#it has too many sweet moments and great characters to ignore it

[hyog-blog]

Duke Su started carrying her around long before they even got into the relationship /but can you really blame him XD she's like a little flower/. A very manly-manly role but with gentle and caring undertones

The Blooms at Ruyi Pavilion 如意芳霏 » Episode 9

[world0fmadness]

⋆ ˚｡⋆ ✩ ˚ LOVELY VOICE

lando norris x voice actress! reader

featuring: a bisexual reader and lando being obsessed with reader

faceclaim: assorted

୨୧ i know pride month has just passed but let me be! the timing for all of the games is completely wrong but once again, it’s fanfic, just let me be… i’m really just sticking with this short and sweet formula, i like short and sweet things, i no longer care about trying to stretch them to be as long as possible because longer ≠ better

୨୧ related hc available here and here

reading music recommendations: in the flood by ariana gillis - blood upon the snow by hozier - warning call by chvrches

ynln: had an incredible time at the game awards last night! met so many amazing people, the event had a great energy and oh! i won best voice actress for my role as aloy in horizon forbidden west! holy shit! thank you so much to everyone who voted for me and congratulations to the other winners ♥️

landonorris ✔️: there goes my girl!

❤️ liked by ynln

landonorris✔️: so so so proud of you love, your awards outshine mine ❤️

❤️ liked by ynln

> ynln ✔️: thank you lan but don’t make me laugh <3

> landonorris ✔️: what? i’m telling the truth

ynlovevoice: DESERVED! your voice acting in this game in particular was insane

lewishamilton ✔️: congratulations yn! was watching the event, your speech was great ❤️ here’s to many more wins, i’m sure! 🥂

❤️ liked by ynln and landonorris

> ynln ✔️: thanks lewis! means a lot coming from you ♥️

loveuyn: oh my god her and lando looked so good 🫣

> lanyn: hottest couple there and they knew it

oldf1lvr: when the camera panned over to her after she won, you could literally see lando cheering SO loud right in her ear 😭

> lanyn: i hope her hearing is okay lmao

> seyloy1: he was hyping his girl UP 💔 he had a facebook mom moment with his phone too, taking pictures of her on stage when there was literally like 10 professional cameras doing it for him 😭

oscarpiastri ✔️: you both looked terrible, truly… congratulations on the win yn!

> landonorris ✔️: i know you’re jealous oscar but there’s no reason to lie, is there?

❤️ liked by ynln

> ynln ✔️: because i’m feeling nice tonight, i’ll just ignore that first part! thank you oscar…

ynln: behind the scenes of my upcoming game, judas! i’ll be voicing a very different character to my usuals so stay tuned 👀

loveuyn: ANOTHER YN VOICED CHARACTER? she is spoiling us this year guys omg…

landonorris ✔️: can’t wait for this one, love ❤️

❤️ liked by ynln

> lanyn: he’s so supportive of her i can’t 😭

> iluvf1: supportive? he’s downright obsessed with her! he literally has every figurine ever released of all of her characters lmao

> ynln ✔️: can’t wait for you to play this one ♥️

> landonorris ✔️: …dotface 🙃

> ynln ✔️: i thought we were over this…

> landonorris ✔️: i can hear you laughing in the kitchen

❤️ liked by ynln

> oscarpiastri ✔️: why are you commenting back and forth when you’re in the same house? christ…

> landonorris ✔️: leave us alone oscar, we’re in looove, something you will unfortunately never experience

> oscarpiastri ✔️: whatever…

> landonorris ✔️: ohhh someone is salty 💔

> ynln ✔️: lando enough omg 😭

seyloy1: are we getting yn as a major antagonist for once? i’d dieee 🫣

> loveuyn: no but really… she’d make such a hot major antagonist… she already went crazy as bela in resident evil village and that was a minor antagonist…

ynlovevoice: she’s so cute oh my god…

> loveuyn: there really is two sides to yn fans, the people that find her cute and the people that find her hot… i’m the latter 🫢

landonorris: my girl has been working so hard for her next game! took her karting as a reward ❤️ check out the trailer here, i’ll be playing it on stream so tune in then!

ynln ✔️: ah yes, MY reward!

> landonorris ✔️: you loved it!

❤️ liked by ynln

> ynln ✔️: i guess i did, thank you lan ♥️

❤️ liked by landonorris

> oscarpiastri ✔️: you guess? you were bouncing off the walls begging to keep going even as the place was closing…

> ynln ✔️: this is why you’re always a third wheel and it’s never a double date, no one likes a sourpuss

❤️ liked by landonorris

lanyn: they’re so so cute together… when will it be my turn? 💔

oscarpiastri ✔️: never coming karting with you two again, she nearly took my leg off and you egged her on

> landonorris ✔️: sounds like you should’ve kept your legs inside the kart

> ynln ✔️: yeah, sounds like another you problem

> oscarpiastri ✔️: it’s always a me problem…

❤️ liked by landonorris and ynln

ynln: happy pride month! as a member of the lgbt+ community, the importance of genuine representation in media is something i hold dearly to my heart ♥️ here’s to all of the wonderful wlw characters i’ve voiced 🏳️‍🌈

oscarpiastri ✔️: happy pride, loser

> ynln ✔️: loser? well at least that means i’m still miles cooler than you oscar ❤️

> landonorris ✔️: ohhh burn, oscar, go cool off in a ice bath

> oscarpiastri ✔️: wasn’t even a good “burn”… i hate it here

loveuyn: i wouldn’t be surprised if they named their future child clementine, given how much that character means yn 🥹

> iluvf1: i’m not a gamer, can you explain why?

> loveuyn: it was the first character yn ever voiced at age 9, then 11, then 13 and finally 16! she basically grew alongside her character and has expressed how much she loves her

landonorris ✔️: happy pride, love! SEYLOY FOR LIFE ❤️

❤️ liked by ynln

> lanyn: lando being a #1 seyloy shipper will always be the absolute cutest thing to me 😭

> landonorizz: right? instead of being a weird ass bf that gets stupidly jealous, he ships her characters with other characters

lewishamilton ✔️: happy pride month yn, sending lots of love your way ❤️

❤️ liked by ynln and landonorris

> ynln ✔️: love from lewis, what everyone wants but only some can have, thanks lew!

> ynln ✔️: oh and happy pride right back at you

> oldf1lvr: omg 😭

⋆ ˚｡⋆ ୨୧ ˚ NEW ADDED BONUS ˚ ୨୧ ⋆｡˚ ⋆

lando has some trauma

[python333]

hi! i’m not sure if you’re taking requests atm but if you aren’t feel free to ignore this!

anyways, i was thinking what would it be like if you were back on base and did something nice for everyone and made their fave coffee/tea while you’re all relaxing after a long mission? like how would the 141 react and what would you make for them?

that’s all but i hope you have a great day and i absolutely love your writings!! they seriously are so detailed and amazing, you do a beautiful job w each one💌

unwind — python333

— — — —

synopsis the 141 + you are back from a super long mission and u make them their fave coffee/tea!!

relationships platonic!taskforce 141 & gn!reader.

word count 3.6k

characters cap. price, soap, ghost, gaz.

warnings 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself], usage of c/n [code name/call sign], gaz being a little shit.

note thank you so much for the req!! i am taking them right now, but apologies if i post them 2+ days after i get them, my writers block is slowly creeping back into my mind and im fighting it off the best i can! also, thank you for the compliments :3 ilysm youre too nice!! i saw ur reblog of bedbound too and i was so sjdfksdfks!! hope u have a good day too and hope you enjoy this fic, it's all fluff and way too in depth descriptions of making tea/coffee!!

As soon as the electric kettle clicks, signaling to you that the water inside of it has been boiled, you unplug it and pour the water into a mug you’d pulled from the cabinets. It still surprised you that there were any mugs left, with how many people kept stealing to put on their desk to hold pencils—by people, you mean Soap, and only Soap—but you weren’t complaining. 

You set the kettle back down once the mug is filled up just an inch below the brim and grab the tea bag you’d grabbed earlier, wrapping the string around the handle of the mug a few times before putting the bag itself into the water. Almost immediately, you see small tendrils of dark brown flow out from the drowned tea bag into the originally clear water. 

As that happens, you walk the small few steps over to the small fridge from the kettle and open it, grabbing the small carton of cream and closing the fridge shut. You walk back over to the mug and unscrew the cap of the carton, pouring some cream into the mug, adding a half inch of height to the liquid already in the mug before screwing the cap back on and setting the carton down.

You don’t bother to grab a spoon and mix anything yet, instead reaching over to the small terracotta container beside the coffee machine that contained sugar, and taking off the lid. 

You think for a moment if you should grab a spoon for this, but ultimately decide against it, instead just tipping the container over the mug and letting what you hope is two teaspoons of sugar spill over into the mug.

Afterwards, you put the lid back on the container holding the sugar and set it back next to the coffee machine, and grab the cream to put back into the fridge. 

Once the cream’s been put back, you open the drawers in the counter and grab a small spoon, one that’s just tall enough that it won’t be fully submerged in the tea, and put it into the mug.

You close the drawer and give the tea a few stirs before picking up the mug, being careful of the scalding heat and holding it solely by its handle. You carefully walk out of the snack bar extension of the kitchen and head towards Price’s office. 

After a year or two of working with him, you’ve learned a lot about his tea preferences—he likes Yorkshire tea, the original one, not the gold. He only likes cream and sugar in his coffee, just to make it smoother and make it a bit sweeter, but doesn’t like it too sweet.

You vaguely remember him telling you he’d never had honey or any other sweeteners besides a bit of sugar in his tea, and remember more vividly you thinking, God, that’s such an old person thing to say, but not saying it out loud. 

Once you’ve reached his office, you knock a few times and Price’s tired voice calls out, “Come in!” 

You open the door, careful to keep the mug from spilling in your hands, and walk in, closing the door behind you. Price looks up from his computer, presumably writing a report on the mission you’d all just come back from an hour or two ago, and offers a small smile when he sees you. He’s about to say something before he catches sight of the mug in your hands. 

“Did you…” He doesn’t finish his question, but you know what he was about to ask, and you nod in response. 

“If it’s too sugary let me know,” You tell him, setting the mug down a safe distance away from his computer, “I can remake it.” 

“I won’t make you remake it,” Price looks at you, almost offended, “You didn’t have to make me anything in the first place, but thank you, I really appreciate it.” 

“No problem,” You hum, walking away, saying over your shoulder, “Hope you like it.” 

You open the door without another word and walk out, closing it behind you, heading right back to the snack bar. Now for Soap. 

Soap typically preferred coffee to tea, despite tea’s popularity in Scotland. He’d told you that he really couldn’t taste the difference between different coffee blends, but upon hearing that there was a Scottish blend, he declared he’d only drink that one, because of course he did. 

He pretended he could tell if the coffee he was drinking was of that Scottish blend, but you knew he couldn’t. How did you know? You’d only ever given him Scottish roast once. Every other time since then, it’s been French roast. 

He’s never really used a coffee machine for himself, going to cafes or coffee shops most of the time for coffee, keeping his usual coffee order written in his notes app because he couldn’t remember it for the life of him.

He’d sometimes modify his order if certain coffee shops didn’t do certain things that he usually got, but his order stays mostly the same every time he gets coffee. Medium (or grande, if he’s at Starbucks) latte with a double shot of espresso. 

Typically, he’d get some shortbread too, but you didn’t really have any in the base, so he’d have to do without it today. 

Once you enter the snack bar, you grab another mug from the cabinets above the counter and place it under the coffee machine. You open the cabinets right by the ones that contained the mugs and grab a bag of ground French roast, pulling it out and putting it on the counter. 

You open it up and find that there’s conveniently already a small cup in there to scoop the coffee grounds up, and use your free hand to grab a new coffee filter from the same cabinets you got the coffee grounds from, swiftly putting it into the machine. 

You use your other hand to scoop up some coffee grounds and put them into the filter, closing the top of the coffee machine afterwards and turning on the machine. You’re grateful there’s more options listed on the small digital screen that lights up on the machine than just plain black coffee, not really in the mood to try and steam milk right now.

You tap on the ‘latte’ option and watch as the screen changes and hear the coffee machine start to whir. 

As it does that, you put away the coffee grounds and open up the cabinets that contained mugs once again, pulling out a small espresso glass and setting it onto the counter.

You wait patiently for the coffee to brew, and once you hear the small beep sound from the machine that signals that it’s done, you pull away the steaming hot coffee and set it down right next to the coffee machine. 

You quickly put the espresso glass under the machine and start it up again, this time tapping the ‘espresso shot’ option—surprised that’s even an option, honestly—and hearing the familiar whirring noise start up again. It doesn’t take nearly as long as brewing the latte did, the small beep coming much sooner than it did just a minute or two earlier, and you pull away the small espresso glass from the machine almost immediately after you hear it. 

You pause for a moment, looking at how much the latte part had filled up the mug, and look around for a moment before opening up the same drawer that contains the eating utensils and grabbing a straw, putting the straw in the still hot latte—is that a good idea? No. Did you do it anyway because you physically can’t think before you act? Absolutely—and taking a long sip of it.

You pull the straw out once the liquid in the mug is at a good inch below the brim and then pour in the espresso shot, setting the glass down after you do so.

You look around for a second for a trash bin and find one just a few steps away from you, quickly throwing out the straw you’d used and then walking back over to the empty espresso glass, picking it up and setting it down by the sink. God forbid we get a dishwasher in here or something, You think absentmindedly as you pick up the mug and carefully walk out of the snack bar with it, Would it hurt to at least get some dish soap in here or something? 

You make it out of the snack bar without burning your fingers and start the much longer walk to Soap’s sleeping quarters. You’d caught him walking out of his office in that direction earlier, so you can only assume that he’d gone there. 

Once you make it there, you knock on the door a few times and wait for Soap to call out to you and allow you to come in before twisting the door knob and opening the door. He’s laying on his back on his bed, thumb paused on his phone screen as he looks over at you as you enter. He notices the coffee and sits up a bit, grunting as he does. 

He wasn’t really as talkative after long missions like the one you’d all been on earlier—usually it took him a day or two to be more social and back to himself, so you didn’t take much offense to him not greeting you as loudly as he usually did. 

He nods at the coffee, “Is that for me?” 

“Mhm,” You hum, handing him the mug, “Be careful, it’s hot.” 

“Got it,” Soap carefully takes the mug into his hands, and softly blows on it before looking at you again and grinning at you, “Weel, thank ye for this. Ye really didnae hae tae.” 

“Price actually said the same thing,” You muse, almost to yourself, before speaking a little louder, “No problem.”

“Oh did he?” Soap asks, raising an eyebrow, before his expression shifts and he feigns confusion, “Wait, how come he got a drink afore me?”

“Because his office was closer to the snack bar,” You explain, crossing your arms. 

“… Nae, it’s definitely ‘cause ye hate me,” Soap disagrees, shaking his head in mock disappointment, “And tae think I thought we were friends.” 

“It is no— you know what?” You begin to argue, before sighing and rolling your eyes, “I do hate you, and we were never friends, you ungrateful piece of shit.” 

Soap laughs, quieter than he usually does but it’s still a genuine laugh. He looks down at the coffee again and back at you, before saying, “Thank ye. Again.” 

“No problem,” You replied, walking back towards the door and opening it, walking out of Soap’s sleeping quarters and closing the door behind you. Now for Ghost. 

Ghost typically liked tea more than coffee, but you think that’s just the British in him talking. Realistically, you could give him either or, and he’d say a polite ‘thank you’ and move on.

From years of being apart of the 141, any preferences or additives he liked to put in his tea or coffee slowly dissipated and instead he just drank either one plain. Which should make the tasks you’ve forced yourself to do today easier, but knowing you, you just couldn’t take the easy route with this. 

You remember a conversation with him that happened several months ago where you had been talking about your own tea and coffee preferences. Ghost had commented that he didn’t often put any additives in his own hot drinks anymore, but back before he’d joined the military, he liked to drink keemun tea occasionally with nutmeg in it. 

Keemun tea—which was fucking expensive by the way, costing around sixteen pounds for twenty tea bags in every store you could find them in—wasn’t too hard to find, so the next time you went on leave after that conversation, you’d bought a box of bags of keemun tea leaves and some ground nutmeg. 

You didn’t let Ghost know about it, and kind of forgot about it just a week after you bought it, but now the memory of you buying it and storing it in the snack bar behind a few other boxes of tea bags has resurfaced and it’s the only thing you think is appropriate to give Ghost at a time like this. 

You get back to the snack bar and almost robotically you pull a mug out from the cabinets above the counter and set it down on said counter, deciding to grab another one just so that you wouldn’t have to do it later, and setting that one down right next to the other. You open the cabinet beside that and move some of the boxes out of the way to find the keemun tea box in the very back, right where you last left it. 

You snatch it out of the cabinet and open it, pulling out a small packet and opening it up to pull out the tea bag inside. You go ahead and put the tea bag inside of the mug and put the tea box back in the cabinet, closing the small cabinet door afterwards.

You then grab the electric kettle that’s right by the sink and pop open the lid, putting it under the faucet and turning said faucet on, waiting until the water fills a quarter of the kettle. Once it does, you turn off the faucet and put the kettle down right by the outlet on the wall. 

You put the lid down and wait for it to click into place before you plug the kettle into the outlet and press the small button below the handle to turn it on, and listen as it starts to make a small whirring noise. You don’t waste too much time just standing there, waiting for the water to finish boiling, instead putting the other mug you’d pulled out from the cabinets under the coffee machine and turning it on. 

You tap on the ‘decaf flat white’ option and watch the digital screen change and another whirring sound starts up, now coming from the coffee machine.

You were starting to make Gaz’s while making Ghost’s drink because Gaz often made the mistake of drinking his coffee before it was cool enough to not burn his tongue, so if you made it earlier, it’d have more time to cool, and Gaz wouldn’t have to wait as long before drinking it, therefore solving the whole ‘burning-his-tongue-because-he’s-impatient’ problem he has. 

Gaz liked simple flat whites, and sure, he liked tea too, but nothing could top a good flat white for him. He’d get them anywhere and everywhere he can, and you honestly admire his dedication to getting a flat white everywhere he goes. 

The coffee machine finished up quickly, a small beep sounding from the machine as it stopped its whirring and a few more drops of coffee made it into the mug before it completely stopped. You pull the mug out from under the machine and set it aside for now, just waiting for the water to finish boiling in the kettle. 

Once the kettle clicks and the whirring from that machine stops, you unplug it and pour some water into the empty mug you’d picked out for Ghost, waiting until it’s filled up about a half inch below the brim of the mug before taking the kettle away from the mug and pouring the rest of the unused water into the sink. 

You set the kettle down beside the coffee machine where it belongs and check the drawer below the one that held the eating utensils, looking through some of the spices and drink additives in it before finally finding the ground nutmeg you needed. 

You unscrew the cap and tilt the small spice jar over the mug, letting some of the powder spill into the mug before tilting it back and screwing the cap back on. You put it back in its spot and close that drawer, now opening the drawer above it and grabbing a small spoon, closing that one after you’ve grabbed the spoon and putting the spoon into the mug to mix the spices in it around a bit. 

You leave Gaz’s mug on the counter, hoping that nobody steals it while you’re away, and instead pick up the mug meant for Ghost, carefully walking out of the snack bar with it. 

Ghost’s office is fairly far away, but you still manage to get there without burning your fingers or anything on the mug. You knock on the door a few times and wait for Ghost to call out permission for you to come in before you open the door and walk in. 

Ghost immediately looks over at you and spots the mug in your hand, but ignores it for now, instead opting to ask, “Did you need something, [c/n]?” 

“Not really,” You shrugged the best you could while holding scalding hot tea, “Just needed to give you this.” 

You set the mug down on Ghost’s desk before he can say another word, and watch as he eyes the mug with curiosity and confusion. 

“What’s this?” He asks, carefully picking up the mug, holding the top up to his nose to smell it. Before you can answer his question, you see his eyes widen and he questions a little louder, “Is this… keemun? With nutmeg?” 

“You can tell just from the smell?” You ask, mildly impressed, watching as Ghost’s gaze turns into one more in awe of the mug. 

“Yes, I can,” He mumbles, smelling the brim of the mug again, before looking over at you, “How did you know I liked keemun with nutmeg in it?” 

“You told me about it, like, a few months ago. Six months ago, maybe? I dunno.” 

“How do you remember a conversation from six months ago?”

“It was an important conversation, I guess?” You shrug, crossing your arms. 

You watch in silence as Ghost eyes the tea and you take that as your sign to leave, walking towards the door, stopping right in front of it to twist the knob to open it before you’re interrupted by Ghost. 

“Wait—” You turn your head and look at him over your shoulder, and immediately upon seeing his face, you think, oh my God is he tearing up? “Thank you, [c/n]. I really appreciate it.” 

You offer a small smile and reply, “Yeah, no problem. Enjoy your tea.” 

You open the door without another word and close it behind you, taking a deep breath before continuing down the hall back to the snack bar. 

You’re relieved when you get there and see the mug, still steaming a bit, still on the counter. You quickly walk over to it and pick it up, walking right back out the door with it and heading straight for Gaz’s sleeping quarters. You remember him being so tired from the mission—you don’t know whether to hope he’s asleep and getting some rest, or to hope that he’s awake so you can properly hand him his coffee. 

Once you make it to his sleeping quarters, you knock on the door, and there’s no response for a few moments, making you think he might actually be asleep, but then you hear Gaz’s drowsy voice call out, “You can come in!” 

You open the door and see him rubbing the sleep from his eyes and sitting up on his bed, looking over at you. His lips twitch up into a small smile once he sees you and he lets his hand drop into his lap. 

“Hey, [c/n].” He looks over at the mug you’ve brought with you, before raising an eyebrow, “You brought something for me?” 

“Very bold of you to assume it’s for you,” You close the door behind you and walk closer to him, “But yes, it is.” 

Gaz perks up a bit at that and happily takes the mug off of your hands once you hand it to him, and his smile grows significantly bigger once he sees you’ve brought him a flat white. 

“It’s decaf, don’t worry,” You say, as if reading his mind, “I figured you’d still want some sleep after drinking it.” 

“Always so considerate,” Gaz sighs teasingly, raising the mug to his lips like you’d thought he would. Thankfully, his tongue doesn’t burn this time after he sips the coffee, and you let out a small sigh of relief at the fact. 

“You know me,” You respond dryly, crossing your arms as you watch Gaz take a few more sips of the coffee. 

“Thank you for this, by the way,” Gaz thanks you, taking another sip of the coffee before stating, “I hope you know you’re my favorite now.” 

“Your favorite what?” 

“Just my favorite, in general,” Gaz hums, “This is the best flat white I’ve ever drunk. Ten out of ten.” 

“Thanks,” You thank him flatly, “It was made with love and a coffee machine I learned how to use yesterday.” 

“I can just taste the love in it.” 

“Not the coffee machine?”

“Well, it’s a bit concerning if someone can taste the coffee machine in their coffee, innit?” Gaz raises an eyebrow at you before taking another sip of his coffee. 

“Not if it’s the one I used.” 

“Whatever you say,” Gaz mutters, taking yet another sip of his coffee, making you huff out a small laugh. 

“You enjoy your coffee,” You say before walking back over to the door, closing the door behind you as you walk out and letting out a tired breath, starting to head back to your own sleeping quarters.

[vonabel]

Floral Heartache

Falling in love with Midoriya Izuku had been easy, all things considered. Every time you see him, you think you couldn't love him more. And then you see him again, and you know you can, because you do. And it's such a warm feeling, gooey and sweet like honey, it's almost dumb. You wish you could hate him.

But that's all a little melodramatic, you don't often find yourself thinking like that. Those thoughts are reserved for nights alone, wine drunk and weepy. And for when you're hit with a quirk that makes flowers sprout in your lungs.

Izuku Midoriya/Reader

hanahaki disease, aged up characters, Pro Hero! Deku, implied smut, not actually unrequited love, angst, canon-typical violence, gore in the form of bloody flower puke and broken bones, past Hitoshi Shinsou/Reader, background BakuShin and EraserMic, parental Aizawa, reader uses she/her pronouns, reader has a mutation quirk (wings)

21.1k words | complete

notes: on ao3 this is 3 chapters, here it'll just be one part

♡♡♡

Falling in love with Midoriya Izuku had been easy, all things considered. It had been like falling asleep; slowly, and then all at once. And after the feelings were known, it had been as easy and automatic as breathing and blinking and being. Even if you didn't know what to do with all the new things that came with falling in love with someone who didn't love you back. Falling in love with someone who loved the whole world too much meant there was little space for you. 

(He is someone that many people could fall in love with – probably have fallen in love with. You can see the way other friends of his toe the line of platonic. Ochako, Shoto – all of them, any of them.

And you pointedly ignore the way it makes rage and jealousy spread through your chest and down to your toes like molten lava.

He is not yours to claim, to take, or to love. He is not yours.)

You sat with those feelings for years, debating and thinking too hard about it for too long, before eventually deciding that his friendship was too important. Telling him how you felt would just ruin it, and you weren't willing to risk that. Your feelings for him were something that you would never tell him about. Even if they never went away, even if you ended up old and wrinkly and alone because of it – that would be fine. Because you would still be his friend, and that's all you needed anyway. There's no room between you and him and the world for a silly, little thing like love.

Every time you see him, you think you couldn't love him more. And then you see him again, and you know you can, because you do. And it's such a warm feeling, gooey and sweet like honey, it's almost dumb.

It makes you mad, how easy it is to love him; how hard he thinks it is to be loved, despite being the first to openly love anyone at any time. You wonder if he knows already, that your heart has moved on its own to make space for his beside it. That there's a hole carved in your chest just for him. If only he knew – if only you could tell him that you want to pour your soul into his hands. That you want him to let it seep through his fingers to the dirt, just so you could finally get relief in knowing he doesn't want it. You wish you could tell him so he could be too sweet and too kind when he says no, he doesn't love you back. Even if only to allow you a goddamn moment of clarity, so you could mourn a relationship that was never going to happen anyways.

With some weird, misplaced guilt in your chest, you wish you could fall out of love with him. You wish you could hate him.

But that's all a little melodramatic, you don't often find yourself thinking like that. He's a good friend, a good man, and a great Hero. You couldn't hate him, even if you tried. Those thoughts are reserved for nights alone, wine drunk and weepy and hoping that maybe one day he'll confirm all those tabloids about him and Ochako.

