#im running back and forth from one fandom to another to the next

[identitycrisps]

poneys

[stxrry-dxys]

alright i wanted to elaborate a little bit on this post i made here. i’ve been dying to do a proper analysis on hero’s character, but before we start i would like to make some things clear: i do not hate any of the kids, and i do not think any of them are bad or irredeemable people. while i do not think all of their actions were good or justified, i do believe that they had every right o feel upset, hurt, or overwhelmed in the scenarios i am about to analyze. i just want to clarify because i don’t want it to sound like i’m here to dogpile on hero, aubrey, or kel specifically. they’re kids, they’re going to be bad at handling things, and while i am going to criticize some of their actions i do NOT think that they are horrible people by any means. now let’s get into why i think hero is not the perfect responsible boy sunny or the fandom has built him up to be.

hero and mari are the oldest children in a group of friends with not many solid parental figures. kel is a glass child, something hero is shown to be aware of when he runs to kel after their argument when he sees he’s being ignored. as well, their mom is shown to be slightly manipulative and guilt trippy in the game. and while i don’t think this necessarily means she’s abusive i do think saying things like “your mean old brothers don’t want anything to do with us” can create a lot of guilt and stress within a household, especially when their dad just kind of sighs and lightly tries to talk with her. aubrey is in an abusive and neglectful household with her mom, and her dad is implied to be a bit controlling (“my dad would never let me dye my hair”). basil lives alone with an ailing grandmother and parents who are never around. sunny’s only solo memories of his father are the tree chopping incident and him yelling about lost remotes so much that everytime you even click on a remote sunny says not to touch it because “it might get lost”. (im going to exclude sunny’s mom from this section as i feel there’s lots of different ways to interpret her dynamic with the kids and i swing back and forth on these myself).

but all this to say, hero and mari are sort of forced into this parental role for all these kids, while they’re only teenagers themselves. and while the younger ones obviously look up to and admire them, there’s only so much they can do, and both of them are subject to bias as well. this is where i think the idea of them being “so responsible!” kind of fails, though it’s more obvious with hero than with mari.

in headspace, pretty much the first thing hero does is scold kel and aubrey for fighting, a very, very consistent theme for his character. and yes, i am aware that headspace is not 1:1 with the real world, but i do think a lot of the character moments between the main four are based off real events that may have happened. so yeah, hero scolds kel and aubrey a lot, but he also fails at scolding them a lot. often he plays the mediator (“cut it out you two” or “you two are in trouble now”) and while it gets kel and aubrey to drop their current fight, it doesn’t stop another one from coming in the next five minutes. and this failure to prevent their fights and getting more and more annoyed with them throughout headspace’s run culminates in hero’s biggest mistake in how he handles the two of them, that if we’re to believe is based off events that did likely happen, bleeds into the current day fight between kel and aubrey as well.

during the humphrey section of two day’s left, the main four find a lone flower crown lying on the ground. they forgot don’t know who it belongs to, but it’s crumpled and dirty. aubrey debates taking it to return to its owner, and hero says it may not be in a condition where they even want it anymore. and then kel kicks it off the edge, sparking aubrey to yell at him. now kel is slightly in the wrong here, as the best thing to do would be to just not touch it instead of kicking it into the void. and aubrey being frustrated is understandable, but ultimately it’s not a super big deal as it’s not any of their property, so she’s not really in the right for picking a fight here either. however when kel goes to defend himself and say “well hero said no one would even want it any more anyways!” hero snaps. (“that’s enough! kel, apologize to aubrey.”) and this is the biggest issue with hero playing parent for the group, he’s biased.

hero grew up with kel, he’s his brother so he gets to be a little mean or snappy at him and have it all be fine later, and the inverse is true as well. but as much as hero may see aubrey as a little sister, he is not related to her, and he will not feel as comfortable scolding her as harshly as he does kel. so when he reaches his limit with their fighting and snaps, he doesn’t snap at aubrey, he snaps at kel and demands he put a stop to it, even if kel doesn’t really need to. see, kel is in the wrong in this situation, but not with aubrey. the flower crown belonged to someone else, not her. he owes an apology to the person who’s property he just destroyed, not her. and while she is allowed to be frustrated that he did that, she has no right to be completely upset with him (she goes on to pout and ignore him after he apologizes which is absolutely unjustified as it was not her crown, and to her knowledge she does not know who it belonged to). but hero is a teenager, he’s about 15 here and he’s so tired of these 12 year olds fighting, and he just wants it to stop, so he tells kel to apologize to aubrey, even if she’s not the one owed an apology. he’s scolding kel, yes, but not in the right way. and this is a mistake that i think sticks around.

and while no, we do not have proof that this definitively happened in the real world, it’s such a specific scenario for sunny to include, and one i’ve seen happen among my own siblings and my friends siblings, i absolutely believe something similar happened. and i do think this is where mari gets a slight advantage playing neutral in kel and aubrey’s fights, as she’d only really have the familiarity to snap that way at sunny (like she’s implied to do during concert rehearsals) so she gets to play middle ground with the other two more than hero does. but i did mention that i think this had an impact on the real world as well.

kel and aubrey’s biggest issue in the real world is this: aubrey feels abandoned by kel and kel feels betrayed by aubrey. and i want to clarify, i think they’re both a little right and a little wrong. aubrey is absolutely right to be upset that kel never reached out to her (especially when we know he reached out to sunny and hero), but she is not right to be upset with how he handled his grieving process after mari’s death (she notes that she was upset at how quickly he moved on, and to her credit she does acknowledge that this was wrong of her). kel is absolutely right to feel betrayed by aubrey picking fights with him, sunny and basil and being upset that she’s just kind of a bully towards them now (she and the hooligans are noted by kel to be trouble before you properly meet them, they write kel smells outside his house, she refuses to give basil’s photo album back after four years of begging and says herself that she calls him a freak and lets others do it too, she tries to kick them out of a public area in a public park oh my god this part really annoys me about the hooligans wtf was this plotline) (also side note: yes kel is allowed to be upset about her holding basil’s property hostage as he both knows who it belongs to, and has been asked to retrieve it by said person while he was on the brink of tears) but he is not right to keep throwing mari in her face as a moral one-up card, nor is he right to blame her for basil almost drowning when she accidentally pushed him in (she IMMEDIATELY declares it was an accident and is visibly worried about him even though she’s upset with him).

i think ultimately this fight spawns from two things, aubrey has been taught that she is owed an apology when she feels she’s been wronged, without looking at both sides. and kel is tired of always having to be the one to apologize first when he feels he’s not in the wrong, without looking at both sides. again, they’re both a little right and a little wrong for these perceptions. after all, it’s what hero taught them when he broke up their old fights. and even when he finds out about this one, his solution is still ineffective even all these years later. because instead of suggesting they talk it out, which is what would really help them reach an understanding of the other’s feelings, he calls it “another classic kel and aubrey fight” and says they “just need to hug it out”. and while i think he’s trying his best, this is absolutely not what they need. there is a lot of deep seated anger here and it even shows on their faces after he suggests this (kel looks away awkwardly and aubrey is on the brink of tears).

in fact, they don’t even really make up until after kel tells her they dug through the trash in order to save the photo album and they all look through it together. it’s through aubrey realizing that kel does in fact care about their memories together, and kel remembering that even after all this time aubrey still is the same sweet girl he knew, that they finally understand each other’s perspective a bit more. kel can see how hurt aubrey is and aubrey starts to understand that kel had his own way of processing mari’s death.

but even though hero was brought over to fix the situation, he ultimately ends up failing to help the two reconcile, they do it all on their own. because at the end of the day, hero is not a parent. he is a brother, a friend, and a teenager. kel and aubrey don’t know how to process their emotions or fights any more than he does, and he makes a lot of mistakes in the process. and i think this is where a lot of his guilt over mari’s death comes from, and basil’s too in the neutral ending. he was supposed to be the responsible one, the parental one, the perfect balance. but he couldn’t be there for mari and basil, he couldn’t even be there for kel and aubrey. and while that is not his fault, and should never have been his responsibility, he is always going to hold that against himself, he is always going to see himself as a failure.

truth be told, he shouldn’t have been put in a position to believe that in the first place. he should have just been allowed to be a dumb teenager who makes mistakes and doesn’t have to take care of everyone around him. and that’s what i find so fascinating about hero’s character. he is a dumb teenager who makes mistakes, just one that was put on a pedestal and parentified, expected to take care of everyone and everything, when for a whole year he couldn’t even take care of himself. he’s bad at being responsible, and i wish he would’ve been told that’s okay, because it is.

tagging the person who asked to be notified about this post ( @skyisepic ) i’d also love to hear everyone’s thoughts on this analysis, if you have anything to add or if you feel i went too harsh on anyone throughout this please let me know!!

[primofate]

Genshin x fem!reader [Volleyball Team AU - Inspired by Haikyuu!] Manager reader gets hit on/harassed

Note: IM BACK FROM VACATION I recommend you read “How it’s like to be their manager” first before this one. Gives it a lot more perspective :)

Scenario: During an away game at another school, you catch the eye of a senior there. Little did he know that you’re the Genshin team’s manager and how much trouble he just caused for himself. 

Warnings: SEXUAL HARRASSMENT but still SFW, swearing, profanities, fighting. platonic relationships.

Characters: Zhongli, Diluc, Kaeya, Albedo, Tartaglia, Kazuha, Xiao, Tohma, reader as the team manager

Other works in the Volleyball Team AU Series: Click Here

Lost.

It was like one of your traits. Getting lost easily. You sigh and look left and right to see if anyone was in the hallways to help you get back to the gym, or at least give you directions.

“Those guys...are gunna be worried if I don’t get back soon,” you sweatdrop a little and laugh nervously, picturing your childish team just losing it when you come back late. “I better hurry,” you mutter to yourself, pace quickening the slightest bit, just as a door to one of the classrooms slide open with a thud, revealing a spiky haired guy who stares and blinks at you. You take that opportunity to ask the guy where the gym is. 

Back at the gym where the team is doing warmups and practice receives, Tartaglia starts getting antsy and annoying. “Where’s Y/N-chan~~?” He sways back and forth. Zhongli sighs at his middle blocker, “She’ll be back soon, she just went to look for a vending machine,” They still had an hour to go before the practice match, so Zhongli wasn’t that worried. 

“Hmmm? It’s--HIT--been a while--HIT--since--HIT--she’s been back --HIT--though--HIT,” Kaeya states. Sentence cut off in pieces as he tries to keep the volleyball up in the air, his tied up blue hair starting to stick to his neck because of the sweat. Still, the team keeps practicing, up until 10 minutes later when even their captain starts to get antsy. 

“...Captain, don’t hide it, just admit you’re worried for her too,” Tohma states with a harmless laugh. Zhongli muses and finally sighs, “I have to stay here. Someone else go and look for her,” and immediately seven hands are in the air.

Tartaglia waves his hand “Me, me!”

Kaeya raises his hand “I’ll go!”

Diluc does too “I can do it...”

Albedo follows “I remember the layout of the school,”

Kazuha volunteers “I’ve got good instincts,”

Xiao gingerly picks his hand up “I’ll bring her back fast,”

and finally Tohma’s hand is high in the air, “I’ll find her!”

Of course everyone wanted to go... Zhongli decides he doesn’t want to deal with it and tells his team to go with rock paper scissors. Watching them battle it out really made him wonder how the hell he kept this team together. 

“YES!” Tartaglia pumps his fist in the air as he, Kazuha, Xiao and Tohma win the simple round of rock, paper, scissors. Kaeya, Diluc and Albedo are silently sulking, but continue their practice. “We’ll be back soon!!” Tohma waves at them as they exit the gym, starting their search on the ground floor classrooms.

Back where you were, you’d been following the guy for at least 2 minutes now. He said he’d lead you to the gym...but...it seemed as if there was less and less people to wherever he was taking you. It was the ground floor, at the end of the hallway where lockers lined both side of the walls. Suddenly the guy’s hand is wrapped around your wrist and he pulls you towards him. You instantly resist, pulling your wrist back and keeping away from him. “I-I just want to go back to the gym, my team is waiting for me,” 

You steel your gaze at the guy. If he thought you were just going to stand there and take his blatant disrespect for your personal space, he was wrong. But his next move leaves you feeling disgusted, your skirt hikes up and he grins. “Stop!” you screech and twist your wrist away.

Tartaglia halts in his tracks at your familiar voice. His head turns just as his other three companions does. 

The scene unfolding before him makes. him. see. red. 

Hell, he doesn’t even see anything except the image of him punching that grin off of that guy’s face. His vision zones in on the bastard’s features, he strides over, in less than 5 seconds reaching towards the guy’s collar and slamming him on the nearest locker. “The hell do you think you’re doing?!” You’ve never seen him so angry before, but the realization of what happened has you cowering away, feeling like some dirty thing that was played around with. 

“Tartaglia, ease up!” Tohma runs to try and restrain Tartaglia’s arms. He shoots a look at Xiao who immediately turns around to get the rest of the team, particularly his captain. Kazuha strides over to you, watching as you faced away and looked at the ground, ashamed. 

Kazuha was never one to resort to violence, nor was he particularly a resentful guy. But he feels it. He feels the hatred rush through his veins, but he focuses on you instead. “You’re alright, Y/N,” he places a hand on top of your head and smooths your hair down just as the others arrive. 

Tohma is barely holding on to Tartaglia, his strength matches his fury, but Diluc finally arrives and together with Tohma, successfully pulls Tartaglia away from the guy. 

“Calm down,” the red haired spiker insists, to which Tartaglia only shouts, eyes engulfed in fury and piercing the offender with his gaze. 

“This fucker touched Y/N!” 

Zhongli, Kaeya and Diluc freeze at the news. Their heads slowly turn towards the attacker. 

And now all set of 8 eyes on him are menacing, cold and unforgiving.

How dare he.

But Diluc holds his ground, restraining Tartaglia. 

Zhongli’s head turns towards your frame, seemingly meek and tiny and tears pooling around your eyes. 

Xiao hurries next to you as he arrives, the displeasure on his face was immense, specially when he starts wiping off the tears cascading down your cheeks. He grits his teeth “Don’t waste your tears on someone like him,” he knew well that you must have felt ashamed, and that your tears were not something you could control, but it was the best thing he could say. 

It was Kaeya, unrestrained and gurgling with hot anger that lifts his fist up.

But it was not his fist that connects with the offender’s jaw.

It was not his hands that pulled the offender up by his collar once again.

And it was not him who states “Do not come near her again. Don’t even look at her,” 

The whole team freezes. 

It was their captain.

The captain that was always calm and collected. Who always tried to stop fights and apologize for the inconveniences that his team caused. There’s a shiver that runs up the member’s spines at the feral look on their captain’s face. 

And then he drops the guy on the ground once again. The offender panicking and crouching backwards and away from them. “We should report it to someone,” Albedo, sensible and smart as ever, suggests. “...but throwing a few more punches in doesn’t seem so bad...” he adds and narrows his eyes at the guy.

“No, don’t. Let’s not waste our energies,” you firmly say and wipe the remaining tears away from your eyes. Kaeya moves over to your side and slides his jacket off of him and places it around your shoulders. “Okay, princess, whatever you want, we’ll just drop him off at the principal’s office and make a report,” when it really counted Kaeya’s flirtatious nicknames for you were quite reassuring. You smiled up at him a little.

Zhongli passes another glance at you, his fist is still tight next to him but he hoists the guy up and has Tartaglia come with him, since he was the one who saw everything. 

The rest of the team turns to you, with Tohma taking your hand and leading you back to the gym. “You’re okay, Y/N, we’re here,” and sure enough they keep close enough to you to fend off anyone else. Like wolves protecting their pack. You knew the chances of that happening again was slim, but seeing them so concerned and circled around you like a shield was really what you needed right now. 

“...Thank you,” you whisper to them as you arrive at the unfamiliar gym. They all turn back to you with a smile. 

“We’ll beat them to the ground at this game, Y/N, you’ll see,”

Taglist: @softlybeloved @bobaducky @normalisthenewnorm @how-simpy @atasi-luna @berryqueue @hallohun @milkypompon @fadinganchornight @coldstonecrematorium @probablybethere @hanachan_2481 @gultonluvv @batcatistruemaster @plumpkie @amigenshin @foxxtrot-116 @spirlimpo @hadesaedes @minyoustar @yunaholics

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[same-crazy-art-girl34]

Zoyalai au where character A saves character B’s royal ass

o before RoW

o these are just headcanons-

o characters: Zoya Nazyalensky, Nikolai Lantsov, Tamar kir-Bataar, Tolya yul-Bataar, Genya Safin, Makhi kir-Taban – all belong to Leigh Bardugo

o enjoy 

*side note: if they have flying ships they also have cars because i said so.*

• Nikolai and Zoya had to attend a political meeting in Shu Han, Tamar and Tolya also being there cause they have to make sure they all get home in one piece-

• Little did they knew Queen Makhi had other plans for them

• After the meeting they all head to the car to go back to the ship

• Suddenly a bullet flies right past Nikolai’s left ear and hits the wall behind him

• They are being fired at from more directions

• Tolya grabs both Nikolai and Zoya and pushes them towards the car while Tamar starts shooting assassins left and right

• Zoya pulls out a gun and starts firing back while Tolya and Nikolai get in the car

• Tolya gets in the drivers seat and Nikolai in the one next to him while shouting after Zoya and Tamar to get in

• They get in the back seats in the last moment as Tolya drives them away

• Zoya is fighting with Nikolai to let her in the front seat and Nikolai’s not having it

• ”You’re the king idiot! Get back here before they put a bullet in between your eyes!”

• ”So they can put one in yours?? Absolutely not.”

• And go back and forth like that until an angry Tamar tells them to stop fighting like idiots and start being usefull

• Not even 3 seconds later a bullet breaks through the window and stops right between Zoya and Tamar

• ”Gangsta by Kehlani starts playing”

• Bulets start hitting the front of the car-

• Another car is driving right towards them

• ”My freakness is on the loose

And running, all over you

Please take me to places, that nobody,

Nobody goes-”

• Zoya jumps in the front seat, grabs Nikolai and pulls him at her chest, covering his head with her hands to pull him aside and also pushing Tolya with her feet to protect them from the bullets that break through the window and hitting the seats

• Meanwhile Tamar grabs a big gun from the back of the car and halfway gets out the window to kill some bitches

• ”You got me hooked up on the feeling

You got me hanging from the ceiling-”

• Literally starts destroying everyone with that gun so Tolya can drive them to the flying ship

• He takes a right turn at a corner and they lose track of the shooters for a moment

• Zoya slightly lets go of Nikolai who had put his arms around her in the meantime and was holding her tight

• *eye contact*

• ”Got me up so high I’m barely breathing

So don’t let me, don’t let me, don’t let me,

Don’t let me go’’ (yes i had to be dramatic with the song.)

• *FEELS-*

• Feels interrupted by Tolya suddenly pressing the breaks

• Zoya climbs off of Nikolai’s lap (bc how else could she had fit in the front seat-) and lets him get out of the car

• The shooters could not stand behind ofc but now the grisha and soliders on the flying ship waiting for them are finally being helpfull and are covering them so they can all get inside safely

• The ship rises in the air and they finally get out of there

*a few hours later*

• Nikolai: so…are we not going to talk about what happened? …

• Zoya: no.

• Tamar, turning to Genya: those fucking idiots-

• Genya: …

The End...

Tags: @im-someone-i-guess @alonlyfangirl @naz-yalensky @saltyfortunes @gaybestfriend @neilperryisalive @sapphossidechick @queenlilith43 @confused-as-all-hell @saltyfortunes @blackpheonix @all-fandoms-are-life @queen-born-out-of-fire @mithriel-of-mithlond @myfriendscallmeraba

[thirstystarkey]

HATE CAN SOUND LIKE LOVE • JJ MAYBANK

Summary: JJ and Y/N have always fought, since everyone can remember. They both have short tempers and a endless love for surf and chaos. But what happens when they have to pretend to be a couple? Well.. people always said that hate can sound like love sometimes.

Warnings: Mention of underage drinking, drugs, minor violence, some smutty scenarios and a ton of sexual induendos, JJ being a hot idiot and Y/N a wild girl brat

CHAPTER 06

While the HMS pogue cut it’s way through the river all the pogues, except JJ and Y/N, chatted happily sharing some cool beers Kie had previously brought with her.

“What’s going on?” Kiara asked her friends due to the strange silence between them. She was used to break their fights and now they didn’t even talked.

“Nothing.” Y/N started, a bit annoyed. “Aside from my best friends basically kidnapping me.” Y/N looked at JJ who agreed with his head at her saying. “What did you said to my mom?”

“Oh that..” Kiara changed her body language, automatically looking over at the other boys who didn’t seem very excited to explain either.

“Before they start, I just want to say I wasn’t participating I was just supervising!” Pope said. Raising both hands in the air.

“What could you possibly say to my mother that is worse than what you already done to us?” Y/N asked, afraid of the answer.

“We said you and JJ went on a date.” John B announced fast.

“What?” The red head girl gasped.

“That’s not all we said.” Kiara began.

“Are you guys insane?” JJ manifested.

“They are!” Pope pointed at John B and Kiara.

“We also told your mother you were dating JJ.” John B tried not to laugh.

“I’m going to kill everyone of you while you all sleep.” Y/N was beyond pissed. “I bet my mom didn’t believe that bullshit.”

“Well, she actually did.” Pope said. “She even said she already suspected it.”

JJ and Y/N shared a disgusted look between them. The idea of them dating seemed so surreal to Y/N she almost felt sick to her stomach. The idea of dating Y/N scared JJ, he never had a actual serious girlfriend and he knew Y/N didn’t do the whole one night stand stuff. They were polar opposites.

In the next few days Y/N was on a mission to avoid her mom. She slept at Kiara’s home most of the days and when she eventually went home Y/N didn’t stayed long enough for her mom to ask any questions or even have the talk. Y/N never took any boys home, no one ever stood a chance with her for she always thought they were stupid and didn’t care about the same things as her. They didn’t see her for her but rather for her looks and Y/N loathed them for that. The other boys saw her as a price, a price they could never claim for Y/N was no trophy. She was free, she was a force of nature, she had the ocean’s soul in her spirit.

“Hello? Y/N?” Kiara called while snapping two fingers in her best friends face.

They were all at the beach enjoying a hot late afternoon after a surf session but Y/N’s mind was off and far from being chill. She had a storm called JJ Maybank living inside her mind creating a itch she couldn’t scratch. All the looks she receive around the island made her want to fight them for believing in her best friends lie.

“Wha-”

Y/N wasn’t able to finish her sentence because JJ picked her up throwing her in his shoulder easily, running at the waves direction. She screamed loud enough to catch everyone’s attention, her friends just laughed at the view.

When the cold water hit her body she swore it felt like tiny needles poking her.

“JJ why would you do this?” Y/N fumed.

“Because we need to talk, girlfriend.” He tried to keep her in place while she tried to run back to her towel.

“Fuck off and don’t call me that.” Y/N pulled JJ’s hair making him let her go off his grip.

Back at the sand her friends were laughing at the top of her lungs pointing at her and the blue eyed boy and that alone made her angry. They were having so much fun with her situation and she wanted to kick their asses.

“Even if you two were dating I bet it wouldn’t last for a month.” Pope said trying to catch his breath with a hand on his toned chest.

“A month? I wouldn’t give these two more than a week, with luck.” Kiara made her point.

“I’m done with this, I’m going home.” Y/N was livid, at the point off almost crying with anger. “Have fun.”

“And your mom?” John B inquired, they knew she was avoiding her mom for dear life.

“I don’t care.” She mumbled. “I will deal with her.” She said shrugging her shoulders. “But I can’t deal with this bullshit now.” Y/N pointed at her friends.

When she finished packing her things JJ tried to stop her but he couldn’t catch her in time to talk to her, so he decided to call it a day as well making his way back to John B’s chateau.

Once home the redheaded girl thanked god her mom wasn’t home, Tina had left her a note.

“I’m working a late shift don’t wait for me, we still need to talk about JJ, I love you honey.”

A loud sigh was heard from her, after reading the note Y/N made her way to the bathroom, she needed a warm bath to relax from before. When she was done and the water had run cold Y/N stepped out and dressed some comfy clothes, her plan for the night was to lay in her bed and ignore her problems. Pretending like she didn’t even existed.

But the girl was in a bad luck strike for her phone rang with a buzz not long after she started watching Gossip Girl on netflix.

With was a text message from JJ, which was weird, they never texted. They only texted each other to mock one another or when he sent her memes making fun of her, which she secretly laughed at and sometimes saved them. Something she would never admit to anyone.

JJ 🏄🏼‍♂️: Meet me at our beach in 15, we need to talk. I’m serious now.

JJ was never serious so she knew something was going on. She didn’t knew why she jumped right off her bed first thing when she finished reading the text message, she put on her black vans and grabbed her oversized jean jacket along with her keys on her way out.

As soon as Y/N’s had arrived at the beach both her and JJ surfed, the reason he called it their beach, she saw JJ standing there, with his back against the lifeguard house, in his hand a lit joint.

“Why did you call me here JJ?” Y/N voice was soft, she was actually tired. “I don’t want to fight.”

“Neither do I.” The boy agreed. “But I think we should get back at them for this little stupid prank.” JJ suggests.

They sat together at the steps and JJ offered to share his joint with the red head girl, who normally didn’t smoke but it had been a long day so she gladly took his offer, immediately surprise because JJ weed was strong.

“What’s the plan?” She asked after freeing the smoke from her lips, passing the joint to JJ.

“We should let everyone think we are actually dating, for a month.” JJ said serious. He wasn’t joking.

“You mean, date date?”

“Yes smartass, date date.” JJ giggled at her confusion.

“You’re insane.” The girl blurred out. “Last week we couldn’t stand being close and now you want to pretend we are together.” She pointed back and forth between them. “Actual dating, as in you are my boyfriend.” She laughed.

