requesting a full census to be done within a day's time. Scott needed names, numbers, faces. Each citizen’s profile needed to be updated within their database.

If Scott was going to make an effective defense matrix for the colony, then he would prefer to program an IFF system that only a select few could remotely activate. For the system to work as intended, all of the colonists' photo IDs and biometric profiles would need to be kept current and constantly updated in real-time.

Nola promised to see to it that Scott got what he needed, shooing him off.

Apparently, he was hovering, but Scott could take a hint. He could tell when he was no longer needed, and he knew that Nola worked best when he wasn’t constantly worrying after her like a mother hen.

Departing from the settlement, Scott cloaked himself the second he went beyond the boundaries of their walls.

He was almost halfway back to Port when he received a message from Reyes. Figuring that he was in the clear, Scott made sure that the coast was clear before deactivating his cloak.

Pulling up his omni-tool’s interface, Scott opened the message. Along with it, there was a set of coordinates, sent from Reyes’s location.

R: Think I’m ready to cash in on those shuttle repairs. Wouldn’t mind the company right about now.

Scott’s fingers hovered above the holographic keys, contemplating his next move before deciding to hell with it.

S: Miss me that much?

R: Am I that obvious?

He didn’t even give Scott a chance to reply before he sent another message.

R: If it’s still in question though, let me put it bluntly.

R: I want to see you.

Scott pursed his lips, cursing his stupid heart for racing in response.

S: Give me a few. I’ll be there.

R: I’ll be looking forward to it.

Before he could embarrass himself, Scott closed out his messages. He quickly made his way to Port, grabbing his bag of tools and gear before venturing back out into the badlands.

From there, Scott followed the coordinates to a cliff, overlooking a nearby valley. The sun was slowly but surely sinking down over the horizon, lightning up the sky in array of pinks and oranges and reds.

Reyes was already waiting for him by the time he arrived, the shuttle powered down for the moment.

However, the second Scott noticed that Reyes was facing away from him, he instantly slowed his walk to a crawl. He bent his knees into a slight crouch and shifted his weight with each step, toe to heel as he snuck his way up behind him.

“You look like you’re waiting for someone.”

Scott delighted in watching him him jump in shock, only to have a blade at his throat in the blink of an eye.

As soon as Reyes realized who it was, all the blood drained from his face.

“S–Scott!”

Hands raised in surrender, Scott raised an eyebrow at him incredulously.

“You know, I was kind of expecting a warmer welcome,” he admitted, careful of the firaan's sharp edge. Keema must have given it to him. “Have to say, though, would it be weird if I was a little turned on right now?”

Reyes scoffed.

Trailing the blade along the outline of his throat, Scott swallowed thickly when he eventually felt its pointed tip press underneath his chin. Reyes tilted it up, and Scott followed, lest he risk being cut.

Their eyes met, and Reyes smirked.

Bastard was toying with him.

Retracting his knife, Reyes sheathed the firaan while Scott tried to catch his breath. The goosebumps left behind in the dagger's wake soon receded, yet a warm heat lingered.

“Tsk.” Reyes huffed at him. “Ryder—”

Uh-oh, back to last name basis. From experience, that meant trouble.

“You know better than to sneak up on me!” Reyes scolded.

“I do,” Scott said, not even afraid to acknowledge it, “but I love getting a rise out of you.”

“What if I would have hurt you?”

“But you didn’t.”

Scowling, Reyes placed his hands on his hips. Shaking his head, he pinched at the bridge of his nose.

“Scott, what the hell am I going to do with you?” he asked, releasing his nose, half-fond and half-frustrated.

“I’m sure we could think of something.”

Reyes hummed in agreement, watching Scott approach the shuttle with his bag tossed over his shoulder. He dropped it to the ground, then immediately got to work.

Watching him closely, Reyes leaned against the side of his shuttle with a thoughtful look.

“Maybe I could take you on a date?”

While Reyes tried to sound confident, his attempt ultimately failed. Instead of forming the words into a bold offer, they fell flat, sounding more like an uncertain question.