And for when you're hit with a quirk that makes flowers sprout in your lungs.

The villain hadn’t even been the one to hit you. It had been some toddler caught in the middle of the fight. He’d been scared, said so himself through his snot and tears when you leapt down to grab him, wings spread like a shield to protect him from rubble and debris. You remember him crying, asking for his mom, and pressing his hands to your chest. Too young to have control, his panic had his quirk going haywire. And then you were falling, tumbling down towards the concrete and choking on pretty, pink petals.

Everything had ended up fine, all things considered. Hitoshi had swung down and caught you and the boy. And you’d been practically shoved into an ambulance and taken away. And now you’re here, sitting in a private hospital room after being poked and prodded for over an hour. And all anyone can tell you is that you have a garden growing in your chest, and it's all for a man you know you have no chance with. They'll wither, you know, and you'll probably wither with them.

“The quirk in your system is similar to the hanahaki disease. I'm sure the quirk analyst has already explained it to you. Unfortunately, any romantic feelings you may be experiencing won't aid in your situation,” Doctor Kimura is kind when he speaks, eyes maybe too soft. “The flowers have already begun blooming, and you're likely to start coughing and vomiting within the next twenty four hours. Maybe sooner.”

“‘m not in love with anyone. There are no feelings to be unrequited,” you mutter, watching the way the doctor frets with his stethoscope. Your wings twitch behind you, heavy and hurt and begging to curl around you. The lie slips between your teeth easily, coated in pain and an aching tiredness. It's stupid, and you don't know why you do it. The quirk manifesting in your chest is proof enough of your feelings. Maybe it's humiliation. Maybe it's because saying it will make this all a little too real. Maybe you're just a coward.

Doctor Kimura hums, ignorant to your inner turmoil, and his fingers pause around his stethoscope before smoothing down over his crisp, white lab coat. You're reminded of your own clothes and hold back a wince at the sight of your torn and tattered hero suit. It feels out of place in a hospital; too dirty for such a sterile environment.

The heart monitor behind you mocks you, spiking with your pulse the very moment green eyes and green curls appear in your mind.

“The flowers in your lungs say otherwise,” he says, leaning just past you to click off the screen that shows your heart rate, “I won't force you to tell me who it is, that's none of my business. But, your health is and I seriously urge you to… resolve the issue. The quirk itself won't kill you, but the long-lasting effects can.”

“And if I don't confess? What happens then?”

“Unfortunately, due to lack of knowledge on the quirk, we don't know. The boy is still being checked out for any traumas, so we've decided to wait before asking his mother any questions regarding his quirk,” he clears his throat, turning to point at the screen of your scan results, “We did determine that the flowers growing inside your lungs are anemone, also known as windflowers.”

“Does that mean something?” your throat is sore already, and your voice catches as you speak. Doctor Kimura eyes you warily, and offers you a cup of water. After you've downed it, he sits down on the stool behind him.

“Typically, yes, but we can't be sure if it means anything under the influence of a quirk,” he says, “We can start you on some medication, they’ll help with the coughing and vomiting for now. But they won't work forever. Your best bet is to confess these feelings and get an answer back. We recommend you have a solid support system for something like this, is there anyone I can call?”

“No, I'm fine. Thanks,”

── 𓇢𓆸 ──

Hitoshi makes you take the next week off. And from the way he offers you a weak grin, you know Aizawa is really the one behind the decision. You accept, only because you know if you don’t someone will call Katsuki. Or, worse, Izuku. And having either of those men show up at your doorstep is literal nightmare fuel right now.

The time off is needed, though, may even be appreciated (if he hadn't forced it on you), because twenty-four hours after your hospital visit, nearly on the dot, you puke. Your cat yowls when you jerk up from your bed, gagging so violently your body shakes and your wings tremble. Petals are behind your teeth in seconds, and you, much like a child who's had too many sweets, puke into your hands. You gag again as it spills between your fingers and on to your comforter. This is a new low, even for you. Globs of bloody, mucus covered petals burn their way up your throat, and you can’t do much other than sit up fully and let it happen. Your cat had jumped away in time to be unscathed, and you thank whatever god will listen for not letting you puke on your fucking cat. The thanks is followed up with a big, fat fuck you for making you puke in the first place, though. Which evens you out, you think. Keeps you in a nice gray area.

The petals are soft in your palm, pretty even, despite the blood, and clearly from a fully bloomed flower. Your nose wrinkles. At the mess of petals and broken stems, and the weird, floral scent, heavy with copper low notes. Someone would buy this in a perfume, you’re sure. Some freak – probably a villain.

You gag once, twice. And after five full minutes of deep, painful breaths, you get up to clean. The blanket is ruined – a shame really. It had been expensive, and the very first thing you bought yourself when you got this apartment. A thick, down comforter, soft on your wings and a pretty shade of green.

(The comforter Izuku had helped you pick out, grinning as he said it matched his hair. But that was definitely not the reason you caved and bought it. And you do not cry as you stuff it into a trash bag.)

(You do cry. You cry and try to scrub the blood soaked stain from the fabric, and cry some more when you finally give up.)

The shower you take after is rewarding in a way, washing away tears from your cheeks and blood from your chin. You stay in long enough for the water to run cold, and then another ten minutes after that, until your fingers are weird and pruned. And when you get out, you sit in nothing but your towel, on your blanket-less bed. Your hair is still soaked, dripping cold water down your neck and on your shoulders, but you make no move to dry it. The wall is suddenly the most interesting thing you’ve ever seen, and you cannot pull your eyes from where your paint is peeling. Somewhere behind you, your phone buzzes with a call, and you pointedly do not move to answer it. The buzzing stops. You blink, sigh, sniff. The buzzing starts again. Out of irritation, your wings search the bed for your phone and scoot it across the sheets to your hand. Without looking, you answer.

“What,”

Izuku breathes your name, and you feel your stomach drop and your wings go poofy the way they always do when you hear his voice, “Hitoshi told me you were on leave for the next week. Is everything okay? Is it because of the quirk you were hit with last night? I can–”

“Who told you that?”

“Uh,” Izuku makes a long, slow, squeaking noise. “No one?”

“Who called you, Midoriya?” you grumble, finally tearing your eyes from the wall to glare at your own reflection. You've looked better, and you've certainly looked worse. The skin under your eyes is shadowed and puffy, swollen with exhaustion and your pitiful bout of tears, and your raw, chapped lips look one smile away from bleeding. There's a bruise coloring your cheekbone, and a cut to go with it. And your poor wings, damp from the shower and missing a few too many feathers.

Your few fans would call this look sexy. Rugged, if you will. At this point in your career, looking rundown and beat to hell is your brand in the same way that being an emotionally constipated asshole was Katsuki's brand, and being perpetually exhausted was Hitoshi's. You tilt your head back, trying to understand how people find this attractive. Nothing stands out to you, you just look like the human equivalent of a soggy piece of bread.

But hero fans will be hero fans, and you learned the hard way that they find pretty much anything attractive so long as it's their favorite hero. The fanart is proof enough. And your handful of fans happen to be the weirdest brand of freak there is, unfortunately for you.

(According to Mineta, who apparently has a secret account he uses to look at fanart of not only himself, but the rest of former class 1-A students, your very few fans have an ongoing argument about your relationship with Hitoshi. Some call you sibling-coded, and others are insistent that you both have wild, nasty sex after a good villain take-down.

Why Mineta knows this, you don't know. And you are not about to ask him to go into any more detail about it than he already has.

And neither he, nor the fans, need to know that yeah, a couple years ago, maybe you did fuck Hitoshi every so often. It was nothing big, just a way to let off steam. Because you have that thing for Izuku Midoriya, and Hitoshi has that thing for Katsuki Bakugo. And you are both hopeless, sad fools who hold each other too close for fear of letting the chill of being unloved by those you crave seep through the cracks.)

“It wasn't Hitoshi!” Izuku says quickly. You can picture him waving his hands around frantically as he speaks – Jesus, you need to get it together.

“I know it wasn't. Who was it?”

“I’m listed as your emergency contact,” Izuku says, “They called me when you were admitted last night.”

“My emergency contact has been Aizawa for a year, you liar,” you scoff, narrowing your eyes at your reflection. Izuku knows this, and even cried when you told him. But having the Number One Pro Hero as your emergency contact felt wrong. Selfish. So you had it switched, much to his dismay.

“It doesn't– you–” Izuku whines, and then quietly says, “Aizawa called me.”

“I'm gonna knock that old man's teeth out. The whole point of changing it was so you didn't get called,”

“He's just worried. We all are. The doctor said this could…” his voice tapers off, and you can feel the guilt eating away at you, “You could die?"

“I won't die,"

── 𓇢𓆸 ──

Two days pass, and if you could eat, you'd be eating your words. You feel like you're already dead. The coughing and vomiting only get worse, as expected, and you are damn near glued to your toilet. The petals and stems come up all in one piece, full flowers that make macabre and deconstructed bouquets. You suck on ice chips to soothe your throat and drink water when you can, but haven't eaten solid food in so long you think your stomach is digesting itself. And your wings suffer too, weak and droopy and unable to do much other than drag behind you uselessly.

Katsuki, unsurprisingly, is the first to actually visit you during your ban from work. He does not call, or text, or even knock when he arrives. And you immediately regret ever giving him a key to your apartment. He hollers your name from the living room, and you manage a grunt back before turning to puke into your toilet. His palm startles you, warm between your wings, comforting and oddly kind.

“Bad time,” you wheeze between hacks and gags. The flowers floating in your toilet mock you, dancing between blood stained water and tears. You pluck a fully bloomed one from the bowl, holding it gently between your pointer and thumb and twisting it beneath the florescent lights of your bathroom.

“Nasty,” Katsuki grunts. His nose wrinkles, and you mirror the look as you slap your other hand up to flush. He leans back from you, balanced on his toes, “You look like shit. Is that a full fucking flower?”

“‘m fine. Why are you here?”

“Because you're obviously not fuckin’ fine, dumbass. This is you dying,”

“Can everybody knock it off with that shit? Fucking– I'm fine–” a gag, “So just–” a heave, “Go away .”

“This is disgusting,” Katsuku scoffs, completely ignoring you. He pulls the towel hanging over your shower rod and turns to wet it in your sink before lowering himself to a crouch beside you. With gentle hands, he tilts your face up and wipes at your lips and chin, eyes narrowed and mouth twisted.

“Oh my God,” you whisper, “Are you about to cry?”

“Fuck no,” he grunts. The crack in his voice and the way his lip trembles betrays him. He sniffs, “The stench of your puke is stinging my eyes. You look like shit, by the way. What's wrong with your wings?”

“Yeah, you said that already, thanks,” you snort and spread a wing out, “They're fine, just weird right now because I'm sick. And I haven't been able to, like, preen or whatever.”

“Can you still fly?”

“Negative,”

Katsuki stares at your outstretched wing. Your bathroom is significantly smaller like this as it is, with your wing stuck out completely to touch the wall opposite of you. But you feel more than cramped when he sucks his teeth and stands to his full height, filling the space with his wide shoulders. He takes one long, deep breath before turning on his heel, “I'm calling Deku.”

“I'll kill you,” you gasp, nearly slipping on your bath mat as you scramble to your feet to follow him.

“Yeah?” he prompts. Sarcasm drips from his teeth when he turns to look at you, “I don't think you can do much of anything in this state. Look at you, can't even fucking fly.”

“Fuck you,”

“You're killing yourself,” he presses a finger to your forehead, “Do you fucking get that? You're killing yourself and, what, expecting us to just be fine with it? Him? All because you love him? This is killing you, and it'll kill him when you die.”

“I'm not about to be coerced into a goddamn love confession because of some stupid kid's quirk,”

“He feels bad,” he says.

“Yeah, Deku always feels bad,”

“No, idiot, the kid. Mindfuck said he and his mom stopped by the agency. He wanted to say sorry. Made a mess cryin’ all over the place,”

“Once I get my shit sorted I'll find him to tell him I'm fine,” you gnaw on your cheek, “He doesn't need to feel bad. He was scared. He could've died.”

“ You could die,”

“I know. It's kind of a sick quirk when you think about it,” you nod, eyeing the way Katsuki’s fingers fly across his phone screen. You scoff and point an accusatory finger at him, “Stop texting him.”

“Don't fucking tell me what to do. And don't point at me,” Katsuki pockets his phone anyways, offering you a scowl, “I was messaging Hitoshi.”

“Woah, first name basis. So you've fucked then, yeah? He's good with his hands,“ you grin and raise the rest of your fingers to wiggle at him suggestively, “Did he do the thing where he–”

“Jesus fucking– stop, what is wrong with you?” his annoyed huff sounds suspiciously like a laugh. Your grin softens around the edges and you stretch a wing out to tickle the tip of his nose at the same time that you poke a finger into his stomach.

“That wasn't a no,” your laugh is meant to lighten the mood, but it turns into a nasty, gurgling cough that immediately ruins it instead. You bat away Katsuki's hands when he raises them to hover around you, “I'm glad Hitoshi got his happy ending.”

Katsuki's face crumples and he turns away from you to try to hide it. You catch it though, the way heartbreak spills out from his eyes and over the bridge of his nose. You've felt it enough to know how it looks, and you feel sick knowing he looks like that because of you.

“You could have yours too, dumbass,” he lets out a rough breath that melts into a groan and tilts his head back to stare at your ceiling. “You know that right? You can't be that dense. Even– even if it isn't with Izuku. You can still be happy.”

“I know that. I'm perfectly happy the way everything is now,” you wave the flower dismissively at him and he reaches out to pluck it from your fingers.

“You're dying,” he says again, brows furrowing when he holds the flower up to look at it.

“Yeah, for the hundredth time since I was fourteen,” you shrug, shuffling past him towards your couch. “I'll be fine. I always am.”

Just as your ass lands on the plush cushion of your couch, a knock sounds on your door. You whip your head up to stare at Katsuki, who grimaces and tosses the flower down onto your coffee table, “I didn't think he'd get here so fast.”

“Who the fuck is here?” you hiss. He sucks his teeth when another knock echoes through the space between you. “Katsuki, if Deku is on the other side of that door–”

“It's the old man and mindfuck, relax,”

“ Two? You invited two people to my apartment? Should've fucking called Deku, Jesus , what the fuck?” you groan, slumping down into your couch as your front door opens.

“Consider it an intervention,” Aizawa drawls, pausing in your entryway with Hitoshi so they can each toe off their boots. “Since you're so set on letting yourself die.”

“I'm not–” you cough, turning away from them to hack into your elbow. A tickle in your throat makes you gag, and you slap a hand against Katsuki's hip, “I'm gonna puke– I'm– get me a–”

A trash can is shoved beneath your chin just as petals and stems crowd your tongue. You wheeze between each stretch of flowers crawling their way out, batting away the six hands reaching into your space. Hitoshi scoffs beside you, smacking your hand back. His fingers graze the back of your neck as he gathers your hair, sending a shiver down your spine. You shake your head, leaning forward more and he clicks his tongue, following you.

“Get off'a me,” you slur, slapping more at his hands. 

“Let me hold your fucking hair, you heathen,” he grunts, pulling back the hair on your forehead, “You hair is so greasy, when's the last time you showered?”

You lean back into the cushion and his hands, humming out a rasping breath when he scratches at your scalp, “Fuck you.”

“Yeah, you're welcome,”

“Freaks,” Katsuku rumbles, landing heavily beside you. When you hiccup, jostling with the movement, Aizawa shoots him a disapproving look that he withers under.

You snicker into your fingers while you wipe at your mouth, “Don't be jealous, Katsuki,”

“Fuck you,”

“Enough,” Aizawa sighs, balancing in a crouch on his toes in front of you. “Feeling better?”

“No,” you laugh, leaning around him to set the trash can down. “No, I feel like shit.”

“You look like shit,” he nods.

“Thanks, wow. I'm so glad you're all here to tell me how bad I look, I really love this,”

Hitoshi's hands leave your hair and you twist around to press your cheek to the back of the couch and watch him. He steps through your kitchen like it's his own, collecting a cup and turning to fill it with water. He smiles when you catch his eye, pushing his fingers through your hair when he's close enough to touch.

“Drink this and take your meds,” he forces the cup in your palm.

“Get them for me?” you ask sweetly, propping your chin in your hand and fluttering your lashes up at him.

“Where are they?” he laughs, pushing lightly at your forehead.

“In my room, by my phone,”

“I'll grab them,” Aizawa grunts as he stands, “When's the last time you ate?”

“Yesterday,” you guess, “Morning. I think. Couldn't keep it down though.”

“You need to eat,” he says over his shoulder, disappearing down your hallway, “Make yourself useful, Katsuki, and make her something light.”

“I'm always fucking useful,” Katsuki scoffs, but he stands anyway, shouldering past Hitoshi in a way that makes you grin and Hitoshi flush. “What the fuck do you want?”

“I really won't be able to keep anything down,” you mutter, balancing the cup between your knees.

“You still have to try,” he grumbles, gesturing towards what Hitoshi it busy pulling out of your fridge and cupboards, “What the fuck is this shit for?”

“Oh, me,” he says, “I came straight from patrol, haven't eaten yet. You mind, birdie?”

“Please, eat it,” you grunt, hissing when you sit back on your wings wrong, “It’ll go to waste if you don’t.”

A comfortable silence settles over you. Aizawa returns quickly, popping the lid on your pill bottle to shake two into your waiting palm. After you’ve swallowed, he refills your glass and settles beside you. Hitoshi and Katsuki bicker quietly in your kitchen, heatless insults thrown and taken with ease. Your TV is turned on at some point and reruns of Sailor Moon drone on, filling the empty corners of your apartment.

“You like this show?” you ask, nudging your wing into Aizawa's arm. He rolls his eyes, lifting his arm so you can crowd his space, mindful of your wings.

“Eri and Hizashi watch it,” he shrugs, “I don't dislike it. But I've never paid enough attention to confidently say I'm a fan.”

“I think you could be if you gave it a chance,”

“I'll keep that in mind, kiddo,” he turns to press his lips to your brow, “We still have to talk about this.”

“I know,”

“Who is it?”

You go quiet, discomfort seeping into your muscles when Hitoshi and Katsuki join you both in the living room. Katsuki sets a plate of toast and a bowl of applesauce down in front of you as Hitoshi sets his own food down. His bowl of instant ramen looks suspiciously delicious, almost gourmet, and you have an inkling he had nothing to do with that. The boys settle shoulder to shoulder on the floor of the opposite side of your coffee table, long legs kicking out to tangle with your ankles.

It's humiliating, you think, having to bare your soul out to people because of a quirk accident. Even if it is your friends and chosen family, people you've known for years and trust with your life, it's still embarrassing. But you do it anyway, with cotton in your mouth and sweat on your palms.

“Izuku,” you say softly, leaning forward to snag a piece of toast. “It's always been Izuku.”

“Of course,” Aizawa huffs, scratching at his scruff.

“You know,” Hitoshi says between loud slurps, “I'm pretty sure he feels the same. What are you so afraid of?”

“Fuck off, I'm not afraid,” you scoff, tossing the last bite of your toast at him. It smacks his forehead and lands in his bowl with a cartoonish plunk! that makes him frown. “He's the number one hero in Japan. I'm not afraid that he doesn't feel the same because that doesn't matter. It would never work.”

“Why not?”

“This isn't a fucking therapy session,” you sway as you stand, chest tight and wings fluttering as if to catch you. Aizawa catches your elbow when you stumble over his feet. “I'm fine.”

“You don't look fine,”

“I can handle it–”

“No. You can't. If you could, you would've by now,” Aizawa's tone is stern, cold, and you tilt your chin up to scowl at him when he stands. “I won't allow you to kill yourself over some boy .”

“Allow me?” you hiss, “Last I checked, I was a grown ass adult. And he's not ‘some boy’, he's my friend. Your former student, and the number one hero of Japan.”

“Right now, he is just some boy, and you are–”

“Your student. I'm not your daughter and you are not my fucking father, Shouta!”

“I know that,” he says slowly, “Do you?”

Behind you, your wings flutter, twitching with your irritation. Your lungs feel heavy, like they're full of lead, rumbling with every sharp, shaky intake of breath. Your facade of anger must crack, showing the hurt beneath it because Aizawa’s own frustration melts. The mean twist to his mouth straightens and his eyes go soft when he steps forward to catch your face in his hands.

“Listen to me,” he says quietly, “I know I'm not your father. But I also know I'm the closest thing that you have.”

“I'm sorry,” you curl a hand around his wrist, feeling for his pulse. You fold easily for him, too soft and gooey to be mad at him for too long, “You're right, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that.”

“You're scared and angry. It's okay to feel that way, even as a hero,” he hums, pulling you into his chest. You go willingly, sighing when he curls a hand around your head to press you closer, “I know you feel like accepting or asking for help makes you weak. It doesn't, I promise it doesn't.”

“I don't want to die,” you whisper it like it's a secret. Like it's unexpected for a young woman, a human, to fear death. Like it makes you weak. “I'm scared, Shouta.”

“I know, sweetheart,” he says, heaving a deep breath that you feel against your cheek, “I know it's scary. Love always is.”

“Just– give me a few days,” you plead, voice trembling, “Please. Just a few more days. Then I'll call him. I'll tell him.”

── 𓇢𓆸 ──

Unfortunately for you, things don't always go to plan. When the front wall of your apartment blows inward not even two hours after everyone leaves, you truly think God wants you dead. For which reason, you're unsure. There are many options, each full of their own potential as to why any higher being would maybe want your head.

It happens so fast, you don't have time to react, you don't even think you would've been able to react anyways in the state you're in.

You're dozing on your couch, half asleep and too lazy to get up and get into bed. Somewhere behind you the bell on your unnamed cat's collar jingles when he hops up onto your counter. And not even a second later, your shit gets absolutely rocked. The explosion sends you and the couch you're on backwards and you can hear your windows shatter. The collar jingles again.

Confusion clouds your senses, a million thoughts filter through your head. Is this a targeted attack, or was your apartment just a casualty? Are there already other Heroes on the scene, or are you gonna have to try to fight? How many of them are out there? What are their quirks? You can't fight like this, you know you can't. You probably can’t even move the couch that’s flipped on top of you, caging you in and pinning down your right wing. Through the chaos of sirens and settling debris, you hear Izuku shout your name and you can feel your panic wash from your skin at the same time that your lungs go heavy.

“Deku,” you wheeze, slapping a hand out from your hiding spot. Something wet drips from your hairline into your eyes, you don't bother wiping it away, “I'm– my wing is stuck. I–I can't–”

“Hold on,” he says gently, falling to his knees. Pressing his chest to your floor, he lowers himself flat to look at you. “It's more than just the couch on top of you, I've called for Red Riot to come help me dig you out.”

“Get my cat,” you rasp, ignoring how your head pounds, “Find him first.”

“Your–”

“My cat, Izuku, find my fucking cat,”

“I can't leave you here like this,” he frets, eyebrows pulling together. Your head hurts, it's all you can think about beside your cat and Izuku. On repeat in your mind, head hurts, cat, Izuku. Head hurts, cat, Izuku. Head hurts, really really hurts. Where the hell is my cat? My chest is killing me, Izuku won't stop staring. My cat is gonna get out. I think I'm gonna die. I think I'm dying.

You choose to ignore the last part your brain spits at you.

“If you let my cat die or get out, I'll never forgive you,” you hiss, groaning when the weight of whatever is on you shifts, settling heavier over your wing. You can hear the crunch, can feel the pain melt across your shoulders and down to your toes. You grit your teeth, hold back a shout, and squeeze your eyes closed, swallowing the bile in your throat.

“I– okay, okay, I'll find him– you– and…”

You think he says more, you know he does, but your head is throbbing and your chest feels ready to explode. His words begin to mince, garble, like he's underwater. Or maybe you are. You can't tell. Everything is fuzzy, distorted. The last thing you see is someone's bare chest as they lean over you and the shock of red hair on his head, you'd recognize Eijiro anywhere, even half dead. The collar jingles, the warmth of another person curls around you. Someone is speaking, telling you to stay awake, keep your eyes open. But you’re so cold and so tired, and something like sleep takes over.

── 𓇢𓆸 ──

It's all so humiliating. Falling in love, feeling that emotion so intensely. Being so mentally weak from being in love. Being so physically weak because of it, even if it is because of a quirk. You feel so young again, fragile and fifteen and scared to speak or even breathe too loud.

Everything is green. It's in his eyes, his hair. You feel it in your chest, in your heart, in your blood. Green is a good color, a good feeling. It's all you see, feel, taste.

It's his hair. It's his eyes. It's his hero suit. It's the blanket you bought because of him, and the green in your own hero suit. It's the grass you laid on back in high school with him. You've spent years subconsciously weaving bits and pieces of him into your life just so you can have something, anything.

You see him in it, you see it in you.

It's love. The green in your life is love, and you are so scared. Of dying because of it, of losing it.

── 𓇢𓆸 ──

You're fading in and out of consciousness. The sound of the city makes your head spin. Your sense of time is off, and it's unnerving, it’s scary . The first time you muster up the strength to blink open your eyes, you're mid-air, limp and jostling against Izuku's chest as he jumps from rooftop to rooftop. There's something sticky on your forehead, your hands, your spine. Blood, you can assume. And the fresh, warm liquid that drips onto your cheeks are tears, ones that aren't from you.

You only open your eyes two more times after that. Once when a doctor forces you to, so he can shine a light in your eyes. And the second when someone starts to reset the bones in your wing. For this, you do scream. The pain is the worst you've ever felt, and you can only weep and wail and flail until they hold you down and sedate you.

Behind the conglomeration of medical professionals, Izuku watches. He watches you twitch and tremble in pain. He listens to the way you wail, he sees the way your spine contorts and arches off the table in pain. He watches the controlled chaos the doctors maintain as they shout out directions and instructions to each other.

When the monitor they have hooked up to you starts beeping rapidly and then flatlining, Izuku thinks he may be sick. One doctor says you're coding, another says to push some epi and charge the defibrillator paddles. It’s all medical jargon Izuku doesn’t need to understand to know that you’re dying. Someone starts compressions and shouts to get him the hell out, and then a nurse is pressing at his shoulders and leading him out of the room and toward the waiting room. He collapses into a seat and hangs his head in his hands until Katsuki, Hitoshi and Aizawa find him.

