#i will put pro wrestling into anything i can put my hands on and you people can't stop me

[scarecrowdrugs]

So I'm using Sugar and Spice from Batman Forever as Two-Face's designated henchgirls in Shiversverse, except with Drag Queen Sugar and Spice being heavily based on Rhea Ripley/Chyna. My Harvey absolutely had an awakening like this when he hired Sugar; Two-Face's existential gender/sexuality crisis hit him like a truck.

[sukuna-dees-nuts]

this is for @nessieartss!! based on this (it was me that asked, surprise) and also the first part of this art

i hope you enjoy!! older brother sukuna lives rent free in my brain right now and i love him being a bastardman

---

“Ay, what the fuck was that?!” Sukuna shouts as Yuuji cackles in glee. His character races into first place, winning the Grand Prix. Sukuna' goes from first place to fourth. “You threw a red shell right after a blue shell! That's fucking cheating!”

Yuuji shrugs, lounging back against the couch and drops the controller next to him. “Don't hate the player, hate the game,” he says with a grin and pulls out his phone. “Those dishes aren't gonna wash themselves.”

Sukuna grunts as he tosses the controller onto the coffee table. “I hate both the player and the game.”

“And the game hates you!” the younger boy calls out after his brother's retreating figure.

Turning his attention back to his phone, Yuuji’s grin melts into a soft smile when he sees Yuko's name on a Snapchat notification. He glances over his shoulder to make sure that Sukuna is still in the kitchen before tapping on the notification. It won't be anything inappropriate, but he knows for a fact that if Sukuna saw that his younger brother was texting a girl, Yuuji wouldn't hear the end of it. 

The Snapchat shows a picture of a latte with the classic tulip foam art and a caption that reads: ‘I think I'm finally getting the hang of this latte foam art!’

Yuuji holds his phone out to take a picture of himself, giving Yuko a big smile and a thumbs up. 

‘That's so good!! Ur a professional now. If I ordered one, would u make me a cat???’

“Yo! Can I put this cast iron pan in the dishwasher?” Sukuna asks from the kitchen. He waits for a response and gets nothing. “I’m about to put this pan in the dishwasher!” Again, no response. Rolling his eyes, Sukuna makes his way back out to the living room. “Dude, if this pan gets ruined, it’s gonna be your fault—”

Sukuna cuts himself off when he catches sight of a picture of a girl on his little brother’s screen. Immediately, he reaches over the couch and snatches the phone out of Yuuji’s hand. “Oh! Who is this?” he gasps, bringing the screen closer to his face for a better look. “Do you have a girlfriend little bro?”

“Hey!” Yuuji scrambles, turning around to lean over the back of the couch in an attempt to grab his phone back. Sukuna places his hand on Yuuji’s forehead, keeping him at arm’s length as he looks over the picture. “Give me back my phone!”

Smacking Sukuna’s arm away, Yuuji vaults over the back of the couch and decides to try and wrestle his phone back from his brother. It doesn’t work, however. The two grapple for a few moments and the next thing Yuuji knows, Sukuna has his arm wrapped around his brother’s neck, holding him in a firm headlock. It isn’t enough to hurt him, but it’s enough to keep him from trying to escape, knowing that it’s futile. 

“Who is she, huh?” Sukuna presses as he slides Yuuji’s phone into his pocket and begins rubbing his knuckles on the top of Yuuji’s head. 

“I’m not gonna tell you!” Yuuji laughs, trying in vain to smack Sukuna’s hand away from his head. 

“Well, I’m not letting you go until I get some answers,” the older boy states, rapping his knuckles against Yuuji’s forehead. Then he pinches Yuuji’s nose. 

Weighing his pros and cons, Yuuji relents. “Okay, okay! I’ll tell you! Just let me go.”

Sukuna snorts. “Nah, if I let you go right now, you’ll just try to punch me and I won’t get what I asked for.”

Yuuji groans. His brother knows him too well. “Her name is Yuko. She’s just a friend. I haven’t asked her out… yet,” he grumbles the last word.

Satisfied, Sukuna releases his hold on his brother and hands Yuuji's phone back. 

In the midst of the struggle, Sukuna hadn’t noticed his own phone had fallen out of his pocket. It dings and Yuuji is the first to snatch it off the ground, curious to see who would be texting Sukuna. His jaw drops at the name displayed on the lock screen.

Sukuna quickly plucks his phone from Yuuji’s hand and goes back to the kitchen as Yuuji shouts after him, “Dude, why is Megumi texting you? And why is there a heart next to his name?!”

[stevesjockstrap]

Helping Hands

Written for @stevieweek Stevieween prompt “This is what you’re doing on Halloween?”

Rated M • Stevie/Eddie • female, confident, bisexual Stevie, platonic stobin, modern era, no UD, meet ugly, happy ending • wc 700

She hadn't really planned to be at the laundromat on Halloween night, it had just sort of happened. It was empty, everyone apparently joining in the festivities. But it was a Thursday this year. She worked tomorrow morning.

She was bored, though. Pulling up Robin in her phone to FaceTime, she got an immediate soured look on her face. "This is what you're doing on Halloween?"

Stevie rolled her eyes. "Yes, mom, I'm trying to get fucked this weekend and I needed to wash my mattress cover." She laughed as Robin made fake gagging noises at her.

"You're at work, not doing anything fun either," she reminded her.

"I guess. But everyone knows I live vicariously through your adventures. I hate the laundromat," Robin groaned dramatically.

"God forbid one night of my life is unglamorous, Bobbi," she laughed. "I'm bored, though."

Robin huffed at her fake pout, pretending to be annoyed but putting her phone on the holder that was just for these scenarios, so she could still work on her computer while gossiping with her friend.

"You know what else is unacceptable? Why can I deep throat dicks but I gag when I brush my tongue?"

Robin snorted so violently she sent herself into a coughing fit, doubled over out of sight. Stevie grinned and, enjoying wreaking havoc, continued. "Speaking of dicks," — there came a louder groan amongst the coughing — "Guys are always so into girls squirting, but they've never been the ones to actually get me to. It's only been girls."

Before Robin could catch her breath from the increased laugh/coughing, a man appeared around the corner from her.

"Uh, excuse me miss, but a-are these yours?"

They both looked down at the small scrap of red fabric in his hand. Her lace thong.

He continued, his face nearly as red as the underwear, "They were stuck in the dryer."

Stevie blinked, just realizing she hadn't heard this person come in and didn’t know how long he'd been listening to her inappropriate conversation.

But she had never been shy about these things. She smiled cheekily and flicked her hair over her shoulder, reaching out and feeling the roughness of his hand as she took her panties from him. "Oh, thank you…?"

He flicked his eyes over her quickly and she held back a grin.

"E-Eddie, I'm Eddie. I work here, I mean — I-I help the owner out sometimes, w-with the machines. I'm good with my hands." He winced, probably not meaning that to sound the way it did, especially with what he had just overheard.

"Is that so, Eddie?" Stevie purred, sliding closer.

He ran a hand through his own hair nervously, and she took her time looking him up and down. He was in some sort of work jumpsuit, with letters on a patch she didn't recognize. His hair was long and wavy, a little tangled and messy in a way that actually worked for him. It made her want to yank it. He had full lips and big brown button eyes. He was also quite a bit taller than her, which she definitely liked.

"I know that look," Robin called out from her phone. She'd forgotten about her. "Go ahead and ask for her number, buddy. Trust me, she's a sure thing."

"Hey!"

They both ignored her though, Eddie’s cheeks reddening.

“Better yet, ask her if she needs help putting the waterproof mattress cover back on her bed!”

Stevie quickly hung up on her alleged best friend. Leaning in again, she instead decided to go for broke. “So, Eddie.” He looked like he was about to swallow his tongue. “Tell me, what is your stance on chocolate chip pancakes?”

Eddie surprised her with a chuckle and a wry grin. “I have to say I am pro pancakes of any species.”

The diner down the road was just as empty, and she agreed to bring Eddie to her apartment when it was clear the waitress was trying to close but didn’t want to be rude.

He did end up helping to wrestle her mattress cover back on, and proved it wasn’t just girls who could put it to the test. Good with his hands, indeed.

Dividers by @/enchanthings & @/fuctacles

[yellowhollyhock]

what are some of the strengths and weaknesses of 1987 Michelangelo’s character? I have the hardest time writing for him outside of the super obvious “surfer bro” persona honestly

tbh,, I rarely write for 87... they're too witty,,, I have some wips but as far as writing the 87 boys are definitely not my strength

That said! 1987 Michelangelo! Love that guy. hmmm strengths and weaknesses

Weaknesses

-he can be clueless at times. needs things explained multiple times or doesn't pick up on things other characters were counting on him picking up on. this can be a very useful for plot reasons, he can simply forget what he was told or not understand it and therefore fail to act on it

-very obsessed with pizza. more so than the other turtles

-along that vein, generally not difficult to distract

-hard to motivate. he mostly wants to make himself and those around him comfortable, and he's very good at finding simple easy ways to do that. So whatever task needs to be done for whatever other reason, better find a way to make it comfortable and fun, he has a high threshold. For example during training sometimes he would simply rather enjoy the nice weather and there is nothing Master Splinter or anyone else can say

-this goes with hard to motivate, but in the ep where Leonardo leaves and the others have to try to lead, when it's his turn he's just very passive. he is pretty good about knowing what needs done, but he is definitely not one to take charge, and more than likely he'll wait to be told what to do unless the situation is very urgent

-he does not enjoy watching pro-wrestling, to his brothers' dismay

Strengths!!

-sweetest heart of all time. brings home injured animals, takes them to the zoo so he can learn about how to take care of them or give them to someone who can

-btw he can talk to animals

-often is the one tending to his brothers if they're sore after a battle. not first aid, but like fluffing a pillow or just patting their back. He probably holds their hand while antiseptic is applied. Definitely hugs them when they cry

-very loyal. throws a birthday party for Irma. never believes something bad he hears about someone he knows (he'll say "no way, amigo" if someone who isn't present to defend themselves is accused of literally anything)

-strong moral compass, AND

-the ability to communicate persuasively about what he thinks is right. More often than not he uses the same sentence (what you're doing is majorly wrongiouso) (or something like that siahdhsj), but it's the way he says it amd the timing that's important. He understands people, and as much as he always sees the best in them, he also knows how to bring out the best in them. Idk I don't think I'm explaining it too well, but... he's not just blindly trusting. Trust is a choice he makes out of kindness, but then he will hold people to a standard. Does that make sense?

-great with kids

-he's a good mediator, hears out both sides

-faces his fears (he has the most stage fright of them all but by the end of the ep where they appeared on camera he was also handling it the best)

-he can put his foot down when he needs to. very cool trait for the Nice Guy character to have, y'know?

-not afraid to emote! sobs openly because the stove is broken! hugs! speaks up when he is upset! expresses joy for the little things! 🧡

-psychic (i think? probably? might not know it? i remember feeling like it was implied but I'd have to go find the episode(s) alskjdjvf) (pretty sure it wasn't explicit but like. he's psychic okay)

-so much patience

-everyone loves the way he talks. they're always mimicking him. i remember one time when Leonardo asked a question, Michelangelo was standing right there, and Donatello literally said, "Well as Michelangelo would say" and then said what Michelangelo would say and was in fact about to say, then Michelangelo went to say it and got all confused alfjshsjj. Also Shredder will do this too! And you know you're good when Shredder copies you. He had aspirations of being a writer before he turned to villainy, you know (or maybe you didn't but now you do)

[bi-hop]

my thoughts on rgu ep 4

Final episode for today, but that doesn't mean I don't have thoughts on it! here we go...

so, like, immediately we're getting into blue hair guy (Miki/Mickey). it's an in media res sort of opening... sure hope this will have no consequences! /j

Nanami might be the most unfortunate girl in the world for being fixated on two separate guys with a complicated draw towards Anthy she doesn't understand. that doesn't justify anything, it's just cracking me up how bad her luck is on that front

CAN EVERYONE LEAVE ANTHY ALONE!!!!! HOLY SHIT!!!!! STOP HITTING HER!

Mickey claiming he has no intention to duel for the Rose Bride's hand is such a funny assertion after how the episode started. we know you will, cut the crap

I do enjoy how whenever he gets flustered by Anthy though, he hears those piano notes, it's cute

So far, nothing is about Anthy. not really. Utena wins her in a fight for Wakaba's honor. Saionji associates her with glory and treats her as equal to a sword. Now Mickey is saying Anthy reminds him of a girl from his past, that he hopes she'll be his shining thing. she is constantly an object or something to project feelings onto, and she's loathed for it by the girls around her. I'm sorry, Anthy...

I don't usually comment on the shadow girls (love them though, don't get it twisted!) but the whole quick narrative about how one of them became less appealing due to enjoying pro wrestling and garlic ramen is great. girls are so often put on pedestals and then discarded once they show any hint of personality

NANAMI.

NANAMI!!!!!

NANAMIIIIIII!!!!!

okay jokes aside her constant attempts to get Anthy to be viewed as undesirable/horrific/pick your adjective by associating her with 'gross' animals only for it to be accepted and thwarted at every turn is comedic gold but also says a lot about her own perception of who is 'weird' and ties into the shadow girl gossip well. but haha her hair gets all messy-

MICKEY'S THINKING OF HIS LITTLE SISTER WHEN HE THINKS OF THAT GIRL ON THE PIANO?!? what's up with this cast lmao

the preview for the next episode... uh oh... Utena, don't you know by now that Anthy is functionally a receptacle for your desires in this duel/Rose Bride business, personality and wants be damned?

all I gotta say is... excited for more duel music soon-

[mjfass]

“There’s a lot of great wrestlers out there that can deliver great matches. But there’s so many wrestlers out there that are subpar in my opinion, that don’t know what they’re doing out there. And they allow themselves to rely on things like chops, which I think is sort of like cheap heat - you get a reaction, but what’s your reaction? You’re whipping a guy across the chest with your hand? Okay, so you’re hurting some guy for real, for some stupid reason. And the crowd sort of reacts to it.

“In my understanding of pro wrestling, anytime anyone does anything to you that hurts, for real - chopping, putting blisters on your chest when you go to your room or bed, anytime anyone does things to you for real, they’re in the wrong business. They’re doing it wrong. Because you’re not supposed to get hurt. You’re not supposed to come back to your dressing room that night, or to your hotel room and have a big lump on your head and a black eye and your teeth are knocked out. That’s Bill Goldberg wrestling. That’s not how it’s done.” -Bret Hart

He's committed to hating Goldberg until his last breath and I love that for him

He hates him.

He despises him.

He will insult him till the day he dies and I’m here for it.

[purplesurveys]

1849

Who are you most nervous about introducing potential significant others to?  I'd go with my parents, although I've never done this with them ever; and Angela, just because she's my biggest confidante and next to my parents she is always The First One to know everything going on in my life.

What was the most important non-academic thing you learned in high school?  That 'fake it until you make it' is legit advice, even though I found and still find it to an extent shady. It was helpful in finally fitting in in high school, and has saved me a million times at work where I need to be an extrovert 24/7. At its core I detest the idea of having to project a certain image of yourself for certain situations, but at the same it's just something I need to grind through lest I get left behind.

Have you ever had a job that deeply affected your personal life? How so and do you still work there?  Yeah. My work is my life. It's all I think about, and even though I have been better at setting boundaries I still am largely known by my peers now by what I do. On a personal level, I honestly still don't know what to make of that; it is just what it is.

Do you have a “one who got away”?  No.

If you were in a superhero movie, would you be the hero or the villain? I'd be one of the citizens scrambling to get away.

If you found a mouse in your house, would you be frightened?  100%.

Have you ever tried to perform magic tricks?  I can do some silly illusions with my hands/fingers. I haven't really tried anything beyond that.

Can you do more with a yo-yo than just “go up and down”? Nope.

What is one form of technology that you wouldn’t be able to live without?  Imagining life without the internet at this age just seems insane. It's grown to become part of nearly everything we do, so the idea of becoming disconnected from everything and everyone feels kind of freaky tbh.

Did you get an allowance, growing up? Why or why not?  I started getting allowances in high school – I was given P100 for recess and lunch, but given that I had finally just started making friends and didn't want to miss out on cool high school parties and soirees and shit, I used to skip meals and instead gather my allowances to be able to go out during weekends (because otherwise my parents didn't usually give me hanging-out money). Definitely an unhealthy and a very stupid way to go about it in retrospect, considering it led to me feeling lightheaded throughout high school.

In college my allowance increased to P2,000 a week so I could cover gas and food.

Would you rather go to a water park or an amusement park? Why?  Amusement park, even though I can't go on rides. At least there's lots of yummy and sinful food options haha. Water parks just feel so much more unsanitary to me.

What is one instrument you wouldn’t mind learning how to play?  Piano.

What’s the longest amount of time you’ve had to wait in line for something?  I was at the LTO for 7 hours because apparently it takes that look to print out a driver's fucking license in the Philippines. I also waited the same amount of time for Seventeen, but to be fair the only reason we arrived at 12 PM for a 7 PM concert is if we left any later than that, we were going to be stuck in traffic with the rest of the late concertgoers and risk missing a chunk of the show.