Scott stopped what he was doing. He spared Reyes a brief glance, only to return his attention to the task at hand, hiding his flushed face.

“Wouldn’t Zia disapprove?” Scott asked, being rougher than necessary as he practically took apart the control panel.

Envy curled inside him, spreading like an infection through his bloodstream. There was a sharp squeeze around his heart as it was encased in the feeling.

Reyes called him out on it, way too perceptive for his own good.

“Ryder, are you jealous?” Reyes chuckled.

Scott glared, causing him to throw his hands up in surrender.

“Just asking.”

“And if I am?” Scott retorted.

“Then I’d have to put your mind at ease.”

“It’s really none of my busin—”

Reyes closed the distance between them. Reaching out, he cupped Scott’s cheek, brushing his thumb along his bottom lip. Weak as he was, Scott leaned into his touch for a split second. His eyes threatened to flutter closed, but he had to remain firm about this one matter, if nothing else.

As he started to pull away, Reyes said, “There is nothing going on between Zia and I.” Scott froze into place. “We went out for drinks a few times, nothing more.”

“You swear?” Scott asked, narrowing his eyes.

“I swear.” His voice grew heated, impassioned. “I might be a bad man when it comes to many things, but I wouldn’t ever lie about that to you.”

Scott considered that before replying, “Well, like I said—” He cleared his throat, eyes averted. “ It’s not really any of my business, so I don’t know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pried.”

He trailed off, uncertain why he was acting that way.

Reyes furrowed his brow.

“No need to be sorry. If you had crossed a line, then I would have said so.”

“Even then, you’re not mine. Your relationships are your own.”

“I could be.”

Scott regarded him skeptically.

“Could be what?”

“Yours,” Reyes answered instantly, staring intently at Scott. “Just say the word.”

If only they weren’t both keeping secrets from each other at the moment, then Scott might take him up on that.

Turns out, being with the Charlatan would be a huge conflict of interests. Who could’ve guessed?

Silence settled between them. It was as if the whole world was awaiting Scott’s answer with bated breath. Time itself seemed to stand still in anticipation.

“I—” He struggled to find the right words. “Give me time.”

That’s all he could ask.

Reyes’s hopeful expression fell, and that alone felt like a stab to the chest. Scott's breathing trembled a little, as if it was becoming difficult to continue drawing in one breath after another.

God, he didn’t want to hurt him, but neither of them could really afford to rush into things half-cocked.

Scott copied his earlier gesture, reaching out to cup Reyes’s cheek. The change was almost instantaneous, how the tension drained away, only for Reyes to melt into Scott’s touch. He leaned into his hand, starved for affection.

Scott swallowed thickly, unable to pull away, let alone take his eyes off of him for even a second.

“All I ask is that you give me time,” Scott repeated. “That’s not a ‘no.’ I just need to think a few things over, iron out a few details.”

Reyes listened, then agreed.

“Alright.” He pulled away with a small, private smile. “As if I could deny anyone such a reasonable request, especially you.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Returning his attention to the shuttle, Scott got back to work. After all, he didn’t want to neglect the poor bird, and it appeared that the shuttle was in desperate need of a little TLC.

His diagnostics only confirmed his suspicions.

When a couple of sparks resulted from his prodding, Scott chastised Reyes for mistreating their baby. Reyes grew defensive, both of them falling back to old habits as they bickered.

This was the type of work that Scott did on the Nexus after he got sidelined and shafted. Systems repairs, shuttle repairs, routine maintenance… That sorta thing.

It was how he met Reyes to begin with. Few pilots had the energy to hang around and talk shop with Scott while he worked, especially since a lot of them had only recently returned from failed colonization efforts. Understandably, most people didn’t want to entertain idle conversation after watching their friends die out in the field.

That was fine by Scott, but Reyes had always gone out of his way —even then— to make sure that Scott had anything and everything that he needed.

They might have taken his shuttle out on a few joyrides together, gotten in trouble for wasting fuel, but Scott wouldn’t trade that time they spent together for anything in the galaxy.