“What the hell happened?” Hitoshi asks, full of fear and pain. And Izuku breaks. He cannot stop the waterfall of tears pouring from his eyes when he stands to greet them. He can't catch his breath. Katsuki catches him at the elbows when he sways in place.

“Deku, what is going on?”

“She– there was an attack. And she was caught under some debris. I don't–” he presses a hand over his chest, twisting the fabric there and curls in on himself while he weeps, “She coded and they kicked me out of the room. I don't know– I don't know if she's even alive. I don't– I love her so much and–”

Katsuki lets him press green curls into his chest. Thick, scarred fingers nearly tear his shirt with how tightly Izuku is holding onto him. The fear in his chest is all encompassing, the edges of his vision darken. And all he can do is cry into Katsuki’s chest.

Eventually, after some hours have passed and Izuku has cried himself into a migraine, a doctor steps into the waiting area. Hitoshi’s hand tightens over Katsuki's. Izuku keeps his head down with his hands pressed over his mouth. Aizawa stands to greet her.

“How is she?” he asks.

“Is she alive?” Katsuki breathes, voice cracking.

“It was very touch and go, but she's okay. She didn't need any surgery, but we did have to put her under to finish resetting the broken bones in her left wing, so she's intubated right now to help her breathe. The majority of her injuries were minor, most of which we fixed up with healing quirks. We have her on some medication for the hanahaki disease in her lungs. Once that's under control, we're expecting a near full recovery,” the doctor smiles softly, jerking her head back, “She's in the ICU now. Would you like to see her?”

── 𓇢𓆸 ──

The next time you actually wake up is in a hospital bed. The sky is still dark, but you have a feeling it's been at least a day since the attack, maybe more. Your chest feels like it's been packed with cotton and all you can think about is your cat. Through the slim window on the door, you can see two men. Standing guard you think, they always do that no matter who the hurt hero is. You've been there before, played bodyguard for other heroes. Snuck them greasy food and sugary drinks when they complained about hospital food. Held their hands when they openly wept over lost lives and limbs, when they've been so hurt they're forced into retirement.

Based on what you can see of their uniforms, you can guess it's Katsuki and Hitoshi. You wonder how long you've been out, but can't find your voice to call for either of them.

“You're awake,” Izuku’s voice is groggy, shockingly loud in the eerie silence of your room despite not being more than a whisper. You jump, startled, and turn your head to look at him over the oxygen mask strapped to your face. You reach for the mask, weak fingers scrambling to remove it and he jumps up from his seat to curl his own over yours and pry them away, “Hey, hey, don't take that off. You're okay.”

“How long–”

“It's been two days,” he says slowly, “Your injuries from the attack were mostly minor. They used a healing quirk on most of them. But–”

“My lungs,” you rasp, “I'm here for my lungs.”

His fingers twitch around yours and you only then realize he never let go of your hand. You let yourself indulge, tightening your grip until you're sure it hurts. He looks terrible, like he hasn't slept or showered in days. The shadows under his eyes rival yours and his curls are weighed down and flattened in some parts with grease and dirt. He must've stayed after the attack.

“My cat?” you change the subject. He lets you.

“I got him,” he tries for a smile and fails, “He's fine, not even a scratch. Present Mic came and picked him up, Eri has him right now.”

“She can have him forever,” you croak.

“Don't. Please don't say that,”

“Izuku–”

“Get some sleep,” he says, “We can talk more tomorrow.”

You do sleep. He's gone when you wake up again a few hours later, after the sun has begun to rise. Hopefully to shower and get some sleep of his own.

He doesn't come back.

The talk never comes.

── 𓇢𓆸 ──

“You need to tell him,” Katsuki’s face is turned away from you, dark and shadowed. You think he may actually be crying this time, you can hear it when he says your name, the heartbreak and the fear. His voice breaks when he says, “You aren't gonna survive this.”

It's the fourth time he's said this since you woke up. And he hasn't actually looked at you once. You get it, you probably wouldn't be able to look either.

── 𓇢𓆸 ──

Hitoshi doesn't leave. He's either at your side, attempting to sleep on the tiny couch across from your hospital bed, or standing guard outside your door. He looks bad, maybe just as bad as you're sure you do.

“Go home,” you wheeze, “Get some sleep, REM sleep, not those fake ass naps you take. Shower, eat. Take care of yourself.”

“No,” he's slouched in the chair beside your bed, feet propped up beside yours. The magazine over his face has Izuku on the cover.

You remember him talking about that shoot, how excited he was to be wrapped in all his friends' merch. He looks like a mess of color. He must've picked which pieces he wanted. Baby pink Uravity themed sweatpants with a white stripe along the side, mismatched red and blue Shouto themed shoes, an orange and army green Dynamight t-shirt. And maybe the ugliest shade of yellow you've ever seen on his Chargebolt sweatshirt, not that you'd ever say that to Denki. You’re shocked they let him wear that for the cover of such a popular magazine. But you can admit, he pulls it off in some weird, almost kitsch-y way.

(You remember fondly the way he had whined about your lack of merch. He'd gone on and on, begging you to make anything for him. A shirt, a hat, anything. He had merch from all his classmates, he said, he needed to finish the collection with something of yours.)

“Hitoshi,” you reach over to pull the magazine down and toss it to the tiled floor.

“I'm not leaving,” he grunts, rough but not irritated or upset. Just tired, scared. “I'm fine right here.”

── 𓇢𓆸 ──

No one else knows you're here except a select few. Aizawa told you it's a well kept secret, that you're listed under an alias. It makes you wonder if that villain attack really was personal. Someone who wants you dead must've heard you were almost there and too weak to fight. You want to ask him about it, ask for the case file. You want all the information.

You ask him about your lungs instead.

“The doctor has you on some medication for your lungs that's keeping the infection and flowers at bay,” he drawls. His fingers are curled around your ankle, feeling for the pulse point there.

“That's why I haven't puked,”

“Yes,” he nods, “As for your wing, you'll need to do some physical therapy. But they don't want you up and moving yet, not until your lungs have healed. Waiting too long can impact how well your wing heals, so–”

“I'm not telling him,” you huff, “You can't make me. Make sure Eri takes care of–”

“Absolutely not,” his fingers stop petting and squeeze instead, “Don't talk like you're dying. It's freaking the boys out. It's freaking me out. Stop.”

“Sorry,”

── 𓇢𓆸 ──

Eri visits you. She's sweet, still soft spoken even as a teenager. You appreciate that about her, and wonder how she did it. How she kept all the soft and rounded edges after everything she's been through. You wish you could’ve done the same. Then again, you never really had soft edges to begin with.

Present Mic comes with her, grinning when they tell you they smuggled your cat in.

“Why haven't you named him yet?” Eri whispers, eyes wide and sparkling while she watches him knead at your thigh. You hum, rubbing a knuckle under his chin.

“Dunno,” you say back, just as quietly, “It's been a year but I still feel like I don't know him well enough to name him. Do you wanna?”

“Name him?”

“Yeah, go for it,”

Eri thinks for all of one second before she grins and says, “What about Hiro?”

“Sure,” you shrug, “Hiro. Cute. A bit on the nose though.”

── 𓇢𓆸 ──

On the sixth day of being stuck in your hospital bed, Izuku visits again. He's quiet, eyes glassy and red rimmed like he had cried the whole way here. After he left the first day you woke, he hadn't come back. Not while you were awake at least. Katsuki mentioned briefly that he's been back a few times, calling him a freak for watching you sleep like he hadn't been doing the exact same thing. You fiddle with the nasal oxygen tube you'd been downgraded to, readjusting how it sits behind your ears.

“Hitoshi told me,” is how he greets you. Panic rises like bile in your chest, you can't do much but stare. He speaks again, fills the silence, “It wasn't his place to do that, and I'm sorry. But he's scared, Kacchan too. Why didn't you tell me?”

You open your mouth and his phone rings. His shoulders go stiff, his fingers twitch. That is why. One of the reasons why, at least. You're selfish and if you let it happen, you'll want him all the time. Every time his phone rings, every time he goes on a week-long mission, you won’t be able to handle it. You barely handle it as it is.

“You should answer that,” you grunt in lieu of a real answer. It’s maybe a little passive aggressive too, but whatever.

“It's fine,” he whispers once the ringing stops.

“They need you, Deku,”

“There are plenty of other heroes,”

“None of them are you,”

“I love you,” he whispers, so quiet you're surprised you catch it. It makes your lungs tight, your chest twist. Then, just barely louder, “I love you, let me love you. Let me help you.”

“I don't want to love you,” you sigh. The cheap, hospital grade blanket in your palm is close to tearing with how tightly you've got it in your grip, “I wish I didn't. I don't want you to love me.”

“Just,” he groans, laying the heels of his palms to his eyes and pressing in hard, “We don't have to– to get married, we don’t even have to date. It doesn't have to be a big thing. Just let me– it's my job. It's my job to save people. And I want to save you, maybe more than anyone else. Let me save you, even if you don't let me love you. Tell me what to do. I just– I don't– I can't just watch you die. Please. Please.”

“Nothing changes,” you insist, “We won't work.”

“Okay,” he looks like he wants to say more, like he wants to argue. He looks angry. But he just nods, gnaws at his bottom lip, and says again, “Okay.”

“I have to confess,” you turn your head away from him, press your cheek to the shitty pillow under your head, “And you have to confess back. Or reject me. The doctor says it'll clear up either way, that's how the quirk works. Please reject me.”

“No,”

You turn to stare at him, watch the way his curls move and bounce when he shakes his head, “What?”

“No, I'm not going to reject you. I'm not lying to make you feel better,” his hand is warm around your ankle, “I'll pretend it never happened after. But I'm not going to say I don't love you. I can't pretend I'm not in love with you. Of course I love you, how could I not? How could I spend years with you, learning you, watching you, and not love you? No. I won't reject you.”

“Okay,” you say, inhaling slowly.

“Okay,” he nods, “Ready?”

“I love you, Izuku,” you whisper, “I have loved you for years.”

“I love you,” he says back, stepping around your hospital bed to fall to his knees by your side. His lip trembles and you look away with the rush of air you get to your lungs. He presses his forehead to the blanket beside you and cries, and when he can't see you, you cry too. You curl your fingers into his hair and cry and mourn the relationship that will never happen.

The flowers come all at once. The doctor said this would happen, he called it the final purge. (And had not been impressed when you laughed and called it dramatic.) All the flowers have been uprooted and need to get out. You barely turn away from him in time, and you again find yourself thanking whatever god will listen for not letting you almost claim another victim with your weird lung-vomit. It comes and comes, tearing your throat up as it goes. And Izuku is there, pulling your hair away from your face and rubbing a warm hand between your wings.

He is so kind. He is everything you want and you find yourself almost immediately regretting everything you said. You love him so much, you want to let him love you. And you want to love him. You want that nasty, gooey type of love. The fluffy kind. The good morning and goodnight texts every single day. The I love you mores, the dancing in the kitchen and breakfast in bed type love. The kind where you're so comfortable, you don't close the door to pee. You want to kiss him first thing in the morning, morning breath and all. You want his face to be the first thing you see when you wake up, and the last thing you see before you go to sleep.

You want Izuku more than you've ever wanted anything else in the world.

And you think you need him to want you too. You need him to love you. You always have and you were stupid for ever thinking otherwise.

── 𓇢𓆸 ──

Izuku takes your boundaries too seriously. He leaves after you puke yourself into a near comatose state, and he doesn't come back during the two weeks you spend recuperating. Not to check on you, not to see you through your physical therapy. And he isn't there when you're told you can fly again, when you're discharged and told you're healthy again. You think your chest hurts more now than it did when it had a bed of flowers growing in it.

You don't reach out to him either. Katsuki lets it slip that he's angry, angrier with you than he's ever been because all he wants is to love you.

(“So tell her that,” Katsuki scoffs, sliding a bowl of katsudon across his counter. This is the fifth time in an hour he's had to listen to Izuku bitch and whine about how he feels. He's seriously considering manslaughter.

“I did,” Izuku spits, uncharacteristically short tempered and irritated, “I did tell her. And she said no. She told me she wished she didn't love me, and she didn't want me to love her. She is so goddamn stubborn.”

Katsuki is more annoyed than surprised, “I think she’s just scared.”

“She's stubborn–”

“Okay, I fucking get it! She's stubborn, and so are you! Pull your balls out of your back pocket and man the hell up, or shut the hell up!” Katsuki barks, slamming a sparking palm against the marble. Izuku's glare does not scare him. He takes a deep breath, remembers what his therapist taught him, and counts to three. He’s calmer when he says, “What does that say about you? She was so scared to tell you she loved you that she died. Fucking talk to her about it and quit whining. She's the one in the hospital, not you. Try thinking about it all from her perspective.”

“Kacchan–”

“Don't Kacchan me, you asshole,” Katsuki says, “You think you're the only one affected by all this? She's my friend too, and Hitoshi's, and we aren't sitting here all angry at her. This is your mess now, it's your responsibility to fucking fix it.”)

“Called you stubborn,” Katsuki snorts, feeling oddly fond, “Just call him, talk about it.”

“Thanks, jackass. I hadn't thought of that,” you scoff, leaning past him to slap the ground floor button on the elevator, “Of course I've called him. He isn't answering.”

“Just keep calling. He'll break eventually,”

“Dunno if I want him to. What the hell do I even say if he answers? That I'm an actual fucking idiot? That I changed my mind? I wouldn’t trust me, so I don’t see how he would,” you groan and lean back against the elevator wall, watching the floor numbers change. “This is why I wasn't gonna say anything. Now it's all different and I may have lost my best friend.”

“Oh, he's your best friend? Go stay on his couch while your place is being rebuilt then,”

“Okay, are we in middle school? Didn't mean to hurt your feelings, bestie,”

“Call me that again and I'll rip your tongue from your throat,”

“You are so bipolar, good fucking lord. You wanna be my best friend, you have to live with the nicknames,” you laugh, “And, no offense but, Hitoshi is my actual best friend if we're gonna get technical. You didn't even speak to me until third year.”

“You weren't in the hero course until third year, that isn't fair!”

“I was still friends with your whole class! And I fought with you in the war. And Hitoshi has been inside of me,” you grin when Katsuki's cheeks go pink and he scowls at you, “Gave me some of the best orgasms in my life, so he gets extra brownie points.”

“I hope the cable of this elevator snaps and we both die instantly,”

“Asshole,”

“Bite me,”

The elevator dings and you straighten from your slouched position as the doors slide open. Aizawa and Hitoshi are both waiting for you, offering twin smiles when you walk towards them.

“Look at you,” Hitoshi grins, cupping your face in his hands, “You look good. Healthy. You good to go?”

“Mm, yeah. Just gotta sign some stuff at the front desk and I'll be all set,”

“Okay, pigeon,” he presses a wet smooch to your forehead before releasing you and ushering you towards the desk.

The paperwork takes all of five minutes and then you're practically running outside. The fresh air outside the hospital feels borderline orgasmic as it enters your lungs. After not flying for far too many weeks, you’re nearly vibrating with excitement. The first flutter of your wings sends a jolt of exhilaration down your spine, but before you can take off Aizawa wraps his scarf around your ankle.

“What the hell, dude?”

“Be rational,” he grunts, “Flying here will attract too much attention. And do not call me ‘dude’, that's disrespectful.”

“Whatever,” you huff and shove your hands into your sweatshirt pocket, “Fine. Dude.”

“Have you talked to Deku?” his voice lowers as he steps closer and releases his grip on you. You shrug, tilting your face up to soak in the sun.

“No,”

“You should,” he says, “He's going on a mission soon.”

“How long will he be gone?”

“A week, at least. Longer if things go awry. And things tend to go awry with him,”

“He doesn't want to talk to me,”

“He doesn't have to talk, he just has to listen. Make him listen,” he murmurs, “You've always been good at that.”

── 𓇢𓆸 ──

You stop by the rubble of your apartment before going to Katsuki's. Clean up hasn't even begun yet and you grimace as you toe over glimmering glass, chunks of drywall, and broken bits of brick. Your couch is where it landed after Eijiro pulled it off of you, torn and bloody, and you take a moment to mourn it. There are a few feathers scattered on the floor a few feet away from it, likely where you had been pinned down. The wall that had been blown in is still an open space, just one with caution tape pulled across haphazardly. Just looking at it makes your lungs tighten and your wing throb.

“What a fucking dump,” Katsuki grunts, kicking at the debris by his feet.

“I want the case file on the guy that did this,” you mutter, leaning forward on your tiptoes to peek out the hole. “He fucked up the whole block.”

“I'll have Deku send it over to my agency,”

“Thanks,” you nod and take a step off the ledge. Katsuki makes a panicked noise, rushing over and scowling when you turn and grin, “Chill, I'm good. See? Wings work just fine, just wanna look at the damage.”

“Be fucking careful,” he grumbles. “Why are we here anyways?”

“Clothes. It's hard to find shirts and stuff for people with wings. And expensive,” you hum, fluttering past him towards the hallway, “My bedroom should be pretty much untouched. Gotta grab a few things and we can go.”

── 𓇢𓆸 ──

Katsuki doesn't actually make you sleep on his couch. His guest room is made up for you, complete with not one, but two, baskets on the dresser, a fresh bed set on the bed and a brand new pair of house slippers by the closet door. The first basket is small, filled to the brim with differing toiletries. You snicker and finger through it, giving him a mental kudos for picking out decent shampoo and conditioner. The second basket is bigger and has various snacks in it. Your favorites, you notice.

“You got me welcome baskets?”

“I didn't get you shit. The food is from my mom and the other shit is from my assistant. And they're ‘I'm glad you didn't die’ baskets,” he scoffs, glaring at something over your shoulder. The gleam in his eye betrays him, you can't stop yourself from teasing just a little.

“Right, and who told your assistant to do that?” you laugh and yelp when he pinches your waist. “Okay! Okay, sorry. Tell your mom and assistant I said thank you.”

“Whatever. I'm going to make lunch,”

“For me too?”

“Obviously,”

“This is why you're my best friend,” you flutter your lashes up at him and pout your lips in a way you hope will make him laugh. You know you've succeeded when he presses his whole hand to your face to push you away.

“Shut up. Go shower,”

── 𓇢𓆸 ──

Hitoshi sets up a meeting with the little boy for you the day after you get out of the hospital. He’d argued at first, told you to rest and heal more. But you push and insist. It’s important. The kid needs to know you aren’t upset, he deserves to know. So you push and push until Hitoshi inevitably gives in and calls the mother. He tells you to be at Katsuki’s agency by noon. Katsuki forces you to get there by eleven.

“They’re here,” Katsuki grunts, hand warm on your back. “You sure about this?”

“Yeah, I'm sure. He's, what, five?”

“Four,” Aizawa drawls.

“And three quarters,” Hitoshi tacks on, grinning when Aizawa rolls his eyes and you snort. “He's in the conference room with his mom.”

The door is all glass and you take a minute to watch him. He's small for his age, you think. Maybe. You actually don't know, can't actually tell. All kids are small to you. The only kid you have any real experience with is Eri, and she was always so small because of her situation, so mature too. Always so gentle and wise, too wise. You don't know anything about kids, but this kid is small .

He's sitting politely in a chair that’s four sizes too big for him next to his mom, who looks young. She’s saying something to him, pushing the wispy hairs from his eyes and then smiling and pointing a finger towards you. You take that as your cue to go in. They both stand as you enter, bending deeply at the waist.

“Oh, don't,” you gasp, fluttering over to them and hovering uncertain hands out in front of you, “Please, really, no need to bow.”

“Thank you for making time for us,” his mother says quietly as she straightens, “Asahi feels terrible. He appreciates the chance to apologize.”

“I don’t need an apology, really. I just wanted to come show you both that I’m okay. What's your name?” you wonder, holding your hand out towards her. She blinks down at it a few times before seemingly deflating in relief and touching her palm to yours.

“Ito,” she shares, “Ito Hana. But, please, call me Hana.”

“Right,” you nod, offering her a gentle smile, “It's fantastic to meet you Hana. And you too Asahi. You've got a powerful quirk, kid.”

Asahi's lower lip trembles and he tumbles forward to press his face into your tummy before his mother can stop him, blubbering unnecessary apologies into your shirt, “I'm so sorry Ms. Aviator! I didn't mean to–to quirk you! I didn't mean to–’

“Hey, hey, no tears,” you whisper, detaching yourself enough to fall to your knees in front of him. You make a big show of taking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly, so he can hear it, “I'm all good. You hear that? My lungs are fine, kiddo.”

“You aren't mad?” he snivels and scrubs at his cheeks, smearing tears and snot across his face. His own breathing is unsteady, and you urge him to take a deep breath too. Together, you count as you breathe. His trembling slows, his breathing evens out, and you speak again.

“No,” you coo and pull your sleeve up over your thumb to help wipe the snot from his face, holding back a grimace when it just makes it worse, “No, I'm not mad. Accidents happen. And it's silly to get mad over accidents, isn't it?”

“My doctor says my quirk can make people bleed flowers from here,” he mumbles, jabbing two of his little fingers over the center of your chest, “Did it make you bleed like that?”

“Um,” you flit your eyes up over his shoulder, gauging his mother. She nods once, so you look back at him, “Yeah. I did for a little bit.”

“It's scary,” he whimpers. Behind him, his mother presses the knuckles of her hand to her lips and closes her eyes. You exhale a shaky breath when his tears well up again, beading over his lash line and he says, “Everyone says my quirk is scary.”

“It can be. Any quirk can be scary. But nothing scares me,” you smile when he gives you a look like he doesn't believe you. “Your quirk is only scary because you don't have control yet. But that’s okay. My friend Red Riot’s quirk was scary before he could control it. And Tsukuyomi, and even Deku. But when they learned to control it, it wasn’t scary anymore.”

“Mama says I'll get control when I get bigger,” he agrees. Then there's a moment where he looks unsure, bashful even, before he says, “You aren't even afraid of the dark?”

“Nope,” you confirm, “ Especially not the dark. I do my best hero work in the dark.”

Asahi settles after that. You aren’t sure if it’s you that soothes him, or if he does it himself. But he calms down, starts acting more like a kid should. He asks questions about your quirk and what it’s like to be a hero. You give him all the details. You tell him what all the different feathers in your wings do, and how your quirk gives you excellent hearing and incredible night vision. He asks if you know Chargebolt too, and Shouto and Uravity, beaming when you say you do. He tells you his favorite is Cellophane and you give him a high five, because that is a good choice.

You end up pulling Katsuki and Hitoshi in too when you catch the way he won’t stop staring at them. Katsuki slips on his kid-friendly Dynamight persona and lets him ogle his gauntlets and ask as many questions as his heart desires. Hitoshi lets him try on his mask. He's even kind enough to allow requests for different voices once he slips it over his own mouth again. Asahi dissolves into a fit of giggles when All Might’s voice booms through the speakers.

You learn a lot about Asahi and his mother as the next hour passes. Love related quirks run in the family, apparently. Hana’s is called Soul Ties, her mother's was Cupid's Arrow. She elaborates on her own when you raise an eyebrow at her.

“I can see people's soulmates,” she shrugs, leaning forward to brush a thumb over Asahi’s cheek.

“Soulmates? More than one?”

“Platonic and romantic,” she adds, smiling softly down at her hands like that’s where she can see it. The string of fate, you've heard of similar quirks. Hana’s smile fades to something a little more melancholic, but she puts on a happier facade quickly before Asahi notices it, “Most people have more than one of each. But it differs per person.”

“Oh,” you say, staring down at your own hand. You wonder if you have any. Any platonic, any romantic. You wonder if Izuku is your soulmate. How many strings of fate tie your hands to someone else’s? How many soulmate’s could you possibly have? Can you have a soulmate who's soulmate isn't you?

“Those men,” she says quietly, gesturing behind her to where Katsuki and Hitoshi are sitting, “I can see you're close with them. You have a strong connection with both of them. Sometimes the universe determines our soulmates. Sometimes we determine them. But when the universe decides, the connection is almost unbreakable. All of your connections are strong ones. You're lucky.”

You give Hana your number before they leave, slipping the paper effortlessly into her hand when you say goodbye, “Call me if either of you ever need anything. And when he gets older, if you want, I can get him a spot at UA. Whichever course he may want. They can help him with quirk control and confidence.”

“Thank you,” she whispers, taking your hand into both of her own, “Thank you so much. For saving him and for this. He really looks up to you.”

── 𓇢𓆸 ──

Katsuki must've planned this. The jackass. The absolute cretin. You can practically see it, see him rubbing his grubby little hands together like the roach he is. Grinning and scheming up the best way to get you and Izuku in a room together. Probably with Hitoshi. They're both nasty little creatures and you have decided you love them now more than you ever have. Because you miss him.

You miss Izuku.

You're in the middle of drowning your self-imposed sorrows in more Sailor Moon reruns and half a pint of freezer-burned ice cream you found buried in Katsuki's freezer when he lets himself in. You're hovering around in a lazy circle to stretch your wings, cataloging and memorizing every picture Katsuki has on his walls. He notices you first and stays silent to watch you, watch the way you move, the way your wings flutter to keep you up. When he finally speaks, you and your wings jump, nearly knocking some expensive looking frames off the wall.

“I brought the case file you asked for,”

“Jesus– how did you even get in here?” you yelp, slapping a hand out to steady a wobbling frame.

“I've had a key since Kacchan bought this place,” he snorts, tossing the file down onto the pristine black granite countertop. “I didn't realize you were staying here, sorry, I would’ve knocked. He didn't tell me, just said to drop the file off.”

“Oh, yeah, well,” you shovel another spoonful of ice cream into your mouth without saying anything else. Izuku hums anyways, like you said something worth any sort of response, and leans his hip against the counter. You force yourself to look away, “Thanks for the file. Was it a targeted attack?”

“No, no. We thought it was too, turns out it wasn't even a real attack. A civilian with a seizure disorder had an episode and the lack of control over his quirk is what caused the accident. You and your apartment just happened to be above him. Uh, but, this is all in the file–” Izuku coughs into his fist and stares at the wall behind you.

“Yeah, thanks, I'll drop it back at your agency when I'm done reading it,”

“Take your time,”

An awkward silence falls between you. You keep eating your ice cream. Izuku looks at everything but you. The city keeps moving underneath you, your quirk helps you hear things like the coffee being brewed across the street and the dog barking three floors down if you really listen for it. You tune it in, let it wash over you. Eventually, after your ice cream is gone and Izuku’s eyes have stayed on you for the last few minutes, you speak again, “I changed my mind.”