If there was one thing Y/N and JJ had in common it was their pride. Both of them being to stubborn to lose a bet or to let anyone say they couldn’t do a certain thing. But they never thought the pogues would use that in their disadvantage.

“So what you say, frenemies baby?” JJ held his hand her way.

“Frenemies.” They said in unison.

“But meet me at my place tomorrow, we need to figure this thing out.” Y/N warned JJ while getting up.

“Is lunch included in that talk?” JJ questioned with a raised brow.

“I can make something.” Y/N rolled her eyes.

“Then it’s a date babe.” JJ winked at her blowing her a kiss but Y/N raised her middle finger at him.

Tag list 💞

@thatsonobx @starkeybaby @this-is-bigger-than--us @ahhireallydontknow @tomzfrog @alotbnouf @outerbankstings @jj-maybank-stan @jellyfishbeansontoast @rafecamerondeservesbetter @im-a-strange-thing @tangledinsparkles @tomfreakinghollandneedsaoscar @helplessquotess @tembo-ndoto @poguebx @k-k0129 @pleaseminho @obxmxybxnk @stilinskiandsuch @lcil123 @fandom-phaser @sexualparkour @myrandom-fandomlife @lasnaro @kristineee-obx @sw-eat-ing @strangebirds2 @kiarascarreras @jjswhore @milamaybank @marveloucnco @downbytheouterbanks @write-from-the-heart @justcallmesams @annedub @drizzlethatfalls @tovvaf @drewswannabegirl @whoreforouterbanks @newhopenessie @maybebanks @poguesrforlife @shawnssongs @wastedheartcth @rudyypankow @danicarosaline

[badwolf-winchester]

Ancient Bloodlines

Pairing: Loki x Emy Nightstar (OC)

OC Summary: Emy is the newest Avenger. She specializes in Magic and close range attacks/ weapons. Her heritage is unknown to her as she was left at an orphanage door step when she was a young girl with only the memory of her name. She goes by her nickname Emy but has never told anyone her full name as its a reminder of her being abandoned. Emy can see through any illusion and Magic no matter how powerful they are or how strong the magic is and is unaware of this. Her powers include Telekinesis, Elemental Control, True Sight (as stated above) Enhanced healing and Shifting (she wont discover this till much later in the story). She loves to read, listen to music, play violin, sing, and draw.

Story Info: Takes place after infinity wars. Tony and Natasha are alive Steven comes back from the future after giving back the infinity stones. Vision is alive and living with Wanda in the tower. Thor and Loki live in the tower with the rest of the Avengers and for the sake of the story Himedall is alive and living with the rest of the Asgardians on earth in New Asgard (you will find out why later)

One last thing: Please do not repost my work on any other site or social media, however reblogging on here is fine. I work hard on all of my fanfics and it’s disappointing when people take my work as their own. I am the creater of all my OCs such as Sora Nightstar, Emy Nightstar, and Lithium Nightstar. My inbox is open for any and all requests as i am a multi fandom writer. Let me know how you like the story and i will do my best to answer any and all questions. As always i encourage any and all feedback as it helps with my writing. I hope you all like it!

The Beginning

They say that your parents are there to teach you the rules of the world, but what happens when you have no parents? Who will teach you then? The world is cruel but people are crueler. Ive learned this first hand when the person i trusted most in this world left me on the door step of the St. Trinity’s Orphanage. I was 9 when my mother told me she didn’t want me anymore and i guess I couldn’t really blame her. I mean who could love someone who couldn’t control the powers that grew with each passing year. Someone who started fires out of thin air when they had nightmares, conjured whirlwinds when startled, unfurled earthquakes when angered, spring forth rain showers when sad, and levitate objects when riddled with anxiety. I will never forget that day for its seared into my mind like its own person brand echoing with every beat of my heart. A monster thats what she called me, her own flesh and blood was a monster in her eyes, and i could see the relief when she ran from the solid oak door finally rid of the burden she had to put up with throughout the years. An abomination she cried as she reached the cobblestone sidewalk eager to be rid of me and by the pace she was going at i could tell she had more spring in her step than on the walk over from the bus we exited from. Unnatural she bellowed as she disappeared around the corner a ghost of a smile springing from her lips as she disappeared. These where the last words i would ever hear from my mother, if thats what you would call her.

Emy’s POV

Tonight was just like any other. Crisp cold air submerged the city in a blanket of dark and silence while it settled into your bones. I never minded the cold in fact I welcomed it, it reminded me of the cabin i found one year after running away from one of the many abusive foster homes i was forced to stay with. I’ll admit it was one of the times I was able to avoid the social workers for longer than a week and the happiest I had ever been in my life up until i was captured by Hydra. When I had a flair up with my powers, which usually ended up being fire, i would immediately get sent back to St. Trinity’s but this time i ran before they had the chance to toss me aside. The staff there used to place bets on how long i would stay with a family, they would joke saying i was cursed or jinxed but i knew the truth, no one wanted me. Once the parents found out about my abilities I was sent packing. I was labeled as a flight risk and a danger to others which only deepened my anti socialism.

Walking through the streets of New York i pull my dark purple jacket on and my dark brown hair in a pony tail as I get closer to my destination. Because i don’t feel the effects of the cold weather Tony, being such the dad figure he is, has made it his priority to make sure i still wear one just incase so here i was walking home in black ripped up jeans, a black v neck T-shirt, black and purple checkered vans and a light weight dark purple jacket. With my headphones in my ears and “I like it heavy” by Halestorm blasting I make my way to the place i call home, Stark Tower. Walking through the front doors i make my way past the receptionist who always greets me with a bright smile. As I walk towards the elevator I give her a small smile back and a head nod. After entering the elevator and pressing the button for the penthouse I start to reflect on how i got here.

By the time i was 15 Hydra found me in that cabin and took me away. I went from hopping from family to family to being used as a science experiment, constantly being poked and prodded just so they could get a reaction out of me. As a child my powers where very unstable mostly flaring up with my emotions, its no wonder that Hydra caught wind of me its not like i was hiding it very well or more so that i couldn’t hide it. They tried to wipe my memory to gain control of me “a blank slate” is what they wanted, but for some reason, they failed as I wasn’t susceptible to their conditioning methods no matter how much time i spent in the chair. However, I could tell they were scared of me I could see it in their eyes. This didn’t last long though as they used what they called their perfect weapon code name Winter Soldier to beat me into submission. After that first meeting that left me with a broken arm and a fractured ankle i started to obey, since then Ive met the Soldier a couple of times but if he remembers me he dosent let on and I dont blame him, he has been in that chair so many times Im genuinely surprised he can even remember how to walk. He is stronger than the others as most of the other test subjects had turned to vegetables after the 4th mind wipe, he was on his 10th the last time i saw him with Hydra.

Another test was done on me and this one was different. They used a teseract? If thats what they called it I can’t be sure nor did I care all I could feel was pain like as if someone injected lava in my veins. After they injected me I started screaming after a while I couldn’t even hear myself anymore, my throat was so sore and horse from the constant roar of my agony I just wanted it to end. How long was I out for? Seconds? Minutes? Hours? Days? Years? They didn’t keep clocks there or at least not in the dungeon like cell they had me in. When the fire faded i was left with this numbness and after further tests I realized that I was immune to fire. I can literally stick my hand in fire and i will be left untouched and unscorched. They did the same test with freezing temperatures to see if they could subdue me at least in some way. I must have been out longer than just a couple of days as during the tests i didn’t recognize any of the Doctors. In that moment I realized something, if they were trying to contain me then something must have happened to the soldier. It was time to plan my escape.

Back in my cell i could hear footsteps approaching me and then stop short. One of the scientists frantically trying to talk some sense into someone just out of my line of sight. “She is immune to anything we throw at her sir. We have done every test we could there is nothing left for us to do.” One of the goons in a lab coat stated to what i assumed is a higher up. “Bolden If her powers keep growing at the rate they are it could be days in which she will be unstoppable and with the soldier gone we dont have anything that can keep her in line. She broke Mandy and Rays arms the last time we tested her. She is getting too strong.” Brining a hand up to his chin the higher up Bolden stepped out of the shadows and looked at me with deep interest before he turned to looked at the man and scoffed. As he walked away i felt a cold chill ran down my back as I anticipated what was to become of me; I knew it was nothing good i had already broken their rules. His next words only confirmed what I feared. “ Its simple. Break her spirit or kill her Doctor. And when i say break her i mean in anyway means necessary.” His sadistic laugh is the last thing i remember before everything went black.

Its been 2 years since i have escaped and now I’m living in the avengers tower. I don’t remember what happened after that night in my cell its all a blur of red, screams, and gunshots. When i woke up next i was in a 6ft crater where I was being held captive without a scratch on me. Trees were uprooted and fallen over as if a bomb went off. Luckily the Avengers showed up not long after me waking up and took me to their base where i met Directer Fury. With his permission and 24/7 surveillance provided by Tony Stark via FRIDAY and training sessions to get my powers under control i was allowed to join the Avengers and fight for good. Little did i know that by agreeing to this I would end up in the path of a certain God or Gods who were also taking residence at the tower.

With the sound of a *ding* the elevator shook me out of my mind and back to the present. As i exited the elevator I pulled my head phones out of my ears and was instantly met with the sound of Tony losing his mind. “Where did she go? She knows she can’t be out this late. She could be taken again! Its 5 minutes past her curfew!” Rolling my eyes I roll my headphones up and shove them in my pocket and round the corner. “Tony it takes 5 minutes to get from the lobby to the penthouse calm down. I bet she will walk through that door anytime now.” Came the sweet voice of reason of none other than Pepper Potts. “I’m Home.” I said in a deadpan voice as i walked by the couple only for Tony to stand up and intercept me by placing a hand on my upper arm. “Where did you go and why didn’t you tell me you were leaving?” I looked at him and raised an eyebrow pushing his hand off me. “Tony its Wednesday. I have training with Strange on Wednesdays and I had Friday alert you as I was leaving but you were in the lab with Bruce.” Not sure what to say next Tony mumbled a small apology. “Sorry I was just worried about you. I know you are grown enough to make your own choices as you are 25 but I just want to make sure you are safe. How was the training with The Wizard?” Sighing and shaking my head just wanting to go the library and read I decided to just let it go. “Strange is a hard ass that much you already know. It wasnt bad actually I think I’m warming up to him. I didn’t spontaneously throw him to the wall when he snuck up behind me as i was going over the ancient texts so i call that improvement.” I said sheepishly while side stepping around him. “I’m gonna go to the library now and grab some light reading before bed you guys have a good night.” With out waiting for a response I quickly made my way towards my new destination only to have Tony saying something about guests in the house but I ignored him.

Pushing open the library door I make my way to the poetry section to grab my usual copy of Edgar Allen Poe that I read before bed. As my had reached for the spot i knew i put the book in i find that its not there. “Wait what? Where is my book? I know I put it back here before I left for training so where did it go?” Frustrated I stomp back over to the entrance and rip open the door ready to go on a murder spree while shouting down the hallway. “CLINT! You better give me back my night time book or I’m breaking all your arrows again! No one reads in this tower but me! How stupid do you think I am!?” Straining my ears I listen for any type of movement but was met with dead silence. After a minute I finally hear movement through the vents coming from the west part of the tower and I take off sprinting. Sliding around a corner I barely miss colliding with Steve and Bucky who look like they were on their way back from a mission. Offering a quick apology before I continue my pursuit I hear Steve yell “Hey! No running in the tower!” Not faltering in my hot pursuit of the Hawk thief I continue to zip through the tower ignoring the Captains words until i was almost to the vent that lead to the 2 level family room. Using the railing for the steps leading down to the family area to give me more height i jumped as close to the vent as possible and conjured my signature Scythe to slice through it while twisting in the air kicking the vent free and off its track. A shocked and terrified scream resonates from the vent as the culprit falls to the ground with a thud and a grunt. I landed in a crouched position and slowly straightened to my full hight. “What the hell Emy?! When did you learn to do that?!” Clint yells as he sits up rubbing his left shoulder that he landed on. I started stalking towards him with the blade of my scythe scrapping across the ground as i went while giving him a death glare. “Give me back my book Barton.” At the mention of his last name his head snapped up to me fear replacing the pain from his fall. “Oh shit last name not good.” Scrambling up on his feet he turns and runs towards the common room that connects to the elevator with me hot on his tail and my scythe trailing behind me in my right hand.

“Shit shit shit shit shit shit SHIT!!” He yells as he makes it fully to the room only to fling forward as i jump and kick his back tired of all the running. Twirling my weapon around I place it at his neck sneering at him. “I will not ask you again.” I said placing pressure on his neck with my blade. Sensing a fast moving object coming from my left from the kitchen I move my head back 3 inches as what looked like a hammer flew by me embedding itself in the wall. Turning my head slowly in the direction of the flying object, I confirmed it was indeed a hammer that was thrown at me. Irritation flared through me as i released Clint from the end of my scythe and turned fully to the kitchen to face my attacker. There stood 2 men that i did not recognize, one tall oak of a man with blond short hair, blue eyes and tan skin in blue jeans, a red T-shirt ,and grey jacket. the other shorter man made me stare at him and faultier for a second as he was so different from anyone i have ever seen, dark blue skin covered his entire body with darker almost black symbols and piercing red eyes, long black hair with black jeans, a green dress shirt and black jacket. Tearing my gaze away from his own curious one i looked between both men before i clenched my jaw letting my irritation settle back in. “Which one of you threw that hammer.” I said venom dripping with every word. “Whoa its ok Emy thats just Thor and Loki they are the asgardian Gods that live here in the tower part time when they are not in Norway.” Clint said standing up quickly. Not moving from my position i narrowed my eyes and flicked them over in Clint’s direction. The ground started to shake as my irritation and annoyance grew to anger remembering what i was doing before being interrupted by the Gods. Throwing his hands up in surrender he then quickly reached into his back pocket and retrieved my book. “Ok ok dont blow a fuse Em.” He said while tossing me my possession stopping me from causing an earthquake. Catching it in the air with my left had I inspected the book to make sure it wasn’t damaged before I let go of my scythe, with a wave of my hand it disappeared back to the pocket dimension I keep it in then looked back at Clint as the tremors stopped. “Touch my things again and i will be wearing your guts like my mom’s pashmina.” I said to the thief before walking out of the room and disappeared down the hallway not giving the Gods a second glance. As I entered my room i could hear a silky voice ring out from the kitchen. “Well isnt she interesting.”

Part 2 coming soon

@nickkie1129

[peculiarmindset]

Here’s my fic :)

" Your still at it? Work ended hours ago come sit with me.", he whined.

Draco barely looked up from his paper, giving a half hearted answer. " Give me a few more minutes...", he said tapping away at the edge of his desk.

" Come onnn. We work all day lets relax a bit.", Harry sat up a bit growing more passionate.

Draco rolled his eyes. " Well I do atleast, you think being an Auror is easy"

" No of course not I know that its just - " Harry was interrupted by a loud growl emanating from his stomach.

" Hungry?", Draco teased. " You just had a snack a few minutes ago didnt you?", he watched his partners facial expression change from uncomfortable to mischievous as he cocked his leg to the side and let out a bubbly, barely audible fart.

"Nope.", Harry said smuggly.

" Thats digusting Harry.", he complained burying his head in his stack of papers.

" Yep, bet you cant do better.", Harry challenged him. He had no doubt in his mind that Draco could do better, he just wanted to see him try. He knew for a fact that Draco held his farts in all day long and work. AND he also knew that Draco hated farting infront of him, so much so that his ass sounded like trumpeter all night.

"I CAN do better, I just have some dignity unlike -", he was cut off by the sound of another one of harrys farts. This one was louder and tempered of at the end, like it was running out of air.

" All im gathering is that you couldnt." Harry pushed.

Draco spinned around in his chair to face Harry. " You know what..." he said deciding that besting harry is more valuable than his dignity. He lifted his ass slightly from his soft leather chair, casually assaulting its seat with his foul wind.

PRRRPPT!

Harry smirked, revelling at the fact that he got Draco out of his shell.

" Weak.", he retorted. Harrys stomach muscles visibly tensed as he let out a rumbly fart.

Draco wrapped his hands around his knee, pulling it into his torso. A long bubbly fart rolled its way out of him for what felt like 10 minutes.

" Ahhh. Whos weak now." Harry walked over to Draco and took a seat on his lap.

" Still you." Harry said as he ripped one right onto Dracos unsuspecting lap.

" Your a pest, you know.", Draco couldnt help but laugh as he kissed his boyfriends cheek.

" You love me though."

" That I do"

*Thank you so much for writing me something- I loved it! 🥰 Also, fun fact: I actually wrote me own Drarry fart contest- it’s pretty epic and it’s in one of the future chapters of Pureblood Plumbling. So look forward to it 😉 If anyone else wants to write me what I requested in my pinned post, then please feel free to! I’ll reciprocate back 😘

**Also, the reason why I was able to crank out this drabble quickly was because I’ve been slowly working on it for a while now (I had a feeling someone would ask for face-farting so I had to be prepared). I’m just saying this so in case someone wants to write me something as well, most likely it’ll take me a bit longer to give you a drabble back 😅

“Ohhhh…Harry.”

Draco moaned in Harry’s mouth, their tongues sliding against one another’s, sucking as if wanting to devour the other.

Harry’s lips slowly slid away as he nibbled across Draco’s cheek and moved down to suckle at a sweet spot that Draco had on his neck, making the blonde moan even louder.

“Turn around, love.” Harry urged. Draco readily did so and Harry looked with hungry eyes as the sight of the blonde on his knees and hands, wearing nothing but his underwear, bent over so his glorious arse was facing right in front of Harry was tantalizing.

Harry, who was completely nude himself, leaned forward to give a playful bite on one of his lover’s clothed bum cheeks.

Just as he went to give the other cheek another bite, he heard Draco’s stomach give a loud growl.

All he heard was Draco’s alarmed voice saying, “Harry, wait! I’m about to-“ and suddenly a loud burst of air erupted all over Harry’s face, the earthy smell of musk mixed with rotten eggs encasing him.

Harry coughed, blinking in surprise as Draco turned around, his face red in horror.

“I’m so sorry! I don’t- I didn’t mean- oh Merlin, I knew I shouldn’t have eaten all those baked beans!” Draco stuttered, looking back and forth between Harry’s face and the door, wanting to run away and cry.

Harry stared at him with wide eyes, his mind going in circles. There was only one thought he had.

“Do it again.”

Draco froze as he looked back at Harry. “What?”

“I liked it. Do it again.” Harry repeated, almost demanded this time.

As Draco continued to look at him with eyes wide like a doe, Harry gently turned his boyfriend around and brought him back to the same position as before.

“…Harry?” He heard Draco ask hesitantly.

Harry rubbed his face over his lover’s underwear-covered bum, straying right over where his arsehole was. He reach over and splayed his hand over the other’s belly, feeling the rumbles underneath his palm.

“Just let it go, Draco. Please.” When Draco did nothing, still confused about what was going on, Harry decided to take matters into his own hands (literally) and pushed his hand right into the other’s stomach.

He heard Draco gasp and another brassy fart was let loose into Harry’s face.

Bbbbrrrrrrrrrttttttt!

They both moaned, Draco from the relief and embarrassment while Harry due to the sheer euphoria and intensity of the smell that hit him directly.

Harry continued to press down and squeeze Draco’s belly, forcing out all the gas that was trapped inside his lover to come out.

Draco’s moans were heard over and over throughout their bedroom, loud emissions from his rear end repeatedly bursting forth.

Harry’s groans were also heard, sounding almost tortured as the bubbly, almost booming sounds and the primal stench of his lover’s gas made him shiver in a mixture of delight and disgust.

At one point, Harry even lowered the blonde’s briefs and his eyes had practically burned in hot desire as he watched Draco’s hole literally open and practically shake as a large fart exited from him, the blonde’s bum shaking slightly from the power behind his fart.

It was madness.

Harry couldn’t get enough.

Harry grabbed his lover’s arse in his strong hands and shoved his nose right up his lover’s hole.

He let out another groan as Draco’s next farts went directly into his own body, the smell entering into his nostrils as he could literally feel Draco’s warm and slightly moist air hit his face, trapping him so he couldn’t escape from the other’s farts even if he wanted to.

This continued on for quite some time, the room filled with loud moaning and choking sounds as Draco continued to gas out Harry.

Finally, it seemed like Draco had finally ran out of gas- his farts getting softer and airier as they came along. Harry was fine with this since he now had time to catch his breath.

Both boys eventually shifted their bodies until they were laying down, facing one another, looking at each other with molten eyes as they panted and tried to get their heavy breathing under control, their minds still swirling from an overload of sensations.

When things had calmed down once more, Harry lazily wrapped an arm over the other while Draco curled into him cozily.

When Harry leaned forward to give Draco a kiss, Draco grimaced and leaned his face away.

“Oh no, no way am I gonna kiss you right now. Not after knowing where your face has been.” Draco pointed out, raising an eyebrow at his lover.

Harry only grinned.

They cuddled together for a bit more, both of them feeling a little shy but more accepting in what had just transpired between them.

Then another growl came from Draco’s stomach.

They both looked at each other.

“Ready for round two?” Draco asked suggestively.

Harry’s eyes glinted as he nodded.

***Goodness, I forgot how hard it was to write (kinda?) smut 😅 And godddd…writing face-farting is hard. But I hope you enjoyed this story and if you or anyone else wants to write me a fic (see pinned post above) please feel free to do so- in exchange, I’ll write you a Drarry drabble or post one of my drabbles that I have saved up from other fandoms. (But no more face-farting for the time being please- I don’t think I can write another one so soon 😆)

[gingerwritess]

What would Elliot's first word be and how would Loki react? Btw love your writing❤️

nobody move or you’ll scare the content away

ugh i am so sorry i haven’t been able to write much! thank anyone who stuck around! i’ve been having to focus mostly on my school related writing (plus got a job so woo!) and its definitely not slowing down anytime soon, but here’s a little something i did manage to get out.

i don’t think i’ll ever get over the idea of Loki being a dad

A light that isn’t supposed to be on is on in the kitchen.

Every night, you turn out all of the lights in the house but a dim lamp by Loki’s bedside, so this one is foreign enough to rouse you from your rest and wake you to the point of realizing that your husband is gone.

Grabbing your robe off the floor, you slip it on as you pad down the hallway, stifling a yawn. Not only has your baby on a strange, reversed sleep schedule, but Loki doesn’t seem to need sleep either. This isn’t the first time he’s been up and about in the wee hours of the night.

Maybe another nightmare, maybe just a messed up inner alarm clock…you never know.

Shadows dance across the walls before you even reach the doorway, and Loki speaks in a hushed little baby voice.

“I love you, Elliot! My little blue baby, I love you!”

You pause in the doorway before he can see you.

On the floor with his back to a cupboard, Loki, gloriously jötun and clad in only a pair of loose silk pants, sits crisscross and holds your tiny son in his hands out in front of him.

Elliot is cooing happily and squirming in Loki’s hands, his hands large enough to comfortably take the place of the little baby’s bed, and he brings him closer to place the gentlest kiss on his delicate forehead.

You peek your head in through the doorway for a better look.

Oh. Elliot’s blue, too.

The golden kitchen light softens Loki’s jötun skin to a sky blue and his eyes to almost pink, and if you didn’t already love him, he’d be terrifying. But in your kitchen murmuring to his son how they’re going to help each other and saying I love you like a prayer, he’s a work of art.

Blue and etched with markings, cold and blood-eyed, you know your son will look like him, too, all sharp angles and structure and untouchable as a knife.

Dangerous but beautiful as the winter.

“I love you, Elliot.”

He gurgles in response and kicks a chubby foot in Loki’s face, three of his tiny toes the same blue as his father.

Loki catches the little foot and kisses it, bending his knees to rest the baby against his thighs. “Do you think I’m getting better at this?” he whispers. “We can keep having these little rendezvous, I think they’ve been helping.”

Tugging the robe tighter around you, you fight back another yawn and lean as close through the doorway as you can manage without interrupting.

“I love you,” he repeats, holding Elliot up and running the tip of his finger along the four marks on his left eyebrow, curving softly above his pinkish-red eye. “Don’t worry, I have those ones, too.”

You watch him shift back to his aesir form, Elliot following suit when Loki kisses his chubby cheek—then he shifts back to jötun, resting his forehead against his son’s until the two of them are blue again—or at least, splotched with blue.

There in the dim light, Loki does it again, murmuring how he loves him and switching back and forth between their two forms.

“You are a very pretty colour,” he whispers with a small smile. He sounds like you do whenever he’s in this form, trying to convince him of his beauty. “Your mother thinks so, too. She’s very strange.”

Elliot gazes up at him with those big red eyes and sticks his toes in his mouth.

“That’s very insightful of you, Elliot.”

The baby giggles. “Ah-loo.”

Your heart stops and Loki’s voice dies in his throat.

“What?”

“Ah-loo!”

Loki scrambles to pull himself off the floor, a beaming grin spreading over his blue face. “What, Elliot?”

Your son keeps giggling and still half asleep, you don’t think to run to them before Loki’s running into you in the doorway, crashing into you while Elliot’s first word bubbles from his throat.

“Loki, that’s his first—”

“I was just coming to wake you,” Loki interrupts excitedly, landing a kiss that doesn’t quite follow through to your cheek. “Shh, shh, listen—who’s the cutest bluest baby?”

Held out in front of you in Loki’s hands, Elliot sticks out his tiny tongue and blows a spit bubble. “Ah-loo!”

“Loki,” you laugh, and wrapping your arms around his waist from behind him, you can’t think of anything more that needs to be said; right now, Elliot is the only one with something to say, and he does.

“Ah-loo,” he giggles again, more than thrilled to see his mother watching him over Loki’s shoulder at this hour. “Ah-loo.”

Loki’s lips settle into the gentlest smile, gazing down at his son, and he leans his head against yours.

“Well, it’s not dad or ma,” he says and you know he’s still thrilled, “but I’ll take it. Whatever he means by ‘ah-loo.’”