Even now, it felt natural to settle back into their old routine. While Scott worked, Reyes watched, and they talked about anything and everything.

Time passed, and Scott only got deeper into the repairs and modifications. Despite the setting sun, he still broke a sweat, a light sheen glistening upon his skin.

Eventually, he had to take off his shirt, leaving him in a plain tank top that quickly got dirty along with his hands.

Swiping at the perspiration beading at his hairline, Scott grunted as he came to a stopping point for now. He reached for his bag, but what he was seeking wasn’t there.

“Shit.”

Turning towards Reyes, Scott huffed at him.

The bastard wasn’t even trying to hide his staring. Face flushed, he was biting teasingly at his bottom lip, brown eyes dark as he watched Scott through a hooded gaze.

Getting to his feet, Scott crossed his arms over his chest.

“See something you like?”

“Definitely.”

“You’re shameless.” Scott shook his head in disbelief, tsking under his breath. “You’re just as bad as that one time when Gil Brodie asked for a ‘second opinion’ on some fix he made. Turns out, I ended up doing almost all of the work while he sat back and watched.”

“Smart man,” Reyes noted, giving Scott a thorough once-over. “This Gil must have great tastes.”

Scott snorted.

“Flattery will get you nowhere. If you really want to make me happy, then you would grab your water bottle for me.”

“Did you forget yours?” Reyes asked, slightly concerned. After all, being caught out in the badlands without water was just asking for dehydration or heat stroke.

Nevertheless, he got the bottle for him. Scott placed his hands over Reyes’s, shrugging with a flustered blush.

“Yeah,” Scott sighed. “I thought I had packed it! I don’t know where it could’ve wandered off to.”

“Perhaps you were in a bit of a rush to get here,” Reyes said, trailing off suggestively.

Scott figured that he would allow that.

“Perhaps,” he agreed, “but what else do I keep you around for, if not the water? You wouldn’t want the guy repairing your shuttle to get dehydrated, right?” Scott smirked. “I could get delirious, and it would be very unfortunate if I just so happened to forget to install an essential component.”

Reyes gasped dramatically, relinquishing the water to Scott, who was quick to take a swig.

“You always have to watch out for the pretty ones,” Reyes grumbled. “Always causing trouble, keeping secrets…”

There it was again. That sense of knowing , that sense that both of them were holding something back. It was left unsaid. Neither confronted the other about it, but they knew that the secrets were there.

Before the sudden lag in conversation could get too awkward, Scott took another swig of water and asked, “So, you think I’m pretty?”

Reyes chuckled, glad for the change of subject.

“Kian seems to think so,” he muttered. Leave it to him to avoid the question. “He keeps asking when you’re going to start working for him at Tartarus.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“As a dancer?” He had to make sure he was hearing right.

“Yep.”

“Could you imagine?” Scott scoffed. “Me, shaking my ass for money? A tempting offer. It would probably be more profitable than the odd jobs I take on here and there, but I think I’m fine where I’m at.”

“Damn,” Reyes sighed, “what a shame.”

Scott raised an eyebrow in his direction.

“You saying you would have come to watch me?”

“Not only that, but I would have paid to watch you,” Reyes said, “especially if I could have gotten a private show out of it.”

Scott tried to imagine it, grinning in spite of himself.

“What’s so funny?” Reyes wondered.

“Nothing, nothing,” Scott said, brushing off his concern. “That just made me remember a thought that I had earlier.”

“What about?”

“Oh, you know.” Scott gestured vaguely. “Just that I should start charging you a fee for when we spend time together.”

Reyes winked at him.

“It would be worth every credit.”