What is something that you would like to learn more about?  I would love to take a wrestling class, just for fun and just to get to experience it once. I put my pro wrestler dreams to rest as soon as I made them because I knew I was never going to be physically cut out for it; but it'd be cool to take even just one session to learn the most basic of basics – taking bumps, doing rolls, running the ropes.

What is something that one of your family member collects?  My mom collects anything related to chefs - mostly figurines - as my dad is one and she has always been very proud of that. My dad used to collect Top Gear magazines and had every single issue until they stopped publishing physical copies.

Have you ever moved to a new school before? If so, how did it feel?  I mean, yes, but only because there was no college in my first school – and even if they did it wouldn't have been my choice to enroll there for university anyway. I went to the same school from kinder to high school, then attended my dream university for college; so, really, only changed schools once and it was out of necessity.

Have you ever legitimately forgotten to do homework?  Yes.

Do you enjoy autumn leaves or spring flowers more? Why?  I can't relate.

Depending on where you live, why might a day of school get canceled? Typhoons, or extremely high temperatures which is what is happening now. Kids today are very fortunate for that, whereas my generation hadddddd to power through the summer weather (it was worse for my school since we were one of the few private schools that didn't have aircon).

If you could meet any fictional character from a book, who would it be? Alice Cullen. Or Carlisle hehe.

What are some common places that people tour when they come to your city?  There is a well-known art museum here. Apart from that, I guess just the gazillion cafés we have.

What’s one food that you did not enjoy as a child, but do as an adult?  Curry. Dreaded it every time I smelled my grandma making it, now it'd kill me to miss out on curry – any kind of curry hahaha. Indian cuisine in general has grown to be my favorite type.

Would you rather have a mermaid tail, a fairy’s wings or a unicorn’s horn? I'd take the wings cause it'd be cute to be able to fly!

What is an animal that you’d like to have as a pet but it’s not allowed?  No way.

What are some things that you do to make the world a better place?  I look people in the eye, smile, and say thanks if they hold the door open for me.

Has the last person you had sex with ever had sex with someone besides you?  I'm most definitely certain that she since has. It's been four years.

What’s your favorite store at your mall?  I just go to the local K-pop stores lol. I hardly shop, and if I'm at the mall it's like 99.9% to eat out.

Have you ever done a workout DVD?  No.

Who usually takes out the trash in your family?  My mom or sister. We'll sometimes alternate, me and my sister.

What song are you currently obsessed with?  Together by Seventeen is a BEAUTIFUL song. Absolutely obsessing over it these days.

When you go fishing, do you make someone else get the fish off the hook?  I've never gone fishing.

Do you take any prescription meds?  Nope.

What happens if you don’t take them? 

Who was the last person you dreamt about?  I hardly remember my dreams.

Do you prefer your tea sweetened or unsweetened?  Sweetened.

Do you have any children? If so, names and ages? I do not.

Have your parents ever witnessed you doing something inappropriate? What?  I don't think so, at least not to my recollection.

Did you get babysat a lot as a kid?  No. My cousins and I raised each other and that was all the babysitting we ever needed haha.

Are you doing anything fun tomorrow?  Tomorrow is technically Monday, so there's nothing that'll be happening other than me going back to work. Today's my birthday though so all the fun stuff will be happening today – we have a dinner reservation at my favorite buffet and I'm really excited for that!

What is something you’d like to receive as a housewarming gift?  Wine. Hahaha.

How old were you when you first experienced the effects of puberty?  I mean I was barely 10 when I got my first period, so let's go with that.

What is your least favorite holiday, and why?  Chinese New Year, for political reasons.

Are cemeteries peaceful to you, or do they freak you out?  Serene and peaceful. Not only are those places filled wih a million stories, memories, and experiences of real people; but it's heartwarming getting to see the little trinkets and gifts that people leave their deceased.

We went to visit my grandpa last Sunday and I was touched seeing a letter pinned to a woman's columbary cell – it was a letter obviously written by her granddaughter, and seeing the clumsy handwriting... all just felt very human to me, if that mkes sense. Being in cemeteries or similar places evokes a sense of calm for me.

Has anyone close to you ever gone to war?  Nope.

Have you ever experienced altitude sickness?  No. In what is a shock even to me, I manage boat and plane rides well. It's car rides I always seem to be terrible at.

Is there anything, any event, you wish you could remember more clearly?  My Paramore concert in 2013, only because I spent the damn concert watching through my camera. It was my first concert so I didn't know any better – but anyway, lessons were learned, I never did it again, and for all concerts that followed I only have a handful of photos/videos from them because I've since spent of the time living in the moment instead.

If you had to get advice from someone of the opposite sex, who would you go to?  Hans.

What was the last new food/drink that you tried?  I tried the barbecue chicken sandwich from Popeye's because apparently they're doing this flavors of the world thing where they have variants for UK (barbecue), Korea (gochujang), US (spicy chicken)...you get the drill. It was delicious but I thought the barbecue sauce was a tad bit overpowering. I'd get a less-saucier one next time.

Have you had a good day today or was yesterday better?  I mean it's my birthday today so it'd be hard to imagine this day going south haha. We'll see; it's only 1:30 in the morning.

Have you ever played Sudoku?  No I never understood how it works hahaha.

Do you ever take surveys for money?  I once tried to go for that, but for context: It was the peak of COVID, absolutely no one went out, I was a fresh grad, my parents (who are both in the hospitality industry) were just as jobless as I was, and money in the house was depleting at an alarming rate. I was desperate to help as much as I can, so much so that I had to consider that making-moneys-through-surveys thing. It never amounted to anything because I was never qualified for most of the surveys available anyway.

Thank FUCK we have since gotten out of that rut. I've blocked out most things from 2020 because of what we as a family went through.

Do you like Barbie or Bratz better?  Bratz was popular as fuck when I was a kid.

Do you prefer purple or green grapes?  Neither.

Who was the last person that made you laugh?  My sister.

Where does your best friend live?  In a nearby city.

Who did you last confide in?  Trina.

Does your car have an alarm?  Like...an alarm clock? No? Lol. It does go off if hit too hard while locked, though, if that's the kind of alarm you mean.

Where was your mom born?  Just...somewhere in the metro, I'm not about to give that kind of stuff away.

What can always make you feel better no matter what?  MY DOGS

What is something you’ll never eat again? Why?  Apart from fruits, I was never the type to shun any kind of food.

What is currently happening that is scaring you?  Just...time. The natural course of aging. Not because it's my birthday, but the passage of time is just something I think about more and more now. My high school peers getting married and having kids, my parents getting older, my grandparents getting older...it is what it is and it's constantly in my head.

[aeoki]

SS Finals - Melee: Chapter 6

Location: Outside ES Dome Characters: Nagisa & Ibara

TL Note:

In professional wrestling, the “babyface” refers to a “good guy” or “fan favourite” while the “heel” is the exact opposite.

For those who don’t know, Jime-nyan refers to Hajime.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ< At that time. Chūbu region – near “ES Dome”, the venue for the “SS” Finals. >

Ibara: They’re late…!

Nagisa: …………

Ibara: I definitely told the members of the “White Team” the meeting location and time, didn’t I!? I’m sure I did it several times!

So why is no one here!? The “SS” Finals only lasts for a day! We can’t waste even a second!

Naturally, I had a feeling from the very beginning that “Crazy:B” or “Valkyrie” won’t listen to anything I say, though!

“2wink” is always obedient and “Eve” isn’t here, either! Just what is going on…!?

Nagisa: …Hiyori-kun mentioned that he wanted to go sightseeing and shopping in the city.

…I think he wants to get a grasp on the region’s ambience by doing so.

…”That” is very important to do before performing. To Hiyori-kun, at the very least.

 …It seems the other units like “2wink” have sent a message and told us that they’ll be “going off on their own”.

…I think they’re all preparing for the Finals in their own ways.

…Who knows where “Crazy:B” or “Double Face” are and what they’re doing, though.

Ibara: Well, I guess that was still within my calculations!

I knew controlling them would be impossible the moment I laid eyes on the list of units for the “White Team”!

Nagisa: …Yeah. That’s probably how they were set up. I knew there was some sort of bias involved, but I don’t know the specific standards.

Ibara: Hmph. It’s probably like a pro wrestling style thing – like the one that the ES higher-ups like.

They’re boomers, you know? Talk about old-fashioned… It’s basically like the babyface vs the heel[1].

Nagisa: …Hmm. Does that mean the “Red Team” is the babyface here?

…The “General Leader” for the “Red Team” is “fine” and they have “Trickstar”, “ALKALOID”, “RYUUSEITAI”, “Switch”, Ra*bits” and “AKATSUKI” under them.

…We know what Eichi-kun is really like, so it feels strange for us to see him as the good guy. But thinking back, his public image is closer to that, I suppose.

Ibara: Yeah! He’s still feigning innocence and I can’t believe the public has yet to see through that! I can’t even help but be impressed!

Nagisa: …Hmm. It feels as though the management has split us up based on what they deem good and bad.

…The management – in this case, that would be the “P-Association” aside from the “gatekeeper” – that the ES higher-ups think they can control…

…In other words, they think the “Red Team” would be “perfect” for them to control.

Ibara: You’re saying “Eden” are a bunch of bad children?

Nagisa: …You’re the one trying to sell us based on that image, Ibara. Like a final boss, was it?

…Good children in the eyes of adults are controllable children who won’t do anything unexpected.

…At the very least, the children who think they’re in control themselves.

Ibara: Well, if you put it that way, then the lineup for the “Red Team” makes sense.

If they’re talking about children they can control, then I don’t know why “Trickstar” is included, though.

Nagisa: …Their image is one of radiance and positivity. I think they included them to make things balanced.

Ibara: I see. They chose last year’s runner-up, “Eden”, as the “General Leader” for the “White Team” only because…

They had no choice but to place last year’s winner, “Trickstar”, in the “Red Team” since they see them as a unit that’s equal to us in strength.

Hmph, if we’re battling based on pure skill, then I’d say we are far superior.

Nagisa: …Even if that’s true, we still lost to them last year.

…In official records, “Trickstar” is noted as a unit that has surpassed us.

Ibara: Well, I suppose they do have some sort of incomprehensible explosive power… They’re rather annoying as an opponent.

On the other hand, our team is full of members who are “even more annoying than our enemies”.

Nagisa: …Yeah. The “General Leader” of the “White Team” is us – “Eden”.

…With “Crazy:B”, “Valkyrie”, “UNDEAD”, “Knights”, “Double Face” and “2wink” under us.

Ibara: Ahaha ☆ It’s a lineup that will make you see stars! All one can do is laugh!

They’re all certainly skilled but too difficult to control!

Perhaps the management saw them in the same way and decided to put all of them in the “White Team”!

Nagisa: …If the “White Team” was solely made up of those units, then it’s strange for “2wink” to be included.

…It seems those two are harbouring some sort of darkness within themselves, but I think the public just see them as obedient children.

Ibara: Hmm~ They appear to be rather well-behaved recently, but I’ve heard they had teamed up with “UNDEAD” and “Trickstar” in the past to cause all sorts of trouble at Yumenosaki.

Maybe the higher-ups see them as trouble-makers.

Nagisa: …Well, they certainly would be in comparison to “Ra*bits”.

Ibara: Indeed. If we were to ask ten people which unit they think is good between “2wink” or “Ra*bits”, then I’m sure all ten of them would give the same answer.

Nagisa: …But you prefer “2wink” when they’re troublemakers, right, Ibara?

Ibara: Jime-nyan[2] is in “Ra*bits”, so I like them too~ From a fan’s perspective, anyway.

As a supervisor, their usage lies in a different context, so they’re difficult to use, though.

In that sense, hmm, if all of the “White Team” members were to be completely placed under our control…

Then I wouldn’t be able to say, “If you all could just do what I tell you to!”, without gritting my teeth!

That would have been the perfect opportunity for me to form the best “Evil Corps” in the world!

Nagisa: …In American comics, those sorts of evil associations usually end up destroying themselves after having a fallout between their members.

Ibara: I’m scared that might actually happen to us! What should we do about our strong members…!?

I have a feeling Anzu-san would be able to control them to a certain extent!

Ugh, how frustrating! I can’t believe she has the ability to do something I can’t as a “producer”!

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ← Previous Chapter ᠂ ⚘ ˚⊹˚ ⚘ ᠂  Next Chapter →

[allabouttenille]

National Wrestling Alliance

Bad Times On Waterloo

January 27th 2024

During a brief break in the action, an unannounced appearance occurs as double champion Tenille Dashwood makes her first ever appearance in the NWA. Clearly not dressed to compete, Dashwood makes her way to the ring anyway and quickly demands a microphone, having something she wants to get off her chest. “National Wrestling Alliance. Don’t worry, you’re not hallucinating, a champion has actually arrived at your show. A double champion to be exact. The FIRST ever Eternia Pro Moonstone Champion and the new TNA Digital Media Champion, Tenille Dashwood is here, and you’re all very welcome.” Dashwood holds both arms out to the side, obviously expecting to be praised but the crowd reaction is anything but happy to see her.

“But… believe it or not, I didn’t come here to talk to you people. I came here to talk to one person in particular. To… clear the air, I guess. As you are no doubt aware, just a few days ago I was on the receiving end of vicious and unprovoked assault that saw me get put through a table.” This time, Dashwood gets a reaction but not the one she wanted. Instead of sympathy, a cheer rings out as the NWA crowd obviously know what Billie Morgan did to the Australian. Never one to be silenced, Dashwood continues despite the look of annoyance on her face. “The assaulter in this unfortunate series of events is the current NWA Women’s World Champion, Blackjack Billie Morgan. What better place to talk to the NWA Women’s World Champion, than an NWA event, right? That makes sense to everybody, right? So imagine my surprise when I arrive at the venue and get told that Billie Morgan isn’t booked to be here. The NWA Women’s World Champion, isn’t going to be on the show.”

The fans in attendance were obviously well aware of this fact, but Dashwood plays it up like it is a huge shock to everybody. “I’m starting to wonder now if Triple Crown Billie, as great as she is, has maybe bitten off more than she can handle. Champion in three different promotions. Competing in countless more. Training for MMA fights. Not to mention she only recently got married too. Now, as I’m sure you are all well aware, Billie Morgan isn’t normally the kind of person to put someone through a table for no reason. It just might all be getting to be a little too much for her. After all, not everybody can handle such a demanding schedule. Myself on the other hand, I’m making up for lost time over the last couple of years. On Thursday night in TNA I had to deal with an egomaniac in Tessa Blanchard. Last night, I made my GCW debut when I defeated another Billie in my first TNA Digital Media title defense. Tomorrow night, I make my Shine debut. Four promotions in four nights. Five in a week when including World War Wrestling and our little altercation that brought me here tonight.”

Knowing Morgan isn’t in attendance, Dashwood is full of confidence and feels like nobody can stop her from saying whatever she feels like. As if to prove it, Dashwood pushes it a little more and shows that despite going through a table at the hands of Morgan, Dashwood isn’t going away. “It’s okay to be feeling overwhelmed, Billie. You’ve taken a lot on at such a young age. Most people would never be able to do what you have managed. Especially not anywhere near as quickly as you have. I understand that pressure might be getting to you now, and I completely sympathize with you. Luckily, I’m here to help. That’s why in a few short weeks at Saving Private Philip, I’ll take that NWA Women’s World Championship and help lighten your load. I know you won’t hold back and that’s exactly what I want. I want Big Match Billie. I want the best. I want to beat the best. Yee haw indeed, Billie.”

[incomingalbatross]

So I put this poll out there a few weeks ago, and I sort of processed the tags and comments as they came in, but I hadn't revisit it after the deadline passed. (Thank you everyone who contributed, either by vote or commentary!)

What I've come away with here is that... there are no magic answers, and a fair number of people are wrestling with the same worries as me. Sad but also reassuring to know I'm not the only one in this boat. :P The three leading answers are "using or planning to use a pen name," "don't expect to be famous enough for it to matter," and, "I DON'T talk about my original writing here."

And now I'm gonna muse out loud about my own perspective. The third of the above options is my current answer, and unfortunately the other two don't really fit my needs, because

a pen name that could be linked to this blog is arguably MORE revealing of private info than one that links to my real life - knowing my real name wouldn't give you access to my dumb fandom opinions and life complaints over the past 6-7 years

there is, for better or for worse, a little Catherine de Burgh voice in my head insisting that if I ever DO write a novel I shall be proficient. I admit it's hubristic but I want to plan for success here xP

And the dilemma that I'm running into, when I think about this, basically is:

On the one hand, if I got seriously into original writing and posted it on here, and then it became successful, there could be an easy bridge for anyone to make between Public-Facing Professional Author Me and Anonymous Private Fandom Me AND whatever I've dropped about IRL Me in the safety of anonymity. This is the kind of thing the internet has made me paranoid about, not for any specific reason, but because I believe separation of spheres is a good thing and there should be some barriers between different parts of my llife.

On the other hand, I would love to talk about my abandoned, languishing writing ideas on here, because I've learned how good a mutual circle is for my fanfiction writing motivation, and while I do technically have an irl writing group right now it's... not the same as Tumblr would be. And if the options are "never finish anything because I'm avoiding community support" or "deal with the potential consequences of potential success after having written something..." Well. The pros of the writeblr approach are clear.

