#so he's absolutely heard frankly too much about hawke

[bumblerhizal-art]

Okay okay okay okay how about, for the OC Codex prompts:

5. letters between two of your OC’s companions about them for Radka

12. your OC overheard while drunk for Pavle

8. your OC’s doctor/healer talking about their injuries for Novhen (am I thinking post-Archdemon? Maybe. But feel free to pick another point in time. Also ignore the quiet chanting of "angst, angst, angst!" in the background, that's nothing ^^)

Mix and match as you please, pick the ones you like, and have a lovely day! ^^

oh boy thanks for the ask! it’s not quite what you asked for, but i hope it’s good enough!

[Ask Game]

Content Warnings

All: Alcohol

Third: Blood, Vomit, Trauma, Parental Death (you wanted angst ¯\_ (ツ)_/¯)

5. letters between two of your OC’s companions about them

L,

We have arrived in Antiva safely. To think, just a year ago, our mutual friend was complaining of Ferelden's sun, but here, she's buried herself under so many veils to keep from burning that we won't even need disguises.

You need not worry in the slightest for her safety. As I'm certain she's telling you in her own letter, we're only getting moderately overzealous in our missions. I'll be sure she returns to you in one piece after we've had our fun.

As a quick aside, what types of wines do you prefer? We ask for no particular reason.

-Z

12. your OC overheard while drunk

An fragment of unaddressed letter apprehended from a servant at Vigil's Keep detailing a drunken conversation overheard from outside the Warden-Commander's quarters:

"And have you heard about that bullshit with the Hawkes?"

"At length."

"The real cherry on top is that that Garrett's a mage. They sent me to fucking Ferelden for that, but he gets to inherit the family estate? What did he even do? Take a vacation to the Deep Roads? I did all that and stopped a Blight, and I can't even return home to the Marches without getting carried off to the Gallows!"

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves. As I recall, while I shlepped through the actual Deep Roads, you were drinking wine with the king-to-be. Hardly the same thing."

"You owe the Diamond Quarter a visit if you think what I was doing wasn't just as dangerous. I know what I need to do. I'll write that bastard cousin a letter. Let him know that I know!"

"Yeah sure, could be funny. You can use what's on my desk. Just try to reread it sober before sending it."

––An apostate Amell among the Grey Wardens but not one himself. Potential leverage? Unclear if Hawke yet made aware.

8. your OC’s doctor/healer talking about their injuries

I do have something planned for your suggestion, but because medical information can be so tricky, I'm waiting to put it in one of my fics for the Archive (Gathering Frays, should be, i think i've shared snippets from it before). It'll be a grander execution than i can fit here. Don't worry, you'll still get your angst today though ;) It's not quite doctor's notes, but it's the closest he gets in the alienage

An entry from Valendrian's journal:

24 Kingsway, 9:25 Dragon

Finola found Novhen in an alley by the south docks half-conscious, reeking of alcohol, and covered in his own blood and vomit. He's barely responsive. We've cleaned him up as much as we could but found several bruises and a developing black eye in the process.

I gave him bread and stew, but he couldn't muster himself to eat it until long after it had gone cold. When I offered to walk him to his home for the night, he only grew more distressed.

I believe Del's family has been sharing their meals with the Tabris household this past week. Tomorrow, I will go with them and speak to Cyrion, but I'm not hopeful it will be a productive conversation. He hasn't so much as left his bed since Adaia's passing. I understand his need to grieve, but I worry for Novhen. Maker only knows how much he saw to be affected like this.

He's currently sitting by my fire. I expect he'll still be in the same spot come morning. With any luck, he will be more able to speak then.

[whos-your-space-daddy]

What about 2, 3, 10, and 11 for the rook ask game?😊

Oh my god yes!

Here you go!

2. How did Rook get the nickname? What do they think of it?

Varric obviously.

And Rook absolutely loves it. The only thing he's got left over from his bio parents is that they called him Daw and he just kept it when he transitioned because it was easier. He doesnt even remember if it was a nickname or his real name. Rook was the first nickname he was given post transition and it feels so much like him now that he uses it more than his own name.

He still keeps Daw to honour his parents and the years with the crows but everyone calls him Rook now.

3. What was Rook’s life before their faction?

Rook cant remember anything much from before the crows. He was only about 5 or 6 at the time. He has flashes of being chased by darkspawn, then red and then nothing. He doesnt even remember arriving in Treviso, just his fathers voice and being so cold and then being warm and safe and never seeing his father again. And then the training.