[dyketubbo]

my ask didnt send i am going to murder. anyway BEEP CLASSPECTING... now im thinking abt that and aimsey. from the top of my head/only briefly thinking, beep as rage or void vibes with me? (obvs not the typical rage player you see, more like the nuance we were discussing). and aimsey as a life player?

oooo void beep would be suuper cool :oc rage too, he is very fucking stubborn and does have outbursts rather often (also rage players in canon usually have connections to magic, and then the homestuck rage players all had religious themes so, god stuff). meanwhile void fits beeps heavy "this is all irrelevant and you could never understand any of this", and his own belief that even what he does just doesnt matter. personality under a veil (not necessarily a facade), fundamental inability to understand and truly perceive it all.

id say he doesnt fit rage enough, if only because rage players are fundamentally about survival instinct, and, well. beeps already dead, and he seems to be perfectly fine with the fact that one day he just wont exist at all. hes not scared, though he is easily pissed off, but in the end he just sort of likes messing with shit and being in control. lil dickhead (affectionate)

honestly, since he almost fits rage but not quite, he.. almost acts like a prince of hope (unfortunate eridan kinnie). destroying beliefs and asserting his reality as the Absolute Truth, dragging others like aimsey into his delusions and being in a situation where aimseys putting her faith into him even though hes not a good person because she feels the need to believe in him and connect with him, because she genuinely feels like hes the only friend they have left, and because aimsey wants desperately to believe in what beep is trying to show her, desperately wants to understand. he shuts down things he believes to be false, to the point where he can make them false by simply destroying the problem.

hes a force of outward destruction, destroying what he believes to be flaws in others. theyre heavily defensive, putting everyone beneath them, believing hes the one thats doing it Right, and ultimately, he believes its his right to control things. he doesnt trust anyone, he reacts to any fear he may have with anger, lashes out, and the "TELL. NO ONE" scene almost showcases beep shattering and hurting aimsey before he steps back and give a quick "sorry!". his arc seems to be leading up to him realizing he can care about aimsey, that he can trust her to believe him and in him, and he seems to be dealing with the concept of trusting aimsey with his beliefs

hes definitely not a general hope player, but specifically prince of hope could fit. onto possible void class combos, with, first, the notable fact that we dont know what kind of person beep may have been in the past, other than that he was destructive. we know about some events in his past, and how he feels about them (kinda), but generally, this means hes very versatile and has many class possibilities, depending on how we want to interpret what we do know.

for example, he could be a maid whose now in the apeshit stage, stubborn and repressive. its entirely possible he got so tired of listening to the other spirits that he got to the unhealthy stage, exploded, and now without anything stopping him, hes doing whatever the fuck he wants, because hes decided none of it matters, that its all irrelevant and he doesnt have to care because its his fucking universe and no one can stop him from playing god. he spends his time doing menial things, because to him, its all equally unimportant, so why not waste time? he cuts down unnecessary tasks, weeds out what he finds useless, etc etc. basically, he should still be independent, but he needs to be brought back down to earth (metaphorically), because hes kind of burnt himself out and is now fucking with things because he feels none of it matters anyways

sylph of void sort of works too, mainly his meddling and tendency to shut down anything that could reveal something he doesnt want revealed, as well as shutting down others viewpoints and he covers up shit whenever he wants. his motivations are, really, mostly unknown to us, other than that he seems to think this is fun. otherwise, he also has a tendency to try and fix things he thinks needs fixing (like getting rid of fairies and space creatures), and will often try to fix mistakes he sees in mortals. however, slyphs are ultimately healers, and beep just. is not a healer, and he doesnt necessarily invite creation of void in any way, since void isnt really destruction of anything, and what he does invite is destruction of things. hes also just too active to be a slyph

so, with the previous prince assession, theres also the possibility of him being a prince of light, which would mean he would act more like a void player. hed destroy light with light, destroy the importance of information with information. they strip away the importance of things, uses plain fact to force the perception that nothings really important. he dismisses the importance of things, purposefully acts ignorant to draw away from what he knows, destroys knowledge itself from a power standpoint (wiping aimseys memory), and in extreme cases, can physically destroy anything in his way, or assert over and over that what he said/did isnt real, that nothings true or important other than what hes saying. again, little shit. if i had to make up my mind, i think prince of light fits the most