The sound leaves Loki’s mouth and is immediately followed by another little gurgle from Elliot, and the two of them go back and forth a few times, ah-loo-ing each other until you can’t take the cuteness anymore and steal a thorough kiss from each of them.

“I’m so glad we didn’t miss this,” you sigh, following suit as Loki lowers himself back onto the kitchen floor, still crooning over your baby.

“Me either.” Loki sounds starstruck, red eyes glittering and blue skin absolutely freezing when you snuggle up against his chest so you can stare at Elliot, too. “Ah-loo, hm? What is that supposed to mean?”

Tiny hands reach for the both of you and he gives a happy little squeal. “Ah-loo.”

“Maybe he’s saying hello,” you whisper and run a hand over Loki’s chest. “Maybe he’s already developing your accent and says hello like an old British man.”

“An old British man,” he repeats with a frown. “And here I thought you liked my voice.”

Not liking that frown one bit, you dig your fingers into the soft bare skin of his side and Loki squirms, biting back a shout of laughter.

“I love you,” you huff and tickle him once more for good measure, “and every little thing about you. Especially your voice.”

Loki laughs, bops a finger gently on Elliot’s tiny nose, and turns to press a kiss to your forehead. “I love you, too.”

Little chubby arms reach for you again. “Ah-loo!”

The three of you huddle there on the kitchen floor until you get too cold against Loki’s icy skin and convince him to come back to bed—bringing Elliot with you, of course.

Loki eventually shifts back to aesir form and you gratefully cuddle up to his chest, right next to your little son, who has finally stopped squirming and seems to be settling down on Loki’s chest as well for the last few hours of sleep.

“I love you,” Loki murmurs, one hand on Elliot’s back as the other gently traces down your cheek.

You mumble it back and grab his chin to steal a kiss, and Elliot gurgles one last “ah-loo” into Loki’s chest.

You’ve barely started to consider it a kiss when your eyes fly open in shock.

“Ah-loo,” you gasp and break away from Loki with a smack. “I love you.”

“I love you, too?”

“No,” you laugh, and Elliot opens his eyes once more to beam up at you. “He’s saying I love you, Loki.”

Loki falls silent and you think that may have broken him, but then he wraps his arms around the baby and hugs him as tight as he possibly can without hurting the little guy.

“I love you,” he says again, this time hesitating, curious if that’s really it—

“Ah-loo!”

That’s better than any variation of “ma” or “da” that you and Loki could’ve hoped for.

��   ―   ―   ―

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[dessarious]

Misconceptions, Miscommunication, and Misinformation Pt89

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When Selina went down to the lobby the next morning she found Chloe being yelled at by what she assumed were the girl’s parents. Studying the two she was less than impressed. Being Bruce Wayne’s fiance she’d seen all sorts of affluent people and social climbers. Far too many of them either treated their kids like garbage, or ignored them entirely. Given the research she’d done after leaving the girls last night, Chloe’s mother traded off between the two, and her father bounced back and forth between the first and treating her like a princess depending on his wife’s mood. Dysfunctional was too mild a term to describe it.

“I’m not going to let you waste my money paying for one of your low rent friends Chloe. It’s bad enough you forced us to let that crippled girl stay here but at least she’s not taking up an extra room.” The woman’s tone was like nails on a chalkboard. Chloe looked to be on the verge of tears but judging by her posture and the way she was clenching her fists they were tears of rage.

“Really Chloe you need to learn some responsibility. Charity is all well and good for publicity but if you give handouts to every sob story you encounter you’ll just end up broke. Then how will you pay for all your new shoes and jewelry?” Okay, it was officially time to end this bull shit.

“Chloe! Thank you so much for what you did last night. My fiance and I are so grateful for the way you helped me.” All three turned to look at her and it just made her want to slap some sense into the adults. Chloe looked relieved, though a little confused. The Mayor was giving her an annoyed frown while his wife was looking at her like she was garbage that shouldn’t be allowed near her. Oh that bitch was about to swallow her tongue. “I called Bruce and he said he’d call with his information since I still can’t find my wallet. It was so sweet of you to hold it for us. Your daughter is such an amazing problem solver.” Both parents blinked at her like she’d told them the world was ending.

“And who exactly are you?” Of course the mother recovered first. Selina was going to enjoy wiping that superior expression off her face.

“Oh, I’m so sorry for not introducing myself properly. I’m Selina Kyle, Bruce Wayne’s fiance. He’ll be joining me in a few days to visit his sons.” All the blood drained from the Mayor’s face and his wife’s jaw went slack with surprise. “I was just going to go stay with the boys when I realized I didn’t have my wallet but Chloe assured me you’d be able to work with me. I am sorry for any inconvenience the delay caused but I’m sure Bruce will be happy to compensate you for the trouble since your daughter was so helpful and accommodating. Now, if you two wouldn’t mind I’d like to steal her for a bit.” She put an arm around Chloe and dragged her away before either could get their bearings back.

“That was… I don’t even… thank you?” Poor kid sounded so confused.

“Any time. I live to create drama. Well, drama for other people at least.” Chloe just gave her an uncertain smile. “How’s Marinette doing this morning?” The girl let out a few curses before changing course to the front desk.

“I can’t believe I let them make me forget why I came down here in the first place.” When she got to the counter she cleared her throat to get the attendant’s attention. When he saw her he paled. “Excuse me but has anyone had time to-”

“Liquid allergy medication. You didn’t specify non-drowsy or not so we got both.” The poor guy practically shoved a bag at Chloe who just looked inside before letting out a relieved sigh. She handed the man some money and he looked like his brain melted.

“Thank you Armond. Please share that with whoever had to go get this for me.” She turned around and headed to the elevator. The desk clerk just kept looking between the girl’s back and the money she’d handed him in obvious confusion. That was something to ask about later. She caught up to Chloe just as she changed directions again, this time towards the front doors. There was a very large man arguing with two very nervous doormen. “It’s okay. I asked him here, you can let him in.” The two shared a relieved look and let the man pass. Chloe just motioned at him to follow her and went for the elevator again. The man glowered at Selina when she entered the elevator with them.

“Nice to meet you too.” That just got a grunt.

“It’s okay Digg. She knows and I’m fairly certain she’s on our side.” Another grunt. He was almost as expressive as Bruce. “I just need you to stay here and watch after Mari. Tikki will explain and help you with dosing.”

“What’s wrong with the Guardian?” Actual words. So he could speak. Wait Guardian?

“Pigheaded stupidity for the most part.” Selina couldn’t help the laugh that came out. Judging by her wince, Chloe hadn’t meant to say that out loud. “She’s having problems with insomnia and overworking herself. We’re trying to make sure she gets at least one day of proper rest so she doesn’t burn out.” Digg was frowning at her.

“You need rest too. I’ll watch over both of you.” Chloe opened her mouth to argue but Plagg flew out of her pocket and into her face.

“Digg’s right. You’re both unbalanced and being together will help the both of you remain calm. There are no immediate threats and you both deserve a break. You’ve been tense ever since you let her out of your sight and your parents just made matters worse.” Selina rolled her eyes. That had to be the understatement of the year. Looking at Chloe she could see the bags under her eyes and the obvious tightness around her mouth and eyes. She forced the girl to look at her.

“You can’t help anyone if you don’t take care of yourself. You said last night that there were other people who could handle any emergencies that may happen. You need to slow down and take a breath. I’ll run interference with your parents if need be and everything else can wait.” She was not prepared for the girl to burst into tears.

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[dontshootmespence]

Through It All

Part 15

Summary: Now married, Spencer & Y/N navigate the D/s lifestyle. How will their relationship change?

Words: 1,279

Warnings: Switching, blowjobs, riding, sex, blindfolds, Domme!Reader, Sub!Spence.

A/N: My next entry for @cm-kinkbingo​ run by my beautiful girlfriend @heycasbutt​. This fulfills my switch square.

Mirrors are supposed to show your reflection, but apparently not. Staring back at you is a woman with sunken eyes who looks like she’s been punched. This woman’s hair is practically standing on end. Her lips are cracked. She’s a hot fucking mess. But as Spencer instructed, you look in the mirror and admire how shiny your hair is. It’s all over the place, but it’s shiny. Win.

Charlotte has an ear infection, so she’s been crying constantly. Not as bad as the first time she got sick when she was younger, but pretty bad. After work is more work. Getting home means starting dinner (if you’re home before Spencer), doing laundry, washing dishes, vacuuming, cleaning up Charlotte’s messes, changing her diapers. It’s an absolute never-ending cycle. There’s no control. And then it dawns on you.

Walking out of the bathroom, you step back into the kitchen where Spencer is attempting to play peek-a-boo with Charlotte. “Hey, Spence?”

“Yea? Everything okay?”

“Uh, yea, I’m just feeling really frazzled and out of control so I was wondering if we might try that switching thing tonight?” You give him a big cheesy grin and clutch your hands together. “Please?”

Spencer smiles, his hands still hiding his face in an attempt to get a reaction from the little one. “Sure. I’m looking forward to it. You have any ideas?”

“Mayyyybe.”

There’s a gleam in his eyes that you recognize as the kind of look you get when Spencer teases you about the night’s plans. It makes you feel good.

Somehow, your overwrought nerves manage to make it through dinner and getting Charlotte to sleep. She almost sleeps through the night yet. Another month or so and she’ll be sleeping through. “Wanna go to bed?” Spencer asks, grin wide and wild.

Nodding, you get up on your tiptoes and kiss him. “Yea, I’ll be right there. Why don’t you go in first, get totally naked for me and I’ll be right there?”

“Yes ma’am.”

As he walks away, you have to resist the temptation to just chase right after him and jump his bones, instead deciding to sit by Charlotte’s crib for a few more minutes, just watching how peaceful she looks. Once enough time has passed, you walk confidently into your bedroom to see Spencer lounging against some propped up pillows in all his naked glory. When Spencer goes to talk, you shush him. “Did I ask for you to speak?”

“No,” he says, zipping his lips with his fingers. He looks proud. And aroused.

Slipping off your tank top to reveal your new lacy, light pink bra, you watch Spencer’s eyes widen. Your boobs are still pretty big, because you’re still breastfeeding, but you’d indulged in one new bra to accommodate your larger girls. Spencer hasn’t seen before, and by the subtle twitch of his cock, you can tell he enjoys the view.

You turn around and bend over, wiggling your ass just so as you search for what you need. A metal clink and cool steel sent a shiver up your spine. Turning around, you smile at Spencer and swing the cuffs around your finger. These are the real deal because Spencer purposely forgot to give them back once he retired from the BAU. “Hands above your head.”

Spencer complies without a word, a smirk crossing his lips as you dip onto the mattress and fasten the cuffs around his wrists. “Make sure you keep your hands gripping the headboard. If you let go more than once, I’ll edge you three times before I let you come.”

He bites his lip, undoubtedly tempted to disobey just for the sake of getting your lips around his cock. It’s what you normally do in his position. Hopefully he’ll be a good boy. You grab a silk scarf out of your drawer and hold it out to him, silently asking if he’s okay with being blindfolded.

When he nods, you crawl back onto the bed and straddle him, rubbing back and forth against him as you tie the scarf around the back of his head. “Comfortable?”

“Yea, I’m good. I mean, I want you to ride me more than I can possibly express, but I’m comfortable.”

Snickering to yourself, you slip off the bed and remove your pants, panties and bra, pinching at your nipples and bringing them to taut peaks before getting back on the bed to straddle his lower legs. You bend forward and grip his cock in one hand, running your tongue up the underside. Using your saliva, you run your hand up and down, twirling your hand around the head of his cock before starting the process over again.

With each twist, you graze that area just under the head that drives him crazy, and soon enough, he’s bucking into your hand. “Can I come?” He asks.

“I don’t think so,” you reply, smiling wide.

Spencer huffs and tries to control himself as you take all of him into your mouth, the tip hitting the back of your throat. You gag and pull up, spit pooling around the base of his shaft, which you use to cup his balls. “Do you wanna come down my throat, baby?”

“Yes.”

“Ask me?”

“Can I come down your throat?”

“Thank you for asking. Yes, you may,” you laugh. You return to your earlier motions, taking all of him with each pass of your mouth, your hands following in your wake. Sucking cock makes you feel powerful, even if you’re on the ‘bottom.’ Watching him as he comes undone, knowing it’s you that’s making it happen? One of the best feelings in the world.

Every time he hits the back of your throat, you hear him moan, and it only makes you want to move faster. As his muscles tighten, you lightly squeeze his balls and sheath yourself on him, mumbling your approval around him when he comes; the tang of him is heady and rich and you swallow it all down appreciatively. “Good job, baby. Do you want me to ride that cock now?”

“Yes. Please, yes.”

“Would you like the blindfold off?”

He nods, and you push the scarf down around his neck before cupping your own breasts, heavy and full. Knees astride, you tilt his head down so he’s looking at where you’re touching him. “Watch while I sink onto you.”

Spencer growls and it makes you smile. He’s having a hard time controlling himself. Good. Now he knows exactly where you’re coming from when he’s telling you not to come.

Moaning, you toss your head back and pinch one of your nipples, which makes you tighten around him. “God, you feel so good, Spence.”

You bend down, body flush against his as you move your hips up and down, tightening your walls around him with each pass. Glancing up, you see his hands move away from the headboard, so you smack them. “Keep them up there or you don’t get to come again,” you command.

Spencer grabs the headboard again and cranes his head up, nipping at your neck as you continue to thrust down onto him. “Come on my cock,” he says, his voice husky and tight.

“Ask nicely.”

“Please, come on my cock, Y/N. Fuck me.”

Hearing him beg is something you could get used to - on occasion. Warmth floods your entire body at his words and you start to tremble around him. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you breathe. “Gonne come.”

As you clench around him, he growls, gripping the headboard so hard his knuckles go white. “Shit, Y/N. I- I could do that on occasion...I mean...if you want.”

“Oh believe me, I want.”

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[pressedinthepages]

Resfeber (Chapter 2)

Swedish. noun. The restless race of the traveler’s heart before the journey begins, when anxiety and anticipation are tangled together.

Fandom: The Witcher

Pairing: Lambert x Reader

Word Count: 2643

Rating: E

Masterlist

a/n: i had a couple of people ask for a continuation/part two to this, and because of who i am as a person, i made it h*rny.

Tags: @whitewolfandthefox​ @havenoffandoms​ @MishaFaye @criminaly-supernatural​ @weathervanes-my-oneandlonely​ @magpie343​ @queenxxxsupreme​ @belalugosisdead​ @persephonehemingway​ @hina-chans-stuff​ @theawkwardpedestrian @a-stumpsexuals-world​

(There is a link on my page where you can be added to my taglist :D)

Warnings: smut, touch sensitivity, touch starvedness, but using it to our advantage ;), come marking, little bit of dirty talk, but im not very good at that so not much XD

You awaken in Lambert’s arms, and you find each other’s touch to be so much more than just comforting.

    Dim light peeks through the windows, little birds chirping the call of a new morning. It’s just enough to rouse you, letting you slowly become aware of the body that you’re wrapped around. You welcome the warmth, a sweet noise falling from deep in your lungs as you shift against your companion. The memories of yesterday come back like honey, lazily filling in the blanks as you wake.

    You shift a bit, dragging your leg along his as you lean to look up at him. Lambert is already awake, peering at you through half-lidded eyes as he smiles.

    “Morning, gorgeous,” he mumbles, his voice rough and tumbled with sleep. You blush, reaching up to brush some hair from where it falls in his eyes. It sticks out wildly, mussed from where he had rested on the pillow. 

    “I’m glad you’re still here,” you whisper, not wanting to bend the comfortable quiet that a lazy morning brings. 

    “Hmm, me too…” he hums, his eyes falling shut as you feel his hand on your back tracing light patterns through your shirt. It’s soothing, you find, the gentleness he gives with just the lightest touch. “Is this alright? I didn’t want to move you and wake you up…”

    You hum, running your own hand down his cheek and following the line of his jaw. “It’s nice, I like feeling your hands on me.”

    You see Lambert’s eyes widen a bit before he tilts his head to the side, not unlike the wolf from his medallion. He lifts the hand that isn’t around your back to your cheek, stopping just short of touching you. 

    “May I?” he asks and you nod, leaning into his touch and letting the sparks fly under the surface of your skin. You shiver a bit from the sensation before you scooch yourself up, nosing into the hollow of his neck as his hand drifts down your arm. Lambert’s fingers intertwine with yours where they rest on his stomach. 

You gently place your lips against the skin of his neck, feeling his breath hitch under your lips when you do.

“I thought you didn’t like to be touched,” he breathes, raspy and gritty with want. 

“Hmm, never said I didn’t like touch,” you whisper, your lips just barely brushing against his ear with every word. “Only that I was sensitive to touch. I’m sure that there are spots that are sensitive on you that are quite pleasurable…”

Your hand slides down the plane of his stomach, finding him hard and straining against his undershorts. You hear Lambert hiss at the faintest glance of your fingers along his length. On your next pass though, you grow bolder, pressing your palm against the thin fabric that just barely conceals his cock.

“Oh, fuck,” Lambert bucks into your hand, clenching his jaw with a grunt. You smile against his skin, lightly kissing down his neck before his shirt gets in the way. Suddenly, you’re struck with an idea, and you are weak just thinking about it. 

In the space of a heartbeat you lift off of Lambert, flinging the blanket from the bed and letting the chill of the morning air run across your skin. Lambert lets out an annoyed groan that quickly turns into a choked-off moan when you move to straddle his hips. You let your weight rest on him as he sets his hands on your waist. Lambert is a vision like this, bathed in gentle sunlight and desperate under your fingers. 

He sits himself up, pulling your chest against him as he catches your lips in a bruising kiss. It’s full of teeth and need and hunger, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. You feel Lambert’s hands bunch the fabric of your nightgown in their grasp. You can imagine him ripping through the soft material as if it were merely made of thin parchment, and that sends a dizzying wave of arousal straight to your core. 

“Ah, wait,” you murmur into his mouth, pulling back as you catch your breath. You slide your hands under the hem of his undershirt, feeling the taught muscles of his stomach jump and twitch under your fingers. Just before you can lift the shirt over his head he lunges forward, catching your bottom lip between his teeth before he nips and bites along the slope of your neck. 

“Gods, I want you,” Lambert’s stubble scratches along the delicate flesh with his words, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake. 

“So do I, dear-” your words cut off with a low moan as you feel him sink his teeth into your pulse point, licking and sucking to soothe the forming mark. “I’d much rather have you naked, though.”

You feel his cock throb against your core, clearly agreeing with you. You move backward, lifting yourself from the bed just out of Lambert’s reach. The wooden floors of your cabin are cool under your bare feet, grounding you as you reach for the hem of your nightgown. You swiftly pull it over your head, letting it float to the floor behind you as your fingers drift lazily over your bare chest.

Lambert’s eyes burn with their intensity, chasing the path of your hands as you openly tease him with your newly exposed skin. The peaks of your breasts are stiff, rolling between your fingers and drawing a breathy gasp from your lungs. You let your eyes rove over Lambert, really wishing that his clothes were literally anywhere else instead of on his body.

“You seem terribly overdressed, darling,” you smirk, lightly thumbing the waist of your underthings. He’s blatantly palming himself through his shorts, a truly delicious grin dancing over the glint of his teeth when he catches your eye. Lambert reaches up, taking the neck of his shirt and lifting it, shucking it from is arms onto the floor. You bite your lip as you take in the new sight, the muscles of his arms swelling as he twists his broad shoulders, the brutal strength of his torso dusted with dark hair and more scars than you can count. 

You hook your fingers into your underthings and slide them down, leaving them where they fall as you step back towards the bed. Lambert moves to touch you but you hold out a hand, stopping him before he can. 

“Can I try something?” you ask, and you see a brief flicker of worry through the lust in Lambert’s eyes. He is at his most vulnerable, and this would be the perfect time for someone to get the upper hand on him and betray his trust. You have no intention of doing that though, pouring as much kindness and comfort into your gaze. You watch as the lump in his throat bobs as he swallows nervously, leaning back to lay on the bed.

“I trust you,” he whispers, barely loud enough for you to hear. Your heart swells with the knowledge of his trust, knowing that it is not something given easily.

“Do me a favor, love,” you walk to the foot of the bed, peering down at him with a lazy smile, “take those off for me, nice and slow.”

Lambert looks up at you then and inhales deeply, a pretty flush decorating his chest and traveling up his neck. You see his eyes darken, leaving only a whisper of gold around a void of black. A naughty smirk dances over his features as he lifts his hips, leisurely sliding the undershorts down his legs. You watch unashamedly, biting your lip as, inch by inch, Lambert becomes bare before you. 

“You’re beautiful,” you sigh, your eyes trailing over the swells of his thighs and up to the length of his cock, aching and weeping with arousal. 

“May I touch you?” You reach out carefully, stopping just shy of his leg.

“Oh gods, please,” the Witcher lying on your bed whines, pulling a giggle from your lips at the frankly ridiculous noise. You let your fingers just barely fall onto his calf, tracing a swirl of lines back and forth up past his knee. Lambert arches into the touch, desperate for more, harder, impatient as you predicted he’d be. 

You tut, pulling your hand away as he tries to increase your pace. “Please? Humor me?” You put your hands on your hips and give him your best chiding look. He stares back at you for a moment, testing you, but when you only raise your eyebrows a little higher he relents, relaxing back onto the pillow. 

“Thank you, just be patient dear,” you murmur, your fingers drifting back to their place at his knee. Lambert hums in acknowledgment, not terribly happy about having to exercise his almost nonexistent patience, but he thinks that he would endure waiting until the day that pigs sprouted wings and flew across the sky if you would just keep touching him. 

You bring your other hand to rest along his other leg, moving your hands in time with one another up towards his hips. You can feel Lambert tremble beneath you, gnawing the inside of his cheek to keep from rushing your exploration. When you continue moving up, avoiding his leaking cock in favor of running your hands through the hair on his chest he huffs, clenching his eyes closed and fisting his hands in the blanket below him. You climb back over him, hovering your hips over his and leaning down, sliding your hands up to the nape of his neck. 

When you let your lips brush against his, Lambert’s resolve finally breaks, his hands flying to your hips and pulling you close. You moan into his mouth, letting him deepen the kiss as you feel his hips rock frantically against you. His hips stutter and a sudden warmness spills over your stomach, slick and heady on your skin. 

“Oh, oh fuck,” Lambert sighs back into the pillow, throwing an arm over his eyes. “Gods, I’m so sorry, I tried to wait, let you lead, but then it was just too much and I couldn’t-”

You silence him with a kiss, knocking his arm away as you cup the sides of his face. His hands find your hips once more, but they are gentle, reverent in their touch as they sweep up and down your sides. 

“I know, I know,” you murmur, smiling down at him as you pull back. You push yourself up to rest on his thighs just below his hips. You can see where Lambert’s seed spilled on the both of your stomachs, a wave of arousal coursing through you at the sight. His cock is still hard where it lays against his hip. You reach down, taking him in your hand and squeezing lightly at the base. 

You run your hand up and down a few times, his fingers tightening on your hips as he grunts. 

“Please, can I-oh fuck, can I just-” Lambert writhes in your grasp, his pupils blown out and a vein in his neck straining against his skin with how tightly he is clenching his jaw.

“Go ahead,” you smile, gasping when he shifts beneath you and flips you both, switching your positions so that he hovers over you. He leans down to kiss you as he slowly pushes himself inside of you, swallowing your moans as you lightly scratch along his back. You can feel him shudder under your nails, hiding into the crook of your neck as he seats himself fully. 

You can feel Lambert everywhere, his teeth glancing along your neck, down your chest to suckle and prod at your breasts. His hands, kneading the plush of your ass where he holds you down to the bed. His chest, pressing against you, and the heat of his breath that drifts lazily over your skin. And the length of his cock, filling you so completely that you’re worried you’ll spill over with want. The burning stretch of your cunt, fading into an ache that can only be quelled by the man above you.

“C’mon, love,” you murmur, threading your fingers through his hair, adorably mussed by sleep and your other activities. Lambert perks up at the nickname, a flash of confusion and denial shrouding his features. You cup his face again and bring him down to you, pulling him out of his spiraling thoughts as you clench your walls around him.

“Fucking shit, holy hell,” the curses continue as he begins to move, slowly thrusting his hips into yours. Soon though, his words become a little softer, resting his forehead on yours as his thrusts quicken. 

“Ah, gods, you’re so tight, it’s like you were made just for my cock, I’m not sure I’ll ever be satisfied with anything else, not after you,” his words punctuated by gasps and groans, pulling you oh so close to the edge of your climax. His hips snap relentlessly into you, each time sending a cascade of warmth through your cunt. 

You cant your hips in time with his, chasing your high, and Lambert gives an impish grin before capturing your lips once more and bringing one hand to your heat. He rubs quick, tight little circles around the peak of your core, his hips moving wildly and faster than humanly possible. You can feel his chest rumbling against yours, almost as if he were purring as he fucked you into oblivion. 

“C’mon, c’mon, let go for me, my dove, let go, yessss…” his words carry you over the edge, your hips jerking wildly in his grasp as you lose yourself in the all-encompassing climax. You cry out, low and lusty as your walls clench Lambert’s cock like a vice, squeezing and pulling him to his own release. He pulls out at the last second with a drawn-out groan, rapidly fucking into his own hand as he spends thick ropes of his release above you. He paints you with it, some of it coming as far up as your lips, letting you eagerly dart your tongue to taste him. 

You fall back into the pillows, releasing a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Lambert sinks back onto his heels, his cock still spilling over his fingers. 

“My gods,” you whisper in awe, “is it like that every time?” 

Lambert laughs, finally relenting as his cock starts to finally fall limp in his grasp. “Well, it’s always a lot, but not usually this much. I may need a minute…”

“Oh, fuck, I may need a bit longer than a minute, dear,” you chuckle, reaching out to pull him next to you. Lambert only takes your hand in his and places a light kiss to the tips of your fingers before dropping them, climbing off of the bed on only slightly wobbly legs. He grabs his undershirt that he had been wearing and lightly dampens it, bringing it back to you and wiping away the evidence of your joined releases before they can get sticky on your skin. 