Honestly, the answer might be a sideblog! There might be a way to just... not separate my IDs on here entirely, but an extra step or two of obscurity so it would be harder for someone to make the connection from the outside. I've seen how that can work for other people, and it might be the best answer for me... I'd have to think through the logistics and the ins and outs first.

question I've been mulling over for a while, because the #1 reason I don't talk about original writing ideas on here is that I wouldn't want a future professional/public identity (real name or otherwise) to be connected to my personal/for-fun Tumblr identity

(I would love to hear elaboration on any of these in the tags)

[1kook]

card swiped (3)

→ jeon jungkook x (f) reader

→ Now, Jungkook was never one for romance, far from the sappy type. But why couldn’t he word it more softly, gently? He wasn’t just trying to fuck you, he was trying to… make love.  GENRE romance, smut, teensy angst WARNINGS eventual smut, mentions of sex, virginity plays a huge role OTHER college crushes, childhood friends to lovers, besties to lovers, volleyball player!jk, student council pres!oc, seokjin is 32... and a a coach lol<3 RATING m (18+) WC 1.5k

NOTES (!) seokjin being a hot 32 year old <3 jk gets progressively more dumb as it goes, prayer circle <3 lmk what u think !

[ masterlist ]

The truth is, the reason Jungkook doesn’t lie that much is because he’s terrible at it. 

His mother had found out soon enough who put that dent on the car after a slip-up at the dinner table. His high school coach had learned he had purposely skipped out on practice after an accidental snapchat and jealous teammate had snitched. And, well. Fifteen minutes after the end of practice finds him sitting outside the gymnasium, a grimace on his face as he considers running back to your room and confessing to all his lies. Admitting he’s still a virgin— which was practically of no use to you —and maybe even revealing his own recently uncovered feelings was the easy way out. 

Thankfully, Assistant Coach Kim Seokjin is there to knock some sense into him. The hard plastic of the clipboard they use to outline their attacks smacks him hard over the head, making Jungkook’s bones rattle from his skull down to his toes as he steps up behind him. He whirls around to glare at the perpetrator, only to come face to face with the aforementioned assistant coach. “Go home,” Seokjin says, twirling the gym keys in one hand. “I’m trying to lock up.”

“What’s stopping you,” Jungkook huffs, tucking his knees to his chest, ignoring the awfully rude manner in which Seokjin nudges him away, foot against his back as if he’s just an annoying pile of cardboard boxes in his way.

“What’s wrong with you today?” Seokjin asks casually, doesn’t sit next to Jungkook on the steps because he’s always been a little too posh. According to Taehyung, Kim Seokjin graduated from some elite university in another country with near immaculate all-around player statistics before Jungkook even knew what a volleyball was. His success and fame in the world of collegiate volleyball is why he never wears the standard-issued slippers around the court, always some high-end, luxury brand. One glance slightly to his left has Jungkook meeting the black stripe of the frequently sought after Givenchy sneakers head on. 

He scoffs, a sound that Seokjin doesn’t approve of if the karate chop he lands on the back of his neck is anything to go by. “Ow,” Jungkook flinches, pushing him away with an irritated sigh before eventually slumping over his knees again because it’s the exact same thing you do to him sometimes. Study nights— dates, his brain supplies now —where he begins gazing off into space are filled with numerous karate chops to the neck in an effort to get him to focus on his homework. “Come on, Jungkookie,” you always tease, playful smile, lithe fingers toying with the corners of the pages in your book in a way that was almost sensual. But then he does a double-take because he’s aware of the rose-tinted lens he’s unknowingly slapped over it, something he would have maybe not noticed pre-realization of his feelings. And even he is shocked by the absolute seductiveness his brain inserts into an otherwise innocent memory. He’s pretty sure you haven’t called him Jungkookie in years— was his brain trying to hint at something here?

Jungkook groans, knocking his head against his knees as a form of self-punishment for his lecherous thoughts concerning his best friend. 

But his show of emotions must move Assistant Coach Kim because, after a moment of trying to concuss himself against his own knee, there’s a hand placed on his shoulder that makes Jungkook pause. He doesn’t even bother turning around, just throws his head back to look at Seokjin upside down. He’s got a double chin from this angle. “It’s a girl, isn’t it,” his coach sighs, looking at Jungkook with what can only be described as an unimpressed expression. 

“No,” Jungkook defends even though it’s true. “Can’t I just be sad for oth—“

“I heard Jimin call you a simp on the way out,” Seokjin says rather bluntly. And then he surprises Jungkook a second time as he throws aside his posh status to sit on the dirty concrete steps beside him with a sigh. “What did you do?” 

See, Jungkook could lie here and prance off to deal with his own problems. Leaving Seokjin and everyone else in the dark concerning his personal life was, honestly speaking, the smartest thing to do. He didn’t mind his volleyball teammates and friends (in this case, his coach), but he also wasn’t too fond of being relentlessly teased throughout the entire five or more hours they spent together almost every day of the week. 

But also… 

If what Taehyung had said is true— that being, if Kim Seokjin is the illustrious bachelor who charmed his way into multiple foreign panties all whilst demolishing the spirits of liberos and defensive specialists in another country —then Jungkook needed to capitalize off his presence immediately. 

So he lays his cards out flat. “I… might’ve told my best friend I’d take her virginity,” he blurts out, turning to face Seokjin. For the most part, the older man doesn’t look too surprised. If anything, mildly amused. Jungkook quickly adds, “while also being a virgin.” 

“You’re a what,” Seokjin exclaims, chokes on his own saliva in an admittedly not Casanova, bachelor-esque fashion that ends with him coughing into his elbow and Jungkook hurriedly patting his back. “You?” Seokjin repeats once he’s composed himself. “Are a— don’t you have a girlfriend?”

Jungkook’s cheeks warm. “No, Coach. I do not have a girlfriend,” he emphasizes, because who knew sharing the details of his (lack of) sex life would be this embarrassing? 

Seokjin frowns. “What about that girl?” he asks, and Jungkook raises his brows. “You know the one. Carries around stacks of papers to sign, goes to all the games. The one who pats you on head all the time.” And he’s talking about you, of course he is, but the insinuation that other people might, maybe, possibly, perceive you as his girlfriend makes Jungkook malfunction. 

“She’s— That’s—“ he sighs, dropping his head down until his chin touches his chest, brushed against the lucky necklace you’d given him two years ago during their first trip to Nationals. “That’s… my best friend.” 

Beside him, Seokjin says, “the one you’re gonna fuck?” 

Jungkook lets out a long exhale. “Yes. The one I’m going to fuck.” And it’s so blunt and crude, not that it’s surprising coming from him, but it’s surprising because he’s talking about you. Now, Jungkook was never one for romance, far from the sappy type. But why couldn’t he word it more softly, gently? He wasn’t just trying to fuck you, he was trying to… make love. 

The thought must show on his face because Seokjin snorts. “Well, good luck.” 

And then he stands up and begins walking down the sidewalk and Jungkook can’t spring up fast enough. “Wait,” he gasps, clutching at his forearm. He feels like a dorky character in those dramas you like so much, the ones you force him into watching every time he comes over. Like he’s some disgraced son looking for his father’s approval. Except Assistant Coach Kim is neither his father nor someone he really wants approval from anyway. 

What he does want is pointers. From an experienced pro, if you will. 

Jungkook has to swallow down all his pride as a man to ask his next question. “H- How do I—“

Seokjin beats to it him with a flick to the forehead. “I’m your volleyball coach, kid,” he frowns, crossing his arms over his chest. “Not your sex coach.” It’s a sensible rejection, one that Jungkook expected, but still. He deflates, let’s the weight of the world and his heavy gym bag nearly knock him onto the ground. 

But Assistant Coach Kim Seokjin is kinder than he lets on and, after one annoyed sigh, let’s him in on the secret Jungkook has been chasing for all his life. (Or, well, for the past few hours since he first propositioned you.)

“The key to impressing your partner is to always act like you know what you’re doing,” he tells him, arms crossed over his shoulders. It’s night now, the campus shrouded in darkness. But Jungkook swears a heavenly light shines down on Kim Seokjin just then, a halo appearing over his head when he jabs a finger against Jungkook’s chest. “Confidence is sexy.” 

“Confidence is sexy,” Jungkook repeats, feels like a kid who’s just met his favorite wrestler after years of being an avid fan, watching every match, memorizing every finishing move, collecting every figurine— it’s a little too specific but it makes sense in Jungkook’s case. You would understand this analogy perfectly, having grown alongside him during his iconic wrestling phase (before volleyball). You had indulged him in his interest, had let him practice those Do Not Try at Home moves on you again and again, even when you knew it ended with you bruised and crying, the twin pigtails you used to rock as a kid uneven and messy. But as your best friend, you had let him twist your arm and pin you to the count of three, because that’s what a good best friend did. 

And as your best friend, Jungkook was gearing himself up to completely, thoroughly rock your virgin world. Because that’s what a good best friend did.

Copyright © 2021, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

[breadclubrising]

"Fire with Fire" by AliceBand for Kenta / Shibata for the fic prompts?

*record scratch*

*freeze frame*

Yup, that's me. You're probably wondering how I ended up in this situation.

I'll address the elephant in the room first: yes, I'm wearing white gear. I think that's part of what went wrong here. Black is much more my color, but I wanted to strike a contrast between myself and others with similar movesets. Let me be clear: we're not the same. We're not connected, except that most of them are using my moves; they're the derivative ones, really—they should have to wear white. But, as a courtesy to them, I made this gracious sacrifice. At Wrestle Kingdom, no less. And... although it's hard to admit, it probably cost me this match.

But, sometimes you have to admit hard truths. I'm a real man, I show my feelings, I don't push them down or bottle them up. I'm honest. What you see is what you get.

A couple of other things happened here. Tanahashi is old and slow, that's a given, but I was ready for that. Still, when you fight someone who's at the top of the promotion, someone like Tanahashi, that's a big opportunity, regardless of whether or not their knees can still bend. Yes, even if their ass isn't big enough to hold up the waist of their tights, you've got to pull out all the stops, with someone on Tanahashi's level. That's what I've always believed; that's what I always tell people who ask me for advice on how to be an excellent pro wrestler, which happens a lot.

You've got to take risks. People like Tanahashi, or, say, Okada, as another example... they don't go down easy. You've got to try something dangerous. That's how you get the upper hand. That's been my philosophy; hit them head on. So to speak.

I think if I really had to drill down and pinpoint what went the most wrong in this match, it would probably be the fact that I broke my hip. But I laughed when I tried to put weight on my leg, and wound up on my back on the apron, looking up into the bright lights of the Tokyo Dome, waiting for some Young Boy to get his slow ass over to help me. It's funny, isn't it? I've never had to rest my weight on anyone else, until that moment. I didn't know yet that my hip was broken, but sometimes the ground rushes up at you in a way that... you just know you're not getting up without help, and maybe an ambulance. I could already tell it would be a long recovery.

Where does my will to continue come from? How does KENTA keep going so heroically? Is the answer in his book, available in bookstores now? Well, I can't say, and anyway I think it would be inappropriate to shill my book right now. The point is: I made it. A full recovery. Just tell my fans... I'm alive. Wait! Scratch that, erase. Um, tell them, I lived, bitch. Ha ha. Much better.

Lesser men have come back from worse.

Speaking of which, some of you don't know what's good for you. I'm not afraid of you, if you were thinking that—I don't compare myself to anyone else. I don't have anything to prove. I don't think about the past. Write that down, Tokyo Sports, Puroresu Weekly! Write this: 'KENTA'... K-E-N-T-A... got that? 'KENTA has had the most incredible recovery and triumphant return since Kobashi.' There, now you can go home early. You're welcome!

Yes, I'm crying, so what! It's emotional to talk about my journey so openly and bravely. Like I said, I'm a real man, I show my emotions. Maybe I'm sitting on the floor sobbing like a baby because I'm having a breakdown right here in the backstage comments! No, don't ask about my book in the middle of my scandalous and press-worthy breakdown! If you really want to know, you can go to any bookstore and pick it up—this is not the time, you vultures!

Yeah, this is... this is funny, right? You all got to be here for it finally hitting me. How much it all hurt. Heh. My recovery was… hard. I'm tired. That's the truth. I'm fucking tired and I'm hurting. But, every wrestler here would tell you the same thing... I don't know what right I have to... Uh, this is very much part of the plan, which is why I'm all alone, knees hugged to my chest, not looking at any of you right now. This is how I wanted it.

I guess I just want to say... if there's anyone out there worried about me... Don't. I'll be fine. I'm healed. You don't have to think about calling me every day, and then chicken out because you're ~*terrified*~ it'll be the ~last time~ you ever *hear my voice*, and there's so much you wanted to say... Ha. Don't be stupid. Don't be all anxious every time you see me wrestle for the rest of forever, because unlike some pro wrestlers out there, I've never said I wanted to die in the ring, and then fucking tried it. What the fuck would that have proved, huh? What the fuck! Don't go thinking I'd break myself just to prove...

I don't have anything to prove! Okay?

... You miraculous thing. You piece of shit... If you won't fucking stay down, I won't either.

---

I thought that fire with fire would burn the problem quicker But all this good advice, his hair just grows back thicker And if I take my own advice the worst just gets here quicker So what's it all supposed to do This fire eats fire and the fire's in you

[mothandpidgeon]

Extra Credit (Professor!Dave York AU)

MASTERLIST

Pairing: Professor!Dave York x F Reader

Words: 2865

Rating: VERY E 18+!

Warnings: student/teacher quid pro quo (safe to say this falls under DUB CON so please be careful!!!), spanking, humiliation/degradation, oral sex, orgasm denial, spitting, pussy slapping, biting/marking, p in v sex, Dave York

Summary: With graduation on the horizon, you just have to pass Professor Dave York’s class. But a bad choice on the final assignment leaves your grades in jeopardy. But he’s willing to give you extra credit if you can follow instructions.

a/n: First off, PLEASE MAKE SURE YOU MIND THE WARNINGS. I did not see myself sharing this kind of stuff but I guess I'm freaky like that.

Second, I’m sorry this has the plot of a bad p*rno but sometimes it be like that. Thanks @pascalslittlebrat, @starlightmornings and @mouthymandalorian for encouraging this. It is filth. And thank you P for the gorgeous moodboard!!!!

Also, here is my assignment for the class. What subject do you think Professor York teaches? I was thinking Political Science. Would love to hear your ideas.

It was hot in the lecture hall, one of those early spring days when the weather decided winter was officially over. You had only a few more weeks until graduation and you were white knuckling to the end.

It had been a tough semester. You had your classes to deal with and your motivation was dipping. It wasn’t entirely your fault. You’d had to take on a full time job on top of your studies. Your shitty little car always seemed to be in the shop and your roommate had turned into a psychopath so you slept with one eye open.

Professor York’s class was the hardest you’d ever taken. You liked his style, his dry sense of humor as he lectured. But he was difficult to please. Most professors let their TAs do their the grading but not him. No matter how hard you worked on your papers, you couldn’t wrestle anything higher than a B- from Professor York.

The TA was handing back your papers, the last assignment for the semester, and he placed yours face down in front of you. There was no grade on it just red pen that spelled out see me after class in tight, neat handwriting. Fuck.

You looked up to see Professor York glowering at you from his spot at the front of the hall. You approached him as the other students filed out. You wished you could share their relief that this class was finally done but you had a knot in your stomach.

“Have a seat,” he said, taking the paper from you and tapping it in his palm.

There was a chair next to the professor’s desk and you sat down putting your bag beside you.

“Thanks, Tyler,” he said, dismissing the TA.

When the lecture hall was empty, Professor York sat behind the desk, eyes skimming your paper.

“I wanted to talk to you about this,” he said.

You nodded, too nervous to try speaking.

“This is some great work. This is the kind of essay that really sticks with you after you read it,” he said. His brown eyes were warm and soft and he sat forward in his chair.

You were dumbfounded, your anxiety quickly washing away.

“That’s probably how I know I already read this,” he said, his features suddenly darkening.

Your stomach plummeted into your feet. You were such an ass, thinking you could get away with it.

“I don’t tolerate plagiarism,” he told you.

With everything that had been going on this semester, you didn’t have it in you to complete this final assignment. It wasn’t like you were going to get a good grade anyway. You’d been so exhausted, you hardly cared if you got caught when you’d handed it in. But now that you had to face Professor York, you were kicking yourself.

“I find it highly disrespectful that you would try and pass this off as your work. You know you can be expelled for this?” he asked.

“I’m sorry,” you choked out. “I’ve just had so much work to do-“

“I’m not interested in excuses,” he snapped.

You shut your mouth and felt tears bite at your eyes.

“Are you going to cry?” he asked in disgust. “That’s not going to work on me.”

“Professor, if I fail this class I’m not going to graduate. Please. I’ll do anything to just pass,” you said.

“Anything?”

“Anything,” you said. The word sounded so definitive when it left your lips.

Professor York leaned back in his chair, swiping his finger across his lower lip in thought.