“What?”

“I want things to change. I changed my mind,” you speak quietly, delicately, like everything will shatter if you say it too loud, if you say it out loud, “I can’t be normal after this. I love you so much that I was willing to die about it. And it’s been that way for years. Something has to change, because obviously my feelings won’t.”

Izuku stays silent. When you turn to decipher how he feels, what he’s thinking, you find him with his hands over his face. The skin of his cheeks is splotchy beneath his fingers, flustered and warm. He takes big breaths and you watch the way his chest expands with them, the way his fingers shake and his shoulders tremble.

You should say something. Or maybe you shouldn’t. You don’t know. You’re out of your element here. Romantic stuff has never come easy to you, hadn’t ever come at all. All of your romantic feelings were kept buried so deep in your chest, you hadn’t even tried to date before. No one was worth the time or effort because they weren't him.

“Say something,” you babble, ignoring the residual tightening in your lungs, “I don’t know what I’m doing, okay? You’ve had, like, girlfriends or whatever. But I’ve never dated, so this is incredibly out of my comfort zone and I feel like I’m just rambling and I’m sorry. I’m, uh, done talking. Now.”

When Izuku starts to laugh, you genuinely wish you had died. Humiliation is hot in the back of your throat, seeping between your tongue and teeth. He lets his hands fall from his face and when you see the tears in his lashes, your own lip starts to tremble and you drop your feet to the floor, “Don’t laugh at me. I just emotionally stripped myself naked to you and you’re laughing? You are such a dick. Katsuki’s nicer than you, fuck.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to laugh,” he hiccups between quiet giggles, stepping close enough that he can cup your face in his hands, “I’m sorry. I'm sorry, baby. Don’t cry, I’m sorry.”

“Shut up, you’re crying too,” you sniffle, letting your fingers curl around his wrist. He leans forward to kiss away your tears, cooing when you crumble forward in his arms and cry some more, “Katsuki said you were angry.”

“I was angry, but it was misplaced,” he says once you’ve settled to loud, wet sniffles and hiccuping whimpers. “I'm sorry for laughing, I’m just relieved. And excited. And I thought it was funny that you think I’ve had a girlfriend, let alone multiple. You think too highly of me.”

“I just thought– with Uraraka– and you've got your pick of the litter with your fans,” you huff, “You could have anyone you wanted, you know.”

“I want you. It’s always been you,” he whispers into your hair, swaying you both in an attempt to soothe you, “There’s never been anyone else.”

“Don’t say shit like that, you’ll give me a complex,” you groan, grinning into his shoulder when his chest rumbles with a laugh. “I’m sorry that everything got so fucked up.”

“If it hadn’t, would we be here?”

“No, probably not,”

“Then I’m not sorry. Not if this is where we ended up. And you shouldn’t be either,” he murmurs, “I am sorry that you got hurt. And I'm sorry that it was because of me. But I'm not sorry for this.”

A half hour later, after your tears have dried and your breathing evens out, Izuku makes you eat a real meal. He doesn't cook it (read: can't cook it), but he orders from your favorite place and has it delivered. You eat on opposite sides of the couch (despite both of you knowing damn well that Katsuki would absolutely kill you if he found out), but you touch him when you can. Brushing a curl from his eyes, tangling your ankles with his. Once you've eaten, when you're sated and nearly asleep with a warm, full belly, he breaks the very fragile case of glass around you.

“I took a mission,” he mumbles around a cheek full of rice.

“I know, Shouta told me,”

“I can back out,” he clears his throat, glancing at you through the curtain of curls falling into his eyes, “They don't actually need me. I took it to get away. Or, no, not to get away! To, uh, to give you space. But, I can pull out.”

“Stop, don't put your job on the back burner for me,” you grumble, leaning forward to steal a piece of chicken from his bowl.

“If I go, I leave tomorrow morning,” he continues, “And we should talk. I can drop out of the mission if you want me to.”

“Seriously, don't. Don't do shit like that,” you scoot towards him on the couch, press your hand firm over his chest, “I am a selfish person. I don't like sharing. And I won't want to share you. But I’ll have to if we're gonna make it work. And if you call out of work for me, you're just feeding into that delusion.”

Izuku’s eyes are so soft on your face, flitting between your eyes and your cheeks, your lips and your nose, taking in every detail. Cataloging every freckle, wrinkle, and scar. He lays his hand flat over yours, lets his fingers fall between the gaps, “I want you to be selfish with me, because I'm gonna be selfish with you. I've waited years for this, and I'm gonna take everything I can get. I'm gonna be greedy, let yourself be greedy too.”

Izuku's freckles get darker in the summertime, and his scars. His skin goes golden under the sun, and new freckles appear to mark constellations across his nose, down his neck and over his shoulders. He doesn't burn the way some people do, you think, he ripens like fruit.

“Go on the mission,” you sigh and crawl into his lap. He hums, leaning back to give you more space to get comfortable. You curl into him, press your nose into the crook of his neck, “We can talk when you get back.”

“Okay,” he breathes out, unsure, as scarred palms curl around your waist. You can feel how his fingers shake before they tighten over you. He squeezes then releases you twice in quick succession, just to feel you, just to touch. It relaxes you, turns your insides to liquid, warm and gooey. When your limbs go heavy and your eyelids start to droop, Izuku uses gentle hands to lift you as he stands. Your noise of confused complaint is hushed and you go quiet, letting him carry you to bed.

You're asleep before you hit the sheets and Izuku has to take a minute. Just a moment. To watch you breathe, watch the way your chest rises and falls. He remembers the fear that boiled in his chest when you stopped breathing that night. He doesn't even think you know, but he does. He knows, he remembers. It had only been for a moment, the doctors had worked quickly to get you back. But you had been gone, really, actually gone. Your heart stopped beating, your lungs stopped breathing and you were dead. Dead . You had died because of so many things, because of him.

So he takes a goddamn minute . He watches your chest rise and fall, syncs his own breaths with yours. He listens to how clear your lungs sound, presses his fingers to the pulse point in your wrist to feel your heartbeat. He reminds himself that you're alive, you’re fine. It takes an hour of watching you sleep before he feels okay to leave.

── 𓇢𓆸 ──

“This roof top is inaccessible to the public,” Katsuki drones, “How the hell did you get up here without a key?”

“I jumped out of the window,” you shrug, muttering around the straw between your teeth. The sun is just beginning to rise, melting the horizon into pools of blue and pink, orange and purple. The clouds soak it up like watercolor and spit it back out onto mirrored skyscrapers and tree tops. A breeze blows between you and Katsuki looks angelic, all windswept and sun-kissed.

“You doing okay?”

“Are you?” you reflect back, tilting your chin up to see him better, “I'm sorry. I haven't said that yet. I was inconsiderate and self destructive and didn't really think about how it would affect anyone else. And I almost died because of it. So, I'm sorry.”

“It's– you're fine. I'm fine,” he shrugs and stuffs his hands into his sweatpants pockets to stave off the chill creeping up his spine. “We’re fine.”

“I know,” you say, “But I'm still sorry. And I love you. And– and thank you. For taking care of me.”

“Okay,” he grumbles, “Stop, seriously. We're fine.”

“Stop being so emotionally constipated,” you snort, shooting a hand out to slap at his calf, “Say it back.”

“I love you too, or whatever, fuck,” he literally shudders the moment the words leave his mouth and you cannot contain the laugh in your chest. He nudges at your thigh with his toes when he hears it, but he's grinning down at you so you know he's not too upset. “So, how'd it go with nerdface? Did you get your happy ending too or what?”

“I don't know yet,” you sigh. He sits beside you when you pat the space there and ducks to catch your eyes when you look away from him, “I don't know. We didn't really talk a lot–”

“Keep that to yourself. Disgusting,’

“Not like that you fucking freak,” you scoff, “No, I mean, I told him how I felt, that I changed my mind. And, you know, we both cried a little bit. But I told him to go on the mission and we could talk after he got back. I don't know. I don't know what he wants or how it'll all play out.”

“Izuku has been obsessed with you for years,” Katsuki shivers with the next gust of wind, shoving his hands between his thighs to create some warmth, “I don't know what the outcome of all this shit will be, but it'll be good. It has to be after all the shit you went through for it.”

“I hope so,”

Katsuki ushers you back inside after he shivers again, insisting that if he's cold you must be too. He isn't wrong, but you argue anyway, just to poke the bear. He pokes back until you're both back in his apartment. He steers you towards a stool at his counter and once you’re settled he starts on breakfast.

“Give me that, what the hell is wrong with you,” he grumbles, plucking the half empty slushie cup out of your grip, “Blue raspberry isn't a flavor you're meant to drink before noon. Where did you even get this?”

“The twenty-four hour convenience store on the corner,”

“It should be fucking illegal to buy shit like this so early in the morning,”

── 𓇢𓆸 ──

Your ban from work continues despite being officially deemed healthy enough to go back by your army of doctors. Aizawa is insistent on you taking more time, getting more rest, and you know arguing won't get you anywhere. So you stay home.

The days all mesh together, they're all the same. Today marks day five of doing the same shit over and over again, and day three of Izuku being gone on his mission, and you're moments away from slamming your head into the drywall of Katsuki's apartment. Not your own, no. The drywall of your apartment is already busted and construction still hasn't begun yet. That makes you wanna dive headfirst through the wall even more.

“You have nothing fun to do,” you complain for the millionth time as you follow Katsuki down his halls, toes dragging because you're too lazy to fly properly.

He's not doing anything particularly interesting, just his daily chores and clean up, but anything is better than sitting in the living room and watching the window like it's TV. He won't even let you help, and normally you wouldn't want to help. Who the hell wants to clean? Not you, and especially not if it's someone else's house. But you would. You would scrub dishes until your fingers bled if you could.

“Read a book,”

“I did,”

“Read another one,”

“I've read every book on the shelf,”

“It's only been five days, there's no way–”

“Well, all the fun ones,” you wave a hand dismissively as you float past him, “I didn't read any of the boring literature or history books. Just the All Might comics and some manga.”

“You took my All Might comics out of their protective sleeves?” he gasps, staring at you like you've betrayed him.

“Who's the nerd now?” you snort, offering him a pointed look. “We're getting off track here. I'm bored.”

“What the hell do you want me to do about that?” Katsuki barks, spinning on his heel to stomp back towards the living room. Presumably to inspect his comics.

“Fucking fix it,” you toss back, trailing closely behind him, “Come get coffee with me.”

“Fuck no, today's my one day off this week because I'm covering your patrolling shift with mindfuck tomorrow. Find someone else,”

“You are so cruel,”

“Suck it, loser,”

“Cruel,”

── 𓇢𓆸 ──

Izuku's mission goes well. Better than anyone thought it would. In fact, he and his team come home days before they're supposed to. And when he calls you requesting to meet up somewhere, you're more than eager when you ask him when and where.

The place you decide on is a sweet spot and one of your favorite bakery cafes. It's a small place, kitsch-y and warm with sweet American style pastries and strong coffee. You've been coming here for years, dating all the way back to before you had even enrolled at UA. You came here with your mom before she left, and your grandparents after that, and then your friends. You grin when you catch a glimpse of a familiar face through the window to the kitchen, icing a fresh tray of cinnamon rolls.

The owner is a sweet middle aged woman who likes to talk about her years spent in America to anyone who'll give her the time of day. You've heard the story of how she met and fell in love with her wife over a dozen times now, but it never gets old. You're a sucker for romance like that.

The whole business is family run, Kiyoko and her wife Sophie run the kitchen and their endless supply of nieces and nephews take turns serving guests and whipping up photograph-ready coffees and teas. Some work more often than others, only because they live in America during the school year and can only come out for summers to visit and help out.

Izuku is already there, draped over one of the chairs at the furthest table from the door and sporting the worst disguise you've ever seen in your life. A dark blue Ingenium themed baseball cap is haphazardly shoved over his mop of green curls, and a pair of Pro Hero Chargebolt themed sunglasses (that are the same ugly shade of yellow as the sweatshirt from the magazine cover) are slipping down his nose as he blows the steam from his mug.

“Nice disguise. Never would've guessed it was you,” you greet, coughing into your fist to cover up the laugh on your tongue when he turns towards you and visibly brightens at your sarcastic compliment.

“Thanks! Oh, here,” he scooches his chair over to make more space for you and your wings beside him, “Sit. Can I grab you a drink?”

“I'll get it,” you insist, pressing your hand to his chest when he tries to stand, “I just wanted to say hi first.”

“Okay,” he agrees and settles back into his seat. Before you can get too far, he curls his own hand over your own and smiles at you. His thumb brushes gently over your knuckles and he tilts his chin up to see you better when he says, “Hi.”

“Hi,” you laugh, leaning closer.

“Missed you,” he breathes, tightening his grip on you. His head tilts again, offering himself to you, waiting but not pushing, and you–

You're very aware that you haven't kissed yet. Not a real kiss at least. You've been friends for over a decade, cheek kisses have happened in that time. But you give cheek kisses to sweet old ladies and Eri too, so those don't count in your head.

You are so painfully aware of the lack of kissing that it makes your fingers go numb and your heart stutter in your chest. It's so dumb, you aren't some love struck teenager anymore. The idea of a kiss shouldn't have you feeling this way. You're an adult. An adult who has kissed people before. An adult who has done many things far more lewd than kissing with other adults. It feels wrong to do it now. Before talking, before figuring yourselves out. What if this conversation ends in an argument? What if it ends with the decision to ignore everything that's happened? If you kiss him now and then lose him, you don't think you'll survive.

And so, you chicken out. Izuku takes it in stride, like you knew he would. He smiles softly and jerks his head toward the register as a reminder to go order and it's clear he's giving you an out here. He offers it up so kindly, so sweetly, that you don't even feel guilty for turning away from him to go order. The kid working the register today is secretly your favorite of all of them. Ren is a sweet kid, freshly eighteen and freshly out as nonbinary. You remember the day they told you, how nervous they looked asking you to use the pronouns they preferred. How happy they were when you congratulated them on speaking up for themselves.

They look equally as shocked to see you as they are relieved when you stop in front of them at the register.

“You're here!” they gasp, leaning forward over the counter to look you up and down, “You aren't missing any limbs either! Auntie! Aviator's back!”

“I told you she was fine! What're those tabloids saying about her now?” Kiyoko hollers back, popping her head into the window, “Oh, she's here here! Hi, honey!”

“Hi, Kiyoko! Is the missus here too?”

“Not today I'm afraid. Sophie's visiting family in the United States right now. Oh she'll be so sad she missed you. Where in heaven have you been?” she frets, using her quirk to step through the wall towards you. “You had us all so worried! There were news headlines saying you'd gone missing from the hero scene!”

“I was– I'm fine,” you appease, offering what you hope is a calming smile. “I was just temporarily out of commission. But I'm better now and hoping to get back to work soon if they'll let me.”

“Well good,” Kiyoko sniffs, “Now, answer me this.”

“Anything,”

Kiyoko glances around conspiratorially and you meet her halfway when she leans into you to whisper, “Is that young man sitting at table six Pro Hero Deku?”

“Uh,” you risk a glance over at Izuku, who's watching you with wide, quizzical eyes, before looking back at Kiyoko, “Yes. It sure is. But he's been here before, I don't–”

“That's what I thought,” she interrupts, nodding triumphantly. And then her face contorts into the biggest shit-eating grin you've ever seen on her and she asks, “Is he your boyfriend?”

“Auntie!” Ren squawks, looking as horrified as you feel, “You cannot just ask personal questions like that, oh my God!”

“What! I'm just curious! Especially because he's staring at you like you hang the sun, the moon, and all the stars in the sky,” she laughs, tossing you a wink, “If he isn't, he should be.”

“He isn't staring–”

“Oh, hush, yes he absolutely is,” she snorts, leaning back against the wall behind her. You fear your face is as warm looking as it feels. “I've seen all those tabloids about him and that Uravity gal, but I've never seen him look at anyone but you like that. He's always looked at you like that.”

“I don't know what we are,” you give in, practically deflating on the spot, “That's what I'm here to find out.”

“And I'm sure you're here for a coffee,” Ren says, successfully segueing the conversation. Kiyoko clicks her tongue at you both, but dutifully turns away towards the pastry case to let you order in peace. You wait to the side while Ren makes up your coffee just how you like it. When they set it on the counter for you, Kiyoko slides a pastry box towards you too.

“What's this?” you laugh, eyeing her suspiciously.

“Some raspberry turnovers. On the house,” she says, effectively ignoring you when you attempt to argue by phasing through the wall and into the kitchen again. You share a look with Ren and slap enough money on the counter to cover it anyways before turning to make your way back to Izuku.

“What was that about?” he wonders when you settle beside him.

“Kiyoko was meddling,” you push the box towards him and sip at your drink, “She gave us some raspberry turnovers though.”

“That's sweet of her!” he coos, carefully peeling the tape off the top to open it. Despite there being two, he still takes one and pulls it apart, offering out the larger of the two halves to you. You accept it with a smile.

After you finish your piece and suck the bits of raspberry filling and sanding sugar from your fingers, you ask, “So, what's up?”

Izuku hums around his cheekful of pastry, lifting his hat with his clean hand to scratch his head and ruffle his hair. He seems to hesitate with what he wants to say, nervously tapping his fingers along his cup, before he mutters, “Why– you said you didn't want this. That you didn't want to love me. And you didn't want to tell me either, you were going to– you did die. You died instead of just… telling me. And I can't wrap my head around it.”

“That was so cruel of me to say,” you say, “I should not have ever said that, I'm so sorry, Izuku.”

“I don't want an apology,” he rushes out, waving his hands out in front of him, “I don't want you to feel bad about it, I just want to know why. Was it– did I do something? Did you not trust me? Were you scared of me?”

“No. No, it wasn't that,” you're nervous, palms wet with sweat and heart fluttering in your chest, “At first, back in high school, I didn't think you had any interest. So for a long time, I didn't wanna ruin what we had. You're one of my best friends. And I know that even if I had told you, it wouldn't have made you drop me. And it probably wouldn't have been on purpose, but you're so hyper aware of how you treat people, I know it would've been different. You’d treat me differently, we wouldn't be like we had been. And I wasn't willing to risk that.”

“Okay,” he nods, shifting in his seat, “So, what about after high school, before you were sick?”

You watch a drop of condensation slip down the window in front of you. Follow the trail, guessing where it'll land, if it'll make it to the bottom before it disappears.

“I still wasn't sure how you felt. And by then, there were so many headlines about you and Ochako. And I know those are almost never true, but you guys have always been close. And I know she liked you too in school,” you sigh and lean forward in your seat to give your wings a little more space. The left one still aches sometimes, despite being all healed from the break it suffered. It's weaker now, just barely, but enough that you notice it. You stretch it wide, shake it out, and then fold it back nicely against your back.

Izuku follows the movements with sharp eyes. You take a breath and keep talking, “At some point, it sort of became a silly dream that I had. I made peace with it. I'd never fall out of love with you, but I'd never have you either. And that was fine as long as you were still here, you know? As long as we were still friends, it was fine. I ignored it. Stuffed all those feelings into a box and locked them up. I didn't ever even try to date anyone else, because I would've been a horrible partner. And that was fine too. I liked being alone. And if you ever did end up with Ochako, I would've been happy and supportive. Because I love you, and I love her, and I wanted you both to be happy.”

Izuku says your name in a soft whisper, ducking his head to catch your eye. You scrub your hands over your face and groan before turning to look at him. He looks exactly how you thought he would. Melancholic, heartbroken, thoughtful. He's soft when he says, “You don't have to tell me anymore.”

“I want to. You deserve to know,”

He nods, and you keep spilling your deepest thoughts for him. Word vomit is spewing from your chest, you can see the shadows of petals and stems on the tabletop. You tell him everything. You explain everything.

You tell him about how you wished he would reject you so you could have a moment of clarity. The way your feelings for him were so big you felt suffocated by them sometimes, and that's why you wished things were different. How selfish you feel about it all, how in denial you were about it for a long time. How you grieved him and the idea of there ever being an ‘us’ with him for years. How you mourned a relationship you thought would never happen.

You have a hard time articulating it all to him, but he seems to get it. He's always understood you, even before you'd been close. Even before you were in the hero course, back when you were just a gifted kid with a completely different dream. When you worked with your hands and went to sleep oil stained and excited to do it all again the next day.

(Being a hero had never been your plan. Sure, you had a useful quirk for it, you knew that young. And even during your days at UA, you knew you could transfer if you really wanted after being accepted. You'd been compared to Hawks more than once, you knew what you could do. But hero support had been your dream.

It's funny now, to think back on it, really. How against being a hero you were. You had no interest being on the front lines. Combat was never fun for you, you didn't get the rush kids in the hero course did when fighting. 

The war changed everything.

Aizawa and Hawks came to you to ask you to fight. They needed another Hawks for something, someone in the sky. And what the hell could you do, say no? Of course you couldn't. So you fought, you fought damn hard, and you won most of your battles.

The year following the war, you still refused to transfer. Despite Aizawa offering you a spot and taking you under his wing to train. You said no, you were firm in your decision.

Honestly, you don't know why you changed your mind. One day you woke up and remember thinking that if you could do even a fraction of the good that All Might did, that Deku did, you wanted to. You wanted to save people too.

You're still a shadow in the hero support world. You work with Mei on the downlow, fix friends' hero suits and support items under an alias and then go out and fight beside them.

You learned and adapted, figured out how to get the best of both worlds.)

By the time you've talked yourself out of breath, Izuku is openly crying beside you. Again, you find yourself uncomfortable. Laying your emotions out has never been a strong suit of yours, and you can feel phantom flowers in your chest. You briefly wonder if that feeling will ever truly go away.

“Sorry,” you say after a moment of silence, “I unloaded a lot. Didn't mean to do that.”

“No,” he sniffles, wiping at his cheeks and shaking his head, “I asked. Don't apologize.”

“I don't blame you if you don't want to pursue this,” you tack on, releasing a heavy breath. Your drink is long gone, but you tilt the cup back for the last few drops anyways, just for something to do with your hands. You miss the way Izuku whips his head up to look at you, mouth hung open and a panicked look on his face.

“Are you kidding?” he gapes. You don't look at him, focusing instead on the napkin in your hands. You tear it slowly, ripping tiny pieces off to pile up beside it. He sets his hand over yours, “I love you.”

“That doesn't mean we have to date,” you rasp, “We don't have to do anything. We could just– forget. We could pretend.”

“Do you remember in the hospital, when we confessed to heal your lungs?” he's so gentle with you, twisting your chair so your body is facing him. Your wings twitch behind you and he leans around to fix a few crooked feathers while you answer.

“I'll never forget it,” you huff, somewhere between a scoff and a laugh.

“Remember when you told me to reject you?” he goes on as he leans back again, settling across from you.

“Yep,” you nod.

“What did I say?”

“You said ‘no’,” 

“I did,” he concedes, “I also said I could never pretend I don't love you. This won't go away. I have spent years falling in love with you. I did it over and over, because it's you . I will always want this as long as you do. Do you want it?”

“I want it so bad,” you whisper, dropping your head back between your shoulders, “God, I have never wanted something more in my life.”

“Then you have it,” he laughs, like it's simple. And really, in a way, you guess it is. It always has been, you think. He sounds like he's still smiling when he says, “I'm all yours. Until you decide you don't want me anymore, but probably still then.”

When you finally look back at him, he looks beautiful. He's looking back, smiling so softly, so sweetly, it makes your teeth ache. It makes your chest ache the way his eyes squint when he smiles, the way his teeth peek out from behind full lips. How his freckles dance across the crinkled bridge of his nose when his smile widens. You want to spend the rest of your life committing each one to memory. You want to count them all and trace the constellations they make across his skin. There's a string of fate tying you to him, and it's unbreakable.

“I could never not want you,” is all you can think to say. And now, now you do want to kiss him. You want it so bad you can feel it in your teeth, in your fucking toes. But you don't.

The streets are busier, the bakery is picking up. There's too many people around and you know it'll be a whole shit show if someone snaps a picture of you together anyways. But it'll be far worse if it's a picture of you kissing. He's still in his terrible disguise, but you don't have the privilege of covering up. You're always exposed, the most recognizable thing about you is your wings and it's not like you can cover those up.

It'll look a lot worse for him than you if you kiss him and get caught by some pervy fucker with a camera. You're fairly underground, almost completely unknown, and people don't quite care about you the way they care about Pro Hero Deku. People that know enough about you to like you would be over the moon for a picture like that. People that like him would riot .

So you don't kiss him. You get another drink, and you share the second turnover with him. He tells you about his mission and you listen with just a smidge of jealousy. He notices and laughs, asking, “You miss it?”

“Oh, so bad,” you groan, “Dude, I'm going insane.”

“It's funny to think you almost didn't do this,” he hums, “Imagine how different things would be if you were in a lab instead.”

“I work under an alias with Mei sometimes,”

“I didn't know that! That's amazing!” Izuku gushes, leaning closer with hearts in his eyes, “How come I didn't know that?”

“It's a secret,” you laugh, “Hence the alias. Only a few people know, but I don't advertise it.”

“There's always something new to learn about you,” Izuku says quietly, suddenly awestruck and looking at you like you're a work of art. Your skin prickles with heat under the attention when he keeps going and says, “You're amazing.”

“Says you,” you scoff, deflecting. He hums, taking it in stride and props his head up with a hand on his cheek. You mirror him, grinning when he huffs a quiet laugh. Behind you, the bell above the door jingles and Izuku is slow to slip his sunglasses back over his nose and shuffle back to a more appropriate distance.

It's a group of young girls who ooh and aah at the pastries. One of them glances your way and has a look of recognition flash across her face. Izuku notices too, turning his face a little more out of her field of view and peering at you over the rim of his glasses. You both know he's too late, they've seen him.

“You've been caught,” you sing, laughing when his cheeks heat, “Gonna say hi?”

“Mm, I'd hope they can see I'm busy. But I will if I have to,”

“Wow, look at you. Not so nice after all,”

“Hey, I'm plenty nice,” he rolls his shoulders back, sits a little less like the Number One Hero and a little more like he's just some dude drinking coffee. You like being privy to this side of him, the side he doesn't show the public. The side of him that says fuck and gets irritated with fans. The one that doesn't help old ladies cross the street (they’ve done just fine before, they'll make it without him), and doesn't pick up trash in the streets. The grown ass adult side that's more like Katsuki than you think he cares to admit.