He knows now what happened to his father, and what he assumes happened to his mother but at this point the De Riva's and the rest of the crows are better known as family to him. Viago and Teia through years of training have fallen into a role somewhere between parents and older siblings. But most of his life has been with the crows now that hes in his late twenties, so he doesnt remember much from before.

10. Does Rook know their history? Do they know of the HoF, Hawke, the Inquisitor?

Rooks parents were killed when he was young during the time of the blight(i.e origins) They were just travelling through Thedas when they were set upon by darkspawn and his mother was killed and his father was blighted.

Most of what hes learned about the world has been from biased accounts, gossip and most accurately from Varric/Harding.

Rook has been helping Harding and Varric for over a year now. So hes heard most of Varrics stories about Kirkwall and his time in Haven and Skyhold. Hes not sure he believes them all however bc hes heard Varric some of their tales, but hes a big ol fanboy when he meets Isabela, Dorian and The Inquisitor. And Varric quickly become subject to hero worship, and takes a fatherly role with Rook

The hero of ferelden is more of a myth to him, although he arguably knows hes real. He was just too young to really absorb what was happening properly in the world at that time. Hes also heard less stories about him although he knows he was a human noble warden.

11. Does Rook keep up with current events? (How aware of the situation are they at the start of the game?)

Rook has been hunting with Harding and Varric for a good while and has heard every story there is to hear about Solas and then some. In a way he's weirdly come to think of Solas as a friend of his as well. Which is why even though he's frustrated with him he is still very kind And gives him (frankly too many) chances to atone.

[turtlemagnum]

KOTOR and KOTOR2 main cast and their relations to video games

this is a mostly jokey, headcanon-y "what if" in regards to if video games existed as they do irl in the star wars universe. try not to think about it too hard, and this is also presupposing neutral/light side for the core cast because that's how i played the games and i don't have the constitution to actively choose bad things in video games

revan: in terms of raw skill, they're virtually unmatched. doesn't matter if it's a fighting game, a puzzle game, nor a grand strategy game, there's an extremely solid chance they'll kick your ass. they also get extremely competitive, impeccable shit-talking game that'll throw off all but the most stoic; but they also get angry in a very funny way on the rare times they do lose. one of the few mortals that can comprehend 5d chess with multiverse time travel. is a tier whore, mains one of the high tier anime swordfighters in smash (i think lucina?)

carth: you know those boomer dads that absolutely wrecked shit up in arcades back in the 70s and 80s, but anything past the NES or SNES they just... don't get? that's carth, if you put him in front of a pacman or galaga cabinet, he'd wreck shit up, but if you showed him a smash brother or a mario he'd just squint

bastilla: i feel like if she were a gamer at all, she'd probably be into platformers and life simulation games, maybe the occasional 2D JRPG if she's feeling especially spicy. would probably play the shit out of stardew valley or kirby, ya feel me? when playing smash, she'd specifically choose one of the prettyboy anime fighters. not because they're high tier, she's probably never heard of a tier list in her life, she just likes how they look

mission vao: extremely good at video games, especially for her age. probably the only one on the ebon hawk who even comes close to rivaling revan in terms of raw skill aside from the droids, but droids playing video games is cheating tbh. probably pretty omnivorous in terms of game taste, but probably leaning towards anything violent/fast paced, e.g. shooters like DOOM or smash bros. is the reason why the crew regularly plays mario party, and since she's mildly luckier than revan and has almost as much skill, she fairly regularly wrecks revan's ass. is also probably around the right age to get wayyy into minecraft tbh. game and watch main

juhani: gamer god reflexes, absolute jack shit for gamesense. if a game requires mashing, precise movements and the like, she's likely golden; but she's terrible at reading her opponent/things that require extensive forethought. overall, pretty good at fighting games and the like, though frankly i feel like she wouldn't be a huge gamer

jolee: while old, this man is a gamer god. he's like, skyrim grandma type guy, can play games normally for the most part despite being ancient. also probably tends towards single player open world games and extremely dense RPGs, this man will play morrowind and planescape: torment until he's dead and rotting. despite being great at RPGs and singleplayer shit, it's mostly because he knows how to minmax all the technical shit/knows the exploits and glitches and all that, in terms of raw gameplay (and thus, in multiplayer games), he leaves something to be desired. if you manage to talk him into playing smash, he specifically chooses mii gunner with the sans outfit just to annoy revan specifically, figures it doesn't matter if he chooses a bad character if he's gonna lose, so he might as well get a laugh out of it

canderous: this man will relentlessly bully you for playing video games, but if you coaxed him well enough you could probably get him to play something violent, like DOOM or GTA. once you've got him in, he'll most likely relent, but now you have to deal with this boomer son of a bitch yelling at kids in GTA online and blaring rip and tear while everyone else is trying to sleep