He lets the now soiled cloth fall to the floor before climbing back into the bed, falling next to you with a dramatic ‘oomf’ when he hits the pillow.

You turn over so that you’re on your side, facing Lambert where he mirrors you. He’s wearing a goofy smile that only acts to make him that much more adorable, especially considering how rare that grin probably is.

“Will you stay? At least for a little bit?” you whisper, gently running your hand along the edge of his jaw. He hums noncommittally in response, relaxing into your touch and letting his eyes fall closed. Lambert is suddenly exhausted, and he’s glad for the comfortable space that he feels safe enough to be so exposed in. You let him sleep, content to hold him close for as long as you can until he leaves, taking your heart with him.

[thathopelessromantic]

Reckless Good (6/?)

Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia/My Hero Academia Fic Rating: Explicit Chapter Rating: Teen+ Pairing: Todoroki Shouto/Midoriya Izuku Note: Thanks again for your amazing support so far! I really appreciate all of you and your comments have been making my weeks since posting <3 This fic will be going on a short hiatus...I'm not sure how long it will be but July has been shockingly busy this year and has only continued to get crazier so I need a little more time to write more of this fic 

Todoroki Shouto had accepted his fate as a public figure when he became a pro-hero, but there are some parts of his private life he would like to stay private. When he gets invited to be a speaker in a college lecture series, he goes to the meeting with one goal: to give the coordinator a piece of his mind and finally put an end to people hounding him for information about his family.

The last thing he expects is the curious, and quirkless, hero- and quirk-study professor, Midoriya Izuku, who has no interest in his family’s history, and, somehow, even more ties to the hero industry than Shouto. Intrigued by the professor, Shouto tentatively agrees to the lecture series, unknowingly intertwining their futures.

But the more Todoroki sees of Midoriya, the more questions he has. When a villain attack leaves them living together until the culprits are apprehended, maybe he’ll finally get some answers.

AO3: (x) Beginning/Chapter One: (x) Previous Chapter: (X) TDDKBB2021 Companion Art: (X)

It’s been three days since the debriefing, and Shouto hasn’t been able to think about much else besides the weirdness of everything that happened in the meeting. Even now, standing under the scalding spray of his shower, he’s going through the motions, but his mind is in the hallway outside the conference room with Ingenium.

“I’m sorry about lying to you regarding Architect,” Ingenium had said solemnly. They’ve grown and their costumes had both changed since then, but without his helmet on, head bent to discuss something quietly, Shouto was reminded of the in-class exercises they used to do in high school. Off to the side in a hallway, as if creating a strategy. Somehow adult-Ingenium had gotten even more serious than his high school counterpart. “I know it was wrong to mislead you, but I knew he meant no harm. I knew he could help with Kou.”

“How?” Shouto had asked, but even then he had a feeling he knew the answer.

“…I’ve worked with him before,” Ingenium admitted. “I know the law, but he…he just wants to help people. And he does good hero work.”

Ingenium couldn’t say afterwards if he thought Architect would still somehow help the case. He knew he would want to, but with more people involved, and more people who knew he had been there before, it would be harder. Shouto can’t articulate exactly why, but somehow knowing he might be what brings more scrutiny towards Architect makes him feel…guilty? It’s not his fault that he didn’t know, nor is it his fault Architect is technically doing something illegal, but he feels guilty anyways.

Shouto’s phone chimes just as he steps out of the shower. Even before he checks it, he knows it’s a new text from Midoriya. While Shouto has thought of little else but the weirdness that had transpired at the debriefing for the last three days, Midoriya has acted as if it never happened. He had been quiet the rest of the day afterwards, but the next day Midoriya had picked up their text chat where they had left off as if nothing had happened. The few times Shouto tried to broach the topic of Midoriya’s behavior at the debriefing, his contacts with heroes, the vigilante Architect, anything from the debriefing, all he got was an abrupt subject change or radio silence for a few hours. After a day and a half of the back and forth, Shouto gave up pushing the subject. For now.

Shouto slings a towel around his hips and grabs his phone off the counter. There’s a new picture attached to the message. Midoriya’s scarred hand holds a large navy book out in front of the camera. The sidewalk serving as a background and the blurred edges of the image suggests he was walking somewhere as he took the picture.

I found a copy of the book!! The text underneath reads.

Shouto can’t make out any title in the picture, but he knows what book it is anyways. There was only one they had really discussed in-depth that would warrant such an excited text. It was an early study of dual quirks. Apparently, according to Midoriya, some of the information and conclusions they came to is now outdated but it is still considered one of the best introductory texts for understanding how dual quirks come about with inheritance. He had been suggesting it to Shouto practically since they had started their text conversation.

Another text comes in before Shouto can come up with a reply.

I can keep this copy in my office, if you would like to come by for it sometime.

Shouto wouldn’t mind going by the professor’s office again. It wasn’t that far out of his way, and it would be a good excuse to see him and talk to him some more – either about quirks, or whatever the hell was going on at the debriefing in an environment he can’t escape so easily. But as he mentally goes through his schedule thinking of a time he might be able to get there, it would be at least another week, if not two.

Shouto grimaces, running a hand over his face.

between normal wrk nd this new case itll be a while…

Of course I understand you’re busy! Oh unless you wanted to read it sooner

Shouto glances at the time. He still has almost two and a half hours before his next shift starts. It would be enough time. Probably. Depending on how long it takes to get Midoriya to agree. He has an idea but he knows Midoriya isn’t going to like it.

are u in musutafu now?

Yes. Of course! I could drop it off at your agency!

i was thinking just my apartment

Shouto puts his phone down to find something to wear. He doesn’t usually wear normal clothes under his uniform, but he figures he has a little while before he needs to change into it. He expects to get a flurry of messages protesting his suggestion as he finds and pulls on a pair of sweatpants, but a full three minutes pass before his phone chimes with another message. It just reads: what, lacking even Midoriya’s usual proper grammar and capitalization.

Shouto snorts. He knew he wasn’t going to like it.

im at the hospital on guard today and ill be out of the office the next few days. it would be quicker

That does set off the flurry of texts he expected the first time, Midoriya insisting that wasn’t necessary and he didn’t need to read it that quickly and a few that just said no a few times. The texts are still coming in, the notification that he’s typing still lit up on the screen, when Shouto presses the phone icon next to his name and starts a call.

The phone starts to ring. And then continues to ring for so long, Shouto thinks he’s going to go to voicemail, when Midoriya suddenly answers. There’s a shuffle on the other line for a moment.

“Entro-er, Todoro…hello?” Midoriya says.

“Hello, Midoriya,” Shouto replies.

Shouto’s simple greeting seems to knock Midoriya out of his stupor, because he immediately jumps back into his protests, picking right back up where he left off in his texts. Shouto waits until he has to stop to take a breath.

“I figured you would really frown upon me texting you my address, so I thought I’d call. Do you have something to write with?”

Midoriya sputters for a moment before he sighs. “You…yeah, go ahead.”

Shouto blinks in surprise. He really expected more of a protest than that. Still, he rattles off the address before Midoriya comes to his senses and changes his mind. Midoriya has him repeat it once, just to be sure he copied everything down correctly.

“Okay. I guess I will see you in a few minutes,” Midoriya says, sounding resigned.

Shouto almost laughs at the tone. “You don’t actually have to bring it to me if it’s any trouble. I can get it from the office eventually.”

“No, I don’t mind and it’s not that far out of the way actually,” Midoriya admits. “I’m a little concerned by your complete disregard for privacy or self-preservation but otherwise, it’s no trouble.”

“‘A lack of self-preservation and privacy’ is pretty much in my job description.”

Midoriya sighs. There’s some quiet mumbling Shouto can’t make out through the phone before Midoriya seems to give up on arguing the point for the moment and says his goodbye.

Shouto plugs his phone in by the bed to charge until he has to leave. Monarch and Momo still haven’t let go of the last time his phone died while he was on duty and he’s sure even being away from the agency for the next few days won’t save him from their ire if it happens again.

Shouto is still toweling off his hair when there’s a knock on his door. He glances at the clock on his wall, but even without the visual confirmation, he knows it has only been a few minutes since his call with Midoriya had ended. It was unlikely he found his apartment that quickly. He throws the towel over the bar in the bathroom and grabs a t-shirt on his way out of his room.

He opens the front door, expecting to see one of his neighbors in the hall. Instead, it is Midoriya staring at him from the other side of the door. He looks almost the exact same as the first time they had met with his thin, crooked wire frame glasses and oversized leather satchel hanging at his side. Though he had replaced his ill-fitting cardigan with a Froppy sweatshirt and a jean jacket over a button-up. Midoriya’s eyes scan over him quickly, pausing briefly at his middle before jumping back to his face and then to the space next to his head.

“Hello,” Midoriya manages quietly.

Shouto tugs the bottom of his shirt the rest of the way down.

“Hello. I…wasn’t expecting you to find the place so quickly,” he replies simply.

“Um, yes, it was closer than I realized too,” Midoriya finally looks him in the eye again, only to look away a moment later to bow his head. “I’m sorry, I should have announced myself somehow.”

“It’s fine, Midoriya. I’m glad you didn’t have to go too far out of your way.”

They stand in an awkward silence for a moment before they both seem to remember themselves and try to speak again.

Midoriya fumbles with the leather bag at his side, searching for the book. “Right, I’m sure you need to finish getting ready for work-” he starts to say.

At the same time, Shouto steps back, opening his door further. “Would you like to come in?”

Midoriya stares at him in surprise for a moment before his gaze jumps to something behind Shouto, brow furrowing.

“Todoroki, do you live alone?”

“Um, yes?” Shouto glances over his shoulder but doesn’t see whatever it was that Midoriya must have seen.

He turns back around, but Midoriya is still staring hard at something in the distance.

“Midoriya, what did-"

A loud crash of breaking glass cuts off the rest of Shouto’s question. Midoriya reacts a second before him, grabbing Shouto’s arm and throwing them both down the hall, away from his door as flames erupt in the apartment behind him.

They tumble to the ground. Shouto lands hard on his back as they roll for a moment, the floor below him and Midoriya landing heavily on top of him knocking the air from his lungs. One of Midoriya’s hands cushioned his head in the fall, but he pulls it back quickly as if Shouto burned him.

Midoriya quickly lifts himself up, carefully checking Shouto over. “Are you alright?”

Shouto nods, not yet ready to try speaking again. The sound of a vicious fire cracks behind them and the smell of smoke is already starting to fill the hallway. Whatever was thrown has a fast-moving fire and Shouto can feel the heat even from a few feet away.

“Will your fire alarm alert the authorities?”

Shouto pushes himself to a sitting position . “Don’t have a fire alarm,” he chokes out. They really need to move. “They go off too easily.”

Midoriya stares at him for a moment like he’s lost his mind before realization dawns. “Right your quirk would probably make that a pain. Okay, I’ll call for help. But we need to get as many people out as we can before they get here.”

Shouto climbs to his feet, using the wall to hold himself up for the moment. Everything seems to feel okay, so he doesn’t think he’s injured, just winded. Midoriya looks worried but he still scrambles to his feet a moment later.

“I can get my upstairs neighbors out,” Shouto says.

“I’ll help everyone below evacuate,” Midoriya offers before Shouto has barely finished speaking. He takes off for the stairwell, glancing back at the last second. “Be careful, Todoroki.”

Shouto stares after him for a moment, incredulous. ‘I’m the pro in this situation,’ he wants to remind Midoriya. ‘And probably marginally more fire-resistant than you.’ “You too,” is all he manages instead as the stairwell door swings shut behind Midoriya. Faintly, Shouto remembers another time he watched a civilian run head-long into trouble, but he brushes off the otherwise long-forgotten memory. It was so long ago, he’s not sure what dredged up the old memory, but dwelling on it won’t help anyone right now.

Shouto forces himself away from the door and his desire to go after the apparently reckless, mysterious, crazy-overachieving civilian he just let run into danger and heads for his closest neighbor. There are only three apartments on each floor. The one next to him has been empty for months, and usually both of the Fukudas were at work during this time of day, but he pounds on the door just to be safe, calling for them both. Smoke is finally beginning to fill the hallway and he knows it will only be another minute or two before the fire itself begins to crawl its way out of the apartment too.

Shouto breaks through the door, calling for either of the Fukudas to answer as he darts through the handful of rooms laid out in a mirror of his own familiar apartment. Satisfied that it is empty, he goes back to the hall heading for the stairs. He can feel his right side rapidly growing colder as his quirk tries to regulate his body temperature. The overheated air burns his already sore chest as he runs.

Shouto is already shouting as he reaches the next floor, hoping to alert as many of his neighbors as he can. One door opens as he throws himself down the hall, an older woman looking at him suspiciously through the crack in her door. For once he’s thankful for his unique appearance because he sees recognition dawn on her a moment later, even without his hero suit.

“A fire started on the floor below, I’m trying to evacuate everyone on this floor and the next, if you have anyone home with you, get them!”

The woman nods in understanding, throwing her door open and running back into the apartment calling for someone. Shouto goes to the next closest apartment, banging on the door and calling for anyone who might be inside. The door to the apartment next door opens and a man looks out.

“What is all the racket about? They went to their parents for the week, no one is in there.”

“The apartment is empty right now?”

The man glares at him, but Shouto pushes on before he can start an argument with him. The first woman comes out of her apartment with her grandson and a small dog in tow. “Sir, there is a fire on the floor below. We’re evacuating everyone.”

The man still looks like he wants to argue, but a moment later the sound of sirens grows louder as help arrives on the scene and that seems to be enough to convince him to cooperate. The three tenants follow him up the stairs to the last floor. Two of the three doors are already open, the tenants looking out obviously wondering what all the noise is about. The woman and her grandson greet one of the two women, immediately filling them in on what’s going on. Shouto goes to the last door.

“She’s at work,” one of the women calls to him. “She lives alone. Except for a cat.”

Shouto nods his thanks for the information. “I’ll go in to get the cat. Do either of you have a window that faces the front of the building?”

The other woman raises her hand. “I do!”

“Please take everyone into your apartment, clear a space in front of the window if necessary and I’ll be there in just a moment.” Shouto instructs. He waits just a moment to make sure everyone is complying before he forces the last door open. The cat in question makes itself known immediately, rushing to the door crying for attention before it realizes he is not their owner. The cat turns tail and darts deeper into the apartment.

Cursing, Shouto uses ice to create a small blockade in the hall that leads to the bedroom and bathroom, limiting the cat’s escape routes as he darts after it, sliding across the hardwood floor leading into the hallway. He catches himself on the wall just as the cat skids to a halt before the ice, trying to turn quickly but the floor is more slippery than its accustomed to and Shouto manages to grab it as it struggles to find its footing. He gets a few heavy scratches across his arms for his trouble, and the cat does its best to escape his hold, but he manages to get it out of the apartment. He wishes he had his tool belt on him, where he might have something that could contain the cat better, and make it easier to transport, but even if the fire-resistant fabric had lasted this long, it wasn’t worth it to try and get back into his apartment for it.

He rejoins his neighbors in the other apartment. Along with the three from the first floor, there are the two women from this floor, one of whom clutches a still-sleeping baby to her chest. From the window he can see the ambulance and two fire engines that have already arrived. And based on the sounds in the distance, the police and at least one more ambulance would not be far behind. Someone offers to take the disgruntled cat from him as he throws open the window.

Smoke is billowing from a window on a lower floor, obscuring his line of sight for a moment as the winds shift. Shouto swears under his breath, he can feel his neighbors growing anxious behind him, but he knows he needs a clear shot of the ground for this to work. It takes a few minutes for the view to clear enough for him to see a good landing place. By then a few people from the lower floors have started to evacuate, and he can see the first responders meeting them as they come out. He can’t tell from here if Midoriya is with them yet, though he has a feeling the answer is no.

Pushing his concerns aside for the moment, Shouto takes a deep breath to focus. Even after all these years of playing catch up, he still has a much better control of his right side than his left, but the overheated air is already putting a strain on his right side as it keeps his body cool. He creates an ice ramp, or perhaps more accurately a slide, from the window to the ground besides one of the fire engines. It’s as far as he dares to go to keep the slide from being too steep without also becoming too thin. He reinforces the part connected to the building and as much of the underside as he can from where he is to keep the fire from melting it down.

He turns back to his gathered neighbors. The adults gathered look unsure at best, if not down right afraid, but the young boy looks excited.

“It’ll be cold going down, but you should be perfectly safe,” Shouto promises. “Who’s first?”

Shouto helps the first woman up to the window. Once she is down safe, the woman with her baby goes, climbing up by herself first before Shouto hands the infant off to her. The young boy volunteers next before his grandmother can stop him, scrambling up to the window and then asking Shouto to hand the dog up to him. The older woman goes next, clutching the terrified cat tightly to her chest as she disappears down the slide.

Shouto waits until the older man safely reaches the bottom after her before he prepares to go down himself. Taking one last look back before he drops, he sees the smoke begin to curl around the edges of the apartment door.

 The fire chief stops Shouto first once he’s down, thanking him for his help evacuating the civilians and asking about the conditions inside. Shouto gives as much information as he can about the fire and where it started. He ignores the concerned expression the chief gives him as he explains how it began. He knows it seems like an attack, and a targeted attack at that, but he doesn’t want to focus on it just yet. Eventually, the chief figures he’s gotten as much as from Shouto as he’s going to for the moment and sends him off towards the paramedics.

Shouto dodges them for the moment, finding the neighbors he helped down first to make sure everyone actually made it down unharmed. Everyone seems okay, the baby somehow still blissfully asleep and the young boy excitedly asks Shouto if he can go down his ice slide again some other time. One of the first responders found a carrying case for the cat until they could get ahold of its actual owner. He recognizes a few of the other neighbors gathered around from the lower floors. A few have shock blankets on and one person is perched in an ambulance with a paramedic attached to an oxygen machine, but there don’t seem to be any major injuries.

Midoriya is arguing with a paramedic, insisting someone else is in more pressing need of care when Shouto finally approaches one of the ambulances.

“What’s that saying about doctors being the worst patients?” Shouto asks.

Midoriya jumps, startled by his arrival, though he quick recovers from his shock to glare at Shouto.

The paramedic throws his hands up. “Entropy, please try and talk some sense into him. This is the fourth time he’s refused care.” The paramedic turns back to Midoriya and waves a warning finger at him. “I’m running out of other patients to look at.” He warns before storming off.

“Are you alright? What happened?” Shouto asks once they’re alone. Midoriya mostly looks okay, his glasses are missing and he’s a little sooty and disheveled, but Shouto figures everyone probably looks about the same in that regard.

“Nothing,” Midoriya starts to say as someone nearby loudly clears their throat over him. Midoriya scowls. “I think I might have landed on my hand funny earlier, but it’s fine, probably just sore.”

Shouto frowns. “You should at least have someone look at it, just in case.”

Midoriya opens his mouth to argue but a ringing phone cuts him off. He fumbles with his phone for a moment, struggling to pull it out of a pocket with his opposite hand. He winces as he finally pulls it out.

“Shit.”

“What?”

“It’s a video call.” Midoriya doesn’t elaborate anymore. He shifts around before he answers, holding the phone up at an angle that keeps his arm and the ambulance mostly out of the camera. He pastes on a bright smile. “Hi, Eri.”

“Oh Izuku, are you okay? I heard you were involved in a fire. Are you injured? What happened?” Dr. Aizawa asks in a rush, her worried face fills the screen. Red eyes move quickly, obviously taking note of Midoriya’s disheveled apperance.

“I’m fine. Everyone’s fine. We’re not sure exactly how it started yet,” he lies. “But no one was hurt.”

“Where are you? I’ll go-”

“No,” Midoriya cuts her off. “I’m fine and I’ll come by the hospital later so you can check me over yourself if you’re really that worried, but I’m fine. And I want to make sure someone is keeping an eye out for Kou.”

“You think this has to do with her?” Dr. Aizawa asks, surprised.

“I’m not sure yet, I would just feel better if I knew there was extra security around her.”

Dr. Aizawa nods. “Okay, Izuku. I’ll make sure someone has an eye on her at all times. I’ll call you later to check up on you.” She says. “And I’ll know if you don’t let the paramedics check on you so don’t even try it this time.” The call ends before Midoriya can refute her last statement.

“I’m supposed to be taking the next shift on the hospital,” Shouto realizes. “I still had another two hours before my shift began when you arrived, but I should let someone know.”

Midoriya offers Shouto his phone. Before Shouto can step away, the paramedic returns with his arms crossed.

“Ready to cooperate?”

Midoriya looks miserably over his shoulder at Shouto but lets the paramedic force him into a seat.

Shouto calls Momo on her private number.

“This is Creati.” Momo answers stiffly after a single ring.

“Momo, it’s Shouto. My phone is…I don’t have my phone right now. There was just a fire-”

“At your apartment building. I know I just got the alert. Are you okay? You were still home, weren’t you?”

“Yes. I’m fine. No one was injured, but they’re still putting out the fire and I’m pretty sure my apartment is gone. It started there.”

Momo takes a long time to reply. “Your quirk?” She finally asks, but she sounds like she already knows the answer.

“No. I think…It seems crazy, but…” Shouto hesitates. He lives on the third floor, but crazier things have probably happened to him. “I think someone threw something through my window to start it.”

Momo curses under her breath. “I was afraid of that. You haven’t heard from anyone else, yet, have you? There was another attack, across town. Not a fire, but a building came down. A few civilians were hurt, and…”

Shouto tries not to lose his patience with Momo as she hesitates.

Finally she sighs. “The latest report from the police just came over the radio. Mr. Smith was one of the only heroes in the area. He was severely injured while helping trapped civilians. Paramedics rushed him to the hospital a few minutes ago. No one’s sure of his status yet.”

“Fuck.” Midoriya was right. “This is about Kou. The girl from before you have to-”

“I know your schedule, Shouto.” Momo interrupts. “As soon as I got the alert I let them know you might have been targeted. Someone has already been assigned to your guard shift and they’ve added extra security to the hospital.”

Shouto feels himself relax for the first time since the fire began. If there’s one thing he can count on, it’s Momo to be on top of things. “Thank you.”

Momo replies with a quiet hum of acknowledgement. “Is there anything else I can do for you right now? Do you need anyone else at the scene?”

“No, everything seems pretty well in hand for now. But if you could let my mother and sister know, that would help. They’ll see it on the news eventually, but even if my phone survived the fire it will probably be a while before I can get it to contact them myself.”

“Of course, I’ll make sure they know you’re alright. Can I contact you on this number again?”

Shouto glances back at Midoriya. He’s, miraculously, still sitting in the ambulance doors letting the paramedic wrap his hand, but he also managed to call over one of the firefighters to discuss something about the attack. “Yeah, you can use this number again.”

“Let me know when you learn something more.”

“I will.”

“I’m really glad you’re okay, Shouto.” Momo says just before she ends the call.

Me too, Shouto thinks, looking around at all the people gathered in front of the apartment. He and Midoriya had managed to get everyone out, but if Shouto had been alone he might not have been quick enough. Hell, if he hadn’t been answering the door at just the right time, he might not have been able to save anyone at all. He would probably be right beside Mr. Smith in the hospital. I just wish it could be said for everyone.

Shouto returns to the ambulance, passing the cell back to Midoriya. Midoriya takes one look at his face and knows.

“You heard about Mr. Smith too?”

Shouto nods. “Creati already sent word to the hospital for extra security and for someone to cover my shift watching Kou.”

Midoriya cracks a small smile. Other than the one he wore to briefly pacify Dr. Aizawa, it’s the first smile Shouto thinks he’s seen from him all day. And bizarrely, it puts him at ease for a moment, lifting some of the weight of the attack.

“Remind me to send her a huge thank you gift when we finally get out of here,” Midoriya says, and even though Momo is just doing her job in her own efficient, overachiever way, he knows Midoriya is serious.

Midoriya moves over, offering the extra space for Shouto to sit down. Another paramedic almost immediately descends on them, finally checking Shouto over for shock, smoke inhalation, over-extended quirk usage, and other injuries. Other than the handful of cat scratches that they clean and bandage, he comes out with a clean bill of health. Midoriya is comparing their injuries, complaining that his “bruised wrist” didn’t need more bandaging than Shouto’s cuts, but while his tone is light, his eyes keep focusing on something in the distance, his attention obviously not on their conversation. Shouto can practically hear the wheels turning in his head as he thinks.

The fire chief eventually joins them as the fire dies down and more of the firefighters exit the building for the last time. “Thank you again, Entropy, for your help evacuating tenants before we arrived. And…Midoriya, was it?”

“Dr. Midoriya,” Shouto corrects when Midoriya simply nods. Midoriya elbows him in the side, but Shouto ignores the jab.

“Dr. Midoriya, thank you for your help as well. That was very brave of you. A number of the tenants I’ve spoken with were extremely grateful for your assistance.”

Midoriya shrugs a shoulder, as if he had truly done nothing of note. “I’m just glad I was in the right place to help, at the right time.”

“Do we know anything else about the fire yet? Or the building?” Shouto asks.

“The fire is mostly out, we just have a few more people inside checking for any hidden fires or areas that weren’t extinguished completely the first time. As for the building…it will take a little while longer to properly assess all the damage but the third floor where it started, and the second and fourth floors, took the most damage. At the very least it will be a day or two before it’s safe for the tenants to move between the floors to get their things.” The chief explains.

Shouto expected about as much, honestly he was prepared to hear worse, but it doesn’t make it easier. “Thank you for letting us know.”

The chief nods. “Of course.”

Shouto turns back to Midoriya as the chief walks away. “Can I borrow your phone one more time?”

Midoriya politely, but unnecessarily, turns away as Shouto crafts a text to Momo.

the tenants will b displaced for at least a few days. can we do smthing abt accommodations for them?

It only takes Momo a few seconds to reply.

Of course. Send me the number of people and their contact information and I’ll take care of everything.

A second text comes in almost immediately.