“I can give you extra credit but you have to do exactly what I tell you,” he said.

You were so relieved, you nodded breathlessly.

His lips curled into a smile.

“What color panties are you wearing?” He asked.

Your cheeks set on fire but heat also pooled between your legs. “I- what?” You managed.

“Show them to me,” he commanded.

Your whole body flushed and you stared at him, wide eyed. You had to be dreaming. You’d always found Professor York sexy with that grin and his deep voice but he wouldn’t- this wasn’t happening.

“Do you want extra credit or do you want me to give this paper to your advisor?” He asked, his tone suddenly harsh.

You swallowed hard. Why did his words send a shiver down your spine? You picked up the hem of your skirt and lifted it so Professor York could see between your legs. You looked away, blushing deeply.

He made a guttural noise that made you drop your skirt and clench your thighs together.

“Give them to me,” he said.

Your mouth hung open. He looked completely serious, blinking at you slowly as if this was a casual request. You bit down hard on your lip but finally you relented.

You squirmed out of your panties, being careful that you didn’t give him a show in the process, and placed them in his large, outstretched hand.

He put them to his nose, inhaled, and then squirreled them away in his back pocket, all the while watching you with amusement.

“Stand up. Put your hands on the desk,” he said.

You couldn’t move, sitting there with a gaping mouth. Finally he narrowed his eyes and you did as he said. You put your palms against the table top, aware of the vulnerable way you were leaned over. His eyes moved over your form and he wore the same self-satisfied expression that came when a student asked a stupid question.

Once he was finished admiring your obedience, he stood up and walked behind you. Your heart was pumping wildly as he stepped closer and you could smell his cologne, leather and tobacco.

“I‘ll pass you but I don’t want you thinking you’re getting off easy,” he said.

“Thank you,” you said.

He chuckled and your breath caught. You felt him lift your skirt up, the fabric skimming over your bare ass, and you gasped. He didn’t touch you but he made a noise of approval that shot through you.

“I’m going to hit you five times,” he said into your ear. “You tell me if it’s too much.”

You nodded without even knowing you were doing it. What the fuck was happening? You were standing in the empty lecture hall, bent over, ass out, and desperate to graduate. You couldn’t believe Professor York’s audacity and yet you were going to let him spank you like you were a little girl. It wasn’t like you had a choice, you told yourself.

Before you could make sense of it, his hand connected with you and you let out a grunt. Were you getting wet? You definitely should not be enjoying this.

He hit you again and this time a moan escaped from you. You clamped your hand over your mouth.

“Hands on the desk,” he commanded.

You put it back down and another strike came against you. The sound of his punishment seemed to be echoing off the walls of the empty room.

He pulled your hips into him to steady you as he went on. You loved the feeling of his arm wrapped around your middle, holding you firm.

When he was finished, you were nearly shaking, your pulse quick and your lips parted. You were still reeling not least of all due to the fact that you wanted more.

“Good girl,” Professor York purred smoothing his hand over the spot he’d turned red. His fingers dipped between your legs to feel the slick on your lips. “You’re not going to learn your lesson if you’re enjoying this.”

He came up right behind you so he could wrap his hand around your front and stroke at you. You were thankful your palms were braced against the desk because your knees nearly gave out.

“Professor,” you tried.

“Did I say you could speak?” he asked, a hand gripping your hair.

“What if someone comes in?” Your voice shook.

“Then you’ll have to tell them why you’re failing my class,” he said and continued to play his fingers between your legs.

You whimpered. You could feel his hard length through his pants pressed into the tender flesh of your ass. Your head spun. You knew how fucked up this was but you didn’t want it to end. Professor York’s fingers circled you expertly and you felt like you were melting in his hands. You forgot everything— the circumstances that lead you to this moment, that this was your teacher, that you were exposed in public. Nothing existed except for your pleasure building and building.

As the sensation mounted in you, you began to buck against his hand.

“Are you close?” he asked.

“Yes,” you moaned.

“Good,” he replied and suddenly, his hand was gone.

You cried out in desperation. You clenched at nothing, left at the precipice with no relief. You were throbbing almost painfully. Professor York caught your chin in one of his hands, squeezing your face and wrenching your head around to look at him.

“Do you deserve to cum?” he asked.

You thought you might actually cry between your need for his touch and the fear his voice instilled in you.

“Answer me,” he demanded.

You shook your head.

“No,” he confirmed.

He loosened his grip on you and, for the briefest moment that softness returned to his eyes. You looked at him, eyes glassy and practically drooling, wishing he would touch you again.

“Needy girl,” he chided. “On your knees.”

He pulled you to your feet by the back of your skirt and you got down, bare knees and shins on the tile floor. You gazed up at him, still a little nervous, still pulsing between your thighs.

Professor York undid a few of the buttons of your shirt and skimmed his knuckle across your breast with a hum.

“Maybe I should take this too. Matching set,” he said. He snapped your bra strap which made you jump. “Off.”

He palmed the bulge in his pants as he watched you remove your shirt and unhook your bra. He squeezed one of your tits and pinched your pebbled nipple until you flinched.

“You want to pass?” he asked you, repeating the motion on the other side.

You nodded and he arched an eyebrow.

“Yes,” you said.

“You want to please me?” Now his hand ran gently along your jawline.

“Yes,” you breathed. You’d been trying all this time, studying hard, staying up all night to perfect your papers. Now you had a new goal in mind though you were afraid it was just as unattainable.

“Open your mouth,” he instructed and when you did he spit into it. “Don’t swallow that.”

You stayed like that, with your mouth open as he released himself from his pants. There was a dark patch on his boxer briefs stained by precum. You watched him wildly as he pulled at himself and a glistening bead appeared at his tip. Saliva, yours or his, was dribbling out of the corners of your mouth, dripping on your hard nipples.

“Don’t you look pretty. I hope you can suck cock better than you write papers,” he mocked.

For some reason this was what made your eyes pop. You asked yourself if you were really going to suck off your professor for a good grade. As if you hadn’t just handed him your panties. As if you hadn’t just let him smack your ass. As if your thighs weren’t drenched with your own slick.

He approached you, still stroking himself and you were jealous. You wanted that friction on yourself, were dying for more.

You didn’t have to be told what to do. You wrapped your wet lips around his thick length and your tongue swirled around him.

“Eyes on me,” he demanded.

You looked up at him, and grasped his shaft in your hand as you sunk your mouth around him as far as you could go. Your saliva dripped down his cock pooling in your fist.

“Fuck,” he said.

That word excited you. You kept going, watching him try to keep his eyes open as you surrounded him. The noise of your lips on him was almost disgusting, wet and squelching, and yet it was driving you insane. You clenched your core for some kind of relief that wouldn’t come.

He thrust deeper into your mouth and you tried to take him in but gagged. You pulled away, his cock bouncing out of your mouth and you coughed.

“Good girl,” he said. “Look at you trying to earn that extra credit.”

Tears stung in your eyes as you tried to recover.

“You still want to cum?” he asked, one hand pumping himself slowly.

You nodded timidly. More than anything in the fucking world. But you didn’t want to seem too eager, aware that he was ready at any moment to rescind the offer.

“Sit on the desk,” he said and you did. “Greedy little brat.”

Professor York slid your skirt up your thighs and that sensation alone felt erotic. He inserted two fingers into your mouth and you sucked them hungrily while he grinned.

He slid them across your folds and you were already so sensitive your back arched. He surprised you by getting down on his knees, opening your legs and throwing your thighs over his shoulders. You leaned back on your hands, laid out across the desk, fully on display.

You heard a noise in the hallway and gasped, your head snapping towards the door. But your attention was immediately drawn back to Professor York when you felt him smack you between the legs.

“Do you want to cum or not?”

“Please,” you begged.

He gave you a dark smile and then began nipping at the inside of your thighs. When he got closer to your center, he bit and sucked hard. You let out a breath, a mix of pleasure and pain.

“When you think about this later, I want you to touch yourself and look at this,” he said, swiping the pad of his thumb over the welt he’d just left there.

You let out a shuddering breath and he began to nibble at your clit between his lips. When your hand automatically shot into his hair, he grabbed you by the wrist and removed it, holding your palm against the desk. His tongue lavished you, churning you into a frenzy, and it didn’t take long before you were back where you’d been before. You were panting and grinding your hips into him.

This time he let you hit your high and you trembled and thrashed as he worked at you. It felt like you’d been wiped out by a wave, not being able to sense up from down. You were mewling and shaking when you finally begged him to stop, overwhelmed and cloyed.

He stood and wiped you from his chin and then said, “I’m going to fuck you now.”

You nodded frantically. He pushed into you and you were sure he could feel you still fluttering around him. You were wetter than you could ever remember but still he was difficult for you to take and you inhaled sharply. He didn’t seem to care, snapping his hips into you and grunting, one hand balling your skirt in his fist against you. Soon, though, you were lost in the sensation of his thrusts.

You didn’t even realize that you were whining loudly as he fucked you, your head thrown back in ecstasy. Professor York took your panties from his pocket and shoved them in your mouth to stifle your cries.

“You’re going to have to quiet down,” he rasped.

You whimpered against the fabric in your mouth and he smiled wickedly. He put his hand around the back of your neck to draw you in closer and he pressed into you faster and faster. He pulled out and you heard your own muffled moan at the loss of him. He worked at himself, spilling over your thigh and on your skirt with a groan.

Both of you took a moment to catch your breath and you watched as the professor leaned over you on his hands, swallowed, and then stood up, as composed as ever. He laughed quietly to himself as he took the panties out of your mouth and smoothed his hair.

“Put your clothes on. I have another class to get to,” he said, handing you a handkerchief and zipping himself up. He slid your panties back in his pocket.

You felt shaky on your feet after you’d mopped up his spend. You got dressed wondering how you were going to get through the rest of the day commando, with a ruined skirt, and the remnants of your professor’s cum drying onto your skin. He didn’t say anything else. You hooked your bag over your shoulder and Professor York looked you up and down one last time. He handed you back your essay. It was soaked through down the middle and you realized you’d been sitting on it on the desk. At the top was a new note in red pen: see me after graduation and his phone number.

You got an A.

-----

tagging some folks: @pascalslittlebrat @mouthymandalorian @starlightmornings @purplepascal042 @originallaura @cheekygeek05 @fangirl-316 @fairytale07 @tuskens-mando @rosiefridayrogersunday @a-skov @skulliebythesea @oceanablue @rebel-soldat @goddessinwolfskin @stevie75 @yespolkadotkitty @danniburgh @221bshrlocked

[dashielldeveron]

and i’ve gotta crow | takami keigo

hawks x pro-hero! reader. quirk unspecified.

summary: “You’re suffering from amnesia,” says Hawks to you, in your hospital bed.

No, you are not.

“We’re engaged to be married.”

No, you are not.

After an accident that was that bastard Hawks’s fault, you decide to play along with your diagnosis of amnesia, among other things, because how far can you make your former bully bend over backwards for you?

fluff/trickery??? completely avoidable angst, bc reader is a little shit. hawks is a scumbag bully at first. reader is honestly kind of violent. dealing with acne in a scene.

When the first things you saw after groggily blinking your eyes open were multiple IVs in the back of your hand, you flipped over and snuggled farther into your hospital bed to deal with it later, but against your will you were forced to lie flat on your back to stare into the hospital fluorescents.

When the nurse fiddling with your IVs came into focus, he said, “You need to lie on your back. You have deep gashes on your lower abdomen, and tossing about too much could open the stitches.”

That sounded like bullshit, but you were too out of it to care. “Yeah, okay,” you said through a croak, “Oh, fuck.” You wrestled a hand to your throat, massaging it. “Am I waking up from a coma? Don’t let anyone see me until I’ve done my eyebrows.”

The nurse laughed through his nose. “No, don’t worry. You’ve barely been—” He cut himself off and frowned. “The news should probably be broken to you when you have emotional support. I’ll be back soon.”

He left.

Emotional support? Wouldn’t that fucking gash on your stomach be—ooh, ouch, don’t move.

Where’s your phone? Where’s your goddamn phone; where’s any of your personal belongings? If they got crushed, you’re killing Hawks on sight.

Hawks, oh, my God. Where is he? He’s dead. If he still has the audacity to bully you professionally—fuck.

He’d cornered you on patrol earlier—whenever that was—and cut into you in that casually, negging-type way that wasn’t enough to report but enough to make you stay up late and freak out about being good enough. It hurt your chest whenever you thought about it.

But this was the first time he’d gotten seriously physical.

He’d alit on the top of the warehouse next to you, landing what would have been haphazardly for anyone else (the arch of his feet against the edge, his toes barely touching roof) and had crouched next to you, his scarlet wings completely blowing your cover as they stretched and shuddered.

“What’s a little girl like you doing in this part of town?” Hawks had propped his chin on both his fists. “Thought shoplifters were more your calibre.”

“Hawks, this is actually really important to me, so please, please leave,” you’d said, keeping your eyes on the group you could barely make out through the skylight. They’d already been partially concealed by crates, so they were hard to see.

“Someone else give you a tip for their location?” He’d tapped your opposite shoulder with the end of his wing, but you hadn’t even flinched.

“Bruh, you know I’ve been on this for weeks,” you’d said, shifting away from him, “I even shared intel at your last briefing.”

“Is that what you were talking about?” Hawks had scratched his chin. “I zoned out. Usually the little cases female heroes present aren’t in my circle, and I like to unwind when brain power isn’t needed.”

You’d planned to rip his wings out feather by feather while you’d gritted your teeth. “You can’t talk to me like that, Hawks.”

He’d laughed, his eyebrows shooting up to his hairline. “C’mon, babygirl, have a slice of chill, won’t you? I thought you were one of the cool girls. Relax. I don’t mean anything by it.”

“Leave me alone, Hawks. You’re not gonna bully me into joining your agency. You’re not gonna bully me into quitting being a hero,” you’d said, inwardly screaming, “I’d tell you to go talk to someone who’d fall for your shit, but then, she’d have to suffer, too. So, fuck off into a sewer, jackass.”

“Oof,” Hawks had said, placing a hand over his heart and shaking his head, “You don’t have to be such a bitch, sweetheart. I’m only looking for my better half. Didn’t think it could be you, but I’d thought I’d give you a chance to prove me wrong. Don’t take yourself too seriously; just be along for the ride like the rest of us.”

“Huh,” you had said, and you’d stood and strode to the edge of the warehouse to your harness and rope, and you rappelled down the side of it as stealthily as you came up.

“I’ve been watching you all these years, sweetness, and I know you by now; I know how you really feel,” Hawks had said a bit too loudly while he flew downwards at your speed (braggart). “Strip away all of your busy work, your so-called hero trappings, and we’d mesh together just fine. We may be rough around the edges, but we clean up really nicely, don’t we?”

You’d unclipped your carabiner and stepped out of your harness, stashing it in your pack. “Fuck off.”

You’d moved towards the back entrance, but Hawks had slammed a hand against the concrete wall in front of you. You’d ducked under it and carried on, and he’d grabbed the back of your shirt.

“C’mon, if we didn’t know each other, and our eyes met from across the room at some hero gala, you’d be all over me, wouldn’t you?”

You had swiped his hand away. “I’d be putting a lid on my drink.”

His arms behind his back, Hawks had followed you through the door and behind the exposed pipes and closer to your targets. “Saw you coming onto Todoroki at the last one. You looked fine in his colours, but you would’ve looked better in mine.”

Don’t grace him with an answer; don’t grace him with an ans— “I wasn’t coming onto Shoto,” you’d said, pulling yourself up a couple of pipes for a better view—and you’d hit him when he flapped his wings to hover the few feet you’d ascended, because the noise might alert them.

“Yeah, you just simp for him, right? Then you didn’t step outside your comfortable ice queen act?” Hawks had gripped onto a pipe just underneath your ass. “You’re too much of a natural tease for that.”

How can you report him when he’s the head of his own agency? You guess the commission might listen, but what can they do besides slap his wrist? There’s really no one who can stop him, is there?

You hadn’t replied but instead crawled onto the iron catwalk. If you could position yourself about three-quarters of the way across, you’d be able to effectively activate your quirk and get this over with—wait, why would you think like that? You’d been waiting for this for ages.

A hand spreading across the small of your back had reminded you.

You’d flipped over with fire in your eyes and kicked him away as quietly as you could, but all he’d done was sit back on his knees to grin down at you, army-crawling your way through a dirty warehouse.

Would he take credit for your work again?

You’d shaken yourself. Eat my entire ass, Hawks. And with that, you’d continued inching towards your targets. When you’d gotten into position to watch them, Hawks had merely watched you.

You had scowled. “I’m gonna tear you a—”

“You had a hard childhood, didn’t you?”

A chill had unfurled up your spine, simple as that. Hawks now not only had the annoying air of an arrogant pick-up artist but also gave you an intense sense of danger. You’d moved away from him, regrettably away from your target, but Hawks had followed you, getting closer until his body heat had seeped into yours, a self-satisfied smirk plastered across his dumb face.

“I could take suuuuch good care of you, little girl,” he’d said under his breath, “if only you’d let me. No one else is crazy enough to call me out or want more than the bare minimum.” His wings had folded in on his back, making themselves as small as possible to get closer to you. “If you give in, tell me yes, say please, you wouldn’t have to let any worries cross your pretty little mind. All you have to do is let me in.”