as for aimsey, i think life does fit him really well, shes definitely got the similar "girl next door" kind of vibes, while still being really interesting in her own right. she definitely starts out as a typical fictional life player, enthusiastic, energetic, genuine, wanting to effect the world. shes a normal girl (and this isnt an insult, rather, her being so normal ties the magical themes of the bear smp together really well, and its a perfect way to use a life player, make them be a catalyst for both the normal life player and eccentric others to shine). however, as she struggles with losing trust in bear and not being treated well, not having anyone that cares about them specifically, the energy starts to falter, but comes back when they feel the need to be rebellious. notably, while aspects arent super literal, she contrasts beep so much in just how alive she is, which fits her being a life player rather well. except, as i said, aspects arent literal, which means aimsey being a life player translates to her showing what life means in a metaphorical sense.

life is about agency. its about what you do, your ability to do so, its about asserting your will. not what drives you, but simply you doing at all. interesting enough, life players can be hard to pin down because life is about desire and agency, while the players class defines their ideology. life players can become obsessed with an idea that they need to do something, that they need to change how systems work, and often can cloak their want to fulfill their individual desires as altruistic want to fulfill others needs and desires (i.e., aimsey wants a friend and someone who pays attention to her and is genuine towards her, she feels like shes found that in beep, and as such starts to cloak her want to be his friend as aimsey wanting to help beep rather than aimsey themself).

as for said class.. this was, hard. because of how heavily influenced life is by the class its paired with, and because aimseys arc right now is trying to deal with feeling like shes too much and unneeded, it means that i have to really consider how that connects with which classes struggles. so, i ended up with sylph. aimsey is a creator, and she tries to heal as well. "allowing creation/healing of life or inviting creation/healing through life". from a literal standpoint, she tries to help bear heal by trying to get him to open up, to live, to make friends and interact with people. this could almost seem like a blood player move, but while a lot of aimseys arc is about bonds and relationships, shes not really a strong connecter or leader, shes just good at inspiring others to be, to her own detriment.

also notably, unhealthy sylphs crave, whether craving more of their own aspect, or craving another aspect when they feel theirs is not enough. aimsey talks a lot about how she grew up doing things by her lonesome, and now that she feels like people are moving on without her, she may be craving blood (that sounds so awful out of context). she wants attachments, wants to be the person that brings everyone together, but.. she isnt, not in a way thats appreciated. and due to her insecurities, she sees this as a flaw within himself, and as something to fix. so, she latches onto beep, and desperately tries to have as much of an effect on their life as they do on hers. like life players in general, sylphs try to solve their problems under the guise of helping someone else with theirs. currently, aimsey seems to be trying to find what she needs to do, because when she tried to do what she thought she needed to do, she (from her perspective) failed, so now shes trying to make up for her perceived failure within herself by trying to help herself through helping beep. i would think into it even more but i think its probably best to just leave it here KEKW

[doakaptan]

i think i finally get mad men and im not happy about it

Two weeks ago I started watching Mad Men for an assignment and accidentally became obsessed with a show that had no premise other than Don Draper bedding various women. 5 seasons in, I bought myself a mechanical keyboard just so that I can live the aesthetic of the show while writing this.

(I will write this post assuming you have read my first blog post about this show but you don’t have to worry about missing any info because the first blog post was me predicting an unpredictable show and cursing at characters)

So turns out, I did not really figure out anything by only watching the first seven episodes. No surprise there. But by diving deep into the first 2 seasons I realized that Mad Men is actually deeper than it lets on and the cheapening effect of its over-sexualized characters don’t really do a great job at hiding it. Actually after a while sex in the show is more symbolism than actual sex. It especially signifies a mental state that is special to Don and you actually start feeling sorry for him whenever a sex scene comes up. 

Well, Don Draper is a villain as well as the hero or to put it more accurately, a tragic hero and as the seasons progress you develop a love hate relationship with him. And if you binge watch 5 seasons and use all your spare time to think about it, you start relating to Don. Surprisingly Don had all the odds against him and lived an awful life without ever doing anything to prompt it. As I learned more about his life I actually started getting mad at the alternative reality of Mad Men because goddamn let the man breathe and be happy for once. 