Will you need something too? You could always stay with me and Kyouka. Or I’m sure your mother would be happy to have you for a few days.

Shouto stares at the message for a moment. “Shit.” He hadn’t been thinking about himself. Obviously he couldn’t stay in his apartment. But he wouldn’t want to be housed anywhere near his neighbors, in case whoever attacked tried again. But that would put his friends, or family, in the same line of risk.

“What’s wrong?” Midoriya finally turns back, looking over Shouto’s shoulder. “Was there another attack?”

Shouto shakes his head. “No, sorry to worry you. Momo just reminded me I’ll need a place to stay for a while. I don’t want to risk a hotel or some public housing, if they try to attack again…”

Midoriya doesn’t need him to finish his thought before he nods in understanding. “And you don’t want to stay with your friends or family for the same reason. There’s too much of a risk they will try to target you again.”

Shouto groans, running a hand over his face. Maybe Midoriya was onto something with all his concerns about ‘privacy and self-preservation.’

“Stay with me.”

Shouto’s head shoots up. He thinks he had to have misheard, but the serious expression on Midoriya’s face suggests otherwise.

“What?”

“You can stay with me. No, you should stay with me.”

Shouto feels like he was just transported to a parallel universe. He was actually fairly confident his role as the only one to suggest ridiculous things in this newly-started relationship was already established.

“I-No. I couldn’t ask that of you.”

“You’re not asking, I’m insisting.”

Shouto ignores him. “I can stay in the dorms at the agency.”

Midoriya rolls his eyes. “That’s an extremely short term solution, at best. And a huge risk. If these villains have kept close enough tabs on you to find your personal apartment and attack it, it would be child’s play to figure out you were staying in your office, with a publicly available address, and target it too.”

“You would still be at risk,” Shouto says, baffled as to how Midoriya somehow managed to miss that very important fact. “The same way Momo and Kyouka or my family would be, I can’t put you in that position.”

“Todoroki,” Midoriya says, deadly serious. “You are not a very social hero. It is common knowledge who you are close enough with to consider a friend. And your family has been in the spotlight for years. Staying with any of them is an obvious and dangerous choice. I’m a nobody. No one knows me, no one knows you know me. Also my house is…private, secluded. Even if someone does eventually figure out you’re there, it will take much longer than any of the other places. Enough time that we can come up with another plan.”

Midoriya reaches over and takes the cell out of his hands. “Now, unless you have a more convincing argument, I will text…” he looks at the phone for a long moment as he trails off. Shouto has no idea how he can casually insist on Shouto staying with him and in the same breath be visibly uncomfortable texting a different hero. “I will text…Creati and tell her you have a place to stay. You should go collect everyone else’s information for her.”

Shouto stares at Midoriya in disbelief while he pointedly ignores him and struggles to craft a text to Momo. He only finally moves when Midoriya all but shoves him off the ambulance step, claiming to be unable to type while he was being watched.

“I…can’t make sense of you,” Shouto finally admits. Midoriya has baffled him basically since the moment they met and he’s beginning to think he might never fully understand him.

Midoriya looks up from his phone with a curious expression, as if surprised by Shouto’s admission, before it transforms into a smile Shouto has never seen before, but that he wants to pull from him again and again.

“I like to think that’s just a part of my charm.”

[29-pieces]

Whumptober Day 5 - Good Omens

Day 5: Failed Escape Fandom/Setting: Good Omens, pre-Earth, during the war between angels and demons - Azi and Crowley haven’t met before read on AO3 read on ff.net

~*~

Aziraphale didn't dare turn around to look behind him, running as fast as his burning feet could carry him. If only he could just fly away, but the demons had been quite thorough in wrecking his wings during his interrogation. No, he'd not be flying out of Hell. And at this rate, he wouldn't be running out, either. It was sheer luck he'd managed to slip away from his captors once, but if they caught him, oh Heaven help him...

The cords wrapped around his legs from out of nowhere, weighted balls on the ends slinging around to clack against each other as Aziraphale cried out and fell heavily to the sulfuric ground. He looked down in a panic, wound with the bolas so tightly that his frantic tugs couldn't free himself. Behind him was the sound of laughter and cheers and his own impending death. Throwing pride to the winds, Aziraphale desperately clawed at the floor of Hell in an attempt to crawl out of sight, but of course he stood no chance and soon he was surrounded by several pairs of burned and blackened feet.

"And where do you think you're going?" a nasty voice asked as Aziraphale tilted his head up in fright. A demon grinned down at him, fangs bared. "Wot, had enough of our 'ospitality already?"

"Don't- don't care much for it, no," Aziraphale replied with only a slight quaver. He tried to duck away as a pair of hands reached for his tunic, hauling him halfway up off the ground.

"Can't miss your own execution," another demon chortled. "Figure it'll make nice entertainment next time there's a break in the battle. What'll it be, beheading? Hellfire?"

"I heard Lucifer is itchin' to execute one for 'imself," the first one confided, jerking his head towards Aziraphale. "Should give that tosser Gabriel a bit of a pause, eh? Right lads, get this one back to 'is cell. I'll let Lord Beelzebub know we caught 'im. Might want to move that execution up a bit. Oh, and lads, make sure he can't run again."

Aziraphale swallowed back his terror as well as he could, which wasn't all that well given the circumstances. None of the demons moved to unwrap the bolas they had snared him with, leaving him unable to get to his feet and walk under his own power. No, they seemed content to drag him along instead, ignoring his struggles to wrest himself free of their grip. All too soon, he was right back where he'd started at the tiny cell they'd been keeping him in.

"Alright, you heard the boss," the one hauling him along said, tossing him to the ground. "Don't want this pigeon in any shape to scarper again, do we?"

Oh, it hurt, those heavy feet on all sides of him kicking and stomping any available bit of his body they could reach. Aziraphale tried to curl up into a ball but with his legs still wound with the snare, it wasn't like he could get away from them. He bit his lip to keep from crying out, though it didn't do much good for very long. Now with his body as battered as his wings, Aziraphale didn't want to even contemplate moving, let alone the long journey back to Heaven, or even to the battlefield where maybe another angel would find him and get him to safety. He was too breathless to do anything but shudder as he was finally dragged back into the cage and left in a heap on the floor.

How long he stayed there, Aziraphale didn't know. He wanted to give up. He was never getting out of there, he would be put to death for all the angels to see, like so many others he'd witnessed with horror since the start of this awful war.

No. No, he was not going to die like that.

He would probably die, truth be told, but... not like that. Aziraphale lifted his head and put on his second most determined glower (the most determined one hurt too much at the moment).

"Awake in there, pigeon?" a demon guard asked, thwacking his spear against the cage bars so that Aziraphale jumped. The demon snickered and turned his back again.

Aziraphale looked at the guard, then at the door, then the bolas around his legs. He squirmed, struggling and wheezing a bit through the pain, but he finally managed to extricate himself from the snare. He checked to see if the guard had turned to watch or not, but it seemed the demon had deemed him of little concern.

Good.

Clutching one weighted ball in one hand and holding the other two carefully to keep them silent, Aziraphale forced himself to his feet. He ignored the burn of Hell through his boots, tiptoeing as silently as possible to the edge of the cell. The guard still didn't turn. Wielding his weapon, Aziraphale struck the demon in the head hard enough for him to go down with a clatter and a bang.

Aziraphale gasped with relief and dropped his weapon, kneeling to scoop up the keys from his jailer's still form. His breath came ragged but he managed to make his shaking hands work the key into the lock and twist it open, shoving his way out of the prison. Aziraphale snatched the spear from where it had fallen and whirled to gaze down at his demon captor. He raised the weapon, ready to strike.

Then he took a steadying breath, preparing.

Then he bit his lip, regarding the unconscious demon.

Aziraphale sighed and lowered the weapon. No matter what this horrid beast had done, he couldn't very well kill an unarmed enemy, and an unconscious one at that.

"Bother," he grumbled. "Well, I don't expect you'll find the same mercy from your own lot, anyway."

Aziraphale turned to flee but immediately skidded to a halt with a horrible jolt of terror to find his way blocked by another demon.

This one was staring at him, its snake form swaying slightly back and forth. It was massive, immense black coils surely powerful enough to crush Aziraphale and fangs that would kill him much slower than the promised beheading would. Aziraphale sagged, utterly defeated; perhaps if he was whole and hale he would have stood a chance in this fight, but the recent beating had taken what little remained of his strength. He was as good as dead.

The snake didn't move to attack, though. Its head was cocked to the side, reptilian eyes almost puzzled as it regarded Aziraphale, the spear, and the unconscious demon still in front of the cell. Aziraphale wasn't sure what it was waiting for, but he would go down fighting. He clutched the spear—really it wasn't even a threat so much as a prop to keep him on his feet—and waited for the snake demon to make its move.

A forked tongue flicked out as the snake's eyes shifted between Aziraphale and the demon by the cage one more time. Then, the snake lowered back down onto its belly and slithered calmly on its way.

Aziraphale watched it go, perplexed. There was no chance the demon hadn't realized it could knock him down with one good puff of air, or that he was obviously in the middle of escaping. Why was it letting him go?

A puzzle for another time, Aziraphale firmly reminded himself. First, he needed to finish escaping. He would have to be far away by the time his guard woke up with what Aziraphale hoped was a splitting headache.

Eventually he would of course have to wonder some more about that snake demon. But only from the comfort and safety of home. Turning, Aziraphale fled.

[iphoenixrising]

Check, Please WIP: Part 1-4

AHL!Bitty

I’m going to hell, but… Parse, Bitty, and Jack or PB&J as I’ve seen it, have some wonderful stories in the fandom, and tbh I’ve come to look at Kent Parsons very differently thanks to a few. You can probably check them out on my Ao3 bookmarks and such. 

Notes: 

I know shit all about hockey but damn if I don’t love Check, Please! Not everything is accurate and some details are mine. Like, I’m just going to pretend the Bruins aren’t in Providence, and the Pawtucket Rebels are the AHL team. 

But then, what if Jack and Bits didn’t get that kiss at the end of Jack’s graduation? What if they just stayed the best of friends, pining away at one another until Kent Parson comes back into Jack’s life. Now it’s not just Jack pining, it’s Kent too :D

And, well, after winning the Championship his senior year, bringing that back to Samwell, Eric Bittle might just think he hasn’t had enough Hockey after all.

Really, it’s time to put up or shut up.

** Pro

Of all the things on Kent Parson’s Wish List (winning the Stanley Cup, being on a team he loves, playing hockey for the rest of his life, having a pet and Kit meets all those criteria for so much cute and cuddly), getting his friendship back on track with Jack Zimmermann hadn’t moved down from number 1, ever. 

Things changed after that disaster at his college frat house, then later in Zimm’s first season with the Falconers, Kent wasn’t sure it could even be a wish. 

When it came to hockey, things were always too easy. They never had to talk about it, about what they were doing on the ice. All of that just came like breathing. Parse and Zimms, Zimms and Parse. The whole Zimmermann-Parson No-Look One-Timer was never something they discussed, it was something that just happened. 

On the ice, they were unbeatable, just like in Juniors.

Off the ice...was a different story. 

(Sometimes he dreams about it, finding Jack passed out on the bathroom floor of the hotel, foaming at the mouth, panic and adrenaline hitting Kent hard when he’s pretty sure his best friend, the man he almost-kind of-sometimes loves, is going to die on this floor.)

Jack’s problem with pills started early, around the time he and Kent got serious enough to play for scouts that started coming around with the promise of watching the son of Bad Bob. 

(He was always partially to blame for Jack’s downfall. Kent had been the closest to Jack back then, had seen the signs, had tried to pull him back whenever he could, had been the one to ease Zimms down before every game, to be the one sitting in a corner with the bigger Canadian, running his hands over Jack’s shoulders and holding his hands, checking his breathing, helping him work through the anxiety.)

But, but!

That’s all old history, something Jack probably never wants to revisit ever again (because he cut you out of his life so well–), even when he makes it to the Falconers. 

(After that disaster at his school, well, no wonder.)

And Kent just has to deal with that, has to accept it finally, and just move on. 

(He could have been an Ace, just that fast, playing with Kent’s team of awesome guys. And fuck did it hurt when Jack turned him down flat...)

Until this little shit came along.

** 1

Eric Bittle realizes he’s severely messed up when he doesn’t kiss Jack Zimmermann at graduation. 

For two years, they’ve played hard hockey for Samwell, have gotten close, becoming best friends. They’ve held checking clinics, hugged tightly in cellys, watched boring as hell history documentaries on that god-awful green couch, and pulled each other back from the brink of insanity during midterms and finals. They’ve spent time in the kitchen with Bitty cooking and Jack working at the table. They’ve spent time outside in the quad, bullshittin’ like the oldest friends, chirpin’ back n’ forth like they’re two peas in a pod. 

Jack somehow started being his best friend without even trying. 

The last game showed him how close they’d become when he’s going through the empty rink, making it to the loading dock, just a flash of jersey leading him to Jack hunched over, tears in his eyes. 

The utter agony right there had gone through Bitty like lightning, driving him forward to hop up on the pallets Jack was sitting on, and wrap both arms around those wide shoulders, hold on to ‘im as tight as he can. 

“It ain’t your fault, Jack. You did so good with us. I’m so proud of you, honey, you have no idea. You worked so hard, so hard, Jack.”

“Bits,” is soft and sad, Jack choking a little, but those big arms come around him, crush him against Jack’s chest and the pads he’s still wearing. 

“I know, I know. Sometimes it just isn’t in the cards, no matter how hard we fight. You get that, don’t you? Sometimes it just is what it is.”

“I can’t–” accept that is what Jack wants to say. 

“I know it’s hard, but sometimes all the trainin’ and plannin’ and best of intentions just aren’t enough to tip the scales in your favor.”

And Jack seems to get something there, tightens his arms a little more, and holds on. 

It’s a little while later when Jack’s stopped shaking like a leaf, “I wanted to bring home a Championship. Wanted to make my mark on Samwell.”

“Of course you did–”

“Thought after all this time, everything I owe Samwell and the team, bringing me here, giving me this second chance–”

“Oh Jack,” at this juncture, Bittle’s head is under Jack’s chin. 

“I finally felt like I’d stopped fucking up,” is rough and dark in the quiet of the rink. “I thought coming to Samwell was a...a punishment. I dealt with it because I thought my life was going to start after, when I finished up my degree and got back into the Draft. But that’s...that’s not how it happened. My life started the minute I met you and the team and I remembered why the hell I love hockey so damn much in the first place.”

And if maybe a few slow, shameful tears escaped Bitty, well, no one would ever know.

But they got even closer as Jack’s graduation loomed, and Eric Bittle stayed in his own personal hell of loving Jack so much it ached, but helpless to stay away to protect himself. 

Instead, when Jack pauses at his door, Bits knows what he needs and finds space to lounge on Jack’s bed, scrolling through Twitter while Jack talks about the negotiations with NHL teams or works on his last assignments. 

Watching Jack pack his things, preparing for the Falconer’s training camp, getting ready for the next stage of his life, all of it makes Bits so dang proud and so sad at the same time.

But, well, nothin’ lasts forever, now does it.

When Jack ran all the way back to the Haus just to see him, just to pull him in hard for a desperate last hold, it was all Bits could do to stop from sobbing his heart out.

“–and you’re coming to Providence this summer to stay with me for a while, and-and I’ll be down when I can. You’re going to Skype me all the time. Bits, promise me. All the time.”

“Okay, Jack. Okay.”

Something soft in French that he has no idea what it could possibly mean, but he absolutely imagines Jack pressing a kiss in his hair. 

“I’m sorry, Bits, but I have to go. I...I’ll text you, okay?”

“Okay,” is more watery than he’d like, but he can look up in Jack’s blue, blue eyes and at least feel warm that he’s had this man for as long as he has. When Jack’s hands slide out of his, he somehow doesn’t feel like he’s losing anything at all. 

** 2

And just like that, Jack takes a step in his life he never could have predicted. Like an hour away instead of across the hall is enough to keep holding on, enough that Jack comes to Madison over the summer, enough that he asks Bitty to show him how to use FaceTime and SnapChat. 

It’s enough for Jack to pick him up off his feet every time they meet up and bury his face in Bitty’s hair. It’s enough for Jack to Skype almost nightly while he’s tuckered out in his bed, talking about the joys and pitfalls of being a professional athlete. 

It’s enough that he gets to meet the Falconers long before preseason starts, and the amount of pies he brings is literally obscene.

(It all works out just fine in the end because he goes home with the empty pans. Not a single slice left.)

It’s enough when Jack talks more about life than hockey sometimes, and Bitty is utterly helpless to stop any of it. And it’s funny, he thinks, how he was sure Jack would just flitter out of his life after a while. That they would be reduced to a Skype call once a week maybe when they find the time, then once a month, then not at all, moving into texting once and a while until Jack would be nothing more than one of his best memories of Samwell. 

It’s funny how he thought Jack moving into the NHL, moving to Providence, moving out of the Haus, moving on with his life, would mean also moving on from Eric Bittle.

And my, how wrong he was about all that.

Watching Jack play with the Falconers from the stands with the Stanley Cup on the line is not really where he’d thought he’d be once Jack had graduated. 

But, if anything else, they’ve gotten even closer than before. 

And when the buzzer finally sounds and the Falconers win it, he’s among the crowd running out on the ice for the biggest celly of the year. 

Jack spots him immediately, grabs him up with a victorious roar, and skates around people holding Bitty like a favorite toy until Tater scoops him up from Jack yelling about “Nook pies!”

Marty skates by him, ruffling his hair with something twinkling in his eye. Thirdy hauls him up, too, though Bitty has no idea why all these hockey players are just throwing him around when they’ve just won the Stanley Cup, but he still thinks it’s awful nice of them to include him in their celebration.

He doesn’t go back to Georgia for the summer after all or the next one before he starts his senior year, but goes between staying in Jack’s guest room and the Haus instead. His Mama’s not happy about it at all, but he’s a grown man, so that’s all she can say about that.

So Bitty passes the summer of his Senior year training with Jack or at Faber when the ice is up for grabs, works on some chapters for his someday cookbook, and continues his vlog so everyone can see how superior filo is to choux in the right circumstances.

With the season over after winning the Cup, Jack is over at the Haus more than ever if Bitty’s not in Providence already staying in his guest room. 

It should be strange to answer the door at the Haus on Saturday morning during the summer and see Jack there in his trainers, sweats, and t-shirt, wanting to hang out for the day after he’d put in a few hours at the Falc’s stadium already. 

(“C’mon, Bits. Can’t slack during the summer. You’re the captain. Set an example.”

“Jack, it’s summer. Leave me alone until at least nine am for goodness sake!”

“Not going to happen, bud.”)

It should be strange riding the train or in the passenger seat of Jack’s SUV on their way to Providence while he fiddles with the music and Jack doesn’t complain about the selection. 

It should be strange to wake up on Jack’s couch, laying on a broad shoulder with a heavy arm flopped around Bitty’s waist and logs being sawed in his ear.

It should be strange to know Jack’s kitchen better than the back of his hand, and to be giddy every time there’s a new utensil bought with him in mind.

(“Jack, why in the world would you need a dough scraper of all things?” “Not for me, Bits.”

“O-Oh!”

“Yeah. Thank Tater. He went with me this time. He held up that and said, ‘oh does B have one of these? It looks important.’ I didn’t know so I bought it in case.”)

It should be strange to see Jack’s Skype requests almost every night before bed, or have his former captain sprawled out in Bitty’s full sized bed once Lardo, Ransom, and Holster are already moved out and the new Waffles are well into the first semester of his senior year.

(“Good Lord, Jack, scoot over!”

“Mm.” Jack scootches maybe a foot more so Bitty can climb in beside him, already yawning. “Comfy, bud?”

“Gettin’ there,” and he absolutely ignores how much easier he falls asleep when Jack throws a heavy arm over him.)

It should be strange for Jack to whip him on up in a big hug when he admits the boys voted him as the Captain, and Jack breathes out, “damn right,” too close to his ear.

(“I don’t know if I can do this, Jack.”

“Too bad, Bits. Looks like you’re already doing it.”)

It should be strange for Jack to chirp him about his thesis, about his struggle with Whiskey, about why this darn strudel just won’t turn out right.

(“Jaques Laurant Zimmermann, do not make me ground you from pie.”

“Haha. I know you wouldn’t do that, bud.”

“Oh? Don’t be so sure, Mister.”)

It should be strange to get an earful when his new video comes out and Jack had no idea the jam war was that serious while Bitty has been supplying the Falconers for nearly a year. 

(“Are you kidding? Aunt Judy is really that upset?”

“You have no idea, honey. It’s almost World War III down there.”

“Good thing you’re stuck at Samwell.”

“Good thing is right! I don’t want any part of that mess.”)

But somehow it never is. Strange, that is, to have Jack so much. Even though nothing could happen between them (“Never fall for a straight boy.”), Bitty still can’t let go of Jack, can’t deny him, can’t tell him no, can’t be the one that fails to respond when Jack reaches out for him. 

Even when Kent Parson shows up at a Falcs game and cheers himself hoarse, screams for Jack right there on live TV.

And while trying to get through his dang senior year, trying to get his team to the Eastern Conference, he watches how Jack and Kent start to move back in one another’s orbit.

...which is probably why he doesn’t tell Jack anything about the scouts from the AHL coming to see him after the game with Princeton.

** 3

The Pawtucket Rebels manager, Michael McLean, is the one that meets Bitty with a Standard Player Contract the morning he gets back from Jack’s place when they’re going to be starting in the Frozen Four if they win the next two games.

The weekend away was nice, but he hadn’t been expecting Jack’s intention to introduce him to Kent Parson of the Las Vegas Aces. 

“We’ve already met,” Bitty had filled in, still shaking Kent’s hand with a distant smile on his face, “at the Haus party when he swung on by.”

“Not my best moment,” the Captain admits sheepishly, eyes not meeting Bitty’s, and dang it if the boy ain’t at least a little bit cute. 

“I suppose we all have our days,” Bits just drawls out and gives him a wink. He holds out the plate of fresh cookies as some kind of peace offering. 

The weekend was still nice, being caught up in Kent’s manic energy and Jack’s easy acceptance. But, he starts seeing the signs pretty easily, when Jack’s hand goes to Kent’s shoulder after a good joke, the exchanged glances that linger, the slowly dwindling personal space that used to be there for them. How they start finishing each other’s sentences, and oh, doesn’t it just make his heart give a little beat when he sees them both happy. 

(But doesn’t that just break it at the same dang time. Not only does Jack like men, but he’s already got his sights set on his old boyfriend. It’s almost enough to make a grown man cry. Bitty consoles himself after breaking down in his room on Sunday when Jack and Kent dropped him off at the Haus. Only Senor Bun knew how much he’d ugly cried himself out that night.)

When Mr. McLean gives him the contract to peruse and a business card with his information circled in blue pen, Bitty almost picks up his phone to call Jack, talk about what he would need other than a lawyer to go over this thing. 

He thinks about Kent and calls Coach and Mama the next morning instead, promises to send scanned copies of the contract. Mama asks if this is something he really wants to think about doing after graduation. 

“It’s money, Mama, a lot of money, and who knows? Hockey might not be outta my heart just yet. I’ll still have time for everything else.”

He only feels a little bit bad when Jack Skypes him on a roadie, set-up in a hotel, asks how his darn thesis is going, and promises to be at the next home game. 

Kent joins the call while Bits is slid down all snug and sleepy-eyed, kids around with him by making kissy faces. 

“College is brutal, Bits. You aren’t sleeping enough.”

“Well, now that’s life, ain’t it?”

Bitty knows something’s going on between them because Kent is shaking a finger at the screen and lecturing him about procrastination while Kit snoozes on. He’d only known if Jack told him about it.

“Bits, your thesis is basically about baking. Baking is the thing you love that isn’t hockey.”

“That doesn’t make it any easier,” Bitty slurs tiredly, wondering how he’s talking to the man that’s swiping his unrequited crush right out from under him even though he doesn’t even feel too bad about it. Not when he sees how good Kent is for Jack now, even if that hadn’t always been the case.

(Long as it makes Jack happy, I can endure it. It’s tough, but I’m tougher.)

But really. Kent Parson is so different from his image as the Captain of the Aces, Bitty can’t help but genuinely like the man. 

“I’m so jealous. I love peppermint cookies and I’ve never gotten any sent to me!”

Sleepy time Bitty makes a note of that even when the world fuzzes out a little bit more.  

“God, he’s so cute, Zimms.”

“Euh. He really is, Kenny. We should hang-up and let him sleep.”

Or he might of just dreamed that part.

The Aces have a hard game coming up, and he’s got his outline done, so the Haus is finally going to let him alone long enough to bake one single, solitary pie. In the middle of it, he certainly doesn’t expect Jack to show up with a six pack of Molson Blue, apparently assuming they’re going to watch it together and cheer on Kent.

“But I expect you to cheer for the Falcs when it comes down to us and the Aces, Bits.”

“Oh honey, I always root for the underdog anyhow.”

The chirp makes Jack flop back on his bed and laugh hard enough for tears to be in his eyes. Bitty just goes back to the Aces on his laptop and drinks Jack’s awful beer with a smirk.

He stirs a little from sleep to Jack talking softly beside him in bed since “It’s too late to drive back to Providence tonight. Move over, bud.”

He mutters something maybe, sighing instead when fingers comb through his hair. 

“That W was perfection, Parse. You were skating your best life out there, eh?...sleeping right now. Yeah, senior year is a pain in the ass...you bet I miss you. Three weeks, we’ll be close enough to Vegas...yeah, I’ll try to get him to come along, but the Wellies are getting closer to the Championship...he would kill to bring it home for the boys.”

But he probably imagined all that, too. 

Still, he’s got a short break before the next round of games, and just five days until his deadline to let Mr. McLean have his answer when Jack shows up at the Haus and is apparently confused why Bitty isn’t packed for Vegas.

“What do you mean we’re going to Las Vegas, Jack?!” Because this is the first he’s heard about it, and how does Jack already have a plane ticket for him?