“Yikes,” you had said, sucking in through your teeth, “God, you’re a creep.”

Hawks had slammed you down onto the catwalk, iron reverberating through the warehouse as it struck your head, and your targets had looked up by the time the catwalk hinges had loosened and had come crashing down in the midst of their meeting.

You’re really not supposed to shoot guns inside. Don’t they know that’ll ruin their ears? No matter, really. You had fought them anyway, amidst crates splintering open from whatever they were shooting at you—fuck, that was a big hole. What’s oozing out of that? Gross, don’t step in it.

One with a normal revolver—his arm had given a woody crack when you’d bent it backwards—God, that was nice. Good sounds. If you could sample them into a rap track, you would.

You’d been planning a collab with a popular rapper while you’d hurled yourself at another villain, sawdust flying—just to keep your mind busy, really, but fucking—fucking Hawks had bested whoever he’d half-assed to the ground and had shouted your way.

“C’mere, you little shit—”

He’d scooped you up while you’d been taking care of it by yourself, and he had pinned you down behind a stack of crates that reached the remains of the catwalk, straddling you but keeping most of his weight off, his wings outstretched yet still hidden from the cloud of sawdust rising with deep gurgling on the far side.

“What the fuck is wrong with you,” he’d said over the chaos, spit flying, “You can’t handle this; you’re gonna get fucking killed. I can’t babysit you all the time.”

“Get fucked; I’m the number fourteen hero,” you’d said, deadly still, but twitching in fury, “I can handle anyth—”

“Aww, fourteen. And one day babygirl might reach the single digits.” Hawks had sneered in your face. “If she manages to fuck her way through them.”

Your jaw had dropped, and you pretended to cough on sawdust and kicked him off in the confusion. Hawks had grabbed a hold of your calf, grappling for your thigh, while you’d scrambled to climb over crates to the gurgling mess on the other side; you could handle it, and you would.

You’d slapped his hands away, wrestled out of his grasp again and again, and you’d launched yourself into the dust—

Yeah.

While the fluorescent lights flickered overhead, you picked at a hangnail. You hadn’t braced yourself for the explosion, so, you guessed you deserved whatever was wrong with you now. Big-ass gashes on your stomach. Probably broken ribs. Something felt off in your left leg, besides—oh, ho, what had the doctors thought when they’d seen Hawks’s scratches?

What an idiot.

When the door creaked open, the nurse returned with a mug of water for you, but—what? Who’s that bitch following him?

You blinked, twice. With his hands in his pockets and his nasty little wings tucked in behind him, Hawks meandered to your bedside, his gaze on your throat as you swallowed down water.

God, you’re too tired to deal with him. Let’s get this over with.

The nurse glanced over his clipboard. “I’ve already told your partner this, but I thought you would want him here.”

Maybe if you ignore Hawks, he’ll leave.

“You were very brave today,” said the nurse, “Your work as a hero is greatly appreciated. You’re on temporary leave to heal, though. Like I said, you’ve got three, major gashes on your stomach, and your leg’s broken—the fibula split, if you want to know. You’ll be on crutches for a while. You have four broken ribs, and—” The nurse bit his lip and softened his voice. “You hit your head pretty hard. Nothing’s broken, but you should have amnesia, with the trauma you’ve endured.”

Should have? They don’t know? You sure as hell don’t fucking have amnesia. It barely happens in real life, and it definitely hasn’t happened to you. You remembered every fucking infuriating thing Hawks did to ruin your mission, and if he doesn’t square up—

“I’m so sorry, baby,” said Hawks, grabbing your hand. He stroked the back of it with his thumb, and then he took his glove off to hold you skin-to-skin. “You remember who I am?”

You just stared at him.

“Your fiancé’s been a real presence in the waiting room,” said the nurse, “He hardly stopped pacing the entire time you were in surgery. He wouldn’t even talk to fans.”

Oh, my God.

Holy fucking shit.

“Oops, sorry,” said the nurse, covering his mouth, “I know you were keeping it a secret. Don’t blame him, please; he only told me to be able to see you immediately.”

Shutting your eyes, you took a deep, deep breath. You have been handed a golden opportunity on a fucking Hawks-shaped platter, holy fuck, and by God are you going to take advantage of it. Imagine how much you can fucking humiliate him, how far you can take it. How much you can make him pay for how he treated you, and now, if he says he’s your fiancé, then he’s gonna fucking worship you. You’re going to mould him into your little bitch, and he’s going to thank you for it. And you’ll get endless dirt on him just by seeing his place.

Don’t fuck this up.

Exhaling, you opened your eyes, blinking a bit. You curled your lips into your mouth, biting the lower one. “I remember you’re Hawks,” you said in a nervous voice, “and I remember, uh.”

“Don’t hurt yourself, sweetheart.” Hawks squeezed your hand, his tone kind. “It’ll come back in time.”

You clutched Hawks’s hand while the nurse rattled off instructions and gave you your crutches, and Hawks squeezed your hand back, softly smiling at you.

When the nurse left, you turned to Hawks and said, “I’m so, so sorry, but I—I feel like there’s something big missing that I can’t remember.” You scratched your forehead with your free hand, dragging the IVs with you.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Hawks tilted his head, still gazing decidedly down at you.

“Oh, God,” you said, “Oh, fuck. I don’t know. Um.” Take it back. Take it way back. That way he’ll dig himself into a deeper hole. The more lies he has to create, the funnier it’ll be. “Let’s see, I, hm.” You already weren’t speaking like yourself, but you looked upward as you faked combing through memories. “I don’t know how things work chronologically, but the most recent memory I have of you is—it’s after a press conference, and I’ve never been in the building before,” you said slowly, “And I can’t find the bathroom, but some press keeps following me, and I—I faceplant in between your shoulder blades, right between your wings. You—” You lowered your voice, shrinking a little in the hospital bed, “You got rid of them so easily, with just a gesture, and you put your arm around me. You were—” You shook your head, staring at both of your hands. “—so warm.”

Was that too thick? That was too thick, wasn’t it?

His free hand shot to his mouth, and he bit his knuckle. “But sweetheart, that’s,” said Hawks, his eyes watering, “That’s only around the third time we met.”

You know.

“Shit,” you said, widening your eyes, “How long ago was that?”

“Three years.” Hawks squeezed your hand and kept the pressure longer than was necessary. “Three fucking years. You don’t remember anything past that?”

You pretended to be scared to look at him. “I’m sorry; I’m so sorry—”

“No, no, you don’t have to be,” said Hawks, and he leant towards you to lift your chin, rubbing his thumb against it, “It’s not your fault.”

You had to hand it to him: Hawks was a good actor.

But so were you.

***

Hawks disappeared for a while after that, but he manifested the day you were loosed from the hospital, more than giddy to carry all of your shit all the way to your flat. He was probably getting some sick pleasure from watching you hobble on your crutches.

“I can help you, if you lean on me,” said Hawks, giving you an easy grin, “I don’t want you to be in any more pain than you have to.”

“This is something I should do myself,” you said in what was hopefully a tough-it-out voice, “I’d like to be able to walk without depending on anyone.”

“I honestly think you ought to be in a wheelchair.” His wings bristled. “But what do I know? I could fly us to your place, if you like.”

“I don’t like. I’ve gotta concentrate on limping. Stop talking, Hawks.”

You got to your flat, and Hawks had guessed which key opened the door on the first try. Drat! He was already doing a good job of acting like he’d been here before, like he’s not surprised that the number fourteen hero lives in a pretty shitty apartment (you started living here as a student and got too damn comfortable for your own good—plus, you didn’t want your cat to endure the trauma of moving).

Hawks plopped your keys in the bowl by the door with a clatter, and he shut the front door behind you, flipping one of the locks.

He set your stuff neatly on the kitchen table—your purse, your tactical pack, your ropes—and lay your dry-cleaned hero suit over the back of a kitchen chair, and his hands were on you the next moment to guide you to your tacky, sunflower couch. Removing one crutch, he put your arm over his shoulder instead, one hand planted on your lower back above your bandages, and he eased you down onto the cushions.

Hawks then stepped over your legs to sit on your opposite side, and he brought your legs to rest in his lap, his hand gripping your non-casted leg. “Gotta keep it elevated, chickadee.”

You let yourself giggle. Time to get this shitshow started. “Thank you so much for helping me, Hawks; I know I’ve been a real hassle these past few days, and you shouldn’t have to deal with that sort of stress. You’re already under so much. I don’t understand how the commission would let you date anyone, let alone propose.”

“Oh, I know,” said Hawks, spreading himself out on the couch. He shifted himself to face you in addition to accommodate his wings—he was now positioned so that they’d drape over the arm of the couch instead of being squished against the back cushions. That bitch, he probably wasn’t used to couches that weren’t custom made to his special body requirements. Spoiled fuck.

“The commission was really pissed when they found out. Do you remember how, sweetness? Right, I’ll tell you,” said Hawks, running an ungloved hand through his hair before shaking it loose. “You remember up to the press conference with the faceplant. Short version is that you hated me for a good year before something clicked. You started acting awkward whenever I was around, avoiding me, and stuff. Sometimes getting red. I thought it was cute.”

You ducked your head. Flustered. He probably likes easily flustered women.

Wait. That’s not who you are. And he’d like you for who you are, if you’re engaged.

But at the same time, if you’re (gag) in love with him, wouldn’t you be flustered by some of the things he says?

Easy, baby. Take it as it comes. Pick your battles. Go with your gut.

And gut says make Hawks eat shit.

“You think I’m cute?”

“I know you’re cute.”

You’re going to stuff his own feathers down his throat.

“We got together at that dinner Endeavor’s agency sponsored. Do you remember that at all? That place with the purple lights. You’d gotten nervous from the crowd and had gone to take some of your anxiety meds. I caught you in the hall back from the bathroom and talked you down before going back out there.” He grinned sheepishly. “I’d like to say I’m the one who kissed you, but you took initiative before I had the guts.”

Funny. Hilarious, in fact. That was the night Hawks had solidified himself as the Biggest Dick in the World, because yeah, he’d caught you in the purple-lit hallway, but he’d caught you on the way to take your meds, not on the way back. You were talking yourself down from a panic attack and couldn’t argue him away, so he’d followed you into the bathroom, running his mouth and acting like it was an accident when the tip of his wing had knocked your two capsules down the sink.

He’d told you that if you’re a big girl, you’d be able to handle the rest of the night. Or you could leave at any time with him, and he’d make excuses that everyone would have to accept.

Honestly, you’d love to let his fake memory be true, because then, you’d be able to wear purple again without feeling queasy.

Cocking your head, you smiled. “That doesn’t sound like something I would do.”

Hawks let out a light laugh, craning his neck to rest his head on the back of the sofa. “That’s what you said that night, too. About how it felt out of character.”

“Was I good?”

Lifting his head, he raised an eyebrow at you: probably the first genuine emotion he’s shown you the whole time he’s been here. “Hm?”

“When I kissed you. Was it good,” you asked flatly.

“Oh,” Hawks said, his wings puffing out just barely, “Oh, sweetheart, you were amazing. Groundbreaking. Show-stopping.” His tongue flicked over his lower lip, and he shifted underneath your legs, leaning slightly towards you but holding eye contact before carrying on.

You shook your head. “I don’t have the energy to give you the makeout session you deserve,” you said, envisioning drowning him in the bathtub, “I’m exhausted. Forgive me.”

“Always,” said Hawks, “Want me to keep going?”

“You can hardly eat me out when we haven’t kissed yet.”

“I meant,” said Hawks, pausing to visibly swallow (was it real?), “about our relationship, but if you wanna eat—”

“Nah, keep going. So, I started the relationship? I must be crazy. Neither of us have fucking time to sleep, let alone be in a relationship.”

Hawks never shut up about how he was taking time out of his endlessly packed days to spend time with you, how time was precious to him, and if he’s spending time with you, why, then, you’d better pay up, bitch (always accompanied with his hands on his belt, subtly pointing his thumbs towards his cock).

Hawks shrugged with his wings instead of his shoulders. Interesting. Has he ever done that before? “The commission said that, but after I insisted we’d make time, they relented. Eventually,” said Hawks, jerking his head to the side, “Our quirks don’t exactly fit well, so we haven’t worked with each other professionally too often, and, of course, we’ve had to hide our relationship so that we can’t be a public weak spot to each other. Plus, we’re more marketable as eligible, young heroes.”

“Fuck the market,” you said, slumping into the pillows.

“There’s my girl,” said Hawks, grinning with his tongue caught between his teeth, “There’s her spark. I know, baby. I feel the same way, but being made into libidinous body pillows pays the bills, y’know?”

Nodding, you brought one of the couch pillows around for you to hug, and you smushed your chin into it. “Hawks,” you said, so quietly you almost couldn’t be heard over the A/C kicking on, “How long have we been engaged?”

“Four months,” he said, his grin unconsciously fading until he was essentially baring his teeth, “Since the twentieth.”

Taking a moment, you said, “I can’t remember anything at all.”

“That’s okay. It’ll come back.”

“No, I can’t—” You slid your hands through your hair, pulling at it, and you heaved a sigh. “Goddammit, Hawks. I wish I could—fuck. I’m missing something huge. I know I am.” Make him nervous. Make him lie awake at night. “I’m sorry, Hawks. It’s probably something really important, and I—”

“Shh, shh, shh, shh, it’s all right,” said Hawks, and he stood to lean over you, his hands rising to cup your face, and holy shit, his hands cover so much of your skin; is that legal? He’s got hands. “Don’t worry, baby. You’ve had a big day. Turn your brain off. I’ll take care of you.”

Red flag! Big, red flag! Creep! He’s a creep!

Your gaze fell to his jacket pockets. Does he carry date rape drugs on his person?

“Hawks, I don’t wanna inconvenience you any more than I have.”

“I’m your fiancé,” said Hawks, actually looking you straight in the eyes and not breaking, “I want to take care of you.”

“Sure, in the way the mob takes care of people.”

Hawks’s mouth opened slightly, and his eyes narrowed.

Cover it up. “I’m not sorry. I don’t trust your cooking. You’ll poison my spaghetti!” You made a dumb gesture, pinching your fingers together. “Have you seen The Godfather? There’s actually a pretty legit spaghetti recipe in it; it’s not too bad, but it’s kind of watery—”

Hawks brought your hand to his mouth to kiss your knuckles and let his lips linger. “Watch it with me?”

You shook your head. “I’m too tired. I’m going to bed.”

“I’ll join you.”

“No,” you said, “My bed’s not made with your wings in mind.” Fuck off to your own little sex next, Hawks. Get out of here. “If they got hurt, it’d be my fault. Go sleep in your own bed, all right?” Go home. Get mugged on the way.

Hawks sighed, blowing his hair out of his eyes. “If you insist. But you’ve gotta reach out to me for anything you have trouble with, yeah? Memories, opening jars, orgasms, you know.”

“I’m leaving,” you said, reaching for your crutches, “Ten minutes ago.”

***

“You didn’t tell me how you proposed.”

Hawks froze mid-bite of his ramen, but after a quick beat, he slurped the rest of the noodle up. “I was hoping you’d recall that on your own, baby. Get your own feelings about it, instead of me telling you how to feel.”

If you weren’t faking amnesia, you’d fucking break his nose for that. Bastard.

“I imagine once you tell me, the feelings will rush in,” you said, clicking your chopsticks twice for emphasis, “I want to remember everything, and if I don’t, well, I want to fall in love with you again.”

Hawks’s gaze glazed over for an infinitesimal moment. Score.

“It’ll sound goofy once I describe it.” With his wings cramped against the back of the booth, Hawks scratched the back of his neck—a classic move for pretending to be embarrassed. “I’m not exactly known for being romantic.”

Yeah, he’s known for fooling around with anyone who’s glittery, like a goddamn crow. If you’re paying attention.

“Aw, but Hawks, you’ve been nothing but so effortlessly romantic to me since I’ve been convalescing,” you said, rolling up the paper wrapper of your straw and soaking it in the ring your cup left on the table.

“Right, well. I flew us out to the countryside, to this overlook halfway up a mountain. You liked going rappelling there a lot. To practise for missions.” Hawks had some of your habits down, at least. Bet he gets the location wrong, though. “We watched the sunrise. We shared a thermos of tea. I asked you once the sun had risen, but you didn’t say yes right away,” said Hawks, “You jumped off the overlook without your gear, and I caught you. You were furious about it—you didn’t want me to see you overwhelmed. But you said yes.”

Ugh. That sounded about right. That sounded pretty realistic. Hawks was a fucking stalker.

“Fuck,” you said, burying your face in your hands, “That’s cute.” You stretched the skin of your cheeks before releasing, and you returned to your ramen. “Question: did we put the ring into storage, or something? I don’t have the little indent on my ring finger from wearing a ring too long, and I haven’t found anything at home.” Make him sweat. Make him stumble. Where’s the ring, Hawks?