“Yeah, well, your fan club is coming over here. Smile, Deku,” you snicker, burying your grin into your collar. He follows your eyes when you flicker them toward the giggling gaggle of teenage girls inching their way closer. And when you stand he looks betrayed, “I'm gonna go talk to Kiyoko. Good luck, soldier.”

“Don't leave,” he begs, catching your hand before you can get too far, “Please, they're like wolves.”

“Fine,” you huff, folding easily for his big, puppy dog eyes.

The girls are fine. They don't squeal or cry, like some fans you've seen. They request an autograph and when he agrees, they run to ask Ren for a pen. The moment they turn their backs, Izuku takes you by the waist and rushes you out the door. You're both laughing, giggling into each other like you're teenagers breaking curfew. You run four blocks before he's pulling you into an alleyway to catch your breath.

“They were nice, why did we run?” you laugh, slapping his shoulder, “That was mean!”

“No one will ever believe them,” he shrugs, leaning back against a brick wall. “And I know Kiyoko will back me up.”

“Izuku!” you chastise, “What's gotten into you?”

“I'm not Deku right now,” he groans, “I don't wanna be Deku right now.”

“What does that even mean?”

“It means, I'm just Izuku,” he hums, stepping closer. You raise an eyebrow, but meet him halfway when he tugs you closer by the hem of your shirt. “I'm just me and you're just you. No heroes here.”

“Uh huh,” you curl your fingers around his bicep, shivering when the hand at the small of your back presses you until your belly touches his, “And?”

“And,” he murmurs, ducking his head down inches from your own, “I'm gonna kiss you. Can I kiss you?”

“Please,” you breathe, fitting yourself against him easily when he surges forward to press his lips to yours. Chest to chest, you consume him, you let him consume you. When he sighs, you're more than eager to swallow it down, offer him one of your own. You take everything he's willing to give, and he takes too. His hands are warm on your back, tickling their way up to settle against your shoulder blades so he can wrap himself around you. 

Kissing him is everything you dreamed it would be and more.

“Come home with me tonight?” he practically begs when he pulls away, lips shiny and kiss swollen.

“Okay,” you agree easily, chasing after him to press more kisses to the corner of his mouth, “Yeah.”

── 𓇢𓆸 ──

Izuku's house is warm, lived in. His furniture is nice, but not overly expensive. His dishes are mismatched, his walls are covered in decor. It's not all that different from his dorm back in high school, just a little more mature looking. He still has an overwhelming amount of All Might merch, but it's more spread out, blending well with friends’ merch and other things.

You've been here before, but never like this. You don't know how to hold yourself, what's appropriate and what's not.

“You're being weird,” Izuku teases, shedding his disguise. “Don't be weird. We're the same as before.”

“No,” you disagree immediately, though not unkindly, “We aren't. This is not the same at all. But, that's not a bad thing. Just–”

“Different,” he says, “You're right.”

“Takes some getting used to is all,”

He's got four large bookshelves that are overflowing with his own notebooks, old and new, comics, and manga, and that's where you plant yourself. You read through titles, take in all the knick-knacks decorating the empty spots. He's got an old photo of a bunch of UA alumni grinning at the camera. There's a cute, goofy looking Dynamight bobblehead beside the picture, staring you down from the top shelf and you reach up to flick the head, grinning when it bounces.

“I wish I had something of yours to add to my collection,” he comments, stepping up to join you with a hand on your hip.

“I'm not big enough for merch,” you remind him, “And I'm an underground stealth hero. I don't even think I'm allowed to have merch.”

“Aizawa has merch,”

“Not real merch. It's all fanmade, bootleg type shit,” you say with a snort, leaning into his warmth. “Do you not have work today?”

“No, I've got the next few days off because of the mission,” he says, then hesitates, gnawing at the inside of his cheek before adding, “Do you wanna stay the night?”

“Yeah,” you smile, leaning up to press a sweet kiss to the freckles splattered over his cheek.

── 𓇢𓆸 ──

You hadn't been expecting things to go the way they had when you spent the night, though you can't say you didn't like it.

Flashes of hot, sweat-slicked skin against your own flicker through your head. You remember how far down his freckles had reached, you think of those green eyes, staring up at you from between your legs. Scarred thick fingers squeezing so tightly at your thighs they left bruises. His mouth sealed over yours, swallowing down every noise you made. His own hiccuping sounds when you–

You're distracted. You can't be distracted. Today, you're officially back on duty. You're not back on the patrol roster quite yet, but you have a lot of paperwork to catch up on, so you hunker down in Katsuki’s office to do it.

On paper, you're a solo agent. You don't belong to any one agency, like Aizawa and Hitoshi, but you frequently find yourself working with or in Katsuki's agency.

Hitoshi joins you under the guise of being your partner and taking responsibility for half of the paperwork. You know it's really just because he and Katsuki are officially dating now and he wants to see him.

Simp , you think, as if you aren't exactly the same.

“Remind me again why you couldn't have just finished this shit?” you ask, wincing when the hand shaped bruise on your thigh throbs as you shift and tuck your foot beneath yourself.

Hitoshi notices your discomfort. He's seen it before, having marked you similarly. He watches for the telltale signs. The way you hiss, press your fingertips to the bruise in the same way whomever left them there must've, then flush a pretty shade of pink when you're inevitably reminded of how it got there.

“You got laid. You have a sex injury,” he accuses teasingly, leaning forward to press his own finger to the bruise. When you gasp, he does not hold in his laugh.

“It's not an injury , Jesus,” you bark out a shocked laugh too and slap his hand away when he keeps poking, “Just a bruise.”

“Damn,” he whistles, frowning down at his mug when he realizes it's void of any form of caffeine, “Didn't think he had it in him.”

“What, fucking me?”

“No, fucking you hard enough to bruise. Figured he'd be, like, vanilla. Missionary with super intense eye contact, you know, the works,”

“You are so fucked in the head,” you say.

“Like you aren't?” he throws back.

“I'm getting more coffee,”

“That's crazy, me too,” he grins, “You can give me details while we walk.”

“I hate you,”

“Mm, I don't think you do,”

── 𓇢𓆸 ──

They tell you that your apartment won't be fixed one month into your stay with Katsuki. Your landlord's son had been kind enough to call you the moment he found out.

“They found more structural damage after the accident that isn't worth fixing,” he explains over the phone, “Dad didn't wanna charge the tenants for an apartment they weren't currently living in. But without that income, he couldn't afford it anymore without risking foreclosure. And after finding out about the extent of the damages, he just decided to sell. He closed on a deal with a real estate company this morning and they're wanting to begin demolition immediately. Tenants have a week to get their things out.”

“That's not enough notice for more than half of the building,” you huff, “Where's your father gonna go?”

“My sister has an extra room,” he says, sounding extraordinarily tired, “I know a week isn't enough. I pushed for a month, but they wanna get started as soon as they can. And I have no say anymore. I'm sorry, Aviator.”

“Don't worry about it,” you sigh, “Thanks for calling. And tell your dad I said thank you too.”

── 𓇢𓆸 ──

You hate moving. Even if you didn't particularly love where you were living, you still get this sad, melancholic feeling deep in your gut when you have to leave. It's definitely some childhood trauma shit, but you don't have time to deepdive into that.

And packing is a whole different annoyance. Especially packing an apartment that still looks like a warzone. You have backup on the way, Izuku and Katsuki are coming after they're joint patrol and Aizawa and Hitoshi texted saying they're a few minutes out. You're thankful for them, because you are overwhelmed.

Most of your stuff in the living room isn't even worth an attempt to save it. Your couch is destroyed, torn and missing pieces. Your TV is completely busted, folded in half and crushed under a chunk of your wall. Throw blankets are tattered, knick-knacks and tchotchkes broken or lost in the chaos, framed photos shattered and bloody.

You start in your bedroom instead.

By the time Aizawa and Hitoshi show up, you're nearly done packing all of your clothes. Hitoshi is gentle with you, he knows how you feel about moving. He offers you a coffee that you take with a grateful groan.

“How's it going?” Aizawa drawls, leaning back against your doorframe.

“The living room isn't even worth packing,” you huff, “Part of me wants to dig through the mess to see if I can salvage anything. But it seems useless at this point. They took so long that anything near the busted wall got wet from the rain we got a few days ago.”

“I'll dig through it for you,” he offers.

“You don't have to,” you mutter, defeated and tired.

“I know I don't have to, but I will,” he hums, scooping the hair off his neck to tie in a low bun, “You can focus on everything else. When will the boys be here?”

“Another fifteen, probably,” you say, “They're bringing the moving truck.”

“Well, with five of us it should be pretty quick,”

“Yeah,” you huff, “Thanks, Shouta.”

“Anytime, kid,”

── 𓇢𓆸 ──

“You have my merch?” Izuku coos, leaning past you to grab the sweatshirt behind you.

“Of course I do,” you laugh and slide another box across the floor and into the hallway. Katsuki scoops it up easily, grinning when you roll your eyes at his show of strength.

“I didn't know that,” Izuku blubbers suddenly, tears gathering on his lashes. “This is a limited edition, too!”

“Izuku,” you huff, snatching the hoodie back, “It's almost like I was desperately, embarrassingly in love with you for years.”

“Was?” he teases, catching you by the waist when you try to walk away and pressing himself against your back. He grins when you roll your eyes at him and leans down to leave a trail of light kisses over your shoulders.

You tilt your head back, urging him to drop one against your lips, “Kiss me and maybe that ‘was’ will change into ‘am’.”

“Anytime,” he murmurs into your neck, kissing a path from just below your ear to your lips and then leaving two more once he gets there.

── 𓇢𓆸 ──

It's not a conscious decision, not on your part at least. You moving in with Izuku starts slow. Your time there begins to extend from a few days to a week, then more. Your things show up slowly at first, a couple shirts, your toothbrush. Shampoo and conditioner. It's not even you that's doing it, it's him. He's the one that's casually bringing more and more of your boxes up from his basement. He's the one that insisted you bring Hiro with you. 

It's been such an easy transition, you hadn't realized how normal it felt. Your dishes mixed with his in the kitchen, your books beside his on the shelves. Hell, you have your own dresser and a dedicated side of the bed and closet now. It takes you an embarrassingly long time to even notice. It's been nearly three months, and you're just putting it together on a random, lazy Sunday morning.

“Do I live here?” you ask, startling yourself. Izuku is across from you, lounging on the couch and half asleep. The TV drones on while he blinks a few times dumbly, mind lagging and drowsy. You gasp, horrified, “Did I accidentally move in with you!?”

“You didn't realize?” he laughs, sitting up with a stretch. You're momentarily distracted by the slither of skin that peeks out when his shirt rises with his arms. He grins when he catches the look in your eye.

“No? What the fuck? You did?” you say as soon as your tongue catches up with your brain again.

“Baby,” he snickers, “You never even started looking for apartments.”

“I'm– I was just procrastinating!”

“Every single one of your boxes has been unpacked,” he adds.

“I didn't ask you to do that!”

“Are you upset?” he murmurs, suddenly looking guilty.

“I–” you hesitate, taking in your home. Your things fit so seamlessly with his, like it was always meant to be like this, “I don't think I am.”

“Okay,”

“Just– sorry, I guess,”

“What? Why?”

“For moving in with you without asking, maybe? I don't know. Are you upset?”

“Are you kidding? Coming home to you is everything I've ever wanted,” he's so earnest when he says it, “I was gonna ask anyways, but then it just sort of happened.”

“Oh my God, that's so fucking embarrassing,” you whine and drop your head to your hands. He coos, crawling from the couch to the lounge you're occupying and crushing his weight down on you carefully. You let your hands fall from your face to wrap around his shoulders and curl into the dark green curls at the base of his neck, “Is love always this easy?”

“I don't know,” he answers honestly, “I wouldn't say this was easy. It took us a long time to get here.”

“Yeah, but now that we got here it is,” you whisper into his hair, pressing gentle kisses to the crown of his head. “I think it's supposed to be like this.”

“I think so too,” he groans, squishing his face further into your chest, “You're so warm.”

“Are you tired, baby?”

“Mm, no,” he says, turning to bite at the swell of your breast. When you hiss, he apologizes with wet licks and kisses over the mark until you make a softer noise.

“Oh,” you sigh, “Okay, not tired.”

“Definitely not tired,” he huffs, scooping you up easily as he stands. “But I still prefer the bed for this. Only the best for my love.”

Your laugh is warm, loud and unapologetic, bouncing along the walls of the house as he carries you up the stairs and to your bedroom. His own laugh twists together with yours, filling the corners of your shared space. Somewhere downstairs, the bell on Hiro's collar jingles.

It's a vibrant feeling, realizing that this is your home too. The bed he drops you on is yours too. And the shower you share after is yours. You and him have weaved parts of each other into your lives, intertwined everything to make it shared.

It's not ‘mine’ or ‘his’ anymore, it's ‘ours.’

It's shared . It's two people coming together to make one life because they love each other enough to make space for one another.

It's everything you've ever wanted.

── 𓇢𓆸 ──

When you were a kid, you didn't ever want to fall in love. You watched first hand how love ruined your mother. The man who helped bring you into this world hadn't even stuck around long enough for you to meet him. And when he left, he took a piece of your mother with him you think. And she spent years looking for it. Chasing men, begging them. Changing for them.

Every man after that was the same. Kind in the beginning, sweeter than sugar to you and your mother. And then, somewhere along the line, a switch was always flipped. They didn't want kids, they didn't want you . And they never stuck around long enough for you to call them dad, not that you ever would.

You didn't need a dad, you had your mom. She was enough for you, she always would be.

You weren't enough for her.

She craved love so badly from a man, it wasn't enough if it was from you.

One man stuck around long enough. He treated her so well, he said he loved her. He asked if she loved him too. If she loved him enough to leave you behind.

The first few times he asked, she had laughed him off. You listened through the crack in your door, waiting and wishing that she would finally put your relationship with her first. 

When you were ten, she left. And you learned that unconditional love doesn't exist. Not with men or women. Not with family, not with your own mother.

“He's gonna marry me,” she had said, delighted and rushing to pack her suitcase. “He just– well. He doesn't want kids. You want me to be happy, don't you? You understand, right?”

You didn't. Of course you didn't.

If love could do that, if it could take your mother away from you, you didn't want it.

Your grandparents had been furious with your mother when they took you in. They raised you well. With so much love, they taught you it could be good . They were so proud of you when you got your acceptance letter from UA. And they cheered for you during your first Sports Festival.

They tried to show you better love, healthier love.

“Love is easy,” your grandmother said, time and time again, “It shouldn't be hard. Real love is so easy, so simple. They won't ask you to change, they won't want you to be different. They'll love you as you are. And if they really love you, you'll believe them when they say it.”

And eventually, you could see it in them, in the way your grandfather knew how your grandmother took her tea, in the way your grandmother still made his favorite meal every year on his birthday, even after he passed. When she passed three years after him, you were more happy than sad. Still heartbroken, of course, but she was with him again. He had always been her happy place, and you knew they were together again, wherever they were.

You see them again in your life, in the relationships around you. You see them in Izuku and yourself, in Katsuki and Hitoshi, in Shouta and Hizashi. You see that same love, the good kind. The unconditional kind. The kind your mother failed to show you.

And you can see it now. Written between the lines of love, of devotion you've given each other. It's so saccharine, warm and gooey like honey. Izuku is so easy to love , he is so quick to give it right back. He makes the space for you, so he can love you and the rest of the world too. He fits himself in that hole in your chest, he cups his hands so tightly together to collect your soul when you pour it into his accepting palms. And he doesn't hesitate to pour his own into your hands, because he trusts you with it. Because he loves you.

He is so sweet, so kind, when he says he loves you too. He is a good man, and you are grateful to be the one to love him. You're grateful for the mornings where you wake up with him and the nights you fall asleep with him. And he, in turn, is just as grateful. And he shows it so openly. Touching you whenever he can, even if it's just a hand on your arm as he passes by you or a leg tangled between yours while you sleep. He kisses you at every opportunity, in public and in private. He dances with you in the kitchen, dips you low to the floor and presses a kiss over your heart.

You've spent years wanting him, loving him, and you are so fortunate in being able to do that. He'd shout his love for you from the rooftops if he could, you're sure. And you would do the same damn thing.

Being in love with Midoriya Izuku is so easy, all things considered. It's as automatic as breathing and blinking and being, because he loves you back just as easily. And in some sick and twisted way, you're thankful for those flowers that had sprouted in your chest. Without them, you wouldn't have this easy, beautifully simple love.

“I love you,” you say.

“I love you,” he replies. And it's so easy, and he doesn't ask you to change anything about yourself, and you believe him every time he says it.

[thighguys]

Phan Fic Recs #3!!

here is the requested long fic list! these are all 100k+, not all of them are finished (i didn't put any on here that aren't actively updating tho) and all of them are SO good so i hope you enjoy :)

Silver Arrows To The Heart by @evermorepeyton (137k WIP)- this one is a duplicate from the other list but there might be a few on here, ignore that<3 anyway this fic is AMAZING!!! dan and phil formula 1 drivers au- they're both on Mercedes and lots of awesome teammates to lovers hijinks ensue<3 this one gets a special shoutout for having some fantastic female characters (who are dare i say just as intriguing as dnp themselves?) and also bc the author is a beautiful human who i love<3 a super fun fic and very in character for both of them (somehow lmao, you wouldnt expect it with racecar drivers but somehow it works so well)

dancing on the blades (you set my heart on fire) by kishere (123k)- imagine all the 2009 phan lore but if dan and phil were figure skaters. yep, it's a yuri on ice au where dan scores a spot in the famous Lester training gym and meets phil, who is one of the most well known figure skaters in england<3 fantastic fantastic fic, such perfect vibes and lots of great lester family cameos<3

Strictly Come Dancing but make it GAY! by @natigail (176k)- the final duplicate from the medium list<3 this fic is AMAZING!!!! this is the one that got me back into phanfic in general afterhaving not read any for about 6 years, it's a strictly come dancing au where phil is a hot pro dancer and dan is a celebrity/gay activist, and they accidentally become the first gay couple to compete in scd<3 FANTASTIC outfit and dance descriptions, i listened to all the songs while reading it and it was honestly so lovely i felt like i could see it so clearly<3 also- the lore references are AMAZING lol i felt like a pro every time i found a little easter egg. amazing fic, i HIGHLY recommend it<3

A Semester Abroad by @everything-is-as-it-was (162k WIP)- this one is really fun!! lots of domestic phouse vibes as it is about an american college student who gets stranded in England after a study abroad housing situation falls through and who gets accidentally taken in by these two random british guys with a REALLY weird house... sooo funny, it's really quite cute and i highly recommend giving it a read! I love outsider pov and this has an abundance of funny moments because dnp are Weird

Broke, Gay and New in Town by @natigail (347k)- do you want the softest, cutest, most magical and compelling story to ever exist??? literally look no further because right here is the dan and phil stardew valley au and it is SO CUTE!!! dan inherits a farm from his grandfather and decides to ditch his boring life to go and run it, and he has so many adventures along the way. oh yeah phil is there too and hes SO CUTE and they fall in love :3 seriously so cute, also you don't need stardew valley knowledge to enjoy this it is independently perfect (i have never played the game and actually learned what it was From this fic so ur good lol)

linger on by dizzy, waveydnp (184k)- this one is so so so sweet... non youtuber au where 33yo phil has been living with his parents, but when his dad dies his mom decides to sell the house and phil has to find somewhere new to live. so ofc he becomes roommates with some guy called dan, and ummm they fall in love? honestly they are SO perfect in this fic, i adore it<3 highly recommend

L'Histoire Française by danfanciesphil (105k)- suuuuper fun teachers au! phil is a history professor and dan is his TA. this fic is SO FUN!!!! genuinely adore it lol, it's one of the first phan fics i ever read and it has stayed with me forever<3

So Many Stars by transdimensional_void (152k)- another teachers au :) dnp meet when they both become english teachers at a school in japan and this is VERY cute <3

okay there's the list!! sorry this one is shorter than the others haha, there are too few long fics in the phandom :( but all of these are so so lovely and i hope you enjoy! lol some distractions may be needed during these trying times <3

[sunvylovebug]

Love garden

↬ Warnings: No warnings …⁠ᘛ⁠⁐̤⁠ᕐ⁠ᐷ

↬ Female!Reader and person narration (⁠*⁠˘⁠︶⁠˘⁠*⁠)⁠.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡

↬ Author Note: I love Diluc<3 I've written some other stuff with Genshin characters, you can check it out on my profile if you're interested<3

↬ Summary: The uncrowned king of Mondstadt has begun to develop feelings for his childhood friend.

↬ Word Count: 1,003 Words

Since childhood, Y/N and Diluc had been inseparable. They grew up together in Mondstadt, sharing games, secrets and adventures in every corner of the city. Their friendship was as solid as iron, forged by years of laughter and loyalty, of promises and memories, of good and bad times together, little adventures and tons of love and care for each other.

As time went by, they both had to take separate ways, separating for a while, but even after so long their hearts were still connected, it was impossible to break a connection that had prevailed alive for so many years after all.

While Diluc, after years of being away from the nation, assumed his role as the owner of the Dawn Winery in the mornings and the enigmatic, mysterious and heroic Dark Knight Hero of Mondstadt in the evenings, Y/N found her own purpose after studying at the Akademiya of Sumeru, returning to Mondstadt to tend to a small garden that had been built in the heart of the city.

One day, while Y/N was in her garden arranging the flowers and making sure everything was in order, Diluc appeared unexpectedly. Although his face showed a serious expression, there was a soft intensity in his eyes that Y/N had not seen in a long time. "Y/N, I've been thinking about you." Diluc said, slowly approaching. "Can I stay with you for a moment?"

Y/N looked at him with curiosity and a slight smile on her lips. The garden had always been her place of peace, the place where everything seemed more pleasant, more simple and peaceful, Diluc's presence made it even more special. "Of course, Diluc. You're always welcome here."

He sat near her, on a small bench of the place, watching how she worked with delicacy and mastery on her plants, she already had a good time taking care of this place. A pleasant silence formed between them, interrupted only by the occasional birdsong and the soft rustling of the leaves as they moved in the wind.

"You know..." He began to say in a thoughtful tone. "Sometimes when I see the flowers here, they remind me of what we've shared since we were children, the days in my father's garden, the sunny days where we played hide and seek with Kaeya or Jean, or when we'd go looking for bugs and flowers with you... The times when as children, everything seemed simpler."

She looked up from the flowers, looking at him with a mixture of surprise and affection. They didn't usually talk about their feelings this way, but she felt there was something different about the way Diluc was acting.

"Kinda funny..." She said with a soft smile. "Maybe it's weird for me to say it like this but I've always thought that this garden is like a reflection of various connections I have with people, especially our friendship. I take great care of it cause it means a lot to me, as you do too, Diluc."

He was silent, but his eyes shone with an intensity that Y/N couldn't ignore. Finally, he leaned a little closer. "Y/N, there is something I need to tell you." He began, his voice filled with an unusual vulnerability. "How I've felt about you has changed over time. You're not only my friend, but someone I truly appreciate more than I could ever put into words. You are a beautiful girl, you are strong and honest, you are charismatic and kind, you are sweet and brave... I could spend all day talking about how I see you... but I'm scared, I don't wanna lose you because of the things I feel for you."

Her stomach flipped over, she felt her heart beating faster, her cheeks flushing as she listened to Diluc's heartfelt words. She wasn't sure how to respond, but the sincerity in his voice moved her deeply.

"Diluc, I've felt something special for you too, for a while now..." Admitted Y/N in a trembling voice. "But I- I didn't know how to tell you. I was afraid it might ruin our friendship."

Diluc smiled, a gleam of relief in his eyes. "You don't have to fear that, Y/N. What I feel for you has grown over time and I think it's something worth feeling together, if you'll allow me."

With a gesture full of tenderness Diluc took Y/N's hand, looking at her warm and comforting eyes with an expression that blended love and affection that became overwhelming to the young woman's melting heart.

"Let me show you how special you are to me, not only as a friend with whom I have spent countless moments together, adventures and good times, but as someone I wish to protect, care for and love as long as you and life will allow me to."

With her heart overwhelmed with emotion, she nodded slowly, looking into his eyes, nervous and excited by his words. Her trust in Diluc and the love she felt for him came together in a moment of pure connection. "I'd love to do the same, Diluc."

He ran a hand around her waist with a gentle smile and a soft shade of pink on his cheeks. He held her chin with his gloved hand and looked down at her. "May I?"

It was the happiest day for both of them. She felt like she would faint soon from so much emotion her heart was feeling, she nodded shyly and it was then that Diluc brought their lips together gently, a tender kiss full of the love and affection they felt for each other.

From that day on, the garden became an even more meaningful place for them, a place to spend time together and create many memories.

Each visit was a mixture of laughter and intimate moments, as Diluc strove to show his devotion and affection in every gesture and action. Through the seasons, through time and through life's changes, their new relationship blossomed so beautifully, just as the flowers did in Y/N's garden.

[ch4osworld]

THE PASSENGER

Chapter 1.5

Words:1568 @cherry-4200

Hi! I made this as a gap chapter because I thought that going straight to Lilith disappearance wasn't a good idea. In this chapter you will explore more of the characters feelings and dynamics. I hope you like it! And remeber...

REBLOGS AND COMMENTS ARE THE MOST BOOSTING AND LIKED

Y/n's pov

Many years have passed since you fell, you lost the count, maybe it was millions, maybe even an eon. You walked through the intricate roads of hell, your footsteps silenced by the crowd of people always wondering around god knows where. Each step was like a burden, a sign of your longing, always getting heavier, binding you to your past. Both sweet and agonizing memories flooded your mind, taunting you with images of the happy times in heaven. You remeber the first time you laid eyes on Lucifer, he attracted you, like moths are to lights. From that moment on you have been captivated by him, consumed by a love you never felt, not even for Adam. But apparently, that feeling was not good, not at all, it only causes pain, for the seraphim was not yours to claim. He belonged to another, the same one that took Adam away from you, love truly is a deadly feeling. You tried to bury your feelings down, but your adoration for him refused to die, it only waited for the slightest provocation to burst once again into flames. And so you were stuck in a cycle of longing and despair and your inability to let go. You knew that the only possibility for your feelings to flee away were to distance yourself from him, but the only thought to leave him shook you. Every moment you assisted to the romantic gestures between him and Lilith served as a reminder of what you had lost. You longed to feel his embrace once more, but you knew it was futile, it was bound to failure. And so, you wondered hell to distract yourself from all of this, because you were the passenger, and you were destinated to do this.