“Come off it, bud. If I go there without you, Kenny will never forgive me.”

“How does he even know I don’t have a game?” He frets while putting sleep shorts in a suitcase, wonders if he should bring one of his suits since Jack is already wearing one. 

Jack’s brows scrunch together, “Don’t you talk to him on that–that bird one? All the time? He says he always reads your updates.”

He pauses with a pair of boxer briefs and gives Jack his very best unimpressed expression, “Jack, sweet pea, please tell me you didn’t just refer to Twitter as that bird one?” He carefully does not say anything about Kent Parson checking his Twitter updates.

The soft smile and shrug in reply answers that now doesn’t it.

“I swear, what would you do without me,” he sighs, a little throb of love getting caught in his chest, and he just busies himself right on past it, going for at least one pair of flip flops probably buried under mounds of winter gear. 

“Honestly? If I didn’t have you these last few years, maybe it would have been like what happened when I was in the Q,” Jack leans back on his elbows on Bitty’s bed, right beside the suitcase he’s quickly trying to pack. Being stuck between two button-ups, biting his bottom lip because he’s already bringing so much takes a backseat when Jack mentions the days he was in Juniors, and Bitty feels his eyebrows raise. 

“When we started checking clinics, you and me, that was the most...balanced I ever started feeling after all that. The, ah, overdose. That...that might have been where I ended up if it hadn’t been for you and Samwell.”

With a breath (because Lord, here was Jack finally talking about it, in such a soft tone, his eyes so very blue, and just! Well, he’s not made of stone and this is Jack), he scoots the suitcase back and plops right down on the bed, reaching for Jack’s hand. He carefully looks at the closed door and rubs those big fingers with his thumb.

“You honestly think you would have made those same mistakes without me, Jack?” He tries to be nice about it, “because I sure as heck don’t.”

His fingers tighten around Bitty’s, a squeeze, a soft thank-you.

“I mean, I didn’t know you back then, so I can’t say who you were, but there are some parts of that Jack left in the one I know now. And the Jack I know now is someone that knows how to lead his team, and takes care of them, who knows how to inspire them. The Jack I know got up extra early just to help this hopeless case learn to overcome his fear and be able to play hockey better than he ever could have before. You helped me not just be able to take the check, but I’m a captain, a center, and I earned it because of you. The Jack I know is selfless in so many ways and selfish in just the right ones, and dang it, he’s my best friend, so you better not say anything else like that about him again.”

The bed shifts under him when Jack sits up, a big hand coming up to palm the side of Bitty’s face so Jack can lean his forehead in, look straight at him from just inches away with those stupidly big blue eyes, and be so warm and just Jack. 

“You were never hopeless, Bits,” and with his voice that low, being this close, Bitty feels his cheeks getting warm, his eyes helplessly sliding down to Jack’s mouth.

The errant thought Vegas, we’re going to Vegas shakes him out of the moment, and he pats Jack’s forearm, gently pulling back from the very intense, heart-stopping moment where his brain almost killed him when it told him to just go on and kiss Jack.

But his brain also knows it would probably be the last thing he’d ever do with Jack because Jack has Kent for that now, doesn’t he?

Mentally shaking himself, Bitty stands quickly, goes back to his suitcase, “All right, now for heaven’s sake, Jack, help me here. I’ve never been to Las Vegas–”

And it’s not nearly as hot in Georgia as it is in Las Vegas when they get off the plane, but everything else about it is incredible. 

(He doesn’t think about how nice it was to ride next to Jack on the plane, talking strategy and the team, the upcoming games and new plays they might bring to the ice. It’s nice to hear about the Falcs eating his peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with hollers for more. The pies never last long and cookies are always a favorite.)

He might have worried for about a minute, fiddling with the Uber app on his phone to update his location, but Jack just lays a hand on his back and guides him out of the terminal. 

“Don’t worry about it, Bits, we’ve got a ride.”

And standing by a stunning red Ferrari is Kent Parson himself, grinning wide under his sunglasses.

“Oh my,” even if it’s a little breathless, he gives himself an out here because wow, it’s a nice car. 

(And he is not at all looking at Kent’s bare arms or muscled calves. Absolutely not. He’s already got one heartache, thank-you very much.)

He still squeaks a little when Kent literally picks him up off his feet and swings him around.

“There’s my guys! Falconers and Rebels!” Kent yells for half the airport to hear. 

Jack blinks and Bitty groans softly.

Those blue eyes aren’t accusing him of anything, but it’s that same confused look when he tries to figure out if the next song is Destiny’s Child or Queen Bey herself.

“Rebels?”

He doesn’t wince, but it’s a close thing.

“I’ll...tell you about it later.” He waves off, deflecting perfectly, and snaps up his luggage again now that he’s on his feet.

“Oh,” Kent looks from him to Jack and back to him, and his mouth opens probably to say something else no one else needs to hear.

“Thank-you for coming to pick us up, by the way,” he starts rambling right on, “I’ve never been to Las Vegas before. And we’re even going to watch a game? How exciting! Should I make something for your team? A good luck something maybe? Is there a grocery store close to your house? Can we stop? Maybe I could do a few apple pies and a strawberry one...?”

“You can make me food all day, B,” Kent smiles so wide and white down at him and just swipes his bag right up out of Bitty’s hand like it weighs nothing at all. “My favorite pie is peach, just in case you were wondering.”

Bitty slaps him right on the arm, absolutely offended. “Kenneth Virgil Parson the Third, like I wouldn’t already know what your favorite pie is! Why of all the nerve!”

And that is how Bitty talked himself right out of the AHL conversation with Jack. At least, for the time being. 

**

In the end, he makes two apples, two strawberries, and three peach pies, one for Kenny to keep at home.

Jack mutters under his breath about the Falcs needing a peach pie, and Bitty can absolutely do that once they get back home. 

The boys are wonderful at keeping him company in Kent’s big kitchen while he works, staying out of his way unless he directs them. 

“It’s not going to be a super exciting game. The Schooners are old rivals since before I came to the Aces,” Kenny shrugs, fish oven mitts on, and his own apron is really just Kit’s face blown up on a white background.

But the man’s fish oven mitt is–

Wait for it

– named Fish.

Because Kent is a master at naming things, obviously.

Kit Puurson is laying on the kitchen table from where Bitty banished her from walking along the counters while he’s baking.

“Now, don’t sell it short, sugar pie,” Bitty replies absently, makes the lattice on the last pie perfect. The A in the center is going to be great once the pie finishes baking. “It’s going to be exciting to see you play live no matter what.”

“Aw,” and Kent is smiling all nice at him now that he probably knows Bitty’s not gunning for his boyfr- for Jack, “you’re just saying that because it’s true.”

“Of course I am, Kent. It is true.”

“Any time you get bored of watching the Falcs, all you have to do is call me, Bits. I’ll have you on a plane in a hot minute,” and Bitty has to look over at him for that because it might have been a chirp at Jack, but the tone was a lil’ too serious for his taste.

“Who knows, Mister Parson, I might take you up on that someday.”

(When hell freezes over.)

“I hope so, Bits,” Kent’s eyes go to the masterpieces on the counter waiting for their turn in the oven, “I really hope so.”

*

At the game later that night, before the Aces take the ice, Bitty gets a Snap from Kent Parson. 

All the pie pans are licked clean. Not a crumb in sight.

Bitty sighs in unmitigated relief.

Even though he feels strange not wearing a Falconers or Samwell jersey when he’s at a hockey game, he can’t blame Jack for leaving their home team merchandise back in Providence. 

Earlier, Kent had tugged an Ace's jersey over his head and landed a cap as the cherry on top, winking at him while Jack was busy grumbling to himself about something or other. 

It feels odd to have someone’s name across his back other than his own (or frankly Zimmermann because Jack already gave him two hoodies and several other Falcs shirts, which was real kind of him, and they’re such nice clothes!), but his Mama would fly up from Georgia and whoop his butt good if she knew he’d refused a gift from a celebrity. 

So, even with Jack scowling, he accepts the jersey and hat for the game tonight.

He and Jack find their seats, right behind the bench, and it looks like they can finally settle in.

Jack keeps a running monologue of stats and predictions, leaning in to Bitty while eating the carrot sticks they'd packed in so Jack wouldn't be tempted with junk food.

This boy and his rigid schedule of cheat days. Honestly.

And Bitty is content to talk hockey and the upcoming season, is content to talk about the Samwell team and the next game coming up. 

He gets to watch Kent and the Aces make an opening lap around the rink to wave at their fans, laughs at the finger guns right in their direction.  

He settles on in to watch what will probably be a good game no matter what Kent said earlier, and of course, Jack chooses then to bring it up.

"Are you going to tell me about the Rebels anytime soon?” Jack is watching the game when he finally says it, something in his tone of voice that sounds a little closer to mad.

Bitty looks over, guilty as sin, and Jack looks back, all kind of calm.

“I...I didn’t make a decision or anything–” he starts then turns away from those blue eyes. “I-I should go get us something to drink! Jack, what do you want to–”

He’s halfway out of his chair, but Jack’s hand on his wrist stops him, pulls him back down to his seat.

“Don’t be mad!” Bitty sighs, loud and long, “I didn’t even know what to do when Mr. McLean came to see me.”

Jack hums, “You could have called your best friend who happens to be a professional hockey player.”

“That will be enough chirps outta you, Mister Zimmermann. You were already having a time with the changes to your medication, and I didn’t want to add anything else to your list.”

Jack guffaws at him, “that was two months ago, Bits, and my anxiety is under control. You could have told me anytime since then.”

“Well, I–” and Bitty has a moment where his mouth almost runs right away with him, and he almost tells Jack they ain’t datin’ so not everything has to be out in the open.

“You?”

And even though Kent has the puck, Jack’s eyes are all for Bitty.

“Jack,” he sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“You can tell me anything. You know that, right bud?” And that line between his eyebrows lets Bitty know Jack is actually concerned.

“Of course, Jack, I...I just. I don’t know, you’ve got your own career to worry about, and I don’t even know if I still want to play hockey after graduation, nonetheless with a team in the AHL.” He shrugs lamely, pretty sure Jack probably thinks he’s an idiot.

“There’s nothing wrong with that, Bits. You don’t have to make a decision right away.”

“Well, I’ve got about five days until he wants to know if I accept their offer,” Bitty rubs the back of his neck, cheeks pink. 

“Oh. Well, you should let me read the contract anyway, eh? At the very least, it could help you make a decision if the offer isn’t for much.”

“If– I mean, if you want to? That would be real nice.”

“Euh. Tomorrow morning after my run, we’ll look at it.” Jack gives a sharp nod like he’s accomplished something, pats Bitty on the shoulder, and goes back to the game, just as pleased as pie.

**

The win was really something for the Aces, and he gets to meet Swoops, Poots, Scrappy, and Gopher when Kent tells them the baker of the pies is at the game.

“Oh my God, I ate like three pieces,” Swoops pats him on the shoulder and laughs.

“I’m so glad you enjoyed it!”

“Oh totally. Gopher can’t help himself around sweets, so you might get a marriage proposal if you aren’t careful.”

“O-oh my! That’s mighty sweet, but I would hate to have to break his poor heart.” Bitty laughs a little and doesn’t notice how Jack’s eyes narrow. 

It’s entertaining as all get out when Jack groans at the amount of chirps he’s already gotten for being a Falc instead of an Ace.

“He’s got important...things in Rhode Island,” Kent had finally said to his team, which Bitty did not understand at all.

(But, it does make sense. Jack wants to stay close to Shitty and everyone from Samwell. He couldn���t be part of their nearly everyday lives if he had joined the Aces.)

They drop by Kent’s house to change clothes, and head out to celebrate the victory with the team, and all that fluttering around his room at the Haus is suddenly worth it when he looks damn good in his button-up with a black tank top underneath and a pair of shorts that look like they’ve been painted on his ass.

When he comes downstairs, Kent wolf whistles and Jack gets red in the face.

“Are you sure–” Jack starts, a little stuttery that makes Bitty preen.

“Mister Zimmermann, it’s best you do not finish that sentence,” Bitty snipes with his nose in the air.

It’s absolutely satisfying when two very cute boys dance with him at the club, grinding on him and having a heck of a good time.

He doesn’t notice Jack’s sour face until the third or fourth song in, and by then, Kent is making his way through the crowd. 

The hand on his arm pulls him out from between two different boys, and Bitty is just about to give whoever it is what for, but Kent just shifts to grip his hips and pulls him in, back-to-chest. 

And Lord help him, Kent is an amazing dancer. How does he even get himself into these things?

** 

Watching his favorite person, favorite people, dance is giving Jack too many Ideas.

He already has plenty when it comes to Bits. Even more when it comes to Kenny since they have history to fall back on, but for Kenny and Bits? His brain might shut down because Jack is even more invested in that. 

(Kenny hasn’t said anything, but Jack knows him, knows what the look in those eyes means when he watches Bitty. Instead of Kenny trying to talk him into asking Bitty for a date, maybe Jack should be trying to do the same. Or-or talking about if all three of them…?)

As is, Jack has a lot more thinking to do after this trip.

“I swear I take care of him as much as he lets me,” Jeff is saying, “it’s not like it’s his first year anymore. He’s way past all that, Jack.”

“I know,” Jack downs his beer, tries not to be too irritated at Swoops because of the attitude. Since he and Kenny have been talking again, he knows more about that first year with the Aces and Kenny’s struggles after the Draft than he’d wanted to know at the time. He hadn’t wanted to focus on the difficulties his best friend was having with a new career as a professional athlete, was more concerned about getting himself through rehab. 

He’s been finding out about those struggles and bad times, feels better knowing about all the things he’d missed out on back then because that means Kenny is talking to him again.

(“You cut me out!” Still haunts Jack sometimes when he thinks about how he did that to his best friend, his other half. At the time, it had seemed like a trade he didn’t have any other choice but to make, give up his best friend for the chance to get better.)

Jeff was the Ace Kenny billeted with his first year, and the two are close. Maybe even closer than Jack and Kenny had been in the Q. 

He doesn’t deserve to be jealous of that, but somehow, he still is.

“I did him wrong when he was in the Draft,” Jack finally admits to Swoops, “and I’m glad he had you and the team there when he needed you. I just...I just want to make sure he’s okay. Kenny means a lot to me.”

Swoops raises a brow over the beer he’s drinking. “He was pretty torn up over you that first year, Zimmermann. If I could have, I would have found you and punched you right in the nose for that kid.”

Jack shrugs a shoulder, “would have deserved it.”

“Yeah, yeah you would have,” but it seems like the salt has gone out of Jeff’s spine, and he slumps down in his seat across from Jack. “I had to tell the team not to mention your name for a long time. Not gonna lie, when you got picked for the Falcs, I drove over to his place and stayed the night in case he had a breakdown.”

And oh does that hit Jack right in the heart. 

“But, he was...not okay but okay? He was happy for you, is the point.”

Jack’s heart twists painfully at that, “Euh. He’s a better friend than I deserve.”

“You know, he told me about going to your college, right?”

Jack looks Swoops in the face, thinks he might get a little more clarity about that night of the Epikegster.

“Yeah, he did,” because Jeff can read the tell me more on Jack’s face, “and he beat himself up about it for months. Told me he ran off at the mouth because he was angry at you. Hell, you weren’t even happy to see him.”

At the time, no. No, he wasn’t. 

“It was...a shock. We both said some pretty harsh things, I think. But, we’ve come a long way since then.”

“I’d say so. He can say your name without looking like he’s going to start crying now at least.”

Kenny…

“I’m not going to do that again,” Jack feels like he needs Jeff to know this. “He’s stuck with me this time, eh?”

Swoops laughs and raises his glass for Jack to tap with his own, “here’s hoping, Zimmermann. Here’s hoping. But hey, at least he has someone to help pick-up the pieces.”

**

Kent manages to get them through the throng of people at the bar and get them bottles of water, bracketing Bitty in with his arms to keep people around from jostling them.

They’re both sweaty and panting after the last song, and Bitty doesn’t even know how he managed to survive pretty much humping a professional hockey player on the dance floor without embarrassing himself.

“That was so fun,” Kent leans down to talk in his ear since they’re so close to the music, “can we dance some more?”

“Of course we can, honey,” Bitty tilts so he’s talking in Kent’s ear, and it presses them closer together, “but do you need to check in with your team?”

The laugh is low against his neck and Bitty almost, almost shudders.

“My guys are big boys, Bits. They’ll be fine without me mother-henning them to death.”

“Well, all right then, handsome. You’d better get me on out on that dance floor before someone else does!”

And it’s another song or so before they get a slow one. Kent manages to maneuver them into a corner, and pulls Bits in for a slow dance.

“Lord, that was fun,” Bitty doesn’t think much of it, his hands around Kent’s neck. “I don’t think I’ve had this much fun in a while.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” and Kent gives him that big ole’ smile that makes his whole face light up, and Bitty can’t really blame just one bit for just how cute Kent is in that moment. “I’m glad you came with Jack, Bits.”

“Me too. I had reservations with how close we’re getting to playoffs, but I’m glad I could take the time.”

The hands on his hips squeeze once, and Kent’s face falls, his eyes darting away.

Bitty moves a hand from around his neck to his face and turns him right on back. “Hey, what is it? Should we go?”

“N-no, no. I was just–” and Kent looks back at him with a frown, leans in a little to talk quieter. “Do you still hate me? From when I came to your college?”

And oh. Oh my.

Well, looks like they’re going to have this talk, aren’t they?

“I mean, it’s okay if you do. I was...a dick, okay? I was a complete and total dick. Zimms and I talked about it some, so-so he gets why I said some of the things I said because I mean, he just–and-and I… There’s a lot is all I’m saying. It was awful, not-not all of it, but therapy kind of helps a little? Sometimes it helps I mean, dealing with it when I found him like that, and then later when Big Bob–”

Bitty gently puts a hand over Kent’s mouth to shush him on up. 

“Kent, honey,” he tries softly, misses how those eyes get wide above his hand, “I understand how someone can say mean things when feelings are hurt, and it seems like you and Jack have mended fences since then, right?”

Kent nods without dislodging his hand, but his eyes are shiny and just oh, that poor boy. Jack had talked to him about those days back in Quebec with Kent Parson as his right-hand man, Bitty knows Kent is the one that saved Jack’s life during that overdose. He knows how quiet and strained Jack’s voice gets when he talks about it, can only imagine how terrified Kent had been finding him, performing CPR, getting him to the hospital in Bad Bob Zimmermann’s car.

He can’t touch that painful past for either of them, wishes sometimes he can give that back when he hears how wistful Jack sounds, sees how Kent sometimes looks like he has regrets. No, Bitty can’t fix their past for them, give them back their innocent days, but he can help the people they are in the here and now, can’t he?

“Well, that’s good to hear. What’s really important is that you don’t do that again, all right? Don’t take your anger out on Jack even if he might deserve it sometimes, and don’t ever say those horrible things to him again. Okay?”

Kent blinks at him and his eyes go softly half-mast. He finally nods with Bitty’s hand still over his mouth.

“Good. Then, we’re all fine, right?”

Another nod and a squeeze to his hips.

“Wonderful. Now Mister Parson, we are going to finish this song and then go back to your boys to celebrate. Maybe if we’re lucky, they’ll play ‘Crazy in Love’ later because that is one of my favorites.” He takes his hand away and grins up at Kent while his heart beats harder at the soft smile looking down on him.

“Good plan, B. If they play it, you can only dance with me, okay?”

“Well, when you put it like that, how can I refuse?”

Sure enough, the DJ plays ‘Crazy in Love’ and Bitty is pretty sure Kent’s the one that asked for it. That absolutely doesn’t mean he gives it any less ass shaking than it rightfully deserves.

**

He’s happy to see Jack laughing with Swoops and Poots when they finally tear themselves away from dancing, and Bitty absolutely refuses to drink whatever fruity thing Kent offers him because he’s not twenty-one quite yet, thank-you very much Mister Parson.

But the Aces are so nice when they leave, thanking Bitty again for his victory pies. He waves them off and doesn’t mind Jack’s hand at the small of his back when Kent guides them out.

(Later that night, he pretends he doesn’t hear Jack get up off the couch and walk down the hall to Kent’s room and softly close the door. But at that point, he’s not sure if he’s still a little jealous, or even who he’s really jealous of if he’s honest with himself.)

He eventually gets a few hours of sleep, and still wakes up god-awful early anyhow.

Since he’s been in this kitchen for three days already, he automatically puts on coffee and pulls out what he’s going to need to feed two big hockey players. 

He doesn’t even register Kent in the doorway watching him until the first cup of coffee is gone and the second is on the way there.

“Oh my Lord!” He fairly screams when he notices Kent watching.

“Sorry,” is totally unrepentant, the ass.

“You sure look it!” Bitty chirps back after his heart has climbed down out of his throat. “Goodness sakes, were you trying to give me a heart attack?”

“Nah, you just look cute in my kitchen, all busy and stuff. I like it.”

And well, that just takes the words right out of his mouth, so he goes back to make sure the bacon doesn’t burn while the quiche cools.

“Bits?!”

Jack is flustered and drenched from the shower, skittering almost right on the ground. He’s only got a towel around his waist and his hair is all over the place.

Bitty can resolutely say it’s the best morning in the history of mornings because that towel is awful short and Jack’s legs are awful long.

“I’m sorry! He just surprised me, we’re fine!” Bitty flaps his hands to shoo Jack out of the doorway. “Go on now and finish your shower. Breakfast is almost ready.”

Jack wipes water out of his eyes from his dripping hair and looks down at him silently.

“I promise, Jack. Go on now. Shoo! Naked is for the bathroom and the locker room.”

The slow grin is really just the nail in the coffin because no man should be that beautiful, it’s really not fair to the gay population. 

A glance at Kent’s shit-eating grin and he has to silently amend that statement. No men should be this beautiful.

While Jack trucks back down the hall, Bitty grabs paper towels to sop up the water he’d trailed, giving them up to Kent when he gets a frown for trying to clean up.

He tisks to himself and pours Kent a cup of coffee, mixing in the right amounts of cream and sugar, hands it to him when he throws away the wet paper towels.

He puts the bacon on another paper towel to get some of the grease while Kent sits down with his coffee. 

“I had so much fun last night. I can’t thank-you enough for taking us.” As he puts the quiche in the middle of the table.

“I had fun, too, B. Most the guys won’t dance no matter what, and you are awesome.”

“You’re not so bad yourself, sugar pie.”

Kent laughs at him, but reaches out to grip Bitty’s wrist before he can go back to the stove, “but, just so I know...you really don’t hate me anymore, right? We’re friends now?”

Oh, this must be the I need to tell you as Jack’s friend that me and him are datin’ talk. Lord, help him get through this conversation.

“Now, Kent. I already told you last night as long as you don’t hurt Jack like that again and have significantly groveled, we’re all fine.”

“Yeah, I know, but I mean, you and me. We’re fine, too, right?”

“Why of course we are.”

“Okay. Okay, good. I just wanted to make sure.”

Bitty pats Kent’s hand with the free one, “and you already know you can talk to me about anything, right? If things like that are bothering you, you can talk them out with me before you go and say something like that again, okay?”

“Yeah. Thanks, Bits.”

“You’re welcome, Kent.”

He retracts his hand with another pat and goes back for the bacon, waiting for the something else that might be on Mr. Parson’s mind.

“Bits?”

Mmhm. There is it. “Yes, Kent?”

“You...can call me Kenny, too...I mean, if you want.”

The bacon plate in hand, and Bitty turns to look at the pink cheeks on Kent Parson, the way he doesn’t meet Bitty’s surprised eye.

(Even with all his team and the press coverage, he’s only ever heard Jack call Kent ‘Kenny.’)

“All right then, Kenny,” and oh is he grinning, thinking about chirping him just for fun. “I think we’re just about ready for breakfast.”

Nothing else comes of it, and Bitty’s not sure if he’s relieved or not.

 **

Jack slowly, methodically reads through the scans of the Rebels contract he’s got back at Samwell. Kent reads over his shoulder, eyebrows squinty in concentration.

Lord, they look so cute like that. It’s really surprising no one else has picked up on the dating yet because these two are absolutely transparent.

“So–”

He gets twin wait a minute fingers. 

“Well fine then,” and he meanders in the kitchen to see if maybe he should make those peppermint cookies after all. 

A batch later and both boys come on in and sit at the table with the tablet between them.

Bitty absolutely puts the cookies in the middle and pours glasses of milk. Kent looks from the plate to him with wide eyes. 

Two seconds later, he’s already demolishing his third.

Boys.

“All right, you two. Give me the low-down.” Bitty waves a hand over his shoulder and starts washing up dishes.

Jack tells him how it seems to be a right fair offer for a rookie hockey player. The money could be better, but well, it ain’t too shabby. 

Bitty sighs because the money is utterly obscene. More than his scholarship to Samwell for all four years.

Kent has no problem finishing Jack’s thoughts when he trails off, longer in the profession than Jack. He gives more examples of what bad contracts would probably be and makes Bitty wonder if this isn’t his first time helping with these sorts of things.

Well, as Captain of the Aces, he probably has. Not to mention how he babies his rookies. 

“So,” Bitty finally bites on his lip, looking down at the tablet, “so if...if I wanted to keep playing hockey after graduation. This is a good opportunity, is what you’re tellin’ me.”

Both Jack and Kent nod at him, serious as a heart attack.

“This is a good opportunity, Bits.”

“But,” Kent looks at him seriously, “we aren’t agents, either. This is from our experience. For a professional opinion, I can suggest some guys, so can Jack, that can haggle the contract for you.”

He stands at the sink with soapy hands braced on the edges, just looking out the window into Kent’s nice backyard. 

Kit is lounging on a dishtowel right there on the ledge to get some sun.

And just like his worst tendency, Jack stands up with a cookie and saunters over to stand beside him, back against the counter.

“It’s a lot to take in, bud,” is all growly and soft.

“I never imagined playing hockey after this year,” he admits, “buying a bakery, sure. Learning under other chefs, maybe taking a turn in another culinary art, yes. But, professional hockey? Hell, I couldn’t take a check without passin’ out a few years ago, Jack.”