With a flash of his eyebrows, Hawks maneuvered his straw to his mouth using only his lips, looking quite stupid, in your opinion. “Figured you’d ask that at some point. I’m so overjoyed to see you every time that I forget to bring it up. The ring’s been sent off to a high-level, government-backed, support company. I’ve pulled in a favour from the higher-ups. I wanted to turn your ring into something a little more personal and incorporate one of my feathers into it,” said Hawks, taking a moment to slurp his drink noisily, “Depending on how well it goes, I’d be able to help you if we’re separated and know where you are. At the very least—” Hawks ducked his head to give the illusion of staring up at you with wide eyes, his blond eyelashes light against his skin. “—I’d be able to feel your heartbeat. It would bring me great comfort.”

Great, so he’d have a GPS on you at all times, knowing whether or not you went somewhere he didn’t want you to. He’d be able to tell if you went somewhere your non-amnesia self would know about. Great. Phenomenal.

“Hawks, that’s very sweet,” you said, fiddling with the remnants of your straw wrapper, now fizzled out of its snake shape, “Wouldn’t the process hurt you, though? Since you can feel it.”

“Nothing more than a twinge, sweetheart,” said Hawks, holding up his hands, “And I’d bear any amount of pain for your sake.”

You fantasised about beating his head in with the back end of a rifle.

***

When you were told Hawks was waiting for you outside of the recording booth, you told the messenger that Hawks could wait until you were finished with five more takes. You could picture Hawks’s little pout at the news, his feathers bristling despite the closed space, and resigning himself to sit in one of those clangy, metal chairs out front, having to hunch forward so that he didn’t crush his wings.

The idol group adored the ingenuity of bone-crunching as percussion in a song, and along with that and some other combat foley, you were singing the bridge with the rapper of the group (the dance captain would sing your part for live shows). It’d be a good promo for the girl group and for you, and the song, “Spine,” was going to be released as a single as soon as it was polished.

Hawks perked up the moment you stepped through the secondary door to the booth, his eyes brightening and wings spreading to take up more space. “I didn’t think I’d catch you,” said Hawks, standing to take your hands (the cold leather gloves sucked the heat out of your hands), “I’ve got to fly, soon, but I wanted to tell you personally.”

“You’re not pregnant,” you said, fighting the urge to break his goggles/visor/hat thing.

His lopsided grin widened. “Not yet, baby. There’s gonna be a heroes’ gala held at the end of the month, and I wanted to let you know that I’m doing everything in my power to make it a positive experience for you. Here, I’ve got this woman’s phone number,” he said, fishing a slip of paper out of his jacket, “She’ll help accommodate the venue for your leg.”

Stupid fucking bastard man. He probably wanted to pick out your clothes himself, infantilise you and dress you up like a goddamn doll. Deny you your personhood. “I’ll be out of the cast by then.” You slid the paper into your back pocket.

“I know,” Hawks said in a way that was a fucking lie, “I just don’t want there to be any accidents. I can’t have my babygirl any more hurt than she is.” Hawks placed his cold, gloved hand against your cheek, and you, shutting your eyes, made yourself lean into it. “But contact her. She’ll make it the safest place it can be for you, even when I have to leave your side.”

God, galas were great. Big events for villains to ruin. You licked your lips thinking about using a new move you’ve learnt to take a villain down (involving clamping your legs around the villain’s neck to choke him as he crumpled to the floor—your combat coach had banned you from the move after you made her pass out). “Are we announcing our engagement, then? If we’re going together?”

“I’d love to,” said Hawks, “but only if you want to. The ring could be ready by then, if I ask them to rush it—”

“Let’s do it.” If you plunged the ring into icy water, would he start to shiver? Ooh, your ring’s going to act as a fucking bay leaf in your soups for a while.

“Oh,” said Hawks, sighing lightly with his eyes fluttering shut. He pressed his forehead to yours and rubbed his thumb over your cheek. “You have no idea how much that means to me, sweetheart. You are so dear to me, and I want everyone to know it. The best damn thing in my life. Thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you said, placing your hand on his face to push him away, “Don’t you have work to do, screw boy?”

***

“Did we have a date?” you asked from the edge of the bathtub.

Hawks dipped the razor in the water, washing off the hair and shaving cream. “We’ve gone on so many, darling; you’ll have to specify.”

“No, I meant for the wedding.” Let’s once again play: Can Hawks Cover His Own Ass?

Hawks dragged the razor down your freshly exfoliated, freshly-un-casted, freshly not-broken leg, starting at your knee. “Nope!”

“No explanation?”

“You wanna get married tomorrow? A six-month engagement is rather short, don’t you think?” His nose twitched. He’d said the scent of your shaving cream irritated his nose. Good.

“I don’t. Why didn’t we have a date for the wedding?” You eyed the actual and literal pile of your dead skin on the towel. Maybe you should make Hawks snort it.

“We were too busy working; you’d said you didn’t mind having a long engagement, so long as I was yours. Then, uh, you know. The accident,” Hawks said with a shrug—with his shoulders this time, because if he moved his wings while he was crouched in your bathtub, he’d soak them, and they were a bitch to dry, apparently. Suffer, you rat bastard.

“The commission isn’t involved in that decision?”

“I thought that was implied,” said Hawks, gripping your ankle to turn your calf to the side, “They don’t want it to be a huge spectacle, so even I don’t know how much of a wedding wedding they’d let us have.”

He’s too damn good at this. If he weren’t a pro-hero, he’d fit right along in a theatre troupe.

You’re going to wring his neck.

You caught him staring at the crotch of your underwear (bone-dry, you might add) while he shaved your thighs, and he spent more time rubbing lotion into your inner thighs than anywhere else. He tossed your dead skin before you could make him eat it, and he scooped you up against your protestations about your weight and capability, humming while he carried you to your bed.

The fucker tucked you in and rounded up your cat to place in your arms (your cat disagreed with him and promptly leapt off the bed).

“Let me stay with you,” said Hawks, kissing each of your fingertips. It’s an order.

Yet you shook your head.

***

“The doctors said you shouldn’t drink,” Hawks said under his breath, taking the champagne flute gently from your grasp.

“But I want to,” you said, sticking out your lower lip, “I’m wearing goddamn heels and a fucking dress. I’ve got on makeup, for Christ’s sake. I’ve done my time; let me drink.”

“Baby, you’ve got to stay safe,” he said, and he set the glass next to some 40s-level hero’s place at the long, white tablecloth. “There’s already press paying more attention to us than usual. You wanna make a fool of yourself?”

“Yes,” you said, lifting another champagne flute from a passing gala waiter, “Who gives a shit about the press.”

Hawks laughed too loudly to be natural before lowering his voice. “Baby, you are gonna be the death of me.”

“Promise?”

***

When “Spine” was released on a cool, spring morning to an excitable audience, you were lurking in alleyways by the docks, searching for a fight. When the music video dropped, you were smashing some guy’s face into a concrete wall. While more and more citizens recognised you and your talent, your work for the community, your connections, your popularity—with your rank steadily rising—you were rappelling down a port sewer to pummel a slime villain into dust.

You wiped his blood off on your pants, hands devoid of anything that could taint. You’d left the ring at home.

***

“You tricked me,” you said, scowling as Hawks pushed you forward, “This isn’t the rock climbing park.”

Once you deliberately smashed your face into the glass door and crossed your arms, Hawks held the door open for you. “Would you have dressed up so nicely for rock climbing?”

“A meta-game challenge,” you said, “to rock-climb in a long skirt.”

You glowered about the restaurant while you and Hawks stood in the lobby, his hand low on your back, suspiciously respectfully. You made no effort to hide your distaste: it was the place with the purple lights.

Over there at the absurdly long bar, Endeavor had drunk flat whisky without so much of a growl at anyone, despite it being his event. Hexagonal tables with lilac tablecloths dotted the floor—you’d hidden in one of the few booths, up against the exposed brick wall—but your hiding place had been ruined once a violet disco ball had emerged from the ceiling. Shiny, wooden floor that had reflected your post-panic attack face right back at you and let every shoe strike it with a clatter. No silence allowed.

The whole restaurant had lavender LED lights running around the walls, swathing the place in a distorted sort of purple haze, and any candles lit on the centre tables had indigo flames—you’d focused on how those might have been made in the process of coming down from your panic attack.

God. You’re going to throw up.

The hostess escorted you and Hawks to a farther back room, this one with booths separated by small, brick walls that didn’t reach the ceiling yet concealed the booths’ occupants from each other—unless you were passing directly in front of one.

Hawks made you sit in the booth first, trapping you in as he settled. He had to be on the edge, anyway, he told you, because of his wings. You’re going to rip them off and boil them in the soup.

The two of you ordered. You don’t remember what. You can only channel so much of your nerves into jostling your leg. This is not cool. This place is not cool. You need to get out.

“Hey, let me through,” you said, nudging Hawks, “Bathroom.”

Once there, you lightly slapped your cheeks a couple of times, trying to ground yourself through physical sensation. No use. Can’t they fucking use normal lights in this place?

You didn’t have your panic meds, because you’ve never needed them rock climbing. You can do it. You’re fine. You’re fine. Your tongue is too big for your mouth.

You took your time meandering back to the booth, coming to a halt at the end of the narrow hallway and ducking behind the corner.

Endeavor stood by your booth, his arms crossed over a flaming chest. You caught your breath at the sight of his orange fire, a comforting contrast to all the damn purple, but still—Endeavor. Talking to your (gag) fiancé.

Without the courage to interact with Endeavor, you listened at the corner for his departure.

“Nah, she can handle her bladder just fine. It’s her nerves,” Hawks was saying, hidden by the bricks, “She likes hiding. She doesn’t necessarily like being in the spotlight.”

“Yet she hasn’t completely withdrawn as Eraserhead has. You’ve picked a strange one to marry.”

From the angle Endeavor glared at him, Hawks must be slumping in his seat. “But that’s what so great about her. And it’s hard to process, y’know, like, she’s finally mine. You follow?”

“Regrettably,” said Endeavor, “Regardless, I offer my congratulations that your courtship finally worked out in your favour. You should have told me sooner.”

Courtship. That’s a funny way to pronounce bullying.

“Eh, I’ve gotta have some secrets, don’t I? Can’t betray my otherwise cool exterior.” Hawks laughed. “I can’t believe I’ve been allowed such happiness. The woman I’ve loved for years is gonna be waking up to me every day soon, y’know?”

Hawks has got to know you can hear him, otherwise he wouldn’t be saying those things. Endeavor must be in on Hawks’s ruse, since Endeavor is Hawks’s closest—actually, Endeavor isn’t the type to revel in romantic shit. Endeavor straight-up isn’t the type to revel. To the best of your knowledge, Endeavor doesn’t genuinely like Hawks as so much as tolerates him; when did they get so close? It must have taken a long time—

Time.

You could feel your IQ dropping as you actually considered: had you been in a legitimate coma? Had you (fuck) genuinely had amnesia?

No, no. You don’t live in Crazytown. Your eyebrows hadn’t been overgrown when you’d woken up in the hospital. You’d only been there a day.

Of course, Hawks is a vain piece of shit and does his own eyebrows, so he might have considered that yours were a piece of pride/insecurity for you and may have done them while you were—did Hawks do his own eyebrows? That spoiled fuck probably had someone else to do them for him. If they were naturally like that, you were going to throttle his ass.

You didn’t fucking have amnesia. Hawks is and always has been a stupid, clammy birdbrain. He’s always been cruel to you. He didn’t fucking like you.

He sure as hell wasn’t in fucking love with you.

Oh, my fuck, what if your memories of Hawks have been fabricated by a coma-addled mind and that—

“Hey, there,” said—said someone, some pale-ass, sleep-deprived freak who startled you out of your head, “Are you all right? You look—I mean, do you need some water? A chair?”

You blinked, yet he wouldn’t come into focus—you were taking in details about him, ones that didn’t fucking matter (chain on his wallet, three rings all on the left hand, a button-down missing the last button, a cloud of axe body spray), but he didn’t register as a human person. He couldn’t; you hadn’t grounded yourself yet. You yourself still had a frazzled, cartoon scribble buzzing inside of your chest, and until you vomited it up, a panic attack may yet still happen.

You can’t deal with anyone new right now.

A spark of recognition crossed the new guy’s face, and he, through a smirk, asked if you were your hero name.

Oh god oh fuck not now

“Sweetheart,” came Hawks’s melodious drawl (registering first his voice, then bodily warmth, then the wingtip covering your ass), “You were taking so long that I came to check on you.” He pulled you by the waist towards him, blocking the guy from seeing your face by pressing it into his chest. “Who’s this?”

Who cares. All you could focus on (sharp and overwhelming, nothing else but) was how fucking incredible Hawks smelled, and at this point, you’d use anything to bring yourself back down to earth. A small voice in the back of your head told you that freaking out to this degree in this particular situation was leaning towards pathetic, since basically nothing happened, besides being in an uncomfortable environment and being accosted by a fan at the wrong time, but you? You did not control the rate at which your brain panicked.

And really, no rhyme or reason played into why your grabby little hands itched for human contact once safe in the booth again, why Hawks’s scent lay on your tongue more heavily than your soup, why the overwhelming sensation of being so fucking spaced out of it threw its entire weight upon your shoulders—you couldn’t find yourself. You were lost.

And in this horrible, purple place, the only thing that’s familiar was Hawks.

When you scooted as closely as you could to him in the booth, keeping your glare towards your lap while you looped your arm under his to snuggle into it, Hawks cleared his throat to say, “What’s this?”

You scowled into his jacket, both hands gripping his forearm.

He set his chopsticks down. “How can I help, darling?”

Growling, you bonked your forehead against his shoulder, dragging your hands down to his.

“Hey,” said Hawks, and he guided your face towards his and stroked your cheek with his thumb, “Did that guy bother you too much before I got there?”

Turning your mouth towards the hand cupping your cheek, you kissed his palm, bit the leather, and kissed it again before burying yourself in his shoulder again.

He rested his hand on the crown of your head. “What’s the matter? Can you tell me?”

“Not sure I can put it into words,” you said, “I think I wanna go home.” You bit the fabric of his jacket and gnashed it between your teeth.

“I can handle that,” said Hawks, “Gimme a moment to get takeaway boxes, yeah? Then we’ll leave, and you’ll be safe. Don’t worry.”

Unfortunately, you were still clutching onto his arm by the time he unlocked his darkened penthouse (because you’re not gonna hold his hand. God), but you slapped his hand away from the light switches.

“Turning them on would be too much stimulation,” you said, “Please don’t.”

Hawks hummed against the top of your head, placing keys and both of your phones on the kitchen counter. “Bed or couch?”

“Window,” you said.

“Window?”

“I’m assuming you’ve got one.”

“I do,” said Hawks, guiding you through his dark apartment, probably past scarily expensive, posh shit. He led you to what was most likely his living room, with the cool, dim light of the night sky through a vast, single-frame, wall-to-floor window illuminating furniture custom built for his wings, but he eased you down onto the carpet, tugging your shirt upwards so that the window would be touching your bare skin on the small of your back.

Hawks yanked his boots off, late, instead of at the door, and he tossed them over his shoulder. He took yours off, too, and once he’d set them aside, he sat next to you against the window, a hand on your thigh.

“Better?”

“Probably,” you said, staring at the triangle of light beige carpet between your crossed legs.

“Need me to talk? You need to talk?”

“Not right now.”

Hawks was a dumbass. He’s such a fucking dumbass. But he’s a dumbass who’s here right now, and he’s interested (?) in you, interested in helping you. And good golly, you have to be touched. Hawks’s offering warmth, freely, potentially lovingly, and all you had to do was reach out to take it, even if you didn’t reciprocate whatever sentiment was motivating him yourself.

Do you really want to take what you have no feelings for?

Hawks lies a lot to Endeavor. To everyone. He might not have been lying earlier. What reason had he to lie?

Guess it didn’t matter, because you were lying.

But good God, you haven’t been kissed in a long time. Haven’t felt safe or loved. You could…you could indulge for a few hours in order to calm down. You could pretend.

The last ten months had proved that.

“Hey,” you said idly, reaching out to grab the inner fleece lining of his jacket to rub it between your fingers, “Hawks, I’m gonna—I’m gonna put my mouth on your mouth. Okay?”

Hawks’s wings ruffled and constricted themselves so that he could move closer to you, and his hand has migrated from your thigh to grip your hip—how could anyone’s hands encompass that much of you? Your fucking hands couldn’t, not in the way his does.

(Bird man big and safe.)

([No, fuck you, don’t think that.])

(BIRD MAN SAFE—)

Shoved is how you’d describe the first few seconds of the kiss, followed closely by wet and you’d think his teeth would be sharper. Your lips didn’t line up with his completely until he adjusted your chin with two of his fingers, guiding it open just barely, as well, so that his tongue could graze your teeth—it took you a moment of processing before parting them, with a final don’t think! shouted to your neocortex.

Birds have a higher body temperature than other animals, on average having a body temperature of 105 degrees Fahrenheit (40 degrees Celsius). The colour of their feathers, of course, affects how much light and heat they absorb, with the lighter coloured feathers—say, red—reflecting more, rejecting outside heat sources.