Lucifer's pov

In the greatness of his throne room, Lucifer sat, but despite the illustriousness, his mind was hit by a storm of conflicting emotions, dark feelings of longing and guilt that threatened to ingulf him all. From the moment he saw y/n in heaven, he has been enamored by her ethereal beauty and radiant spirit. Unfortunately she didn't see the beauty he saw, oh how he wanted to change that. She captured his heart threatening him to keep it all to herself, not that he minded , she could keep all of him locked up from the glances of outsiders and he wouldn't dare to oppose. He would have confessed to her so many times, but the fear of rejection too high to ignore, so he let her slip from his grasp and he moved on to someone else, Lilith. He vowed her loyalty and devotion, she was his queen and even after this, he still loved her and his feelings for her could not be easily cast aside. But even after letting y/n go, he found himself haunted by her memory every day. Her image stayed in his mind, as a reminder of the love he could never possess. Each interaction with Lilith only made things worse, making him feel more and more guilty. He knew he should be content with what he had, to cherish the love he and Lilith had, and he did! He really did! But his heart was a stubborn one, and refused to let his emotions go. Deep down he wanted to confess his love to y/n and beg for her forgiveness, but it was trivial, as he was already bound to someone he also loved, and no amount of regret could break their bond. He remained on his throne, trapped between a love he could never have, and another love he could never betray.

Lilith's pov

In the dimly lit bedroom there she was. Lilith stood in front of the ornate mirror, her reflection showing the distorted rage and insecurities that plagued her soul. Her heart was heavy with the weight of doubt and resentment, a toxic spirit soon invading her surrounding. In the past she was ecstatic knowing that she could finally meet y/n, but from the moment she came, Lilith was plagued by her specter. She was like an haunting presence that lingered on her mind like a malevolent spirit. She wasn't stupid, she knew from the start the feelings they both had for eachother, and she still knows that, after all this time, they still longed for eachother, and it filled her with such a rage that it could consume her from within. For years she has been trying to hide her envy beneath a facade of sweetness and loving gestures, to convince herself that she was the only woman he could ever love and adore. But y/n's presence in both of their lives was like an illness, slowly infecting her from her insides, until she could no longer ignore the emptiness present in her heart. Each passing day served only to deepen the resentment and contempt toward her, as she watched from afar the glances she would give to him and the subtle touches his husband would give to y/n. She knew he would never abandon her, he had vowed that to her, she was smart enough to understand that he would never cheat on her, especially with someone so worthless as y/n. Lilith grew to be jealous of her though, jealous of her manners, of her appearance, her grace. She despised her entire existence, for she was a constant reminder of her own inadequacies. She tried to suppress her feelings, but every turn she would make only consumed her with jealousy and rage. She envied the hold y/n had on Lucifer's heart, a hold she once had and that it's getting weaker and weaker as the years pass. But beneath the layers of rage and hate, there were many insecurities, a fear that she could never measure up to y/n. She questioned her own worthiness as a queen multiple times, thinking on how y/n would be a better fit. Oh how stupid it was of her! Of course she was worth being the queen, of course she measured up to y/n! In fact, she could even deem herself superior to her in every way. It was impossible Lucifer would leave her for someone so worthless, nasty and weak as that. She created this empire along her love, a reign they would govern togheter forever. As he was eternally bound to her, as long as she was there with him. And so, Lilith stood there, before the mirror, her fist clenched, as tears of frustration welled in her eyes. She longed to confront y/n, to scream and lash out at her for the pain she had caused her, but she knew it would be all in vain, it would only serve to bring her and Lucifer farther apart.

In the large dining room of Lucifer's palace, the three of them sat in the long table, a tense silence ingulfing them all , while haunted in unbearable thoughts. It was the day when hell truly started to become prosperous many many years ago, and so they all decided to celebrate it togheter, trying to put their hollow feelings aside, but it all seemed futile, as the pressure still  lingered among them, getting heavier and heavier by the second. Lilith, her gaze cold and calculating, observed as his spouse and y/n exchanged furtive glances, a subtle tension enduring between them, like a volcano in the brink of eruption. As the servants served course after course, Lilith catched the opportunity to break the echoing silence that incessantly hung over the room: "Dearest"  she said, her voice slicing through the tension: "I must say, this feast is quite impressive. It seems our personnel have outdone themselves once again."  Lucifer nodded, shifting his attention to his beloved: "Indeed", he replied, his voice chirped with cheerfulness: "I am glad you approve, my love. I wanted tonight to be special, a celebration for how far we have come." 

You remained largely silent throughout the meal, your eyes fixated upon your plate, as you struggled to restrain the roiling emotions that  churned within your chest. You could feel the weight of Lilith's gaze upon you: "What about you, y/n?" She asked , turning her attention to you, with a predatory gleam in her eyes: "Are you enjoying the dinner?"  You shifted uncomfortably in your seat: "Yes, thank you" you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper: "the food is....delicious". Lilith's lips curved into a smirk as she watched your clear torment: "I'm glad to hear it" she replied, now her tone shifting to a more sarcastic one: "it would be a shame if you didn't enjoy the food on such a special day."

As the evening wore on the tension between the three only seemed to rise, a hollow and heavy energy present, that seemed to crash into each of them, but as the night progressed, the conversations turned to lighter topics, a layer of happiness seemed to wrap all around them, genuine happiness, and for a brief moment, they were able to put their feeling aside and found themselves joking as if they never existed. But underneath it all, they were still there, a looming presence guarding above them, because the anger of Lilith could never end, like the love y/n and Lucifer felt for eachother that they tried so much to deny.

[stusbunker]

Spotless: Dolce

Chapter Twenty One

Featuring: Dean Winchester/Reader, Dean/Bela

Word Count: 1787

Warnings, etc: Mutual pining, minor backstory, they're idiots your honor, unbeta'd

A/N: Thank you all for your patience. Apart from being sick, I second and third and quintuple guessed myself on this chapter and then thoroughly ignored the difficult parts and just let them have a conversation on their own. That's it, it's just a phone call. xoxo Stu

Forgive me @lastactiontricia <3

Series Masterlist

You stood in your kitchen staring at the food in the fridge. It wasn’t much, but you had options.You just hated them all at that moment. You closed the door and slogged over to the pantry. It was the Friday night after Dean’s birthday and you wanted nothing to do with your phone or work or anything social media related. 

So you had turned off your ringer and left it to charge. 

You grabbed a bag of microwave popcorn out of the box and ripped off the plastic wrap. It was a poor excuse for dinner, but it at least would tide you over while you decided what you actually wanted to eat. Then you poured yourself a glass of wine, a sweet white because you were not a snob about it. No matter how many trips to Napa people took you on, you really weren’t going to spend an arm and a leg on a bottle that you only half-heartedly appreciated.

Once it was ready, you took the puffed up bag of popcorn with you to the living room because what was the point of making another dish? And decidedly resorted to turning on the tv.

The thing about streaming shows is that even though your attention wavered, the consistency of the characters on the screen made you feel less alone. You got through six episodes before you realized you never made anything for dinner. And at that point, it was too late to start. You stomped around trying to remember where you left your phone only to find a missed call from Dean and a dozen random texts from other people.

You double checked you didn’t have any voicemails and scrolled down to order delivery. Once dinner was finally sorted, you poured yourself the last of the bottle of wine and called Dean back.

The phone rang in your ear as you sat in the corner of your couch, criss-cross applesauce while turning on the next episode on mute. He answered on the fourth ring.

“Trouble, hey!”

“You rang?” You took a sip. Wherever he was was loud, but you could hear him moving through the buzz of passing conversation and cutlery.

“Yeah, you got a minute?”

“The night is my oyster, what’s up?” You leaned forward and set your glass on the coffee table, stretching back and settling in for whatever fire you were going to have to put out next.

The sounds surrounding Dean ended abruptly and he exhaled. “Not much, just grabbing drinks with some people from the label with Bela. You know, schmoozing the uppity ups.”

“Oh— good luck with that.” You shifted onto one hip and hugged your knee. “Tell her she has to pick where we’re getting brunch because the place I wanted is closed for remodeling—- and that she’s paying.”

Dean huffed a laugh. “I’ll fucking cover it, okay? Anything else you need me to tell her? Cuz I could go back in there and just hand her the phone if you want—”

“Nope— no, sorry. It’s fine. You okay?” Something in his voice was setting off a proximity alarm in your head, not full blown panic mode, but enough to let you know something had appeared on the horizon. 

“Yeah, ‘m good. It’s just not my kind of thing—- Bela’s great at these things— I just stand there wishing I could be anywhere else.”

“I’m surprised you even showed up— especially with rehearsals starting Monday.” You grabbed your wine again, waiting Dean out.

“Gotta play nice— you said so,” Dean teased, you could hear the soft hum of his smugness before he shifted gears. “Listen— that whole thing with Cas and the birthday bus— and the whole day actually—”

“Are you really gonna start bitching about that now? Dean, it is so not the time— don’t you have someone’s ass to kiss?”

“What?! I’m not— would you let me finish?! Jesus. I was trying to thank you!--- Don’t know why, now, but yeah.”

You bit your lips and perked up, straightening your back and wagging your head a little back and forth. “Oh? By all means— continue.”

“Yeah, okay, smart ass.”

You cackled and let him stew a bit.

“It was seriously the best, okay? Like, top five of all time.” Dean switched ears and you tried not to squee with the idea of making him so happy he’d been thinking about it for days. That he had to call you to tell you— even as an excuse to escape a less than stellar social situation. Everything seemed to sparkle on your skin, but that could have been the Reisling. “And about dragging Cas out— that was an unexpected gift. So, yeah, thank you— for all your trouble.”

You groaned.

“Oh come on! That one wasn’t that bad.” Dean pretended to be affronted and you pretended to be annoyed.

“Sure.”

He sniggered. “It was good to see him. It’d been too damn long.”

“Seriously. We had lunch and just getting to hang out with him made everything better.”

“Yeah.” Dean was thinking and you let him.

The television was frozen on the prompt screen, judging you for still watching, but you ignored it. You finished your wine and looked at the last drops through the curved glass, distracted by the reflection of your empty living room.

“You think he’s doing alright? I mean— he’s got a freakin’ kid. That’s got to have been a total mindfuck— you know?”

Naturally, Dean was worried about how Cas was, not about harboring grudges or blaming him for the rift between them. At least not out loud.

“I cannot imagine— and luckily we don’t have to worry about anyone trying to pull that again.”

“Yeah, tell me about it. Fuckin’ Lisa, I almost forgot about that. That was like the first big thing you had to bury when you started.”

You sat up and climbed onto your knees, like getting taller would help make your point. “Oh, I know! God that was such an uphill battle, even when she pretended to play nice. I still get the heebie jeebies when I pass her yoga studio on the way to Charlie’s.”

Dean chuckled. “Man— the things we do for fame. We are paying you, right?”

“Last time I checked.”

“Okay, good, probably should be more though, especially with all the Bela stuff.”

“Dean— I make well over the industry standard percentage with you guys. Plus, you barely even charge me rent. I’m doing fine.”

“Whatever—- still, want you to know your hard work is appreciated.”

You settled back down and picked at the seam of your leggings. “That is the weirdest way you could have said thank you, I hope you know.”

“Fuck off— Thank you, okay? THANK YOU. Should I spell it out? Maybe say it in Spanish?”

“Claro.”

“Como se dice ‘bite me’, huh?”

“Muérdeme.”

“Uhhh—- yeah, not gonna try that one while I’m standing in an alley alone.”

You rolled your eyes. “You should probably go back inside. People are waiting on you.”

“They barely even looked up when I stepped away— Bela’d message me if it was a problem.”

“Deeeeeean.”

“Trouuubbbllllle,” the way his voice rumbled with your nickname made it hard to remember you were even wearing clothes.

You climbed off the couch and decided to put your glass in the dishwasher for something to do. He wasn’t going back into the restaurant, but he wasn’t exactly keeping you from anything either.

“Why’d you call if you were out anyway?”

“Heh— I called you to talk me into going through with it.”

Oops. “Well good job on getting there on your own.”

“I was already halfway to Bela’s anyway. Paps perked up real fast when we rolled up. Gonna have to switch out Baby for a rental one of these days. Don't like the way they hone in on her.”

You rolled your eyes. “Probably a good idea, especially if you need privacy.”

“Not really the point of this little arrangement is it?”

“Okay, but still, be safe.”

“With my car? Always.”

You smiled to yourself when there was a knock at your door.

“Somebody there?” You hadn’t realized he could hear it over the line.

“Just dinner.” You beelined through the living room, suddenly starving. You pinched your phone between your shoulder and your cheek as you unlocked the front door. 

“So, what? Just another night in for you? Lemme guess, messy bun and no bra, maybe some leggings?”

You made sure everything was in the bag where the driver left it and dragged it back to the kitchen for a plate. “Is this you asking me what I’m wearing?”

“Maybe.”

You stopped short, and had to lift the bag up onto the counter a second time to keep it from becoming one with the floor. “Ha, ha.”

“Come on, it’s not like I’m gonna do anything here. Just making conversation.”

You ground your teeth, anger spiking from this sudden turn into teasing. “Yeah, well, when it’s the closest thing to a come on I’ve had in months— it feels a little bit more than that.”

You feel the penny drop.

“Dry spell, huh? I was wondering about that.”

“Oh shut it. You’ve got a fairytale fake girlfriend and I’ve got a band to keep relevant, neither of us is really out there mingling.”

Dean cleared his throat. “You can take time off—- if you need, you know that right? Hell, find somebody’s discarded boyfriend backstage and burn off some steam or something. ‘S one of the perks of a tour.---- But take care of yourself first, alright?”

You look up at the ceiling at the rows of spotlights Dean installed, once upon a time, that framed the island and sighed. “I’m not discussing my sex life with you— like— ever again.”

“Come on, it’ll be fun. We’ll have a sleepover and braid Sam’s hair.”

You sputtered and then went back to dishing up your food.

“Muérdeme, Dean. Then we’d have to listen to all the kinky shit him and Madison are into, no thank you.”

“Touche.”

You heard Dean’s phone buzz with a notification. The metaphorical clock struck twelve.

“That’s Bela, isn’t it?”

“Yep. Okay, well, it’s been fun.”

You inhaled and sent him off, “go get ‘em, champ.” 

“Yeah, yeah. Thanks again for the birthday shenanigans. I’ll see you next week?”

“I’ll be at rehearsal, but I’ve got calls and stuff scheduled throughout the day.”

“Sounds good. Have a good one.”

“You too.”

Something lingered between you in the silence and before you could say something you’d regret, you finally ended the call. It almost felt like he was waiting you out, making sure not to be the one that hung up first.

Tagging:

@deans-spinster-witch

@mrswhozeewhatsis

@cosicas-cuquis

@fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like

@suckitands33

@ladysparkles78

@deans-baby-momma

@stoneyggirl2

@sassy-pelican

@leigh70

@globetrotter28

@winharry

@lastactiontricia

@rockhoochie

[a-libra-writes]

Can I request any lackadaisy characters of your choosing reacting to a male reader who is normally very apathetic laughing and smiling for the first time?

Sure! many characters here so I put a cut.

♣️Rocky - OH. Oh, wow, that's a great face. A great laugh, too. Wow. If you're reacting that way because of something he did, Rocky is just delighted and will absolutely do it again. This is filed away in his brain for eternity - on this day, at this time, he finally got you to crack. Even if it short-lived. No one believes him when he brags about his triumph.

♣️Freckle - The noise actually makes him startle; he never expected that out of you - not that it's unpleasant! Quite the opposite. It makes him smile too. He was always a bit nervous around you. Though, if you were laughing and smiling at something morbid, well ... maybe he's still nervous ...

♣️Ivy - "Wow! I didn't even know your face muscles worked that way!" She is also committing this historical event to memory, because she absolutely wants to see it again! If something she did or said is what amused you, she's definitely gonna try again later. She talks to all her friends and the other Lackadaisy staff about her accomplishment; they can scarcely believe her.

♣️Mitzi - "That's a sweet smile you have, dear," and she means it. Mitzi is glad to see that side of you, even moreso if she's the only person who got to witness it. If she's the reason you smiled, she gets a warm happy feeling and plots to try again some day.

♣️Viktor - The sudden noise surprises him. His tail puffs just slightly as he side-eyes you, then goes back to whatever he was working on. That was. ... strange. Like seeing a dog walk on its hind legs, or when Mordecai smiled for once - no. He'd rather not think of back then. He grunts and ignores you for a while.

♣️Zib - "Oh thank god, you're one of the living after all. Sometimes I forget." He talks shit, but your smile actually gave him butterflies. He just tugs his hat down and goes back to lounging, though he'll remember that sight for quite a while.

♣️Atlas - He glances at you for a moment, then goes back to whatever he was doing. That was certainly surprising. The others' reactions are quite amusing, too. If he didn't witness it, he may not believe it.

🏵️Serafine and Nico - Serafine grins and elbows her brother to make sure he noticed, which he very much did. If it was one of them who got that reaction out of you, they'll never let the other forget it. They both have something of a competition when it comes to getting reactions out of you; you're much more fun to tease than Mordecai. Well, you've given an inch, now they want to take a mile.

🏵️Mordecai - It surprises him, which it really shouldn't, because he's of a similar temperament. Mordecai is a little disconcerted, but ... well, your laugh is fairly pleasant and the smile does a good job of not looking unhinged. If you were laughing at something morbid or creepy, alas, that kind of ruins the appeal. wait wait why is he thinking about your appeal--

⛰️Wick - He almost drops whatever he was drinking, and blinks a few times before smiling and giving a little laugh himself. If he was the reason for that reaction, he's (very) proud and embarrassed. It was probably silly, whatever he said, but it's nice to see such a pleasant expression on your normally serious face. Truth be told, you kind of intimidate him.

⛰️Lacy - "Huh. I didn't think he had it in him," She says to her boss as you walk out. "A shame, he has a nice smile. .... Sir?" She snaps her fingers several times in front of Wick to get him back to reality.

[lynn-tged-posting]

tged webtoon ep 157 spoilers and thoughts but also a good amount of panel dissection that might be overanalyzed but i couldn't stop thinking about it so just let me yap okay it plagued me all weekend

.

.

.

.

.

.

i am so serious when i say this entire episode gave me like. so much worry and anxiety over the characters that i made myself upset thinking about it . the only thing saving me is everyone's fun expressions in this and specifically this panel of javier

HES SO SILLY CUTE PLAYING WITH THE SUMMONS THEYRE ADORABLE EEHEHEHEHE

anyway . to the brainrot

i think this panel of lloyd turning his back to javier, immediately after telling javier to go on break for a while, was the first little indicator of "oh no" for me

it really worried me that he said this, especially when they've been working together so much on their journey, so this was tiny little moment of "oh boy whats going on,,," for me,,, idk if anyone else felt the same but i had a feeling i would Not be ready for this ep. and i was right i was absolutely not ready

and then we hit the montage of javier going around the estate and observing how much the land has changed, and i really loved that!! it was really heartwarming seeing everyone, smiling and achieving dreams and stability in a way that the fronteras hadnt seen in a long time (hell i was convinced "oh everythings fine nvm" 😭)

some of my favorite panels in that sequence heehee bayern and his kids this was really really sweet WAAAHH

JAVIERS EXPRESSION HERE WAS SUPER FUNNY TOO absolutely gonna use this as a reaction image

ALSO THIS STATUE OF LLOYD ADHAHAHAHAHDFAHA IM PRETTY SURE IT IS RELATED TO IF NOT THE SAME AS THE STATUE IN CPSM they do have different poses so it mightve had to be rebuilt or something but either way . lloyd statue where he's near naked for some reason in the middle of frontera estate. a wonderful center piece good work team

AND MY BABY BOY SOLITAS he finally managed to create something im so proud of him GOOD JOB BUD!! THE CARVING IS BEAUTIFUL!!!

it just hit me as im typing this that they also say "[project name] complete" not sure if this is a translation thing or if it's something they picked up from lloyd saying "construction complete" but if its the latter thatd be REALLY CUTE

also that panel of tordes by the mines he looks genuinely . satisfied and happy?? the guy punished to work for the fronteras for over 100 years is having a great time LMAO

AND THIS PANEL OF JAVIER

THIS MADE ME SMILE SO WIDE

it's really really pretty, and javier can see that. he can see that the estate has grown and changed into a strong and capable place, and he echoed this in the last chapter but it's really worth celebrating this. so many accomplishments, in so little time, with so much efficiency. frontera estate has been raised from the ground up and seeing it all accumulated was so so beautiful,,,

so seeing this panel absolutely devastated me

the contrast is STRIKING. all of the brightness and light and warmth of the street javier is in is only seen in partial rays streaking in. lloyd is alone, surrounded by books and in a darker corner of the panel. isolated, facial features unreadable and working by himself,,, refusing to see or ignoring all of the accomplishments behind him.

it's like he's falling back into old habits. that workaholism that kept him alive when he was only kim suho in korea. in order to survive, to keep up, to stay afloat, to stay ALIVE, you must keep working. go to the next project, the next problem, the next assignment, and everything will be fine. only then will freedom be yours to have. only then will you be free of this responsibility you bear for those you love.

but he really doesn't need to do that anymore! he has a whole estate of people who will follow him to the ends of the earth, because he's proven himself to be capable of protecting them. he has parents who love him, despite his changes, despite his past, who have grown to believe in him.

he has his beloved knight, who is waiting for him to call for aid. who only needs a glance or a word to lend a hand. who is waiting for him to come outside and just SEE all that he's done. to celebrate, to have peace. to enjoy home. to simply be at home, together.

"when will you be able to come here...?"

javier, protagonist that he is, sees all this light around, and it's peeking into this library that lloyd is in, wondering where the engineer is, but his nose is to a book. because he is working. and that's,,, scary to see. there's a level of distance already taking shape because of old habits, and i don't know if either of them realize it

and like you look at the panel javier is in one more time and you can see, there's kids playing as javier and lloyd! they even have matching hair, and the dog is colored exactly like ppodong. super cute! but it worries me that they're on opposite sides of javier.

said this earlier; this is probably an overanalysis and this probably means nothing. it really is a cute lil cameo of some kids in town! but the fact that they are split like this is eating at me. ppodong-dog is on javier-kid's side, when ppodong is lloyd's summon? and again, they're on opposite sides of javier, will they join back together and keep playing? lloyd-kid is ahead of javier-kid, will he run on ahead without looking back? it's so cute and yet it's making me anxious!!! am i overthinking???

anyway, this split and the two panels contrasting each other like this filled me with so much nervousness that i had to close my eyes and just breathe for a little bit

then we see arcos and marbella talking about lloyd and it's clear they're worried about him, still unsure of where these changes in behavior came from and yet accepting it nonetheless because god dammit theyre good kind people

and when we see lloyd he looks,,,

tired, and disheveled, and still only thinking about working on the next thing. he keeps going on too, like there's nothing currently wrong with this; he's probably used to it, handling everything without a moments rest. the count and countess even mention it at the end of the episode

and when he treats the formal frontera attire lightly and scurries off again, it's like a final nail in this sinking coffin. honestly, i think early lloyd probably would have said similar things to try and skirt the count's attention, but this scene in combination with lloyd being depicted as separated from lloyd, appearing exhausted from continuous work, as well as the following panels of lloyd leaving,,, it fills me with anxiety and dread.

face shrouded in the darkness of the hall, so his features are unrecognizable, just like the library panel. who is that? is it suho or is it lloyd speaking right now? where are you going, into that darkness by yourself, shying away from the light you've brought to this estate? you don't have to do this alone.

and this long, looming distance stretching between him and arcos and marbella. stretching further as lloyd marches onward and alone, working by himself, away from the moments of peace and celebration that his family and his estate bring. into the dark. it's a little haunting to me.

these panels did a really, REALLY good job at solidifying this growing degree of isolation that lloyd is putting himself into, intentionally or not (for lloyd and for the artist lol). he's getting out of reach in his desire to protect everyone, to complete this responsibility he gave himself for the estate.

it's almost,,, backwards? in a way? in the early webtoon, there's a panel where suho is shown trying to reach for a light in the darkness. he believed that if he kept working towards that light, he'll find a way out of this hell he's found himself in, and so everything would be fine. here and now, it could be that he still thinks that this is the case, when it's in fact the opposite. he's brought this light to the estate, but he's putting himself in the dark (and alone, at that) in an effort to reach for the "next light". i don't think he realizes it. this makes me really, really sad. jesus christ well done artist/adaptor

what is it all for if you won't even rest? if you won't turn around and look at all these people who need you around? and not need you as in doing work for them, but need you as in wanting to be with you, and cherishing you, and spending time with you, and simply loving you. yes, time is short and yes, fate is looming, but all this effort to fight those things is still making him lose this connection he has with the estate. he doesn't have to do this alone,,, he doesn't have work endlessly. take a BREAK LLOYD

and by the end of the episode it's to the point that arcos and marbella have realized that that's not lloyd frontera. that's someone else. and gods their faces are DEVASTATING

eyes shadowed, irises blank and lost. they're not frowning deeply, but i can feel the upset layered in. is it disappointment or is it grief? i can't really say for sure, but man,,, man.

anyway yeah i hope u guys understand why this episode gave me anxiety LMFAO

i am so so so sorry for the overthinking/overdissection in this post but my brain started connecting things . whether or not they make sense or if it's just being nitpicky is impossible for me to see so. yeah take this however u will

i actually also briefly saw someone on twitter say that this wasn't in the novel? which is interesting and also a little scary i hope lloyd will turn out alright AHHH

i really hope next episode everyone will be alright ,,, please i cant take this much emotional twisting and turning im gonna lose my mind

see y'all next week or in the next shitpost,,, whichever comes first

[freesia-writes]

First time making a request, I'm nervous lol

I would love something kinda awkward but sweet with my main Man Howzer.