Jack munches on his cookie, watching Bitty’s profile with soft eyes. “True. But, couple years ago, you wouldn’t have thought you’d end up Captain, and be on your way to the Frozen Four, eh?”

Kent shuffles his feet a little but boosts himself up on the counter beside Jack. “The AHL is like, our version of boot camp, you know? The kiddie pool before you hit the NHL. And there’s a four-season standard for that reason, B. You’ve got four seasons to play your best game and see if the Scouts are interested. I mean, a lot of guys that get a bad break and don’t make it, they can renew their contracts every four years or join the practice teams. Guys that still want to play hockey, like a lot of the guys on the Rebs.”

“That offer is for one season, though.” 

“Sure,” Jack fills in, meandering back for another, handing one off to Kent. “It’s a chance to get your feet wet, Bits, see if you can make the first year. I didn’t get a four-year from the Falcs until I got through the probationary period.”

“Lucky they didn’t make you billet, Jack. That’s usually a requirement.”

“Nah, I was old enough. Marty and Tater kept up with me, though. And I had Bits,” Jack shrugs and promises himself this is the last one even as he eyes the full plate.

He glances over at the serious expression on Bitty’s face, thoughts turning behind his eyes because now he’s thinking about it. On one hand, yes, he wants his bud to stay close, be on their sister team’s roster. Pawtucket is only twenty minutes or so from Providence, even closer than Samwell. 

(Jack wouldn’t have to lose him if Bits accepts the offer, keeps playing hockey. Jack thinks he’s terrible for wanting that as much as he does.)

For Bitty, the eminent future is looking closer and closer as this year draws to a close. Getting this offer was terrifying because of all those what if’s?

Kent hums around a mouthful, leans around Jack to look at him. “Sure, but you never know, B. You take Samwell to the ECAC, and there might be more people coming to talk to you.”

“Sugar pie, I’ve seen what you and Jack are up against. If there’s one thing I’m absolutely sure of, it’s that I’m not ready for the NHL, no matter how far we go this year. But–” he sighs a little.

“But what, bud?” 

“...the real question is, what if I’m not ready to give it up once the season’s over?”

Kent chuckles at him around the last bite, “then you’ll have a year with the Rebels to figure out if you’re done with hockey, or not.”

He catches his breath a little (could it really be as simple as that?).

“...that’s what I needed to know, thank-you boys.” He pats Kent on the leg and Jack on the arm, taking up the tablet, swinging right around to go back to the stove and wait for the next batch, hip hitched on the cabinets while he reads all over again.

He’s going to call Coach and Mama when he gets back to Samwell. Then on Monday morning, he’s going to call Mr. McLean and accept the offer.

 ** 

It’s not his fault most the people he’s friends with are so much taller than him. 

Really, it’s not. 

So when Kent just grabs him up before he and Jack get on the plane and hugs him tight for long minutes, Bitty’s feet dangle off the ground, but he’s pretty much used to it by now. Shitty broke him of it first, Holster helped.

“I’m going to miss you,” is said against his shoulder because he thinks Kent might just be tearing up.

Because of Jack.

Because Jack’s leaving.

Right?

With his feet still dangling, he pats the back of Kent’s head soothingly. “I’ll miss you too, honey. But, it’s not forever, right? We’ll see you again.”

Kent eventually put him down when Jack laid a hand to his shoulder and turned him in for a hug, and Bitty looks away when Kent wraps himself around Jack like an octopus, shoulders shaking just a little. 

Jack makes soothing circles on Kent’s back, talks softly in French, and just holds on for a few long minutes. Bitty makes himself busy by checking their luggage tags and slips away to get them some coffee from one of the twelve Starbucks in the airport.

A caramel frappuccino helps a little, and Kent just sweeps him on up again.

Jack keeps a hand on the back of Kent’s neck until the very last second, and something in Bitty’s chest tightens a little, but for the very first time, he’s not sure if it’s for Jack touching Kent like that or if it’s for Kent being all upset they’re leaving.

Something to think about another day.

As is, he’s got a thesis to write, a team to take care of, and a pair of professional hockey players that need fresh baked goods. His plate is pretty much full.

** 4

His vlog has always been somewhere to vent when he needed to, and even if he doesn’t have a huge following with millions of subscribers (yet), he didn’t think things would turn out this way.

But, the school newspaper he usually ignores puts it right out there for everyone to read.

Eric Bittle of Samwell’s Own Hockey Team is the First Out Captain in the NCAA

Dex is there to put a hand on his shoulder when he feels like he suddenly can’t breathe.

Someone watched his vlog and picked up on a few things apparently (“Never fall for a straight boy.” Those words are going to haunt him forever). 

He’s out to the team, but not the rest of campus. Good Lord. Hopefully no one pays it any mind, and they can just ride right along to the next game.

It does not go away.

Instead, the news catches fire, and before he knows it, his face is on ESPN as the first out NCAA captain. The rainbow background isn’t doing him any favors, but in between the panic in his brain, he thinks the yellow of the spectrum looks real nice with those shorts.

Chowder is the one that calls him in to look at the breaking story, looking over the couch to take note of Bitty’s face. 

He shows how much his reflexes have improved when he throws himself over the couch and latches on when Bitty’s knees fail and he almost sprawls himself all over the floor. 

His phone is in his hand, and Chowder is talking, saying something. He didn’t know when Ollie and Wicks, Dex and Nursey, Tango and Whiskey and Foxtrot, River, Hops, and Louis all got there crowded around him, but he just seems to blink and there they all are.

“I,” he starts loudly, immediately quieting everyone with a single word, “am going to make a pie. Everyone is welcome to hang out while I am doing so.”

So, he makes a pie and while he does, he makes a plan.

He talks out how this could affect the team’s chances of getting to the Championship, how this could affect how they play, how they plan to win the next few games. Bitty thinks it might be smart to step down as captain, being pragmatic as possible now that he’s not panicking about finishing the season and his senior year at Samwell. 

Whiskey, who he hadn’t been able to connect with all darn season (more n’ likely because he found Whiskey at that party kissing the Lax bro), smashes his fist on the table and says that’s a whole lotta bull. Bitty’s the one that got them this far, and he’ll take them the rest of the way.

(Bitty still has several talks in the next few days. With the coaching staff, with Samwell administration, with the entire gathered team. He gives all of them the same option. He’ll give up being captain or all out quit the team if this would hurt their changes to go to the Frozen Four. He gets the same denial, loud and belligerent from his whole team –which warms his heart, honestly. They’re all such good boys.)

They decide to handle it one game at a time, and break for the night. In his room with coppery fear still in the back of his mouth, he holds his phone and stares at the contact information for Home. 

He’s almost pressed it when a FaceTime request comes from Kent.

Almost at the same time Jack doesn’t bother to knock, but just throws his bedroom door open, looking like he’d run miles.

Throwing himself to his feet, both hands up, he probably looks terrified because Jack scared the absolute heck out of him. 

“Bits,” and now it’s Jack that’s got both hands up, coming at him, “Bits, it’s okay. It’s okay, bud.” And he really means to say something, but he’s just all caught up in Jack. He smells so good and feels so nice, he’s strong when Bitty feels weak and shaky, picking him right on up and sitting down to fold over him like a big Canadian blanket.

“What a horrible way to be outed,” he laughs through the shakes, but his voice is hoarse. “This is absolutely awful, Jack.”

“God, it really is. I’m so sorry this is happening to you, Bits.”

“Lord, I’m making a fool of myself. What’s done is done, I suppose.”

“Still, I want to be here for you.”

“Oh, honey. I appreciate it.”

And he just lets himself sink into Jack a little, burying his face in Jack’s neck, just tries to breathe.

His phone goes off again, and this time Jack picks it up, sees who it is, and taps the top of Bitty’s head with it.

He thumbs the request without looking, just keeping his face right where it is. This is the best he’s felt since that awful ticker tape just laid out his biggest secret, and put a big ole’ target right on his back.

“Hi Kenny,” and he’s proud his voice sounds as steady as it does.

“Hey B,” is so soft and concerned, his heart gives a little patter. 

Jack holds the phone for him with one hand, and squeezes him tight with the other. 

“This sucks so hard, B. I’m so sorry ESPN gives a fuck about college sports enough to do something shitty like this.”

He raises his face just enough for Kent to see half his face out of Jack’s bulk. “One of those silly human interest stories, I guess. Too bad they got a little too interested, huh?”

“You can totally sue the shit out of them, okay? B, I know a guy. He could get you millions.”

“That won’t make everything right, Kenny, but thank-you for being here with me.” He gives a shuddering sigh, “I’m still going to have to deal with the backlash, and as much as I hate it, so will the team. I haven’t talked to the administration or the coaches, but it might be smart if I step down for the rest of the season, maybe quit outright. Then the boys might still be able to make it to the Frozen Four…”

“You’re two games away, B. You can’t give up now!”

“Agree. You got them here, they’ll have your back, Bits.”

“Kenny, Jack this is hockey. Everyone we go against from here on out is going to be gunning for us. The things they’re going to say to the boys–”

“They’ll handle it. Trust me,” Jack soothes, “they won’t let you give up either.”

“Well, I suppose we’ll see come Monday,” he’s tired, but there’s no slowing down right now, even if Kent is petting Kit and Jack’s lap is absurdly comfortable.

“Besides,” Kent continues, “you’re not alone, B. Plenty of us in the NHL. We’re just not like, out out. Maybe to our teams and stuff, not like, outed on ESPN or anything, fuck those guys. You seriously don’t want me to contact my guy for you? He got 6.8 million dollars for a celebrity case–”

“So you’re out to your team then, Captain Parson?” He blinks because the way Kent just came out with it, not a stutter one, shakes him.

“Huh? Well, yeah, of course I am. I’ve been on the Aces for years, Bits. These guys are like my family, so yeah, they know.”

“O-oh.”

Kent blinks at him, pauses. “Ah, I didn’t come right out and tell you, but yeah. Me too, so it’s okay, B. You’re not alone.”

It’s that moment when Jack leans down, shifting so Bitty’s looking up at him. “You’re not alone,” Jack repeats softly, “I kiss boys sometimes, too. None of that changes how good you are at hockey, and none of that changes you, okay Bits?”

And Lord above help him. He throws both arms around Jack, biting his lower lip between his teeth, and shaking like a leaf in a wind storm.

“Jack...Kenny…thank-you, boys. Just when I need you, and there you are.” He chokes a little, and there’s Jack folding down around him, there’s Kent holding Kit closer to the phone, sending virtual purrs and cuddles.

He doesn’t feel that bad wrapping his legs around Jack’s waist shamelessly, locking his ankles in the back, and just not facing the world for a while. 

It gets a little better when Jack tries to squeeze into a pair of his shorts while Kenny is brushing his teeth and talking about the camp they had at a local rink, running drills and plays with some of the high school kids from around the area. 

But everything in the world absolutely pauses when Jack clears his throat awkwardly

And really, God Bless Canada. 

The little sigh that comes out of him is echoed from his phone, and yes Kenny, they do have good taste.

“I can’t sleep in these, Bits, ah, sorry.”

But that color blue stretched taunt against Jack’s big thigh is just the best sight he’s probably ever seen.

“I’m sorry, but that’s all I’ve got to offer. I can go talk to Dex?” Because Chowder has wider shoulders like Jack, but is about a foot shorter.

“Eh, not necessary.”

And well, yes. Bitty knows Jack wears cute little briefs. They were on a team together, have spent time in the locker room, have seen the occasional moment before towels go on. It’s men’s sports for crying out loud. 

But none of that, absolutely none of that, prepares him for Jack shimmying out of those shorts for black briefs that absolutely mold to his behind and cup the front of him. The real coup de gras is that t-shirt coming off, and heaven help him, it’s muscles for miles. 

Only those little briefs between Bitty and what the Good Lord gave Jack, the definition of fine walking across the room like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. 

Bitty unabashedly watches, lips parted, cheeks a soft shade of pink. 

Jack closes the bathroom door, smirking where Bits can’t see, muffled noises as he roots around in the bathroom for a spare toothbrush. It gives Bitty can just take a second to himself to take in this whole situation. 

He’s been outed on a national sports network that may or may not take the question of the Rebels right out of the equation

Chances of going all the way to the finals is looking slimmer and slimmer the more he thinks about it

Jack and Kenny confirmed some of his suspicions and it’s an absolute crime and a blessing that they’ve found each other again

Jack has gotten bulkier than Bitty realized in the last year and a half playing for the NHL and his ass should be marked as a dangerous weapon

He hasn’t answered any of the phone calls from home

Still, Coach sent him a text, Call your mother. She’s worried about you.

 And top of the list, Jack Zimmermann is in his bathroom, shirtless, barefoot, after just having verbally come out to him.

If there was ever anyone that deserves to be up for Sainthood, it’s this good ole’ Georgia boy Right. Here. 

With his head in his hands, he groans softly, and scurries to throw on his own sleep clothes, stripping down without a thought more than those short on Jack and those shorts off Jack.

“I absolutely feel you,” a breathy chirp, and he forgot Kenny probably saw the entire thing.

Bitty spins, almost ready to start getting on a boat down that river called denial when he realizes Kenny is giving him the most devilish looking smile.

“It’s really unfair that he’s a hockey God and blisteringly hot to boot.”

“We are the best of friends, I’ll have you know Mister Parson. Jack doesn’t even see me that way, even after tonight. Besides, I’m pretty sure he’s got his eye set on someone prettier than little ole’ me.”

He throws the covers back to busy his hands, but can spare a second to put some charm into it and look back at Kenny with a wink. 

It’s either the best or the worst timing because Kenny gets this look on his face, opening his mouth for something that might have been good or bad, when Jack comes out of the bathroom smelling like mint and looking like a touch could burn you down to the ground.

Kenny looks at him for a few long seconds while they’re climbing into bed, and chirps them about hands above the comforter and hockey bros cuddle like champs before he yawns and finally hangs up for the night.

The sheet gets maneuvered between them so he’s not going to be tortured most of the night with only his sleep shirt and pants between them–

(and those sinful underwear, he’s never going to forget those)

–so it’s suspiciously easy to drop off with Jack’s arm around him and snoring in his ear.

**

The next two games are utterly brutal. 

Ice bags are wrapped around his shoulder while he sits in his spot in the locker room, forearms on his knees to just hurt while Chowder is talking at his right and Dex at his left.

The bruises tomorrow are going to be beautiful, but heck, what’s some bruises when Samwell is officially in the Frozen Four.

Lord, they made it.

And he will start celebrating, right after he can raise up his arm again.

Oh, that’s going to be sore tomorrow. Making pies for the campus captain club is going to be awful, isn’t it?

He manages to get the ice bags off in time to walk with the boys back to the Haus, Ollie already scooping up his bag and Chowder, bless his heart, hovering anxiously right by him the whole walk there.

They don’t make him do a keg stand this time, thank goodness, but the party celebrating their win is well underway in less than an hour.

It’s real nice when the Lax bros bring in a stack of pizzas and slap him on the back in congratulations, like he hadn’t just been outed on national television. (He loves Samwell so much.) Chad L. says a whole bunch of something that Bitty tries to follow and ends up handing him a plate with pizza and accepting a piece of pie in exchange. 

The fire extinguisher is in plain sight to remind the footballers what could happen if they don’t behave, and at least two of his boys hang around him most the night, bracketing him on both sides to keep an eye on him. Ollie and Wicks pop around the corner periodically anyhow.

He catches Chowder taking a picture for social media, has a second of panic, almost tells his sweet son not to do that because everyone knows, but shuts his mouth last minute and straightens up to grin for the next one.

**

The night the news came out, Bitty changed his social media to private, hoping to avoid some of the homophobic comments. Since the morning after (and it’s a crying shame he missed seeing those little black briefs again since Jack was already dressed by the time he got up), he’s been talking to pretty much everyone.

Most of all, his Mama and Coach...and Mr. McLean.

Jack squeezes his hand, and Bitty bites his lip, but still, “I’m afraid I don’t think I should accept your offer after all. This isn’t going to blow over any time soon.”

“Mr. Bittle. I’m interested because you’re fast, you’ve got soft hand, and you’re a good fit for the Rebels. As far as I understand, this isn’t going to change any of that.”

“O-oh!”

“If you want to play hockey, Mr. Bittle, you can do that with us.”

And it’s there when he looks in Jack’s blue, blue eyes, when he thinks about Ollie and Wicks, when he thinks about Shitty being so kind when he’d come out to the first person on the team. It’s there when he thinks about being terrified at that first check practice, when he thinks about how dang far he’s come in four years.

(It’s tough, but you’re tougher.)

“I want to play hockey, Mr. McLean.”

“That’s the spirit Mr. Bittle. I’ll send you training camp information in the next week or so. Welcome to the Pawtucket Rebels.”

If Jack holds him tight while he almost shakes apart once he hangs up the phone, well, only Chowder and Dex will ever tell a soul because they fell on him and Jack like a ton of bricks, hugging him and laughing.

**

Shitty, Ranson, Holster, and Lardo make the trip from Boston to show up on the Haus doorstep before they’ve even finished clean-up from the party the night before.

Before he knows it, he’s got Shitty crying all over him, telling him he’s so proud and Bitty’s just the best little captain there ever was.

It’s so nice because Shitty is silly as hell, but he’s an amazing friend in times of need. 

And he can’t say it isn’t nice when Shitty picks up the loud speaker and starts shooing the rest of the hanger-oners out.

“Frozen Four!” Ransom crows, “our guys are going to kick some ass.”

“You said it, bro,” Holster warmly pats Bitty on the shoulder with one of those big hands while this pie is just coming along easily enough.

The flinch when the bruises ache is enough for more ice bags to get wrapped around him, and Shitty to shake a finger in his face, talking about taking care of himself. It might not be a concussion, but they’ve got serious games coming up, and he needs to be tip top if he’s going to take them all the way.

Bitty takes it to heart and lets them baby him for a few hours.

It does get worse when Dex and Chowder see Holster pulling the neck of his shirt up a little to check how bad it is, and then he’s got more hockey players in his kitchen butting in. Luckily, Dex is getting just as good at making pie as Bitty, and finishes up the lattice work perfectly.

He talks strategy with Ransom and Holster at the kitchen table while Lardo makes another pot of coffee, and Chowder subtly slips the bottle of ibuprofen next to him. Whiskey listen to them strategize for the upcoming games, and my, don’t it feel so normal.

He hugs Shitty again, holds on just as tight as he can, and thanks the Good Lord for such amazing friends.

**

Mama and Coach are more understanding than he ever would have imagined, taken in account what a shock it is just to come across the television like that.

“Dickey, honey, now you know,” and she has to pause because Lord, his Mama is crying, “you know you can always come home. Always. No matter what. We love you. We love you and everything else, we can figure all that out.”

And so, since he’s never said it, only thought about what could happen, he tells her, “Mama… I’m gay.”

“I know, sweetheart. I know and that’s-that’s fine. We can figure it all out. But, you can come home sometime before the semester ends, can’t you?”

“N-not while we’re close to the Championships, Mama. I-I can’t–”

“Junior.” 

And now he’s glad he just called instead of trying to FaceTime. So glad he doesn’t have to look Coach in the face right now.

“You’ve done a heck of a job this year. Been a good captain. You know me and your mama are proud, don’t you Junior?”

And there goes his lip all trembling, his eyes getting hot. Only Jack squeezing his hand keeps him together at all.

“Y-yes, Daddy.”

“Good. You just keep fighting. We’ll be here cheering you on, all right?”

His breath hitches in his chest, “yes, Daddy.”

“That’s my boy. You can do it, Junior. They’re tough–”

“–but I’m tougher,” and he’s covering his eyes, shoulder hunching down. Jack goes from holding his hand to pretty much lifting him up enough to slide on Jack’s lap.

“That’s right, son. You sure as hell are.”

He sighs out, a soft noise. “I am, Daddy. We made the Frozen Four.”

“Go get ‘im. Me and your Mama are behind you all the way.”

And even if Coach gets squicky when it’s time for I love you, Bitty manages to get it out anyhow.

“Love you too, son. Now you gotta stop, or else your mama’s gonna drown me.”

The thick laugh is so much better than crying. Jack thinks so too apparently, squeezing tight while Bitty’s sitting on his thighs.

If he thinks there’s a kiss pressed to the top of his head, well, he’s just going to blame it on being emotionally overwrought and leave it at that.

**

He didn’t bother with pads, just pants, sweatshirt, gloves, stick, helmet, and skates. The ice is quiet as can be in the morning light bouncing off Faber, making it beautiful.

Kenny’s far enough ahead of them that he’s on a break from practice, already home making brunch. “Big Red is going to be killer, B. Cornell is ruthless. Fighting Hawks from North Dakota.”

His skates cut through the ice until he’s gliding, hitting the long stretch, pumping as fast as his legs can take him, cycling the puck. 

He doesn’t reply to Kenny, just listens while his muscles burn, his mind works, he sees the next move like a playbook. 

Over the past four years, he’s gotten stronger, faster. Sure, he’s smaller than the average hockey player, but that don’t mean weak. Everyone they’ve played already figured that one out now didn’t they?

His arms and shoulders burn when he swings high, throws some muscle in it when he slaps the puck right in the sweet spot of the net.

“No fair, B. I want to watch!”

“I’d have to set my phone in the stands, sugar pie.”

“If that means I get to watch you do suicides, I’m on board.”

Bitty laughs out loud because Lord, he sounds like Jack. 

“Trying to kill me before practice?”

“Captain’s prerogative, babe.”

Obligingly, Bitty sets up his helmet, laying on it’s side, throws a t-shirt in it to hold the phone up, and FaceTimes Kenny.

He gives the captain of the Aces a wink and then takes off to the blue line. He’s got his game face on, stick balanced perfectly, moving like his ass is on fire.

After a good turn out, he skates back to the stands where Kenny is very close to the screen. 

“Well, there you go, Captain,” he snickers, scooping up the whole thing so Kent goes around the rink for some easy, cool-down laps with him before the boys start meandering in for practice. “That what you wanted to see?”

“You? Are fast, B. That was incredible.”

“Oh, sugar pie,” he grins down at Kent’s face in his helmet, “you say the nicest things.”

“Hey, I’m not being nice, Bits. I’m saying as a professional hockey player that you? Are fast.”

“Well, so are you. Short guys like us have a tendency to out-maneuver the big guys.”

“I’ve based most of my career on being the fast guy on the team, B, but I don’t know how I’d hold up against you.”

“Mmhm. I also haven’t been playing professionally for the last few years, tearing the fire out of my knee, Kent.” Very serious because he’s counted how many nights he’s seen ice bags over that knee in the last few weeks.

“Also true. It might be surgery for me this summer, but that should do a lot. I’ll have maybe ten years instead of five.”

“So you said. Your doctor is talking about it again?”

“...yeah. He says it should do wonders for where I’m at right now, and this might be the year to just do it and get it over with.”

“Three-time Stanley Cup winner is where you’re at right now, sugar pie.”

The laugh is nice, but now he’s wondering if he can convince Kenny to come to Providence and stay with Jack during his recovery. That’ll let Bitty be close enough to come over and take care of him while his knee heals. He’s already thinking it over when his third lap is coming up.

“B.” Startles him right out of his thoughts.

“Kenny?”

And something is there in the way Kenny is looking at him from the screen. “Be careful at the game tonight. Watch out for the Minnesota D-Men, okay?”

“Thank-you, sugar. You watch on out for those Rangers.”

“I will. Just send me a text when the game is over, even if I’m in overtime, okay?”

“You know it, honey. Now go on and get a nap. We’ve both got a busy night tonight.”

**

This could be the last time he steps out on the ice. This could be it. All of it could end right here right now. 

They’ve got to play their hearts out. He’s got to give it everything he’s got. For himself, for the boys, for Samwell. 

It comes down to this, facing Minnesota’s line like there ain’t no going back.

**

He sits on his bed, faggot and fairy in his head from the game earlier. He doesn’t accept Jack’s call because his face is a mess.  

Well, serves him right because Jack just shows up at the Haus an hour later when Bitty has finally got it together.

**

The check is absolutely brutal. 

He used to be floored by it, curled up in a little ball on the ice, couldn’t move, couldn’t think, could barely breathe. 

But not this damn time. Oh hell no. 

It’s fast when he’s back up on his feet, shoving his way through bigger men than him and stealing that puck right on out from under them. 

He feels like he’s got wings on his feet when he glides by them like they’re just standing still. 

**

Mama and Coach are here because they’ve come down to the last stand. 

This is it.

Jack and Kenny are both there and where in the world they got #15 Bittle jerseys, he will never know.

Number #82 has already been gunning for him, but the last one is the very last of Eric Bittle’s patience running right on out.

His heart is racing, his legs burning, skates cutting ice as he steers around players, gritting his teeth against the ache, and for the first time, he’s gonna stand up, holler out that no, he’s not gonna take that nonsense lying down.

The moment slows down for long enough that he feels weightless when he pushes off, is airborn, shoving all his weight right into #82 just as they’re at the Samwell bench and shove the both of them right in with the boys.

It’s a tangle of arms and legs and skates and sputtering. 

“Try me again, asshole,” Bitty sneers in #82’s face with the face guards the only thing between them. 

“Homophobic prick!” One of his boys shouts.

Coach and the boys pick him up (shocked because he doesn’t usually have a need for potty mouth thank-you very much), want him to go get checked out while the ref blows the whistle just after Whiskey gets the puck, and now it’s all on Samwell.

He doesn’t get a penalty, thank goodness, and argues loudly with Coach to let him back in the game, he needs to get back. It’s not like he lost a tooth, just some scratches from going over. It’s a long look in his eyes before Coach just throws up his hands and shoos him back. 

And Bitty’s not thinking about Jack and Kenny and Shitty and Lardo and Ransom and Holster and Mama and Daddy and everyone else up in those stands screaming for them when he hits the ice again. He’s not thinking about how badly he hurts or the scratches on his face. He’s not thinking about his thesis or graduation or his spot in Jack’s guest room. 