At the start I was mad about him cheating on Betty with every single powerful women that looked his way and I am still mad, you can’t really excuse that, but as their relationship was revealed more and more I kind of started to understand why he preferred spending the nights somewhere else. Betty is incredibly hard to put up with and no offense but even I’m not sticking around for her character development. She is overbearing, childish, overall a pain in the ass. If I knew her in real life I would have thought that she was pampered too much and was unable to grow up and get a grip as a result. She has mommy issues though and I respect that. There are also moments that she shines and she especially prefers shining only after they get a divorce and when she knows she will get Don’s approval. Before I lose track and continue talk about Betty know that Don is always worse and let me wrap up his analysis. 

Don is, in my opinion, someone who experiences love by avoiding it. (A love avoidant may be the term but I am not really sure). He marries Betty because he falls in love too hard and starts avoiding her right after their marriage, he likes the artist woman too much so he leaves her to be with someone she is more compatible with, same thing with the most of the women he chases. I only realized how hard he avoids the people he likes during season 4 when he decides to marry his secretary (who mind you spend like 4 days with him in Los Angeles to take care of his children) rather than building a healthy relationship with Faye who was probably the best person he could have ended up with. This also relates back to his self-destructive tendencies. He never truly believes that he deserved anything so he makes sure that he ruins it.

He excessively drinks and smokes, cuts ties on a whim, cheats and only ever feels truly like himself while he’s with Anna (who dies later in the series). Anna is and was the friend he needed all along. Even in his stolen identity Anna was the only person who accepted him as who he is and didn’t leave his side even in his darkest times. The man literally went to Korea by himself to defend an area and came back with a stolen id and lots of trauma and adopted himself into the life of her (the wife of the person he stole his identity from) and made sure she lived a life full of love. He shines the most when he can be himself but his old identity is and probably will always be an enigma to him. 

I think he’s slowly starting to find his way and make up for his mistakes but since he is used to self-destructing his set backs get more and more brutal each time. I start relating to him at this point the most. Relapsing in situations like these is brutal and it always feels like it is the last time and for once, for Don, it is the last time. He starts writing to understand himself and starts doing things like, regularly going to swimming or getting into a healthy relationship with someone who will be with him and help him through his ups and downs. He relapses when he decides to marry his secretary and from then on his relapse will only get worse but I believe that he is getting somewhere…

I will update this post once and for all, when I finish the entire series but for now I weirdly have hope that everything will end well for Don. 

And since I overstayed my welcome by going way over the word-limit I will speed run the thoughts I have about the other characters.

Betty, despite my comments earlier is actually misunderstood and deserves more than she gets. She truly loved Don and did everything in her power to make him happy. She even left her very successful modeling career to get married with him while SHE DESERVED BETTER THAN HIM. Her parenting is questionable but it can be overlooked because right now (in the middle of a global pandemic) we can all agree that being stuck with our family 24/7 is not ideal and we have been doing it for only a year while she has been doing it for more than a decade with more children adding up. LEAVE BETTY DRAPER/FRANCIS ALONE. 

(Also, watch the scene where she shoots at her neighbor’s pigeons because he threatened little Sally with killing her dog then talk to me about good parenting…)

Pete Campbell, turns out I really like him and his work ethic. I wish he ended up with Peggy but he is doing just fine with Trudy good for him. good. for. him. Thank god they didn’t follow up Trudy’s ‘old lover’, ‘the one that got away' plot line because it would probably be the thing I hated the most about watching this show. She is not an interesting character and she’ll never be. Good for Pete though, good for Pete. He never gets anything and I don’t know if he deserves getting it because we are not that exposed to him. But he is loyal to the ones he loves and even though his morals can get a bit questionable at times he is hardworking and will build up a great life as far as I’m concerned. (And if he doesn’t you can find me on ao3 re-writing his plot because I am no longer appreciating Pete-slander in this house).