Either the "being too awkward to know what to do with the hands" and/ or the panic while figuring out if they are actually leaning in for a kiss

The awkward one being reader, GN as well if possible 🫶🏼

Feel free to ignore if the request post was old and my ask is out of place 😱

Have a great rest of the weekend 🫶🏼

Helloooooo my friend! What a joy and honor to be your first request. Thank you SO MUCH for your patience. Writing has been so hard for me lately; trying to have a steady stream of thought feels like wading through mud. But I've missed it and have felt more inspired to give it a try, so I hope my clunky effort is somewhat heartwarming and enjoyable! :)

Howzer x GN!Reader Word Count: 1.8k

You’d rolled your eyes when your Galactic Political Science class had assigned you to an externship on the planet Ryloth, having only heard of its dusty plains and occasionally volatile population. But now, eight months later, you wouldn’t have it any other way. Your job shadows of various political aides and diplomatic entourages had led you right into the vicinity of the man of your dreams. He was a clone, which some of your Coruscant classmates teased you about, but you couldn’t care less what they thought, uppity and narrow-minded as they were. 

Captain Howzer had caught your eye in one of the first meetings held on the planet, and your jaw had nearly dropped open at the sight of him. Immediately overthinking it, you wondered if you were so shallow that something so simple as a haircut could really make that much of a difference. But in hindsight, you were convinced that you were instead just an excellent judge of character, as your time working in close proximity to him had revealed a depth and integrity that left you in awe. He was level-headed and clever, and often came up with solutions to issues or conflicts that were impressively insightful. 

He was also kind of a dork. 

You’d never have believed it, but the more time you spent together, the more you caught the cheesy little jokes he’d make or the awkward comments that would slip by. As if he couldn’t be any cuter, his self-effacing humor and easygoing approach to life were just cherries on top.

So when it came time for your externship to come to an end, you were not in any hurry to leave. You’d enjoyed a number of mildly flirtatious moments with Howzer amid a great many conversations and encounters within your line of work, and yet you still felt as though he had enough depth to keep you pursuing him for decades. But you didn’t have many options: your program needed to be finished and it required your presence on Coruscant. To drop out now would be to lose everything you’d worked toward… not to mention your parents would never forgive you. 

You weren’t sure what to do, but you knew you had to do something. 

Your chance came not too long after, as the Ryloth session came to a close with a “Review Ceremony”, complete with awards and rife with lessons on political butt-kissing and how to appear in public to best sway opinion in your direction. You couldn’t have felt more uncomfortable if you tried. It was a black tie event, with all of the leaders in the sector attending, as well as aides, classmates, and local law enforcement. You chafed in your outfit, trying to walk as smoothly as possible through the doors, which opened into a massive chamber so tall you couldn’t see where it ended. 

Graceful vines and floating luminaries wove an intricate pattern above the guests, casting a warm glow across the proceedings. The hubbub of conversation was punctuated by the tinkling of expensive crystal and effervescent laughter as the influencers of the sector rubbed elbows and congratulated each other on everything and nothing. You were at the edge of a group of some of your peers, nodding and smiling at what you hoped were the appropriate places, but you weren’t really paying attention. 

If this externship had taught you anything, it was that you didn’t really have any interest whatsoever in this side of politics, and you were instead trying to look around the cavernous room for any sight of Howzer. You were scheduled to leave in the morning and still hadn’t found a time or way to confess any feelings. Even if you had found the right moment, you were still going back and forth endlessly about doing it at all. You were leaving, so what was the point? It’s not like he could leave his post and come with you…

“Excuse me,” a voice broke through your reverie, a voice you’d recognize anywhere… You turned far too quickly to “keep your cool”, heart skipping a beat when you saw Howzer in his standard armor. He tilted his head and you could almost see his expression through his helmet as he continued, “There seems to be an issue with your luggage. Would you please follow me?” 

You’d packed all your things that day, scheduled to ship out bright and early with the first transport. At first, you frowned, feeling that familiar anxiety in the pit of your stomach as you considered any and every possibility of what could have gone wrong. But when you noticed his broad shoulders ahead of you headed out onto the balcony, you were thoroughly confused. 

“Howzer, where’s–” you began, but he turned around so quickly you almost ran into him, hands a hair’s length away from his chest plate. 

“Sorry,” he answered, a crooked grin on his beautiful face as he pulled off his helmet. “You looked as miserable as I felt in there, so I thought we could get some air. Plus, there’s something kinda neat out here tonight…” He looked almost sheepish, sending a thrill from your head to your toes. You opened your mouth to ask about it but couldn’t get a word out when he suddenly took your hand in his. You could barely feel the warmth through his glove, but the thrill it sent through you felt like an electric charge. 

He pulled you gently toward the edge of the balcony, where a thick railing curved in a graceful half-circle that allowed for a beautiful view of the evening horizon. The dark Ryloth sky was peppered with distant stars and nearby planets, as well as the occasional ship coming or going. As the two of you came to a halt against the railing, he released your hand, leaving a cold emptiness where it had been, and pointed at a cluster of glimmering lights in the sky. 

“If you watch there for the next twenty minutes, there’s a meteor shower expected to start…”

“Twenty minutes!” you laughed.

“I mean…” he began, faltering with a chuckle, “I guess that is a bit of a long time…” 

“We’ll have to find some way to keep ourselves occupied for all that time I guess,” you said, choking on your own words as they came out sounding far more suggestive than you’d anticipated. “I mean… I’d like to see it, and… Well I don’t know when the ceremony will be starting… But I also don’t really care…. I mean, not like I’m going to win any awards, but…” Your brain yelled at you to stop talking, because every word felt as though it were making it worse. 

But Howzer seemed unfazed, his steady presence brightened by the sparkle in his eye as he shook his head. “And just why wouldn’t you win an award?” was his only response, leaning over the railing to gaze out across the expanse, keeping his words light but still casting a sideways glance at you that gave you the tingles.

“They’re not given based on merit…” you began, cynicism rising to the surface in the wake of your stressful end-of-internship duties. His gaze danced in the moonlight, flickers of amusement battling an undercurrent of something deeper, something warmer. It felt like forever until his soft voice broke the spell.

"Well, I don’t know if they told you, but you were the first place finalist for the Howzer trophy," he countered, his grin widening as he turned fully to face you. 

You laughed out loud now, clapping a hand to your forehead. “Oh?” you asked curiously, hoping beyond hope that it meant what you thought. The awkwardness that had been simmering between you seemed to dissolve, replaced by a charged stillness. 

The silence stretched, punctuated only by the distant thrum of the city and the faint murmur of voices from within the chamber behind. Your hands, previously clutched together in nervous anticipation, twitched instinctively. One of them, as if possessed by its own will, drifted up, hovering near his armor plate for a second before returning to the railing.

Howzer's breath hitched, and his eyes flickered down to your hand, then back up to your eyes. His grin, which had been playful moments ago, softened into something sweeter, something tinged with a hint of vulnerability that mirrored your own. He leaned in, slowly, his face a mere whisper away from yours. 

“Yeah. I think you’re great,” he said softly.

Now your own breath caught in your throat, your mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Should you pull away? Lean in? Speak, even though the right words seemed impossible in the face of this sudden, electrifying intimacy? The decision was almost out of your hands as his face drew closer still. His lips, slightly parted, hovered just a hair's breadth from yours. Was he leaning in for a kiss? Or was he teasing, enjoying the delicious torture of unspoken promises? That didn’t seem like him, but why was he taking so long? 

“Howzer, I… um…” you began, kicking yourself immediately for speaking in a moment such as this. Should you cup his face? Playfully brush a strand of hair from his forehead? Interlace your fingers with his? Your palms felt slick with nervous sweat, your fingers twitching with the urge to do something, anything, but they remained awkwardly suspended in the space between you.

His eyes seemed to twinkle with unspoken laughter, as if he could see the frantic dance of indecision playing out behind your eyes. But then, a flicker of something softer, something genuine, replaced the teasing glint. His gaze held yours, steady and intense, a silent plea for permission and eager hope. And in that moment, you knew. This wasn't about playful banter or coy games. 

With a sharp inhale, you closed the distance, your own lips meeting his in a hesitant, unsure kiss. Your hands, finally finding their purpose, landed clumsily on his chest for a moment, then tentatively cupped his face. His own hands, just as unsure, found their way to your waist, pulling you closer, grounding you in the reality of his closeness. When you finally pulled away, breathless and dizzying, your eyes met his, and the awkwardness was gone, replaced by a quiet joy. The two of you stared at each other for a moment, relishing in the waves of bliss that were washing over you repeatedly. 

"So," Howzer said, his voice rough with emotion, a playful glint still lingering in his eyes. "Still about seventeen minutes til that meteor shower eh?”

You laughed, absolutely quavering with emotion and excitement. “What to do…” you murmured, voice shaky and heart bursting at the seams. 

“I can think of a few things,” he murmured, stroking the side of your cheek with the back of his hand.

Tag List: @littlefeatherr @arctrooper69 @foreverdaydreaming1 @stunkbiggu @mxkyrie @littlemissbshine @dreamie411 @skellymom @followthepurrgil @the-hexfiles @1vlouds @ughhhhfoff @coraex @gt13tbbart @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @ghostperson69 @secondaryrealm @hellhound5925 @thew0nderer2342 @cloneloverrrrr @kashasenpai @clonethirstingisreal @girl_scout_reject @dukeoftheblackstar @kimiheartblade @mooncommlink @stardusthuntress @starstofillmydream @eyecandyeoz @dhawerdaverd @ladylucksrogue @thiswitchloves9904 @isthereanechoinhere96 @tech-aficionado @foodmoneyandcats @eternal-transcience @cw80831 @adh-d2 @techmexicanvieja @ezras-left-thumb @trixie2023 @sleepycreativewriter @nonsenseandm3mes

Click here to join or leave the tag list. <3

[blue-slxt]

Tame Me

🔞Minors, Do Not Interact🔞

A/N: This is Part 1 of my first ever series. I think it came out pretty well so I'm hoping that you all like it too. I'll post an update for when Part 2 is ready to be posted. All characters are aged up.

Next Part

Pairing: Neteyam x Fem!Omatikaya!Reader

Warnings: Dom!Neteyam, Spitting, Slapping, Spanking, Praise Kink, Masturbation (m and f), Bondage, I think that's all for this part

Word Count: 3.6k

Summary: Even though many men in the clan want you, you don't believe any of them has what it takes to break you. So Neteyam takes on your challenge.

You come home to find an arrangement of flowers on your sleep mat and rolled your eyes at the sight immediately knowing who they were from. Neteyam had been dropping in courting gifts for a while now. Flowers, woven accessories, beads, food, you name it. You had no idea why out of all the na’vi he could have, he chose you. There was practically a line of girls pining for just a sliver of his attention. The best dancers, singers, braiders, etc. You were a great fighter, but men did not usually look for warrior skills in a mate. Why Neteyam of all people would choose you made no sense. Most men in the village considered you too wild. And you didn’t mind this. You were content with not having a mate yet. As far as you were concerned, there wasn’t a man among them that you felt could handle you.

Brushing your messy locs out of your face with your hand, you take a deep breath. The gestures in and of themselves were sweet, but they were not your type of thing. Nevertheless, you place the arrangement of flowers over to the side with the other gifts and you decide to go for a stroll through the forest.

There was one spot that you would often visit when you needed time away from everyone and everything. There was a small clearing in a patch of tall grass. It was essentially deserted, and it gave you a private place to be alone with your thoughts.

You sit in the clearing with your knife and a branch that you start to sharpen into a spear. Carving always helped you think. Sitting there lost in your thoughts, you almost miss the sound of rustling in the grass. Jumping up to your feet, you turn towards the sound with your knife in hand, ready to attack if you need to.

“Woah, woah, no need to be so hostile. It is only me.” Neteyam said stepping out of the grass and into the clearing with you.

You relax your stance and drop your weapon and go back to carving your spear taking a deep breath to mentally prepare for this conversation. “Why are you here?”

“I wanted to come talk with you.” He comes closer and takes a seat next to you. “I want to know what is it that you like? You ignore my advances and my gifts. You don’t even so much as look at any man. What is it that will finally grab your attention?”

You can hear the agitation in his voice despite his best efforts to hold it together and come off as sweet.

You raise your eyebrows while you think about his question. You never take your eyes off your spear, though. “I want a man who is my equal. I need someone that can handle me; challenge me. And I don’t think that’s you. Or any man around here for that matter.”

Neteyam chews on your answer for a moment. “If that is it, then I can do that.” You scoff, his confidence is almost comical to you right now. Neteyam was one of the best warriors of the clan and you respected him in that capacity. But to think that he would be the one to try and break you? That was something you had to see.

“I’d like to see you try.”

Neteyam shoots you a smirk that you catch out of the corner of your eye before he stands and takes his leave.

Well, this should be good.

…

It’s been about 2 weeks now since you and Neteyam had your talk in the forest. Since then, there have been no more courting gifts and Neteyam barely even acknowledges you anymore. Otherwise, he seems to still be acting normally with everybody else. Why is he suddenly leaving you alone? But this is what you wanted, right? But something about it all felt off.

You found yourself going back to the clearing again to think. You had several branches with you to carve since you could feel that you were going to be there for a while. You hear a familiar rustling in the grass again and you know that it’s him. You don’t even bother to ready yourself this time, you just stand up and face the direction of the sound waiting for him to appear. “I know that it is you Net—” you were cut off by a powerful force tackling you down to the ground. In an instant you were on your back and Neteyam was on top of you holding your wrists on the ground next to your head. His breathing was heavy and his eyes were scanning your face.

The surprise attack definitely caught you off guard, but it didn’t take you long to flip into fight mode. “Get off.” You demand him. He only tightens his grip on your wrists. Seeing that you’ll have to fight your way out of this situation, you swing your legs up to wrap around his waist and pull him off you. You follow the direction of his body and sit on top of him gaining the upper hand. Holding your knife close by his throat you whisper in his ear, “Good try.”

It doesn’t take long, though, before he rolls himself over and you’re sent crashing to the ground again. This time when he is on top of you, both of his knees are pinning your arms down and his hand is gripping your jaw forcing you to look at him. Your knife fell out of your reach. Now you’re out of breath and in a position that you can’t break out of. You squirm and try to battle out of your current position, but to no avail.

You hiss at him in frustration and he hisses at you right back inches from your face. His eyes are dark and focused. He’s never been like this and you had never felt so helpless. Your face starts to heat up and you clench your jaw. “What do you want?”

“It seems you need somebody to knock you down a peg.”

“And you think it’s gonna be you? Nice try, pretty boy, but I don’t think so. Now, get the fuck off.” You struggle under his grip. His free hand takes ahold of the base of your queue to hold your head still. His grip on your queue lights a fire in your chest and makes you feel a throbbing between your legs.

“First, we need to do something about that smart ass mouth of yours.” He says eyes fixed on your lips.

His thumb makes its way between your lips and in your mouth. He says only one word “Suck.”

You weren’t ready to just let him have his way just yet. In response, you bite his finger which he quickly pulls back from. You grin up at him feeling triumphant until you see him raise his hand.

His hand makes contact with your cheek with one swift slap. It wasn’t hard enough to do any real damage, but it stung all the same. You lay there wide-eyed and slack-jawed. You couldn’t believe that the ever patient and gentle Neteyam would actually strike you. While the feeling in your cheek had a twinge of pain, it also kind of turned you on.

He places his thumb back into your mouth and repeats, “Suck.”

This time, you do as you’re told and close your lips around his thumb sucking and licking.

“Good girl. So you can listen.” He moves his thumb in and out of your lips slowly watching it glisten from your saliva.

He keeps his eyes on you watching your every move. You’ve never felt this sensation that was building in your stomach before. No one has ever had you in this position. None of them had the guts, but Neteyam was here right in front of you, making it happen. And that was pretty hot.

Neteyam pulls his thumb out of your mouth. He uses the hand gripping your queue and pulls on it to lift your head back. Now you were full on blushing and you hated it. It was one of the deepest embarrassments you’ve ever felt, but you’ve never been as hot and bothered as you were right now.

“Open your mouth. Tongue out.” It was like your body no longer listened to you. Even though your brain was screaming ‘no way’, your mouth opened up and your tongue stayed out.

You watched in near horror as a long line of spit fell from his mouth and into yours.

“Now swallow.” You were in no position to defy him even if you wanted to. So you swallow.

Neteyam leans down with the most sly smile you’ve ever seen and he growls at you, “You will be mine. That is not a question. Understand?” He was mere inches away from your face and you just stared at him for a moment hoping you could just say nothing and he would leave it be. You had no such luck, though. He pulled harder on your queue and you nod your head waiting for him to release you. He lets you go and climbs off you. He walks away and you continue to lie there for what feels like hours trying to process what the hell just happened.

You returned to your hut carrying the assortment of spears that you carved today. You notice a single flower sitting on your sleep mat. Instead of rolling your eyes at the gift, this time, you sit and smell it. You admire its petals and drown yourself in its scent.

…

The next time Neteyam sees you, you are collecting fruit for the upcoming ceremony for the clan. In just a few weeks’ time, the day will come for the young men in the clan to take their place among the people and take a mate. You actually don’t look so on edge today like you usually do. You actually look approachable. And your usually messy locs were out of your face, showing off your soft features. Someone calls your name in the distance and you turn to find the source of the call. And that’s when he sees it. The flower. You’re wearing the flower in your hair.

He smiles to himself and continues on his way.

…

You found yourself taking notice of Neteyam more often in recent days. You would search for his face in a crowd. Would go to the clearing in the tall grass more often. Tried to tell yourself that it was just to clear your head which was full of millions of thoughts. But in truth, you were hoping for another encounter with Neteyam. At times, you would catch him going about his day and he would shoot you a smile and you would have to look at the ground to avoid him seeing your flushed face.

This was so unlike you. You have never been the type to actually hope for attention from anyone. What the hell had he done to you? It was like some sort of dark spell had been cast over you. This cat and mouse game continued on for yet another 2 weeks and it was driving you crazy.

 You stand in your hut completely bare. Food had spilled onto your clothes and you had to strip them off to change. In the midst of searching for new garments to put on, you hear the flap to your home flip open. You instinctively grab the sheet from your sleep mat to cover yourself. And of course, standing in the entrance is none other than Neteyam.

You clench the sheet around your body a little tighter and your heart starts to beat a little bit faster. “Can’t you see I am in the middle of something?”

He stands there unphased by your words or attempt at modesty and he stalks over towards you. “Come now, there is no need to cover a body that will be mine.” The words drip from his lips as if it’s already determined.

You scoff at his words, “Neteyam, get out.” He comes closer and you try to step back, but your back is already against the wall. He uses one finger to tug on the sheet while eyeing your hidden figure. “Let me see.”

Now, you’re positive he has lost his mind. He couldn’t be serious. “No.”

His eyes turn dark and he narrows his gaze at you. He uses one hand to grab you by the throat and lift you against the wall. He didn’t lift you high enough to strangle you, but it was high enough that you were on your toes trying to take some pressure off. He came so close to your face that the tip of his nose lightly kissed yours when he spoke.

“That’s not a fucking option. You do not tell me ‘no’. Your body belongs to me.”

You mindlessly lick your lips feeling that familiar warmth in your chest and throbbing between your legs. The pressure on your neck was increasing by the second, but his grip didn’t let up. “Now, drop the sheet.” He demands.

Your hands fall to your side and the sheet drops to the floor beneath you. His greedy eyes race up and down your body. The fullness of your chest, your nipples sticking straight out, your broad hips, plush thighs, and dripping pussy. It was enough to make him let out a deep, lusty growl.

“Now, here’s how this is going to work” he cautiously removes his hand from your throat. “The better you listen, the more likely you are to get a reward.”

You had to admit to even yourself, you were curious about what this reward would be. Regardless, you were not going to submit so easily. You hiss at him, a warning, but also a challenge. A dark grin plays across his face. “Such a nasty attitude. Let’s fix that.”

He grabs your wrists with one of his hands and you struggle against his grip. You pull, but he yanks your hands above your head. He grabs a piece of rope that was hung on your wall and uses it to tie your hands together.

When he’s made sure that you’re secured, he throws you over his shoulder. You beat on his back and thrash as much as you can, but he still holds you in place. He walks with you over to your mat and he lays you on your stomach across his lap. “Now, I would like an apology.”

You scoff and roll your eyes, “As if.”

Next thing you know, a sharp sting fills your body. Did he just spank you? You turn your head to look behind you and see his hand raised and at the ready in the air. “What the hell Nete—” you were cut off by another smack.

“That’s not what I asked for.”

“Wait until I get out of this, I am gonna—”

Another smack. He was relentlessly striking you in the exact same spot each time. Your skin felt hot from his repeated blows. Tears start to sting the corners of your eyes from the pain, but you can also feel your juices running down the insides of your thighs.

He hits you again and you muffle your whimpers in your forearms.

“What was that? You’ll have to speak up.”

He spanks you one more time and the feeling finally becomes more than you can bear. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry Neteyam! Please!” you finally yell out feeling your pride crumble under his touch.

He touches you again, but instead of smacking you, he gently smooths his hand over the previously abused skin. “Good girl.”

‘Good girl.’ The name rings through your head.

He lifts you off his lap and sits you upright in front of him. He still leaves your hands tied together, though. His eyes trail over you for a minute and you can feel your stomach flipping under his watchful eye. You can’t figure out why this time feels so different. You were used to men eyeing you. Lustful gazes that longed to devour your form. But this, was nothing like that. Neteyam’s eyes were usually so soft and full of light. But right now, the man standing in front you, you hardly recognize him. He has the eyes of a wild beast. A predator ready to pounce on his prey. And you felt just as vulnerable. You ball your body up as much as you can wanting to hide from his line of sight.

His eyes fall on your legs, “open them”. You hesitated, but you didn’t want to test his patience and risk being spanked again. You let your knees fall to the side and the cool night air brushing against your heat made you shiver.

“Fuck” you hear him mumble under his breath.

No one else has ever seen you in such a way. Your face burns with embarrassment but also desire.

Neteyam grabs your bound hands and brings them down between your legs, “spread it open.”

Your head feels like it’s spinning at the scene unfolding in front of you. It feels like you’re not in control of yourself anymore. Two of your fingers spread open your lips revealing the pink of your core.

Neteyam backs up admiring you and the position he has you in. He licks his lips as he undoes the tie on his loincloth. His dick springs to life finally being released from its confinement. Your eyes go wide at the sight of it. Who would’ve known that the future Olo’eyktan was packing so much. He’s not lacking in length or girth. It’s enough to make you quicken your breathing. The tip was already dripping precum and now it was your turn to lick your lips. You suddenly couldn’t stop imagining the feeling of it stretching your mouth. What he must taste like.

He slowly starts to stroke himself never tearing his eyes away from you and your aching hole that clenched begging to be filled. He hovers on top of you still pumping his fist up and down his shaft. His tip is only centimeters away from your pussy, but the lack of friction, was torturous. It burned deep inside of you until you couldn’t stand it anymore and let your fingers go to work moving in and out of you.

Neteyam glances down at your fingers, and shoots you a smug smirk, “you must really want that reward, huh yawne?”

‘Yawne.’ Another name to shake you to your core.

His face is nestled in your neck and you can feel his heavy breathing. Every hair on your body is standing on end.

The only sounds in the air are pants and moans from both of you. You can feel the pressure building in your body wanting release. “F-fuck, I’m gonna cum!”

Neteyam pulls his face back to watch yours. His free hand runs his fingers thru your hair, brushing stray locs out of your face. “You’re doing such a good job ma yawntutsyip. Let me see you cum for me, sevin.” His fingers thread their way to the root of your hair and he grips it firmly.

All of the stimuli is too much. Your orgasm washes over you and it’s overwhelming. Your fingers stretching your pussy as best they can, the grip he has on your hair, and all his words of praise, it’s enough to drive you mad. As your body shakes and trembles, your eyes roll to the back of your head and you feel as if you just might lose yourself. You squirt all over Neteyam’s lower body and he growls in your ear.

“Such a good fucking girl. I guess you’ve earned your reward.” There’s a sharp sting on your shoulder and you wince. You look down to see Neteyam sinking his teeth into your skin. He was officially marking you. The logical part of your mind wants to push him off. But you’re so lost to your hormones that you can’t find any strength to move him. Instead, you angle your head over so that he has even easier access to you. You revel in the feeling and it damn near rips another orgasm from your body.

Neteyam approaches his own orgasm and releases his bite on your shoulder. He leans back still stroking himself until he cums right on top of your pussy. He pants trying to catch his breath and takes in the sight of his seed dripping down between your soaked folds.

You let your head fall back also trying to steady your breathing. You sit up and gather your thoughts. Once you feel like you have your wits about you again, you shoot Neteyam a dirty glare. He tsks and holds your chin with his fingers, “Now, don’t be like that.” He lifts your face up and to the side to admire his handywork on your shoulder. He smiles proudly to himself. “Now everybody will know who you belong to.”

You clench your jaw feeling humiliated knowing that you’ll have no way of covering the mark he left on you and you were now covered in his scent. “Just untie me already.”

“Whatever you want, yawne.”

He uses his knife to cut your binds and you rub your wrists finally feeling relief. You watch him pull his loincloth back on.

“Well, I should be going. Sleep well, sevin.” He grins at you before turning to exit your home.

You sit dumbfounded. What in the world was happening? No man has ever dared to even try treating you this way. Most were too afraid to even think of it. But Neteyam was bold enough to attempt it. And the worst part of it all….it was starting to work.

[brooooswriting]

Writer's block :( Noooo

I hope following prompts help

" why wouldn't i save you? "

“ why is it so difficult for you to believe that you deserve to be protected? “

" i'm on my way. "

" get out of here! now! "

" it's all over now. don't panic. it's not my blood. "

with Tara (I don't quite remember if you write for her if you don't pick another <Jenna's preferably>character idm ;))

Now you don't have to use them all I just put them there so you can have options. Use as many as you want

I hope writers block goes away :)

And don't push yourself <3

Protective

Jenna Ortega x reader

Slight Scream 6 spoilers

A/N: I feel like this is a mess but have fun reading it Ig🫡

‘How the fuck did I get into this?’ Was a common question in your head at the moment as you were being chased by some psychopath with ghost face mask.