Yet Hawks gripped you like he’d fucking freeze if he weren’t clutching you, if he weren’t straddling your legs, one palm flat against the cool of the window by your head. The other snaked around you, his forearm lying almost vertically up your back to press down between your shoulder blades, keeping you as near to his chest (he probably didn’t realise it, but his fingers ran across the curve of your shoulder blades where his wings were on his own body.

For some reason, the thought crossed your mind that you weren’t enough for him, because you were too dissimilar.)

Don’t think!

When he massaged your tongue with his, applying pressure sporadically, you returned the action—have you ever seen a bird tongue up close? They’re fucking nasty little things, looking more like a grub than anything else. Thank God Hawks had a normal, human tongue that performed particularly delightful, normal things, like drag across the roof of your mouth and aid in sucking phenomenal hickeys onto your jawline, licking over where he’s bitten and kissed.

Stop thinking about bird anatomy. Hawks has no discernible bird traits except for his fucking wings. He’s not a fucking bird man. He’s just some dude with wings. And not all birds have functional wings; for example, the ostrich and the penguin do not have wings to be used in flight—

Oh, my fuck. Turn your brain off.

Your stomach lurched. That had been something Hawks had told you too often, back before your accident.

It’s what he wants.

Hawks fucking whimpered when you pulled the shorter hairs at the back of his neck, prying him away from your skin with great difficulty—he kept trying to touch you with his mouth and tongue in the process.

“Let me have more,” he said, panting, his breath heavy and just below your ear, “Please.” He pressed his lips to the spot in front of your ear in a weak kiss, having spent himself for the most part. “I’ve missed you so much, baby. I’ve been waiting for you to come back to me for so long.”

“I don’t—” You fake-stuttered, but it turned out you needed the time to put your thoughts into words. “I don’t think I’m back yet. I’m,” you said, taking as deep a breath as you could with Hawks smushed against your chest, “Something’s missing. Something big.” That’s right. Steer it back in his direction. Make the bird man sweat. “I don’t—something doesn’t feel right.”

It took a moment, but Hawks nodded fervently, shutting his eyes. “Of course. Yeah. Yeah, I get it, sweetheart. Can’t do anything when your heart’s not in it.”

Your heart’s not the problem. “Thank you for being so understanding, Hawks,” you said, untangling yourself from underneath him, “Would you just, uh, hold me for a while?”

His wings wrapped around the both of you on his enormous bed, still fluttering with each slow breath he took. Hawks almost looked genuine while he slept, and probably for the best—at least he was getting rest; at least his guard might be down.

You couldn’t sleep. Your mind was racing.

***

“Rank speculation is out,” you said, scrubbing the pumice stone over a patch of dry skin on Hawks’s back and scrolling through the twitter with your other hand, “Take a look.”

He opened the link you sent once he’d safely removed a dead feather that had been lodged in an odd spot in a wing. “Huh. Think I could truly take on Endeavor?”

“Well, he’s got that abusive-to-his-family thing, while you’re rocking the preparing-for-my-wedding look, and he can’t network non-aggressively to save his life.”

“Nor can you.” Hawks shot you a smirk over his shoulder.

“Zoom in on my speculated nine, baby,” you said, flicking away some dead skin with a satisfied/disgusted sneer, “And I didn’t have to sleep my way there.”

“Ah, ha, ha,” said Hawks, “Knew you could do it. Whoever’s told you that is gonna have to deal with my foot up their ass. You’re more than capable of getting there on your own.”

“Which I did. I have.” Wait. Hawks told you that. No, it’s fine. It’s fine. It’s a commonly said, misogynistic comment towards women heroes. Hawks isn’t special. “But having your foot up someone’s ass wouldn’t be good for PR, unless you wanted to advertise that you’re a kinky son of a bitch who’s cheating on his fiancée.”

“I would never,” said Hawks, and, contorting his arm, he grabbed your hand with the pumice stone to kiss the back of it, “But my PR is solid, regardless.”

“If the public knew how much time you had to spend preening these fucking wings, they’d probably appreciate you more. Or call you conceited.”

Hawks hummed. “It’s a necessary evil,” he said, returning to his wingtip to search for dead feathers. “Thank you for helping.”

“No problem. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t get to see how—Hawks, holy fuck. Do you feel that?” You ran a finger near the base of a wing.

“It’s your finger?”

“No, this,” you said, tapping the spot.

“No?”

“My God. It’s a dilated pore of a winer,” you said, already reaching for the tweezers, “Right at the base of your wing. It’s basically an enormous fucking blackhead. I’m popping it. Oh, my God. I’ve never seen one in real life.”

“You’re popping it?”

“You didn’t have a problem with my getting the ones where your costume sits.”

“No,” said Hawks, rolling back his shoulders, his wings spreading with them, “Gotcha. Get on with it.”

“Can I film it?”

“What? No,” said Hawks, “No one can see me preening, let alone dealing with acne.”

“There’s sure to be another hero out there with a wing quirk, right? I don’t know how you can’t feel it.”

“Yeah,” Hawks said slowly, “Since my feathers can feel—I suppose where the wings merge with my skin is pretty numb. I haven’t ever had to think about it.” He licked his lips. “Funny.”

He continued to scroll through his feed and tend to his feathers while you worked at his back. “Bad news: the tabloids got a hold of our grocery list from the last time we went to the shops. I must have dropped it at some point in the store.”

“Oh, so do they know what kind of ice cream we prefer? The horror.”

“No, but they’ve brought in some hack handwriting analyst. Talking about our annotations for each other on the list. Something about how you’re logical and I’m a romantic. The writer of the article is practically swooning.” Hawks pulled out a clot of feathers with his teeth and spat them aside. “With good reason, though. The trashy pictures they snapped of us are hot.”

“Describe them to me.”

“I can show you—”

“No,” you said, concentrating on your work, “I don’t want the image imprinted on my brain. Describe them in your own words.”

“All right,” said Hawks, crossing his legs and placing his phone on the coffee table in front of him, “To start, the flash is on.”

“Oh, fuck.”

“Yeah. We’ve got that distantly surprised look going on. It looks like we’re near the eggs and cheese. You’re not looking at the camera, but I believe it’s in the moment I caught it.” Hawks flicked away a feather and let it fall to the carpet. “My hand’s on your waist. The other’s on the cart. You’ve scrunched your face up in concentration; it’s really cute.”

“Aw, we should get it framed,” you said, wiping away the gunk with a tissue and wadding it up so that no one will ever have to see or touch it ever again.

“Never,” said Hawks, “The first picture of us I wanna get framed should be on our wedding day.”

“It’s coming along quickly,” you said, setting aside the tweezers, “Bit more quickly than I’d thought it would.”

“Yeah, I can’t wait,” said Hawks with a light laugh, and you ducked to rest your head against his shoulder, straining your neck to reach him over his wing.

Hawks clicked his non-nasty, non-bird tongue. “What’s the matter, sweetheart?”

Sighing, you said, “Turn your head this way.”

He did you one better, since he anticipated your plan. He twisted around, keeping his legs crossed as he pulled you into his lap. His wings initially bristled but wrapped around you when his arms did, and Hawks kissed your cheek, once, twice, until he arrived at your mouth, where he barely grazed your lips, rather letting his hot breath spread over your face—and he grinned up at you with half-lidded eyes (he’d left off his eyeliner today, but the natural marks below his waterline kept his eyes sharp, anyway).

“Kiss me, you fucking idiot,” you said, overriding whatever he was about to do by kissing him yourself, hard and open-mouthed, almost violent in its fervent. Yet Hawks held you lightly, delicately, but still close enough to freeze.

You ran your cold, cold hands over his bare abdomen, pressing your thumb down with considerable force to trace his muscles (he grunted at that, and that’s it; that’s right—make him squirm; make him sweat; make him yours). His finger only toyed with the hem of his shirt that you were wearing, as if waiting for you, which didn’t line up with what you had garnered about Hawks at all, but c’mon, man, come on; didn’t you want this all those months ago? Almost a year, now? Years, if what he said to Endeavor is true? But when he flinched away with a shaky breath once your cold fingers circled his nipple, you knew this was where you were supposed to be: right here, in Hawks’s lap, completely destroying him with hardly anything at all. Nothing but light touches and a strategic flick of your tongue. Idiot man. He must really like you if this is doing it for him.

You slowed and opened your eyes at that thought, frowning, and you pulled away. With the back of his hand, Hawks wiped saliva off of both of your mouths, yours first.

He waited for you.

“If you can’t take all of me, then what’s the point?”

He tilted his head. “I’ll take whatever part of you you’re willing to share.”

“I’m missing something.”

“I know.”

“I want to find it before we get married.” You laid your palm flat on his chest, and he grinned at the cold.

“You can find it,” he said, “I know you can.”

“I don’t know what I’m blocking out,” you said, lying—or maybe you weren’t? Fuck it. “Whatever I’m repressing is really fucking with me.”

“Take your time,” said Hawks, running his tongue over his lower lip. “I’m here for—”

“Hawks,” you said, faking the light of realisation in your eyes, accompanied with a sharp inhale, “I can’t remember your name.”

Hawks’s mouth snapped shut.

“You told me once. I know you did,” you said, moving to cup his cheek after tapping the mark underneath his eye, “but the memory—there’s a blur where you spoke. I—” You cut yourself off, biting your lip. “That, that might be it. I don’t know. Everything else about the scene is in perfect detail. I remember what fucking socks I was wearing, for Christ’s sake. But you. What you said. Maybe it’s something so personal, so intimate, that I’ve repressed it. Maybe it was too much for me to handle.” You cupped his face with both hands now, forcing him to look at you. If you hadn’t been scrutinising him for some evidence of breaking character, you wouldn’t’ve seen the minute quivering of his upper lip. Hardly there, but it was there. “It’s a part of you that I want. Even if I couldn’t handle it before, I want to try now.”

Hawks averted his gaze, even though he couldn’t move his head. And bang, you’ve got him. Hawks’s name was still strictly secret, hidden by the commission, but if he’s genuinely in this dumbass situation for the long haul, if he’s truly in it for you, then he would have told you. Even if he wanted you to continue to call him Hawks, your own fiancé would have told you his damn name.

So, this is it. The way out.

Hawks was going to feel so stupid when he found out you’ve been faking all this time. Good. Let each feather burn.

“Keigo,” he said, staring into your eyes with a newfound determination, “My name is Takami Keigo.”

Oh, shit—you clapped a hand over your heart, your eyes widening. Maybe you could play this off as memory recovery instead of absolute shock? But you hadn’t any memories to recover, probably. Holy fuck.

Where do you go from here?

You tried to say his name but ended up simply mouthing it, and after clearing your throat and coughing a bit, you managed to say it aloud. “Keigo,” you said softly, reaching for his hand, “Keigo, I fucking love you.”

You’d only been kissing him for a few moments before his wings shuddered in a muscle spasm and flung you off to the side.

***

Only a commission higher-up witnessed your wedding. She stood silently to the side the entire ceremony in the courthouse and only shook Hawks’s hand afterwards.

You and your cat essentially moved into his penthouse and adjusted. Your mostly empty apartment stayed leased under your name.

Sometimes, you’d note that you turned your brain off and instantly be hit with a lightning strike of self-loathing—but you didn’t have to consciously decide to be affectionate with Hawks. Being with him came naturally and easily. Probably for the best, since if you had to think about it, you’d screw it up.

You stayed together. Supported each other. Sneaked out to see the other on patrol. Took care, listened to each other. Defended each other. Worked it out.

And now, you stared up at the ceiling fan whirling in your darkened bedroom, Keigo lying on his stomach next to you in the bed as he slept. Your cat catloafed between his wings and nestled into them, rising and falling with each breath he took. Hawks was perfect, always saving the day, working up a routine to mesh with your fighting style and quirk, always charming and easygoing with the people he rescued, indulging you in your ferocity, and Keigo, Keigo whispered sweet and dirty things into your ear when he spotted you in public, made you laugh, worked wonders with his cock, helped you clean up before he even thought of preening himself, held you, and made you feel held. He’s got it bad.

And maybe you do, too.

Hawks was going to feel so stupid when he found out.

[keilemlucent]

valentine’s ‘brawl’

(NSFW drabble)

hawks | takami keigo x reader

word count: ~1k

two to tango, two to tussle

warnings: dom/sub, play fighting, choking, it’s horny enjoy <3

hello hello!!! me and some of my loves did a little secret valentine’s drabble exchange!!! this is my little lovely valentine’s gift for @shadowworks​ 💕 please check out her drabble, along with @hawnks​ and @some-kindofgnome​‘s as well!!!

Valentine’s day usually meant wine, chocolates, and an uncomfortably large amount of cum lube smeared between your thighs, but this valentines day—

You found yourself straddling Keigo’s hips, hands wrapped around the bones of his wings as you pinned him to the rich, fuzzy rug of his living room.

Sure, there was some sensual music bumping behind you from his far-too expensive speakers, and Keigo’s cock was definitely hard enough to cut steel, but you had him fucking pinned and that was what mattered, romantics aside. 

The ‘fighting’ had been a joke, the product of some jab Keigo made about you being ‘too weak to pin a nearly flightless bird’ given the nearly stripped state of his wings. You took his words as a challenge, obviously.

Promptly after your sweet Valentine’s date, you started your wrestling match on the floor of his apartment.

Keigo was a pro hero, notably. He had years of training and skill under his belt. There was no doubt he was a force to be reckoned with.

All the same, he was panting beneath you with rosy cheeks and wide eyes.

You couldn’t help but feel a little smug (very smug).

His dress shirt, something soft with a swirling maroon pattern, had the first few buttons popped and scattered away. The soft skin of his collarbones and chest was beared, already tacky with a layer of sweat from tossing each other around on the floor.

“You’ve really got me pinned here, don’t you?” Keigo chuckled, wings flexing in your grip.

You squeezed the sensitive flesh between the feathers, a smug little grin playing over your features as Keigo’s eyes rolled back and his hips bucked. With a sweet kiss to his cheek, you said, “I really do.”

Your dress had ridden up your thighs, the lace edges of your stockings pressing delicate patterns into your skin. You’d caught Keigo ogling them more than once throughout the night, and he’d felt you up expertly during your little spar.

Your little powertrip had you reeling.

“I could do anything I want right now to you,” You bit your lip, feeling your cheeks heat with all of the wonderful ideas coming to mind. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Being used a little?”

Keigo raises an eyebrow, tilting his head with a gleaming smile, “You really think you could?”

Your adrenaline-emboldened confidence wavers, but only for a moment, “Of course, bird boy. I’ve got the upper hand here, don’t I?”

And then, Keigo made it quite clear he’d let you win.

Very clear.

His wings ripped from your grip, flapping once or twice to create enough momentum to lift him from beneath your weight. His legs tangled with your own, and he grabbed your torso in a wide, firm grip and fucking seamlessly spun the two of you.

Your breath rushed from your chest as you hit the carpet, flat on your tummy, cheek against the fibers. Your hands were held tight and flush to your back in Keigo’s iron grip. He panted above you, hips just barely moving to grind his cock against your ass from where he sat atop your hips.

Your stomach dropped when you heard him laugh. Not his usual trill, but something far-more smug, and a few degrees darker.

“That was really cute, you know?” Keigo shook his head, hot breath fanning over your cheek. “You really thought you had me down for the count, didn’t you?”

Any and all of your wilting confidence died in your throat, “M-maybe.”

Keigo clicked his tongue, “Just ‘maybe’? Sounds like you’re lying to me, dovey.”

“I’d never—” Your words cut off with a sharp intake of breath as Keigo pushed up the hem of your dress, up and over the curve of your ass and leaving you bare aside from your very cute panties.

You gulped.

“Oh wow,” Keigo whistles, snapping the elastic against your hips, “Are these for me?”

“Maybe—”

“There’s that word again!” Keigo smacked a hand over your ass, tensing his thighs and bearing down on you with outstretched wings as you squirmed. “‘Maybe’. You know what you’re absolutely going to do tonight?”

You bit your lip, eyeing him the best you could. You were sure the wet spot in your panties was growing.

He leaned closer, lips and teeth playing along the shell and lobe of your ear, “You’re gonna take me, however the fuck I want you to, because you know you want to be good for me even if you put on such a tough act tonight.”

He pinches the fat of your ass, muffling your squeal with a few fingers between your lips and on your tongue.

Shame burned on your cheeks and god, did it feel good. Good enough to have your eyes rolling back in your skull and you whimpering around his fingers.

Keigo groaned something sinful and low as he loudly and pointedly unzipped, the weight (the weight) of his cock settling over the swell of your ass over the seam of your soon-to-be-shredded panties.

“I’m not gonna lie, it was really cute,” Keigo placed a sweet kiss on your cheek just as his hand wrapped around the column of your throat and squeezed. His voice dropped low, rough with wanting as he pressed at your pulse. “But, I think you’d be a lot cuter fucked out on his floor and stuffed dumb with dick.”

You wanted to give some sort of last breath of confidence, but Keigo sucked down the last bits of your gusto with an open-mouthed, sloppy kiss, and you knew that you were fucked.

You could only hope that you would be split on Keigo’s dick until the early hours of the morning. All you could manage was a gasping whine and a nod, bracing yourself to reap what your little, foolish ego sewed.

And with a sharp nip to your neck, you can (happily) predict that it’s going to be a long fucking night.