Peggy. GOOD FOR HER GOOD FOR HER. LEAVE THAT DAMN CATHOLIC CHURCH AND HANG OUT WITH WANNABE REALEST OF THE REALEST ARTISTS. Also love the gay girl she should have ended up with her instead of the wannabe artist who only talks about capitalism. Peggy’s job is capitalism their relationship don’t really make sense.

Joan… Joan deserved someone who treated her right but fell into the lap of a charming locker-room-mouthed jock, who tried to be a surgeon and failed then tried to be a psychiatrist and failed and finally got drafted for Vietnam (ngl I hope he dies there). Unpopular opinion she should have ended up with Roger because while I hate ‘the perfect girl fixes boy with problems’ trope I would have eat it up. I like them together and surprisingly they are good together. I think she is the only one smart enough to actually lead cis-het white men who think they own everything because they are men, within their company and she deserves more than she gets with the shit she deals with. 

On a last note, the topics Mad Men deals with sometimes can get a bit triggering or upsetting but I think it is worth a watch.

[teacup-crow]

Fizzy

The first time Krejjh met Brian they saved his life. Here’s that story.

Words: 1100

******

A few days after they defect from their platoon, the greatest war humanity has ever known comes to an end not with a bang, but with a whimper. Nevertheless, the atmosphere in Neuzo is electric with joy, and it tingles Krejjh’s skin as they down another glass of… well, they’re trying to find out what.

“Shrel veeda agat?” They try, waving a hand at the transparent bubbling liquid. The human bartender, a person with an accent far too strong for Krejjh’s barely-there Earth-English, shakes his head uselessly. “Mmmm… has what? Cup has what?”

“Oh! That’s lemonade. Well, the closest we can get to it out here; the Americans are pretty unconvinced by it but it seems popular with everyone else, as well as your lot...”

“Lemonade,” they take another sip appreciatively, understanding the first three words of the answer and trying for the right question word as they wave another free hand. “Veedo... veedo... why! Lemonade has…” they gesture uselessly, miming the bubbles popping. “What, why?”

At the awkward and apologetic shrug they receive, Krejjh sighs. Breesht! They really need a translator, and sooner rather than later.

Pocketing the little umbrella from the drink, they down it and drop a handful of coins on the table. Few places in Neuzo deal solely in credit - hard cash is far less easy for the IGR to track, and more difficult to fake. It’s helpful for someone with no ID, but human, physical forms of money don’t feel real to Krejjh, all those little slivers of metal imprinted with stars and dates and numbers. Consequently, the supply of it in their pockets is rapidly dwindling. They probably need to deal with that problem sooner than later too.

Still, for now, back to the motel and to trying not to ruminate too hard on the choices that led them to wandering this collection of space stations with no plan and no idea what to do.

It’s a street scuffle that catches their attention just a few blocks from the bar. Words which are Earthen, but not English, and distinctly threatening -

“Coglione! Sei stupido?!”

There are other humans who hear it too, but they rapidly disperse. Krejjh steps a little closer in overwhelming curiosity.

Three men, in cool black jackets Krejjh immediately wants to get their hands on, have backed another into a wall with a knife against his neck. He looks a little bruised up, as if he tried to escape from them and failed miserably. He also doesn’t look like a particular target for mugging or intimidation - he’s so skinny even by human standards, in baggy clothes, glasses, fluffy gold-brown hair and freckles that scream civilian and young. How cowardly of the other humans to flee! Krejjh clenches their jaw.

“Fellas, è tutto un malinteso… io posso…”

Then, glancing round desperately for an escape route, he catches Krejjh right in the eye and says, in perfect Dwarnian:

“Ch’eth il.”

Help me, in one of its most desperate forms.

The man with the knife tenses the muscles in his upper arm, and Krejjh steps out of the shadows with a hand on their blaster and clears their throat.