You were friends with Anika, have been for a while, and at the same time you were her tutor. You were two semesters above her and started tutoring to earn money, the girl who has seen you around every now and then was your third student. Somehow, along the line you guessed, it became some kind of friendship, which then pulled you into her friend group. Often you’d sit in her dorm and explain stuff when the whole group let themselves inside, talking loudly while you tried to keep her focused.

And while Anika was focused on anything but you, a certain brunette was focused on nothing but you. She stared at you the whole time, every time but when you tried to talk to her she acted cold. It was confusing and it makes the situation you were in right now even more confusing.

But, at some point you finally got her to talk to you, and she even asked you for help for her math class. It went great, she was extremely nice and friendly and you started to fall for the girl. It felt like she also fell for you as she’d always be with you. People barely saw you alone anymore, if one of you came it was pretty sure that the other one was gonna be there too. You often slept over as you fell asleep cuddling. It was perfect and you were staring to build up the confidence to ask her if she wanted to make whatever you guys had official.

Until she suddenly pulled away, Sam did too. Chad and Mindy were quieter and the only one who was still normal was Anika. You wrecked your brain, trying to figure out what you did, if you hurt Tara in any way or said something wrong, but nothing came to mind. Tara hadn’t talked to you in over 6 days, she ignored your messages and calls and changed her path when she saw you. Anika knew the reason but she didn’t tell you as she said that it was something the girl had to tell you herself.

It was during one of your tutoring sessions when you got a text from Tara asking you to come to their apartment but you agreed nonetheless, saying that you’d arrive in around an hour and a half. After the session you went and changed into some sweatpants before making your way towards the carpenters apartment, sending a quick ‘i’m on my way’ text. You were looking around the city, enjoying the quietness, well as quiet as New York could be, until you suddenly heard something shatter which caused you to flinch. You kept walking towards the sound, discovering that it came from a small store, another sound emerging from the store. A gun shot and a scream, the voice so sweet it could only be from one person, Tara.

You ran towards the store to see some dressed up fucker with a gun, you couldn’t see the brunette but decided that you’d have to act nonetheless. Quickly hiding behind the wall, you started to think of a plan, you knew the gun as it was the same one your grandfather had for when he went hunting, you knew that it was able to fit 7 bullets before you had to reload (I don’t know shit about guns, sorry:0). You had already counted four and two just followed now. You relaxed a bit when no sound followed the shots, it hopefully meant that the bullet didn’t hit anybody.

You looked inside again, finally seeing your crush and her sister as they were crawling on the ground trying to escape. The younger girl tried to shoo you away the moment she saw you but how could you leave when she was in danger?

The moment the 7th shot fell you started sprinting, the four years you played football finally being useful as you tackled the person to the ground. The two of you fell, you on top pushing the gun as far away as you could. You didn’t expect them to pull a knife from somewhere. They slit your arm causing you to fall back, giving them the advantage of being on top, the knife now slicing through the skin on your stomach. Tara’s scream could be heard throughout the entire store causing you to turn your head until you could see her, Sam was holding her back. You could see that she was trying to figure out how she could help you without risking Tara. “Get out of here! now!” You screamed as you were finally able to turn you and the person with the knife again.

Out of the corner of your eye you could see Sam pulling the smaller girl outside, relieve bubbling in your chest. For a small second you forgot what situation you were in. After a bit of wrestling you somehow got ahold of the knife, pushing it into their stomach around two times before you heard a sirens. The psychopath underneath you suddenly threw you off with newfound strength and disappeared, police started swarming inside only to find you with a bit of blood smeared on you.

“Why’d you save me?” Tara asked you as you sat in a cop car on your way to the station, Sam in the front you and Tara in the back. “Why wouldn’t I save you?” You were so confused, the girl grew so much on you that just the thought of her getting hurt broke your heart. “Are you fucking stupid? You put yourself in unbelievable danger, youre crazy, out of your mind” she said with a raised voice, “yeah, I put myself in danger to safe you, I didn’t do it for nothing” you answered trying to keep your cool.

“That’s what I just said! You’re crazy, you were ready to sacrifice yourself for someone like me. Do you know how crazy and stupid that is?” She kept on talking about how stupid you were for doing something like that for someone like her. It went on until you arrived inside the police station where you decided to put an End to it, you had listened to her degrade herself for over 10 minutes now and it was enough.

“Why is it so difficult for you to believe that you deserve to be protected?” You asked her, your voice raised this time. The way she talked about herself made her angry. “Because I don’t” she screamed back as some officer lead you into an interrogation room. “Who made you believe that shit?!” You asked, your voice still loud but this time Tara only looked down. You added a ‘huh?’ to finally make her answer but it only caused Sam to speak up.

“Y/n, I think that’s enough” she tried to keep her calm as she understood both sides and at the moment she was only happy that you were there to save them. “No Sam, I wanna know who made her feel like that so I can kill them for doing that to her” you countered, maybe that wasn’t the smartest thing to say at that moment but you were so full of hate that you didn’t think straight. “I already did” you turned to Tara, your face filled with surprise. “Amber, my ex girlfriend, was the ghost face in the attack that happened last year. She used me and my trust, so she could kill me and Sam. She killed two of my best friends, our sheriff, she nearly killed Chad and Mindy and I shot her when she tried to kill Sam. All these people were in danger because I trusted her! That’s why I don’t deserve to be protected. Everybody who is around me is in danger! You shouldn’t even talk to me but you wouldn’t leave me alone!” Tears fell from her eyes as she explained, Sam was also quietly sniffling behind you.

“You can’t really think that” your voice was the complete opposite of what it had been just a couple of minutes before, it was soft and quiet, soothing. You kneeled in front of her, your hand carefully landing on her knee while the other one reached up to caress her cheek. She melted into your touch causing your heart to skip a beat. “What that girl did to you was terrible and what these people are trying to do to you now is just as terrible. But it’s not your fault, these people are crazy and psychotic, they shouldn’t be living freely. And if you think that I didn’t know who you were is kinda cute, I heard some people talk about it in class, but the thing is, I didn’t care. Because I got to know the real you and whoever says that you and Sam are crazy killers or some shit do not know you. You are amazing Tara and if you ask me, you’re totally worth dying for. I mean it”

Your thumb wiped away her flowing tears before she threw herself at you causing you to crash to the ground. Her arms wrapped around your neck as she sat on your lap with her face buried in your neck. “You knew who I was the whole time and didn’t say anything?” She pulled her head away as she spoke to look at you, “well, I figured the topic would make you uncomfortable, so I didn’t say anything. I guessed that you would talk about it once you’re ready” you told her as your hands stroked her back. She leaned forward and planted a kiss on your lips. “Once this is over, we are going on a date”

“Yes ma’am”

You couldn’t wait for this to be over

————————————————————————

So this kinda sucks but if I try to rewrite it I’ll never finish it and it will just sit in my drafts forever. Sorry

[the-moon-lullaby]

Hi! It's so great to see someone writing for good old mc. Can I get the boys (by that I mean Nathaniel, Castiel, Lysander, Kentin and Armin but feel free to left some out if that's too many characters) talking to Candy's pregnant belly? Ofc feel free to ignore if you are uncomfortable with topic of pregnancy or kids. Also have a great day!

The HSL boys talking to Candy’s pregnant belly

N/A : Heyy! Thank you for being so considerate in your request, it's lovely of you ! It was fun to write ! Thank you for your request and have a great day as well darling !<3

𝙲𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚕  

He would totally sing to Candy’s belly. Whether it is a Crowstorm unreleased song or a little lullaby, he’ll do it and you can’t convince me otherwise. Perhaps at the beginning it would be at Candy’s demand and he’d act annoyed/bothered but don’t let him fool you : he loves it. At some point, he’d just do it. Like if he’s writing a new song or anything, he’d sing it to Candy’s belly (and to Candy as well ofc). Double audience for my guy now

However better not tell anyone about this or he’ll get a bit embarrassed. He likes the fact that these moments are just between him, Candy and their baby. It’s just so intimate to him so he feels like this would ruin it a little if Candy starts to tell or brag about it to other people (as if she would tho)

Not but for real, just picture him singing Hakuna Matata to Candy’s belly (PLS this is so wholesome and funny at the same time, I CAN’T)

Also I think he would be the type to randomly interact here and there with the baby like, for example, when complaining about people (‘cause we know he does that sometimes) « God, people sucks ! Not you though, mate. » Cute 

After a while, when he feels completely comfortable with talking to the baby and that you’re both used to it, he’d be more emotionally open and would say things like « Can’t wait to meet you mate » or if it’s this kind of day when he doesn’t want to come off as too sentimental he’d go for something like « You’re gonna love Pancake » or « Pancake is so impatient to meet you buddy ! » (the dog is a good cover, right ?)

That said, I just know that Castiel would always refer to the baby as « mate » or « buddy » (any nicknames like that honestly) even if you guys already choose a name. Why ? Well because he believes it makes the situation less cheesy but (in my humble opinion), it just makes it even more adorable

He secretly wishes for his baby to be able to recognise his voice but pretend that it’s not that important to him (it is). As if he was trying to bond with his child even though they’re still in the womb lol. So behind this chill facade that he keeps on, if the baby moves or kicks while he’s speaking or singing, he’ll instantly get so excited (forget about being embarrassed, he’s to thrilled for that at the moment) and it would be the cutest thing ever. Ofc Candy would tease him a bit about it but bold of you to assume that this is going to stop him

He might even break his own rules and go brag about how his baby reacts to his voice.

And now he can’t wait to hear them in return.

𝙻𝚢𝚜𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 

Oh Lord ! This man, I can’t. Lysander talking to Candy’s belly would be the sweetest thing ever. 

Just imagine : Lysander reciting the most heartfelt, passionate and soul-stirring poem (that ofc he wrote himself because this man has it all y’all) kneeled in front of Candy’s belly. 

Honestly Candy would be tearing up at this sight (just as I am imagining it, Lysander truly is a gift) and when he notices that he would just place a kiss on Candy’s belly before kissing her forehead and take her in his arms. So freaking sweet. 

Lysander’s poetic (rizz) talent isn’t just a myth. He’s the embodiment of poetry if you ask me and he certainly has a way with words. 

Between him and Castiel, it’s some creative boys that we have here. How lucky

That said, be prepared for him to constantly write poems about Candy and their child. He has now two muses so his inspiration is doubled

Also, I feel like when it comes to choosing the baby’s name, he would just say the names in front of Candy’s belly and see if there’s a reaction inside. Just because he kinda wants his baby to choose their names somehow

Ofc he would sing to Candy’s belly. I mean with his angelic voice (as it was mentioned more than once in the game), how could he not ? 

I think Lysander would not feel ashamed to talk to his baby (unlike most of the boys at some point). Not in the slightest. And it make sense because since when Lysander care about what people think ? The only persons that matters to him are the persons he loves and they would never make fun of him or judge him for that. 

And of course, he'll be the greatest dad ever (his kids won't ever relate to Daddy issues by the Neighbourhood or Family Line by Conan Gray, that's for sure)

𝙰𝚛𝚖𝚒𝚗 

 Ok so with Armin if you expected heartfelt speeches or sentimental words from him, you’ve come to the wrong place. We don’t do that here lol (However, out of topic, I think Alexy would do that for him though as the invested uncle and the drama-queen he is, and ofc Armin would laugh at him)

Don’t assume he doesn’t talk to the baby though. He does and does it a lot. 

I don’t know why but I can picture him telling Candy to sit next to him while he plays LoL ( for example) and explaining how to play a game to her belly or tell everything  about the Zelda lore (idk about you but that’s funny to me)

Candy might even get annoyed at some point but Armin will joke saying that they need to educate their child as soon as possible (little does Candy knows that Armin is only half-joking lmao)

He is totally the kind of guy that will address to Candy’s belly without explicitly showing it just to mess with Candy. Let me clarify : for example he would say something and it could be anything really and Candy would go « huh ? » and « I wasn’t talking to you, I was talking to them, duh. ». But it’s all fun and games, nothing mean obviously

Or also, when Candy curses for whatever reason, he would act so shocked « Oh my God ! Have you heard what Mom said ?! » (pls someone stop this guy)

It still cute because, Armin’s playfulness is part of his charm and more than often it makes Candy smiles so everything’s alright and the baby could hope for a cooler dad.

𝙺𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗  

Over protective dad. I won’t argue with anyone about this, I just know

You know these « dad-like speeches » where they swear they’ll always be there for you and protect you with their life ? Well that’s Kentin on a daily basis

And keep in mind that for now, the baby isn’t even out of the womb yet. My guy is rea-dy to deal with it lol

It’s actually very sweet and knowing how Kentin always felt ignored or despised by his father, it is very important for him that his child knows that they’ll can count on him no matter what

He wants to be someone they can rely on and that’s why he says it often to Candy’s belly. That way he’s sure that they know (well not really but you get the point)

I don’t see him speaking with a baby voice though because he’ll feel a bit shy about it (it’s actually sad when you think of it but most guys are embarrassed about doing things like that. That’s a shame if you ask me but let’s go back to the Headcanon before I start ranting about societal issues and how Toxic masculinity ruins lives)

But when Candy is asleep, that’s another story 

He’s just so happy that he and Candy get to have a family of their own after all this time

I mean, this boy has been in love with her for so long so the idea of having a little one as a result of this unconditional love ? My boy is over the moon right now so let out the baby voice 

That was before he got caught by Candy one night and he became so red that it looked like he got instantly sunburned

But let’s be honest, he can’t stay embarrassed in front of his girl for long because he knows she loves him as much as he loves her. Therefore, he never shied away talking to his future child from now on. 

𝙽𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚎𝚕 

So, we know that Nath doesn’t want children. That’s canon. However for the sake of this request, let’s say that he reconsidered and changed his mind (probably after months and months of therapy) 

I think of all the guys, Nathaniel is least to be talking to Candy’s belly and there’s multiple reasons for that : First, he would be embarrassed (yeah, again). Even if he knows he can be vulnerable in front of Candy, he would cringe at himself if was to do something like that (why do I get the feeling that Nath is so easy to cringe lol ?). The other reason would be that he’s still processing and that the baby’s arrival feels so far away yet (forgive him for that, he’s not exactly known to be in touch with his emotions)

But then, as the fateful moment approaches, all his attempts to gaslight himself into believing that everything will be perfectly fine seem to fire back at him

That’s about when he starts to get insomnia. Most nights, he would be just laying in bed, tired and ready to meet Morpheus with Candy already asleep by his side when this chest-crushing anxiety would take over him. « Will I be good enough ? Patient enough ? Caring ? Will I be enough ? ». Really these thoughts terrify him and slowly drive him crazy (add to that the sleep deprivation)

He categorically refuses to tell Candy about it because he knows she has enough to deal with (pregnancy is a trial of life, so I’ve heard) and he doesn’t want to be a burden to her (poor baby). And it’s not like he’s gonna ask life advices to his dad because this man might be one of the worst father figures you can think of and Nathaniel want to be the opposite of this man in terms of parenting. Candy can tell something is bothering him but getting this boy to talk is far from easy

So, one night when he’s laying wide awake in the middle of night, he can’t help but to stare at Candy’s belly and instinctively, puts his hand over it. A so gentle move that it could barely be felt, as if he was scared to wake the little one (and Candy as well). 

Then without knowing why  he wants to tell his future child that he’ll do his best so, in a whisper, he makes this promise. And then he makes another one and keeps going naturally. All whispers. He asks himself if these promises are for the child or for himself until he feels something timidly moving under his hand.

He could barely feel it. To the point he thought he imagined it. But it didn’t matter. Somehow, he felt relieved. About what ? He couldn’t be sure about this but maybe it was a sign that his baby knew that he was trying.

After that, it would become a habit. Every time he would struggle to fall asleep he would whisper to Candy’s belly, hoping that the baby hears (even if sometimes he tells himself that it’s ridiculous but who cares if it is after all ?)

He’ll never tell Candy about it or not before a while as he likes the idea that this is him and his kid’s secret and he know can’t wait to meet them because he doesn’t want to let fear keeps him from being the father they deserve

(𝖮o𝖿, 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗌𝗍 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗀𝗎𝗒 ! 𝖡𝗎𝗍 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗂𝗍, 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝖺 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗍𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌𝗇’𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗌𝗍𝗒 ? 𝖭𝗈𝗍 𝗌𝗈 𝗋𝗈𝗆𝖺𝗇𝗍𝗂𝖼 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗂𝖼 𝗂𝗇 𝗆𝗒 𝗈𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗂𝗈𝗇. 𝖧𝖾'𝗌 𝖺 𝖻𝗂𝗍 𝖾𝗆𝗈𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗉𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝖾'𝗌 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝖻𝖻𝗀) 

And there you go ! Hope you enjoyed it ! there might be mistakes but I wrote this at 4am instead of studying for my Italian exam because why not eheh (this was much more fun to do) This is a first (and I am struggling) but I think it's pretty okay

See y'all soon and wish you the best ! <3

PS : Here's a little song recommandation ‘cause I can & it’s a good song ! It's called Run Away to Mars by Talk and I thank my labo teacher for recommending it, she's a sweetheart !

[cerseimikaelson]

HIII CERSEI GUESS WHOS BACK (YOUR FELLOW WOTG FAN) WITH MY THOUGHTS ON COTG:

It is such a funny book, my fav jokes being the 'shrek, fiona, donkey' joke and an underrated classic in my mind, the scene where percy is like "There was screaming, crying and running in circles, and that was ✨just me✨" when talking about blanche's story (its so brutally honest and funny in a vulnerable way, which I will expand later on with the vulnerable part of it). It had so many iconic moments

It was a very low stakes, slow plot. You can tell Rick wrote it for the experience of reading our fav characters again (adding on to the fact that rick was made to write it by disney as additional marketing for the show, you can tell the plot wasnt thought of much), and ive seen people get mad over it, id love to know what you think!

This is a bit of a touchy topic. I've seen the people on the internet calling percabeth abusive with the constant name calling and the physical ??violence?? ( i obviously dont agree, but thats another topic), but something I've observed that everything that anti percabeths pointed out was toned down in the book?? Another post confirms that the majority of seaweed brains in the book was from percys pov and not annabeth actually saying it (like when hes looking at her expression and saying things like 'she looked like she was trying to say,....') and also when it comes to physical 'violence' (it feels so wrong to say bc i cant find another word lolol), the only things i found while rereading were 'lightly pinched my arm' and 'nudged me with her toe' which is wayyyy more toned down than ricks usual 'swatting my arm' or 'punching me' or 'judoflipped me'

One thing I admire so much about this book is the way he's written the characters vulnerability. percys way more open when he talks about crying whereas in the books its brushed over a lot, which is something the lovely @demigods-posts pointed out. annabeth tearing up when sally compliments her on something small like a cupcake, grover scared of percy and annabeth leaving him, and ofc percy. i saw someone interpret the river god scene as a ptsd induced panic attack, and i admire how rick has written it with so much angst, but still kept it light for the tone of the books.

another thing i love is how the characters dont revolve around percy as a main character (which is probably something rick learned while writing the tv show). annabeth has hobbies of her own, she's in her dream school, she is a busy woman and good for her. grover regularly goes to camp, and has his own conflicts with his gf and stuff. sally and paul are on their own arc with the baby on the way.

the fluff needs a special mention. every moment is so cute and sweet, there are way too many instances, especially with grover and percy which there was a severe lack of in hoo. them turning to seven year olds, percy and annabeths daily night iris message routine, the domesticity of the jacksons family

As usual, I'd love to hear your thoughts and opinions too, im so happy i get to talk about it with you :))

Heyyy friend, how are you? Thanks for the ask!

Since you mentioned her, I LOVED Blanche. Iris is one of my favourite goddesses, so it was great seeing her. And I loved watching a god actually be ignored by their teenage child for once instead of the other way around. Blanche being a propel rebel with the monochrome was golden. (also, pink hummingbirds? lol)

It is obvious there wasn't much in terms of an actual plot with real structure, but it was fun and light-hearted and it does set the foundation for something in the future. Not all quests need to be high stakes, all-hands-on-deck, the world is coming undone. I liked watching the trio have semi normal lives (meeting up for smoothies after school) instead of constantly being on hero mode.

I genuinely had no clue people were upset about Percabeth's interaction in this. But seriously, violence? Did those people forget Annabeth judo-flipped Percy in New Rome, or was it okay then because it was a grand romantic gesture? How is punching someone in the arm to tell them they are being an idiot (provided you don't turn them black and blue of course) abuse? Percy and Annabeth are in a relationship, obviously they are going to be tactile with each other. Not to mention, people often nudge each other in real life and nobody shouts abuse then. I am rambling now but honestly this is the first I've heard of this and I have opinions.

I know Rick wrote the PG version, but can we talk about Zeus literally objectifying Ganymede at brunch and nobody but Hera (and Percy silently) batting an eye? Honestly, I am not a hardcore Zeus hater (although he is an a**hole) but the way Rick writes him he has no redeeming qualities whatsoever. I officially volunteer to be Hera's divorce attorney.

I really liked the idea of Annabeth having a secret fan club and having dinner with Sally, Percy and Paul every night. That was excellent.

I am already brainstorming theories about what the third book is going to be. Does it matter that WOTG isn't even out yet? Absolutely not. I kind of want it to be about Athena because her interactions with Percy are always 10/10, but that probably won't happen.

Feel free to send me asks about your favourite gods and goddesses, any headcanons you may have or anything you wish to discuss about PJO. You can also find me on ao3!

[michimonie]

A year or two ago, I wrote up a few blurbs on a private Discord server about a Twisted Wonderland Looney Tunes AU.

It started off with Sylvester and Tweety, then ballooned out to other characters.

Since it started with Sylvester, I'm going to start with him:

(ignore the coffee steam, I fixed it in the actual Sly illustration, lol)

The general idea for him was the "delinquent with a heart of gold" trope. His backstory is that he lived above a bakery with his brothers and Granny. He's a cat beastman, Hector is a dog beastman, and Tweety is a human, but with great flying skills (on a broom).

Tweety (adorable tiny witch vibes with a yellow cloak) was a prodigal patisserie who made sweets and treats like none other. Tweety, Sylvester, and Hector are adopted brothers.

Hector (big dude, does a lot of heavy lifting work) is the eldest and is generally traveling for his work, but he visits from time to time and lectures Sly for being a menace to society.

After the bakery closes up for the day, Tweety likes to take the leftover treats and fly through town, making Sly chase him for a taste. Sly never gets any treats, though. Instead, he has to clean up the property damage he caused during the chase. The most famous treat they have is called a Canary Cake, and Sly has never tasted one before, but he is determined to make it happen.

During the night time, Sly, being part cat, tends to be up (3am zoomies) and occasionally stops robbers and delinquents from causing any trouble to the bakery (no one believes him, though).

Meanwhile, he spends the day finding every reason to not have to help out, but every reason to get some baked goods (which never pans out for him). Whenever the bakery needs decor, though, he goes all in. He doesn't like to show it, but he loves decorating and is really good at doing intricate designs.

WHEN HE GETS TO COLLEGE

Sly and Tweety both get in, but Tweety gets in at a later point. On his own, Sly has a hard time adjusting to his new situation and doesn't make too many friends.

When Tweety shows up, he has mixed feelings: "I thought I was the special one who got into the famous college!" "Of course HE gets in. He gets everything...." but also "Is he doing okay?" "If anyone bullies him, they'll have to go through me!"

There was a point where the two have to work together on a project and I can't remember the details, but Tom, Jerry, and Spike are exchange students and Sly decides to go ask how they make their project work. Side note: I do remember that Tom and Jerry were going to be mostly mute, but Spike talked a lot.

----------

BUGS, DAFFY, AND PORKY

Bugs and Daffy are "rich kids", BUT Bugs is very down to earth, while Daffy is the opposite. Porky, meanwhile, is a scholarship student who tutors them.

Bugs (casual, yet classy look, maybe illusion magic major because disguises and outfits?) is pretty good at his classes (especially for someone who rarely does his homework), and really, the only major thing holding him back is that he has a vibrant social life. He's got an account on TWs version of Instagram (forgot what it was called), and he's got a ton of followers, but he rarely (if ever) posts anything rude or thoughtless. He is generally pretty level headed, but can definitely have his moments of overwhelming emotion.

Daffy (fabulous, wears a white choker, and reluctantly follows school rules about clothing, but will take any opportunity to break out his fabulous wardrobe) is decent at his classes and shows a general interest in them, but he gets distracted easily and is quite honestly pissed that he's only got like 3 followers on TW Instagram. He's the type of student who might show up to class one day with a latte and an attitude. That being said, when he can really get into something, he can get together a perfect A+ project.

Porky (cozy and functional outfits, usually well prepared unless the situation relates to Bugs or daffy) is overall great at his classes, and he wouldn't mind tutoring... if it weren't his current buddies. He cares about them, but they can be a handful during study sessions. Tutoring is a part of his scholarship requirements, so he can't just back out. While generally level-headed, it doesn't take much from the other two to get him worked up (especially when they're late to tutoring). With his own work, he's very dedicated, but sometimes Bugs and Daffy see him overwhelmed and show him how to calm down and have fun every once in a while (I mean, there is a restaurant / lounge on campus).

EVERYONE ELSE

So, I had general ideas for other characters. But nothing too solid. A few problems I ran into were:

Should I genderswap the women? (Like in TW)

Is this going to remain a magic school or change to another one (acting?) because it's an AU?

Both of which locked me in a corner until I could make a decision.

In case I decided to use genderswapped Lola, I had an idea about her being a "golden retriever himbo", which included pieces of multiple versions of her.

For Petunia, I was thinking she could go to a different school, but nearby so she could visit often.

Melissa and Tina hadn't come up on my radar yet (this was years ago).

THOUGHTS WHILE TYPING THIS UP

Melissa would probably be one of those popular students who tends to look really cool on the outside. she probably comes from a long line of either exorcists or some kind of magic having to do with spirits or the undead (maybe necromancy?).

Tina would probably be one of those casually cool types that's just kind of vibing, but ends up doing accidentally cool looking things (or purposely). She's still figuring out what kind of magics she's into more.

I can see Wile and Road Runner having a sort of frenemy relationship where they are rivals. Wile would 100% be into magi-tech, while Road Runner would be more Savannaclaw and into a more physical approach. Wile would challenge Road Runner often, and would more often than not be his own downfall.

----------

Sorry for the thought spam. If you made it to the end then congratulations! If you skimmed, thank you for at least looking. If you just skipped to the end, thanks for considering, lol.