He’s only thinking about the tied score, the next play, and how they’re going to show these away boys exactly who’s house this is.

**

And his arms strain when his stick comes back, when he slams that puck with every ounce of strength he has left. His heart thuds hard in the back of his mouth when their goalie’s hand shoots out, tries to catch the puck, just the tips of his gloves skimming the surface.

The alarm blares and the scoreboard changes so fast, Bitty’s not really sure what happened until his boys slam into him, gather all around him, screaming.

He’s dazed, fingers limply holding his stick, eyes still stuck on the scoreboard even when they lift him up, stick and all.

The crowd takes to the ice, and he gets his helmet off in time to get hugs from Mama and Coach, in time to accept the huge trophy, him and Coach and Dex holding it up with all the boys around them just a hooting and a hollering all over the place. 

Ransom and Holster catch him right up off his feet, crying all over him when they tell him how proud they are.

The interviews shake him out of the daze and he tells the viewers at home that the team fought hard for this and earned it all themselves. He’s proud to be their teammate and captain, he’s proud to be a Wellie, and darn it, their hard work paid off.

Just as he turns, sees Chowder going past with three of their guys behind him, singing the Samwell song at the top of their lungs, he catches Jack and Kenny standing on the ice by the boards, watching him with soft smiles on their faces, and his eyes get hot abruptly, get full as can be.

Center ice, just like with the Stanley Cup. And this ain’t that now. This? This one is all his.

He feels his lower lip tremble just a little, puts his hand up to stop it, but dang it if Jack and Kenny aren’t just easing across the ice toward him with those smiles and his name across the back of their shoulders.

He gets a hand on the back of his neck and a shoulder to hide his face while the whooping and celebrating gets loud, loud, loud.

Lord, he’s going to vlog the hell out of this tomorrow.

**

Shitty is naked. 

While it’s not new (they’ve been to Haus 2.0, and yes, Shitty was naked there too. Good times, really), Bitty has always had reservations about him being skin-to-fabric on that dang couch. Who knows what he might get. Well, all that spilled tub juice probably goes a long way to sanitize. Or so he says to keep his revolution to a minimum. 

Watching Kenny get his ass handed to him from Lardo is hilarious. Watching Jack give in and have a chugging competition is even better. 

He’s lucky the ECAC playoffs beat the NHL by almost a month. Jack and Kenny have another week before they start getting serious. 

Ransom and Holster are talking animatedly with the Waffles, back slaps all around. He’s pleased as can be when Shruti, Sharon, Edgar, Chad L., and some other captains drop by to say congratulations and have a piece of pie. He doesn’t see Jack pause over his shoulder while he talks up a storm, doesn’t see the considering look on Jack’s face.

Something about this Bitty hits him harder than the last four years, makes that perpetual tightness in his chest mean something completely different than anxiety.

He should have realized it long before his graduation, should have been terrified of it all happening again. 

Bitty affects him in so many of the same ways Kenny does, and it’s an amazing yet terrifying thing for Jack Zimmermann. Feeling like this person you’re looking at is literally made for you. 

And just as he starts taking a step forward, pushing himself in to stand at Bitty’s side like he’s done the majority of their friendship, Kenny ducks out of nowhere and takes him by both biceps. His expression is desperate.

“You’ve got to stop her. Zimms. Zimms, be on my team. Right now.”

It’s so absurd because it’s Kenny and also because he knows no one is beating Lardo. 

Ever.

Anything else is wishful thinking.

He casts a wistful look at Bitty, animated with his big win, and if Jack literally has his heart in his eyes until they’re out of sight, then only Chad L. from would have seen it.

**

Later on after the captains have said good night and some of their...guests have started staggering out, cheering for Samwell, for hockey, for tub juice, and for pie. 

For this one, Bits really couldn’t take credit because Dex really made most of them, bless his heart.

Moving around the party-goers with a spare trash bag to pick up a bit, he spots someone sneaking upstairs, pauses to squint up in case he needs to charge on up there and firmly remind people the upstairs is off limits. 

Or break out the fire extinguisher.

Either way.

...but he knows that ass in those jeans, and gasps softly as Jack’s plaid is bouncing up the steps ahead of Kenny. 

And, he can let out a sigh, catch just a little bit of bittersweet. But, if there is anything Eric Richard Bittle prides himself on, it’s being a good friend. If Jack and Kenny needed a-a wingman or whatever, then he’s just going to dang well be that.

He keeps an eye on the stairs for the rest of the night for more than one reason. No one, no one, is going to disturb them when they’ve finally come this far, and even if he silently dreads it, hopes they at least used his room instead of a bathroom for heaven’s sake.

[vagabcnds]

i have tossed around making this post for months now, gone back and forth with myself and my friends about if it would even be worth posting this. honestly, i don’t know if telling my side of this is going to do any good, but i think it’s time that i added some more information to this whole situation so that even more people can see that our friends (and i use that term with as much sarcasm as possible) @seattlehqrpg​ , as well as her other rp @canterlotislandhq​​ , have not changed, and will not change. this is indeed another psa about this woman, but with some more information and one on one conversations with the woman. 

hey hi, hello, so, my name is maig, i’ve been around the rpc for over a decade, and right now you might recognize my multifandom : @hiddenwashington​ . we’re an appless multifandom that i started up two years ago. and over those two years, we have dealt with jasmine, jazzy, jackie, jacqueline, whatever j name she wants to call herself this time, on and off, for that duration. 

and just to clear up some information from other psas, i do not believe this is the same nova/jazzy that was terrorizing groups last year with attacking and fighting admins. we’ve spoken with j multiple times, as well as jazzy/nova, and honestly i can tell for sure these are not the same people. unfortunately, there is more than one bad egg in the rpc.

i have a ton of screenshots, so forgive me for not using them all. a link to a google drive will be at the end of this, for all of the screenshots i have of stolen asks, interactions, etc. but i’ll just be using key information for this specific post. or else we’ll be here all day.

when we first encountered j (we’ll just use “j” for now since she focuses on whatever name we call her more than the content of the psas. and all her aliases start with it idk), we thought she was just another person who wanted to join but sort of went about it the wrong way. we first got an anon on the main, asking if our current ginny (that being me) would be willing to give her up. because j wanted to play her. 

we had gotten an anon asking about if we were welcoming towards people with social anxiety (or something like that. it’s been two years now since this all happened so specifics are a little fuzzy. like i said we’ve been dealing with her for so long.) i pretty much hit her with “i’m not willing to drop her because i still want to play her but hmu on my character account and we can chat about other characters for you to play”. i had no idea that answering it would lead us down this rabbit hole i’m writing about today. we sorta chatted, she kinda just rambled to me about how she wanted to write someone not like her so she could have a challenge. valid. i tried helping out, i didn’t really know what fandoms she was into so i said what i could and then went onto the main. when i got back onto my account, she had taken it upon herself to critique my portrayal of ginny, asking if she would ever say ‘dick’. she kept messaging me, sandwiching that comment between other questions. i told her i didn’t appreciate unsolicited critiques. i tried to move past it but she kept at me about it. telling me she hadn’t read the books in 10 years. and only read one. the last one, in 3 hours. idk overall it was a weird conversation and i sort of thought that was the end of it. 

honestly, i’m not gonna spend a TON of time on this already too long psa going on about every interaction we had with her, every crazy thing she said. most importantly, we accepted her in, thinking she was just a little wild but us talking to her covered it. she ended up going in active over easter or spring break or something, wanted to take up another character, we told her to wait to pick her activity up. ya know, standard admin business. and then she started attacking us. telling us we didn’t care about her, about what she went through not having a computer or whatever. she started sending us anons about how her friend stole her money and we don’t care about her and we all hate her so why should she stay. it was kinda insane. again, check the google doc for all that. she ended up leaving, we got some anons about how she never joined other rps because of admins like us. just random things here and there, some anons about how dare we talk to people like we did. just random shit that really only she could come up with. but we had an rp to run, lives to get on with, tv shows to binge, idk fam. life goes on. 

honestly, we sort of forgot about this whole mess for like close to a year? that was when we started getting ims. from her. we knew bc it was the same accounts as before. she uses the same ones over and over, it’s easy to keep track of her. it’s sort of why we never felt the need to bring anything up, we always thought she was just stealing from us and we knew when it was her and when to refuse to accept the questions. this is where we enter phase two of hidden’s journey with “j” : the thief. 

this is one of our earliest encounters. before she started sending them on anon. 

(for some quick context, she would send us questions for fcs, ask if a character was open and then go around trying to poach our members for her group)

tw suicidal thoughts for this next picture 

honestly this goes on for like 10 more pictures, so instead of spamming here, the full conversation is in the google drive under the folder : a fight that almost was

she eventually goes on to call me out as the admin talking to her, i tell her again to message me off the main so that we could get back to actually admining our group. she hits me up, calls me “a cute ginny mun”, and then proceeds to ask me to help her fill out Her Own Application for ginny for her own group!! 

the tiktok video of “did a full one eightyyy” is all that is going through my head from this specific encounter. 

anyways. this is when the stealing really amped up, for not just us, but for the entire rpc. around this time, we had stupidly let her back into the group, i had wanted to keep my eye on her personally. see what she was stealing from the inside. idk i was dumb. this is also around the time the first psa about her came around. 

enter, phase three. it’s similar to phase two, but this time, “j” must tell everyone she is in fact Not A Thief™

so, during this time, it was around may of last year? while she was in the group, she started stealing more, we were catching her in the act, and we eventually had to kick her out of hidden. it’s not really a shock but ya know. gotta do what you gotta do. 

she was going by jasmine at the time. anyways. this is also before her current group @seattlehqrpg​ , when she still had @manilahq and @forgottenfriendshiphq or whatever she changed that too. she was getting a ton of “hate” over there. mainly anons telling her to stop stealing from other creators. valid. 

anyways, she would blame us for all of the stealing, that we were the true thieves. idk we were her scapegoats for a long time. i can confirm to you all now, i have never, nor have any of my admins, sent her any messages to steal fcs or anything to “attack” her. honestly we try to forget she exists but she just makes it so hard to ignore her with all of this. 

anyways, this has been our song and dance with “j” for a while now. we get an anon, we answer, she steals from us in a matter of hours. i’m sure everyone can attest to that similar situation. i mean, here’s just like a couple instances. i have hundreds in the google docs, dating back years. this behavior doesn’t change.

i mean, she has even gone as far as to steal our plot. sure, it’s not exactly original. every multifandom somehow brings all these characters to a city by magic or something. but the mention of the witch, the alternate universe city, the memories. it just all around reads plagiarism. 

so, check the google doc for more evidence i guess if you really need to! 

but, some things we’ve noticed, beyond her just stealing asks and plots and EVENTS ??? AND NOW TASKS ??? check out this post for the tasks, and this other psa for the event. because that shit is so fucked. 

she has also straight up stolen replies and claimed them as her own. my friend and fellow admin, was in her rp for a hot minute, and played pacifica northwest. (some information is crossed out for privacy) this was from us talking about the plagiarism, of her stealing from my friend while “j” was in hidden, which we both admin.

this is her post

and this is "j”’s, while she was in hidden.

i mean, same gif and everything friends. 

she constantly goes on about how she doesn’t look at other rps, how she doesn’t have time, that she’s running five other groups, but honey, we’re running those groups for you with all the stealing!! i mean, just as further proof that she is constantly looking at other groups, including hidden, to an obsessive amount. a member left her group (who then went and joined us we believe), and this was her unfollow for them. (i feel so sorry for that member to be called out like this?? how uncomfortable do you have to make your former and current members???)

and hidden’s character count that same day ??? coincidence, i think not.

listen, this isn’t meant to stir up more drama, i know it will and that’s kinda why i put this off. everyone had sort of said what needed to be said? it didn’t feel necessary to repeat the same shit we all knew. but with more of this happening, with her stealing plots, tasks and events. it felt like this was the time to strike, to get this awareness back up. she needs to stop, and if we all ban together, maybe we can stop it? i don’t know. but i have hope that this can all change if we have each other’s backs. 

this has been hiddenwashington’s side of the story, i’m sure there are still more groups out there with stories or stolen asks. and i am sorry to anyone who has had to deal with her. but just, do yourselves a favor and look out for anyone with a j alias, 21+. she/her, from pst. who also uses “RPG” a lot. 

a lot of this stuff is old, but she’s still doing this in @seattlehqrpg​​ i just grabbed these screenshots because it’s what i had on hand. but anyways. here is the link to the google drive with all of our screenshots we have complied.

if you have any questions, comments, concerns, what have you: my inbox (including anons), ims and everything are open and i am more than happy to chat!! please come talk with me about anything!!!

stay safe, and thanks for joining me on this season of To Catch a Plagiarizer. 

[satanschild01]

No All Might? That’s Alright Prt3

Izuku Midoriya Fanfiction                                                          

A/N: In all honesty this took me way too long just to finish writing this chapter, but I pushed through so I guess it’s fine. I’ve created a AO3 account recently and I’ve posted all of my previous fanfictions there so if you want to check me out, you can find me as SatansChild

Hope you all stay safe and wear a mask if you can't physically distance.Hope to update soon!

Catch you on the flip side ~ Em

Photo used in this fic was referenced from original picture from anime, I did draw this photo jtlyk

Tags:

@random-fandom-girl-24

Tags for some wonderful feedback😘: @trashys-things @pink-imagines @marvelmymarvel @shikigami-the-paper-spirit @spaced-out-imagines​ @marvelmymarvelmain @writingfreakk

Trigger warning: Talk about death

Word Count: 2633

Part 1 Part 2  Part 3

After making sure all of the blood was no longer on his uniform, Closing his eyes, Izuku steeled himself to walk into the All Might shrine that was his room. Sure, he still wanted to be a hero, and he admired All Might’s strength, but he couldn’t stand to be surrounded by posters and figurines of a man who couldn’t offer any sort of encouragement to a child who clearly needed it. Izuku pulled some cardboard boxes out from his closet and started filling them with everything All Might. Oboro didn’t make a sound during the time he cleaned out his room, which he was grateful for. Even though he could just feel Oboro wanting to ask questions. 

“So what are you going to do about all this stuff?” Oboro asked as Izuku changed his All Might sheets with regular black ones “You seem like such a big fan...it just seems like a waste just to keep it all in boxes.”

Izuku shrugged his shoulders.”I’m not much of a fan anymore.” he lied to mostly himself rather than to Oboro, “I guess I’ll just donate the stuff later.” Once his walls were finally bare, Izuku stuffed the now full boxes to the back of his closet and flopped onto his bed. The room stayed silent for a moment until Izuku broke the ice, “I don’t want to intrude on your personal life…but can you tell me about yourself?” he asked

“Well for the fact that I witnessed and helped you with some pretty deep stuff, it sorta would be rude if I didn’t tell you something about my previous life,” Oboro said cheekily

“H-how long have you been...you know…” Izuku paused not really wanting to complete the question.

“...dead?” Izuku nodded “I was in my second year of high school when I died and I would be 29 by now so...close to 12 years I think?”  Izuku sat there on his bed frozen

‘12 years is a long time to be a ghost or spirit to not have passed on, that is if people actually pass onto another place once they die’ Izuku thought to himself

“I was patrolling around Tasomiya Ward with one of my best friends when there was a villain attack...I was working on saving some kids when debris fell on top of me...when I woke up I was like how I am now, I couldn’t find my body anywhere so I just...travelled around…” Oboro seemed to quiet down at mentioning that he never found his body to move onto another life, so Izuku thought of ways to change the current mood of the room.

“So you were a hero in training or something?” he asked, face full of wonder, Oboro hummed in affirmation “What school did you go to?”

“I went to U.A”

“Wait really?!” Izuku exclaimed excitedly, “that's so cool!”

They continued talking and asking questions back and forth, before falling into a comfortable silence. A few minutes past before Izuku took a deep breath

“I...I’m sorry,” Izuku said quietly, slowly curling into himself

"Why would you be sorry kid?" Oboro’s voice was full of confusion. But Izuku only curled in on himself further.

"If it wasn't for me you wouldn't be stuck here." As if anyone wanted to be bound to some stupid Deku...like him. And here he thought it was a whole coincidence that Oboro was with him. But instead, he just took whatever type of freedom he had to begin with.

"Hey, no! Stop that. Izuku that's not true! I'm here because I want to be!" The warmth spread all over him and he couldn't help but lean into it. “I said I'd make a hero out of you and I still plan on it."

Izuku looked up only to see the ceiling of his room, lifting his arm up to the sky and let it just float there (like what every kid does while laying on there bed contemplating on what to do next). "I wish I could see you again."

Oboro hummed. Seeming to think something through. "I don’t think there’s much out there since I was only a second-year when I died, but there could be some photos of me with friends or an article"

Izuku seemed to take that as a challenge as he went to his computer. "What did you choose to be your hero name?"

"Loud Cloud."

After scouring the web for a couple of minutes nothing showed up except for an old article from the Nikkei Shimbun newspaper, reporting the death of hero-in-training Loud Cloud. Izuku quickly exited that site choosing to search for something different. “What’s your full name Oboro?”

“Oh that’s right I didn’t tell you my full name, it is Oboro Shirakumo” Oboro replied

“Oboroshirikumo...oboroshirikumooo….here!” Izuku exclaimed pointing at the monitor’s screen. “This photo was tagged saying ‘Curry eating competition at U.A’s School Festival. Winner Hizashi Yamada from class 2-A!’ it also says the names of the people in the photo are; Shota Aizawa, Hizashi Yamada, and Oboro Shirakumo.” 

“Oh, I remember that!” Oboro cried out laughing “The curry was soo spicy I was freaking out because I couldn’t find anything to soothe my burning throat!”

“So that’s you in the back then?” Izuku asked pointing towards a teenager who seems to be freaking out.

Oboro chuckles “Yep, the other two were my best friends!”

“Yamada looks sorta familiar what’s his hero name?” Izukku asked, curious on why the 16-year-old looked so familiar to him

“Unless he changed it before becoming a pro, which he probably would not, his hero name is Present Mic.” 

Izuku sputtered “W-wait you were close friends with THE Present Mic?!” Oboro hummed in agreement while Izuku had his miny freak out “

“Oh my god that is socool!Ilistentohisradioshoweveryday,andhe’ssuchanamazinghero,likeevenifheisdeafduetohisquirkhedoesn’tletitbotherhiman-” He stopped hearing the sound of laughter coming around his room and his lamp flickering

"Aw jeez, that’s amazing Hizashi got to get that radio show he wanted." There was a quick blast of warmth flooding around his back and chest resembling a hug. "Well anyway, you should probably head to bed. You have a busy day ahead of you tomorrow and a long way to go before you can have a chance at being accepted into UA!"

"What are you going to do while I sleep?" Izuku asked, eyes slowly drooping.

"I'm going to see how far I can go without being next to you, and have a look around and exploring a bit. No need to worry. I'll make sure to be careful and be here in the morning." He seemed to pick up on his anxieties. Izuku felt warmth as Oboro slowly pet his hair back. "Goodnight, Izuku." 

The next morning Izuku woke up to warmth pulsing on his right cheek. "Hey kid it’s time to get up! You have training to do! Up and at ‘em!" Oboro’s voice was overly joyful and Izuku felt very unwilling to get out of bed.

"Mm...just a bit longeeeer." He groaned turning himself over facing away from where he guesses Oboro is standing (floating?).

"Fair warning Izuku my jokes are terrible, everyone at school would always runaway once I started and I haven’t been able to talk to actual people in so long! If spaghetti were to have it’s own action movie, what would it be called?.... Mission im-pasta-ble. What did the pot eat on it’s birthday?....pancakes. What do you call a camel in a drought?....A dry hu- "

Finally, Izuku jerked up, covering his ears. “Okay. Okay, I’m up! No need to finish that.” His face started to burn a light pink across his face, (knowing what the end of the joke was) as he started to kick the blankets off only to turn towards the window and see barely any light outside. "Wha- Oboro!! The sun isn’t even out yet!"

He turned glaring into thin air hoping to make contact with him.

"Yes, it is, Izu. It's just reeeally early in the morning. There is plenty of time for you to get ready and eat before we go out for a morning run!" He was being weirdly energetic about the whole ordeal, but Izuku knew he wouldn't take no for an answer.

Heading to the bathroom, Izuku ran a brush through his wild curly hair and brushed his teeth. Going back to his room, Obroro pipped up. "It's a bit cool outside so I suggest you wear some long sleeves."

The entire way to his closet Izuku muttered incoherent things. In the end, he opted to wear a plain black shorts and a long-sleeved shirt with written kanji saying 'tank-top' with his old dusty sneakers because his red sneakers were still on top of the roof.

Before heading out Izuku ate some toast and an orange. If he got hungry later on their run he could always eat more when they got back. As Izulu started to leave the apartment Izuku tripped over an unmarked box that was just left in front of the door.

"Ooo I wonder what it is!” Oboro seemed quite enthusiastic as Izuku went to open the box revealing his faded red shoes and yellow backpack.

"Wai-how-who found my stuff?" Izuku asked immediately putting the bag by the door and quickly changing between uncomfortable and comfortable shoes.

"I don’t know, when I got back from wandering around the package was just...there."

"Maybe someone found it and found out where I live from my contact info and address was written inside…?” Izuku wondered out loud.

“I guess so,” Oboro said looking to the bright sight of things.

‘But what if it was...All Might. Yeah, I’m glad that I don’t have to go back up there to collect my things but...I don’t want to have to depend on All Might to help me with my own problems.’

“Hey don’t think like that Izu! I know you’re not a huge fan of the guy, but you don’t have to beat yourself down like that. I know you’re better than that” Oboro spoke sternly trying to make a point, but that soon backfired as warmth spread through his body.

“Hold up- could you always hear my thoughts?” Izuku questioned as he started to jog away from the apartment.

“So far I can heat some things. Like your thoughts that way heavily on you emotionally. But it could possibly work to talk to me through your mind. So you don’t look like a freak talking to themselves.” Oboro quickly informs Izuku as to not worry him.

Sighed Izuku. That was true. Though he kept thinking about it as he jogged. As they passed Dagobah Municipal Beach, the sun had started to rise. Taking in a deep breath was the wrong reason as Izuku cringed from the awful smell of garbage. Despite the smell, Izuku took a break, taking a seat at the entrance.

"Oh gross. What is this place?" Oboro asked with a clear sound of disgust in his voice.

"Well," Izuku started."This is Dagobah Municipal Beach Park. It has accumulated trash coming from the sea for years, turning it from a beautiful beach spot into a trash heap for everyone's unwanted or broken belongings." It was really a shame. As a kid, Izuku recalled going to the beach. Lie under a beach umbrella, making sandcastles. But by the time he was tall enough into the water, it was already flooded with trash by then.

"That's terrible." Oboro seemed deeply upset about this actually. It made Izuku want to do something about it. But before Izuku could voice his thoughts Oboro spoke up.

“Hey Izu, could we make a quick visit to a convenience store?”

“Sure...what exactly do you want me to get?” Izuku asked, despite having an idea what Oboro was thinking.

“Well...you’re going to need to get some garbage bags and some gloves.”

Izuku then dashed towards the nearest convenience store with determination in his eyes. A frail-looking lady turned the key to open the doors as he walked by. Causing her to recoil in slight shock, Izuku realized that with his rapid approach he had frightened her. "I'm sorry, ma'am. I'd just come to purchase some garbage bags and some gloves.

The older woman seemed to soften something about his face as she smiled and opened his door. "Sure thing, they’re both in the last aisle on your right."

Before she went inside, Izuku thanked her and smiled back. He quickly found what he was looking for and brought a box of trash bags and a pair of workers gloves onto the counter.

"What's the hurry, son? Why do you need trash bags this early in the morning? You aren't trying to cause trouble are you?" the old woman pointed to Izuku with an accusing finger, and he shook his head quickly.

"Oh no, ma'am! I thought that I could just try and clean the beach up! I passed it while I was on my morning run!" Izuku assured, voicing Oboro’s plan

At this, the elder woman gently smiles while scanning the items. “Wow, is that right?” she said astonished, “ You know how long that place has been a mess? What makes you believe you can do it all by yourself?"

Her words weren't really painful, she was just being realistic. He knew she was right. He certainly had no obligation to clean up the beach. He could have just ignored it and easily went about his day. But he knew if he wanted to be a hero then he would need to start off the roots of how heroes came to be. How they used to work. Heroes in the beginning didn’t do what they did for fame. No. They didn’t care for the recognition they would get. They did it because they just wanted to help.

“That’s the thing, ma’am. I thought that it wouldn’t hurt to try. It’s also a great way to work out, instead of having to buy workout equipment or get a gym membership!” Izuku brightly smiles towards the lady as he handed her the money to buy his items.

“Well, I wish you luck, kid. I’m guessing that you’ll need a place to put the trash you collect.” She stated, Izuku smiling sheepishly at her rubbing the back of his head she continued, “There are two dumpsters in the alley behind the store, they get taken every Monday.”

"Thank you, ma'am!" Izuku said genuinely as he headed for the door. He didn't think too much about how he would dispose of the garbage, so it was good to have one offered.

Oboro began to laugh as Izuku jogged back towards the beach. "Cheaper than having to buy workout equipment or get a gym membership! Man, how true that is nowadays!”

The first garbage bags were packed very quickly. broken bottles, cans of beer, old and rotting newspaper, all of it was poured into the trash bag. Plastic, paper, glass, etc. Izuku could take them to a recycling center! He was already pumped about this new project when Oboro spoke up.

“Hey, Izu, before you toss that into the bag” placing his hand on Izuku’s making him feel warmth blossom closest to the soda, can packaging he was holding in that hand. “make sure you cut each circle so if they end up in wildlife again then animals won’t get their heads stuck inside.”

Izuku's eyes lit up as he started to tear apart each loop before placing it in one of the bags used for recycling. Soon Izuku had used up a quarter of the box of trash bags gone and only had 6x5 feet rectangle cleared of the beach.