There’s a few seconds of silent stand-off that stretch out until the men let their victim slump to the floor, nod, and skulk off. He crouches for a few moments, breathing rapidly, shaking with nervous laughter, words in English this time: “Oh man, I thought I was a goner.”

“You speak Dwarnian?” Krejjh says, crouching beside him, barely able to hope.

He replies in their language: “I’m pretty fluent, yeah. Dude, you just saved my life!”

“Glad I could be of assistance! The name’s Krejjh,” they say, so delighted to be having an easy conversation for the first time in days, and press a thumb to his in greeting, a custom he seems aware of.

“Kre… you’re a pilot!” He smiles, broadly, and Krejjh realises they can’t quite take their eyes away from that face. It’s dazzling. His eyes crinkle at the corners: he’s not quite as young or innocent as they first thought, and that intrigues them, too.

“You… know how our names work?” They’re smiling too. Apparently his is infectious.

“I had to write a three-thousand word paper on it, junior year of my undergrad. I’m a linguist, I, uh, work as a translator. Freelance, you know? I did some work for those guys, but as you can see, our contract’s kinda fallen through. Oh man, this is all out of order, sorry, I’m a bit… I’m Jeeter. Brian Jeeter. And wow, Krejjh, if there’s anything I can do to pay you back for that - ”

“Translatorjeeterbrianjeeter? I absolutely have a job for you! I need English lessons, and translation services, and pretty much every sort of help you can provide with understanding human languages.”

“That I can definitely provide!”

And the deal is done, like most deals in Neuzo, quickly in a back alley.

“Okay so, lesson one, squashing everything together like that is really not how English names work… like that obviously sounds good in Dwarnian but once we translate it it’s long and uh, unwieldy...”

They listen intently to his chatter as they head back to the main street. The station lights, mimicking a planetary day, are beginning to dim even further.

“Want me to walk you home?” Krejjh offers.

“I… I normally wouldn’t take you up on that, but it’d be appreciated right now. If I look like I’m under some Dwarnian protection the gang might cool off and forget about me.”

“You would be quite hard to forget,” Krejjh says, barely thinking. His cheeks and the tips of his ears turn an alarming shade of pink, like the birds back on Homeworld when they sense a threat and want to blend with the sky.

“This is my place!” He waves up at a cosy, second floor apartment. Even from here they can see the stacks of teetering books. “Swing by tomorrow whenever it suits if you like.”

“I can do that! Wait, how do I say bhren ip nokeen in Earth-English? How do I say the phrase how do I say that in Earth-English? How do I…”

“Maybe let’s go one thing at a time, yeah? Bhren ip nokeen is ‘good night’.”

“Good night, Translator Jeeter!”

“G’night, Krejjh.

“Wait, wait, one more thing.” He hangs out of the doorway, looking down at them for the first time from the steps. They suddenly feel a little shy themselves, which is pretty unusual for them. “In lemonade, what is it called when it’s bubbly? And how do they make the bubbles?”

“Dwarnians don’t have carbonated drinks? And they say we have inferior technology...”

“Oh, so… you add carbon dioxide to your beverages?!”

“When you put it like that, it sounds weird, but yeah. I think the word you’re looking for is fizzy.”

Krejjh tries it out as they walk back to their motel again, lingering on the zzzz sound, picturing the way his face made them feel, picturing the partygoing humans and their relief and joy and excitement, feeling their heart race a little faster than it should. Maybe, they decide, it’s not just drinks that can be fizzy.

*******

Notes

I remembered like halfway through this that what Europeans/Australians call lemonade and what Americans call lemonade is NOT the same, and I feel like 200 years of cultural integration and space flight wouldn’t change that. Also, Americans are actually correct here: lemonade should contain actual lemons and not be a stand-in word for 7up/Sprite. But hell, this station is full of Sicilian Mafia, it’s definitely a European part of Neuzo, don’t @ me.

The Italian conversation, according to Google Translate, is pretty much: “Asshole! Are you stupid?”... “This is all a misunderstanding, I can-”

Brian buys Krejjh a soda stream at some point. I just know it.