[denkineptune]

mha date headcanons- boys and girls :))

♡ request: “i love ur blog already, ur writing is so good!!! im so excited to see the content u’ll be posting !! :D since ur taking requests, how abt some date headcanons for the mha boys (or girls if u want!) ?” - @dianangels​ 

♡ thank you for letting me write girls aaa i chose to do some as first date hc. it was kinda hard to keep jirou’s gn because i wanted to reference wlw stereotypes but i succeeded in gender-neutral because i want everyone to be able to enjoy

♡ dedicating part of this to @anxious-botanist​ because she’s the one who inspired the momo cuddles hehe sorry it took so long

♡ fic details: headcanons, fluff, gender-neutral reader, 2nd pov

characters: kaminari, amajiki, jirou, ashido, yaoyorozu

kaminari- arcade

↠AR C ADE   DA T  E

↠you hear me??? arcade!! date!! ideal man, right here, someone claim him immediately or else i will be forced to take ownership

↠he’s super laid back and chill, pretty childish at heart. he only means the best, though, so i think an arcade is exactly what he would go for when taking you on a date! he doesn’t have a lot of money but still wants you to go home with something to remember the date by

↠he buys like $50 worth of tokens and splits it between the two of you, making sure that he tells you which games give the most tickets, because he’s definitely been here enough times to remember

↠his favorite game is either crossy roads or the big bass wheel- he loves crossy roads because of how cute the style is, but also there is impending stress and levels of  d o o m  as you progress further. big bass wheel is basically just gambling, and i think he’s yumeko jabami.

↠he hacks games to make you win sometimes,, his quirk is bascially designed to do this. it’s like he was born just to take you out on this arcade date. he uses his quirk to short circuit the game and trick the computer into giving you hundreds of tickets

↠he just wants to make you happy and see you smile!! there’s not a feeling quite like succeeding at something as silly as an arcade game, but there’s a certain pride to it that he loves seeing on your face. 

↠kaminari only does it a few times, since he knows that you should be earning your prizes ((not that you know when he does it, he’s really cheeky about it))

↠playyyy multiplayers with him! he loves DDR (dance dance revolution)- you do multiple rounds and are equally exhausted by the end of it akdflad you may not be good, and tbh neither is denki, but you still have fun, which is what matters

↠he also loves taking photobooth pictures, he puts on the most horrendous filters and does the dumbest poses, but it’s so adorable. he does the typical one smile, one “serious”, one silly face, one kith > <

↠kami gets cocky,,, it’s just how he is,, he gets overly confident whether or not he’s been on a winstreak

“heyy, y/n! look at my speedrun on this, i’m getting so many tickets, i’ll be able to get a house by the end of it!”

↠and then he CAN’T because he doesn’t get the jackpot eghgdhgeh

↠by the end of the day, you’ve spent hours at the arcade, laughing and screaming with denki as you terrorize the small children. yes, he’s that kind of guy

↠by “terrorize”, i don’t mean like a bully, but he’s unintentionally intimidating kids with his pockets overflowing with ticket chains, a crazed look on his face as he goes absolutely ham on the shooting games

↠there’s electricity coming off of him, kids sometimes have to dodge it when passing by

↠so anyways, by the end of the date, you’re basically being kicked out of the arcade, because, as kami puts it,

“we were here when it opened and i’ll be damned if we’re not here when it closes,”

↠between the two of you, you’ve aquired tens of thousands of tickets??? the employees probably hate y’all, they had to count those beasts of ticket rolls you’ve accumulated during the 10 hours the arcade was open

↠exactly 62,069 tickets (69 go brrr- kaminari’s brain), and you can basically buy the arcade with that currency

↠but here’s the thing: he lets you spend all of it. you heard me, all. of. it. he just wants to see you happy, and the best way he can think of to get a final glorious memory of your smile is to let you spend the tickets as you see fit, this generosity just to see you glowing as you walk out of the building, arms chock full of amazing junk

↠but of course, you’d feel bad if you spent all of it, especially since he was the one who took you out, so you offered him the half of the tickets that were won

“denki, you won most of these with your amAzINg gaming skills, it’s only fair you get to have something too,”

“my prize will be seeing you- your- your-- aw fuck, i forgot the line, it’ll come back to me, just give me a minute.”

↠he tried to be smooth and it failed, but you chuckled at the attempt, so all around, he considered it a success

↠denki gets a lot of dumb things that will probably end up being thrown away soon, but he also gets you a very soft bat stuffed animal that you should treasure and keep forever 

amajiki- a walk and picnic in a japanese garden

↠tamaki is very shy, very socially anxious. he’s the kind to wait for people to leave a section of a store before he goes there, purposely do his errands in the early morning to limit social interaction, and find any excuse to leave a situation. which, tbh, isn’t that all of us?

↠let’s be honest here, if it wasn’t y’alls first date, he’d probably not go anywhere. as long as he’s with you, he doesn’t really care for anything too fancy

↠but he’s convinced himself that he needs to do something reasonably big for your first date to make sure you don’t regret your decision to go out with him. so instead of deciding to stay in, he goes somewhere that’s only slightly anxious for him, but where he still feels comfortable

↠so he’s decided on a japanese tsukiyama garden! these places are beautiful by design, not cheap but not too expensive, and people are obligated by rules to be quiet and keep their hands to themselves

↠nobody goes to a garden to socialize, in fact, i’d argue most people go just to look around, rest, and clear their heads. there’s usually not any screaming children, no quirk usage, no villains, it’s a little safe haven. 

↠bonus: there’s butterflies :))

↠it’s so peaceful, and he gets to focus on you instead of whatever loud noise is making him anxious

↠he brings a picnic basket filled with all your favorite foods, and his! he makes a show out of displaying what he can manifest with different snacks, making a point to eat edible seeds so he can produce flowers for you 🥺🥺🥺

↠you walk around the garden for a few hours, marveling at the decor and how well-maintained everything is. there’s a koi pond, hanging wisteria trees, and multiple gazebos that create a really comfortable and calm environment

↠speaking of koi ponds, amajiki offers to buy you food so you can feed the fish! you stand on a bridge above the pond, sharing the container with him. the sMILE on his face when he watches you throw the food is so pure i’m-

↠he’s the walking embodiment of “uwu”- his face is so calm and his eyes are shining and he can feel his heart swelling with love i am GOING to cry my eyes out 

↠but honestly, he wishes he could stay in this moment forever- you’re happy, he’s happy, and it feels like you two are the only people in the universe. right now, he doesn’t have to worry about school, villain attacks, his future, or anything that makes him anxious; all that he can see right now is how beautiful and at peace you look. he took you out today, and you’re enjoying yourself. this is one of the few things that makes him confident: knowing that he’s able to make you happy

↠tamaki is silently celebrating; you’ve had a good time and he didn’t freak out, so it’s the best possible scenario!

ashido- rollerskating! ((look at her she’s adorable the smile n the eyes aaa))

↠mina is a very energetic and bubbly person, its quite obvious if you’ve spent any amount of time around her

↠for your first date with her, she’d already have a location in mind!!

↠the atmosphere of rollerskating rinks is so electric, she can’t help but feel happy there, and she wants to experience that lovely feeling with you, too :))

↠you enter the rink, and mina is already borderline bouncing off the walls alskdfj

↠whether or not you’ve ever skated before, ashido is super cautious with you- multiple times she’s fallen on her butt while learning how to skate, so unless you’re a pro, she’s watching your every move to make sure you don’t get hurt

“y/n! please be careful- you’re not getting hurt on my watch!”

↠she jabs a thumb in her direction proudly, with the cutest bigass grin on her face awh 🥺🥺🥺she’s really enthusiastic about sharing one of her passions with you

“try to balance, alright? don’t put too much weight on your heel or toes, because then you’ll fall on your butt. here, take my hand and i’ll help you! hey, there you go, you’re doing great!”

↠she pays for everything and will WRESTLE you if you try to disagree aldkfa if you’re the type of person to pay for everything as well, y’all are going to have to fight; mina will not give up

↠ashido comes here a lot, so she’s friendly with all the employees, she has the uncanny ability to make friends wherever she goes ((i mean she’s friends with bakugou,, if she can do that,, she can do anything))

↠she takes one of your hands and backs onto the rink, watching for anyone behind her. once you’re balanced properly, she shows you how to move your feet so that the two of you are in sync

↠skating isn’t super hard to figure out, it’s mostly intuitive, so you’ll get the hang of it quite quickly!! maybe you’re not too fast, but it’s still fun, so it doesn’t matter

↠while you’re moving with care, making sure to focus on your footwork, mina will definitely take the chance to show off her skating skills! she’s moving like crazy, weaving around other people and nearly toppling them over but shh she’s trying to impress you and if i’m being honest??? she’s really fucking good aldkdf 

↠it’s obvious that she loves this hobby, and the fact that she likes you enough to share it with you on your first date is so adorable aaaa

↠mina’s really agile- you don’t know if that’s all the hero training or just something that comes naturally, but the way she moves makes skating look like the easiest goddamn thing in the world-

↠she’s such a romantic, she’s definitely put in a request for the dj to play your favorite song, no matter if it fits the mood or not

↠heavy rock? sure!! as long as you’re having fun, who cares about what other people think? super vulgar rap?? w h y  n o t ? !

↠she just has that extroverted, positive, charming energy that’s infectious

↠you can’t help but feel at ease around her, she’s a genuinely a great person, and what you think the epitome of a hero is

↠all ashido really wants here is to have fun with you- i mean she really likes you, and hopes that she’ll get to go on another date w/ you, so she’s doing everything in her power to woo u

↠and you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t working 🥺👉👈

jirou- hanging out in her room

↠kyouka jirou, being the more introverted person she is, wouldn’t really want to go somewhere super public, like mina would

↠i also believe that she’d want to be friends (or at least acquaintances) with you before asking you on a date- she’s easily annoyed by people, so i think that she’d need to be comfortable around you if she was to be romantically interested 

↠and you’ve ticked all these boxes! you understand her sarcastic, blunt personality, and find it pretty amusing. beyond all that, she’s kind and caring, and deep down, she aspires to be a hero for all the right reasons. who wouldn’t love her for that?

↠so for your first date with kyouka, i think she’d want to be somewhere quiet and intimate with you. she wouldn’t want any interruptions ((specifically from jammingyay, who enjoys butting his head in other peoples’ business))

↠the most comfortable place for her would be her room, since it’s really just an extension of her personality, and since you’re quite close, she’d be okay with letting you in her private space. she trusts you.

↠just two guys bein dudes 🤠 ((if you’re a girl, it’s just sappho and her friend--))

↠music is one of the biggest things in jirou’s life, and i think she’d want to share it with you. that is, if you’d let her :)) she has dozens of different instruments, so if you want to attempt to learn something, she’d be totally down!! 

↠please show her what kind of music you’re into! no matter what it is, she’ll listen to it. she wants to get to know what kind of person you are when you’re not around other people, and music is a great way to do that. even if you don’t have the same taste as her, she wouldn’t mind, since a) she’ll listen to pretty much anything, she’s not picky; and b) it’s something that you’re showing her, and that’s enough to make her happy

↠she’s not a very formal person, so i think she’d just want to talk to you and hang out. i’d think kyouka would be more of a fan of a gradual relationship, one that starts from friends and slowly evolves into more. and yes, as you can probably tell, i am a sucker for mutual pining and friends-to-lovers tropes-- im a simple hoe 😌

↠she’s super fun to hang out with!! her sense of humor is really snarky, she also enjoys talking shit about people she doesn’t like. if you’re not into that, she’s able to carry on conversation really well. there’s not a moment of awkward silence between you

↠jirou actually really likes talking shit about people hsahsh- as long as it’s someone that’s been mean in some way. she won’t say anything bad about someone who hasn’t done anything to deserve it. but if you’ve wronged her in some way, boy, do you have it COMING

↠by the end of it, i just know your cheeks hurt from laughing 

↠she’s just a really fun person to be around, she may not be the most bubbly person ever, but she’s super easy-going and cool ((jirou bias incoming ekejke))

↠i do think she’d try to sneak some kind of affection if she thinks you’d reciprocate- if you’re really getting along well, she might snake her hand into yours when you’re sitting on the bed, laughing

↠honestly you might not even notice until she stops, because your hand feels empty and cold without her like your heart aa

↠if she’s really into you?? might get a smol peck on the cheek 👉👈 please try to get a smol peck on the cheek, it’s very cute and she gets so flustered

↠she goes up to you as you’re about to leave her room, grabs your shoulder, turns you around, and gives you an adorable if not slightly aggressive smooch

↠then she reFUSES to acknowledge what she just did akdfld- she turns away, beet red, and is completely silent

↠meanwhile you’re probably laughing your ass off because wow she’s so cute

↠kudos if you give one back to her, baby is on the verge of exploding ejkdjf 

↠her heart just can’t handle what you’re doing to her

↠and despite what her appearance is, her heart is doing backflips- she’s whipped <33

momo: tea and c u d d l e s

↠she’s a very fancy person, obviously. yaoyorozu wants only the best for everyone she loves, and that, of course, includes you! she loves showing affection through giving things to others. her family status only magnifies this aspect of her personality, as being born into wealth gives her the means to spoil you rotten

↠and even though she’s bougie as all hell, she also somehow maintains an elegant and simple air about her. it’s impressive, really. it’s not like she tries to flex her money, it’s just a part of her life, and she enjoys using her privilege well

↠that being said, what’s more elegant and mature than going for tea? it’s a lovely pastime that momo would love to include you in! 

↠lowkey,, she’s a whole sugar momma dfkdjla im not even joking- she doesn’t try to be, but virtually everything she does shows how rich she is

↠you arrive at the tea room, and by god is it fancy. there’s multiple chandeliers suspended from the ceiling, which is decorated with classic renaissance-style paintings. all the tables are set with white cloth, plates made of pure fine china, flowers and woven baskets set everywhere to create a cottagecore-like setting. the air about it is so sophisticated, from the patrons (wait is that a celebrity-) to the decorations

↠your face is kinda just,,, 😮,, because what in the world did momo get you into??

“momo, you’re so sweet, and this place is lovely, but don’t you think this is a bit much? not that i don’t absolutely appreciate it, it’s just that this seems really expensive, and i don’t want you to have to spend that much for just one date.”

↠she just chuckles, saying that it was “really nothing” (???? MISS GIRL???)

“don’t worry, y/n, this isn’t too much! i want to have fun today, and this place is so nice! let’s just find a table, alright?”

↠like, hunney, you’re so kind, but this is a LOT

↠but if you say so....

↠she looks at you with the most enthusiastic, wholesome eyes, and soon you’re following her like a puppy towards your table. the waiter sits you down, and leaves, giving you a moment to glaze over the menu to find a drink

↠and there’s so many types of teas, at least 30 on this page alone. you hadn’t even heard of half of these drinks, how would you know if you’d like them?

↠yaomomo seemed to notice your puzzlement, and said that you could get a pot of something simple, like jasmine green or earl grey, and she would get something fancier that you could try. why not?

↠a few minutes later, you’ve already adjusted to the sophisticated and intimidating environment, focusing only on the girl across from you, and how her eyes glittered with happiness

↠she orders a few normal tea foods, like scones with jam, lemon curd, and devonshire cream, and finger sandwiches. the fanciest thing she buys, though, is a blooming tea that arrives in a clear pot. it has an open flower inside of it, which is what the tea is infused with. it’s nearly 16,100 yen for one pot, though, and while you protest its expense, momo reassures you that it’s no problem (you just learned not to say anything about money, as it wouldn’t stop yaoyorozu from spoiling you)

↠ngl, it’s so fun to pretend to be fancy for a few hours at a tea room !! you acted as if you were a member of high society, using stereotypes to exaggerate your actions. it made some people only slightly irritated, but hey, it got a laugh out of a pretty girl, so who’s the real winner? 

↠yaomomo taught you some classy etiquette that you should definitely use, it makes her so happy to think that you’re learning about new things while still enjoying your time with her

↠she makes really good conversation!! her intellect seeps through everything she says, anyone who talks to her would be able to tell that she’s extremely well-spoken and mature. momo is modest, and deflects a lot of the compliments you try to give her, so if you try to display your admiration for her, you’d probably need to be very specific about it. she doesn’t have the best self-image when it comes to her heroism and field work. spoken affection sometimes doesn’t get through to her, but you know what does? physical affection!

↠she loves cuddles, and will regularly take you back to her house after a date to cuddle in her bed. her mattress is legendary, and it’s comfortable as hell. there’s an abundance of pillows and the bed isn’t too soft or too firm, and it’s always somehow an amazing temperature???? mattresses are investments, and this was definitely a good one

↠momo loves the intimacy and trust of holding you, it allows her to escape from overthinking and only focus on you, her beautiful partner. she doesn’t care if she’s the big or little spoon, but her favorite kind of cuddling is when you’re on your back and she’s curled into your side, head tucked under your chin and hand on your chest

↠she can do this for hours, please let her. she feels safe with you, confident, because you’re choosing to spend time with her in this quiet moment instead of being off somewhere else.

↠in conclusion,,, 💕women 💕

-denkineptune