HK-47 and T3M4: both are roughly about as good as one another at games, which is to say that they're both goddamn AIs who can consistently perform frame perfect tricks and make every game into a live TAS. you have better odds against them in, say, chess, or perhaps even 5D chess with multiverse time travel. of course, they're not programmed to be good at video games, so any game they play they'd start off bad, but they learn startlingly quickly and playing against them is generally unfair enough to be extremely unfun. both also shittalk relentlessly, though T3 is a lot more vulgar, it's just that most of the crew can't speak binary. HK tries to be a bit more "refined" in his insults, while T3 is peak 13 year old on xbox live, except more eloquent and creative since he's still got an adult tier of intellect. one last remark is that HK isn't as good at thinking in the longterm as T3, so T3 kicks his shit in at grand strategy games like civ and the like

zaalbar: is it bigoted for me to assume this man has never touched a video game in his life? i don't think so, i feel like chewbacca would wreck han's ass at video games, so i don't think it's because he's a wookie. i think zaalbar is basically just a boomer

the exile: honestly about as good as revan at games, it's just that they're not as much of a tryhard. despite this, they have inhuman amounts of luck. so, essentially, they're the Fearesome Monarcke of mario party in terms of how often they win, but everyone still has a good time since they're a good sport about it. the exception is that whenever atton gets into his Gamer Rage, the exile knows exactly how to press his buttons and thinks it's funny. they generally have the most fun playing multiplayer games, especially co-op, so naturally they tend towards a lot of nintendo stuff (though, occasionally they get the urge to pubstomp in TF2 or some other shooter.... may the force have mercy on the poor souls who face them, for they have none to spare...) zelda main in smash

brianna: until meeting the exile, this girl has never touched a video game in her life. though, once she's acclimated, she's surprisingly good. especially likes fighting games/games where you can punch, for what i hope are obvious reasons. also loves to play multiplayer games with the exile, and while she can get a bit heated she definitely tends towards more zen levels of play. would main captain falcon in smash

kreia: refuses to play the exile's party games on principal, though if she thinks she can get away with it she'll absolutely fuck with atton's controller with the force. if she does play games, i think she'd lean towards singleplayer RPGs with good writing, especially if it permits amoral characters, so she'd probably love fallout: new vegas. also? hardcore PC gamer, if her computer skill is anything to go by

visas: also hadn't touched a game before meeting the exile, though due to her blindness, she's incapable of playing games without some manner of accessibility aid. but even if she wasn't blind, i feel like she'd be kinda bad at video games, though she'd absolutely enjoy spending quality time with the others (even if she wouldn't like to admit it). while not video games necessarily, i feel like the exile would probably get something like one of those chess boards where the pieces are designed to all be differentiated from texture alone, and she'd really appreciate the gesture

atton: peak toxic gamer boy, shit-talks relentlessly, gets really into it. would honestly be a bit too much for some people (read: kreia), but most of the crew think it's funny, albeit to varying degrees. in terms of gameplay skill, he'd probably be about average? but with anything to do with probability, he's a savant at crunching the numbers (playing pazaak). would honestly consider cheating in online multiplayer games, the rascal. man mains pikachu in smash, he tries to write himself off as a tier whore but he secretly just thinks the little guy's cute

bao dur: this man is a god gamer at puzzle and fighting games specifically. in tetris, he'll stack em up like you wouldn't believe, could honestly be a speedrunner. in something like tekken, not only would he be absurdly good in terms of raw gameplay, this man can read your inputs like a goddamn book. gets really competitive with brianna, probably has that thing where you absentmindedly play tetris in your head. also, war games are absolutely too much for him, i feel like he'd react to the battlefront games in the same way that ww2 veterans allegedly react to CoD

mical: this man plays the sims, cheesy old PC point and click adventure games, and nothing else. he's a master at the oregon trail, but if you were to put him into anything with more reactive gameplay he'd crumble to dust. still plays mario party with the exile and everyone else, and while he has fun, it's because he's with good friends, in terms of gameplay he'd look like he was throwing to an outside observer

G0-T0: you'd imagine he'd be like the other droids, but no. he's that nerd boy who's all like, "heh, this is simple, all i have to do are these elementary calculations" only to fall flat on his face, every time. bro can't even play chess. the only person who will lose to mical

hanharr: i have the least experience with him out of any KOTOR companion, due to my aforementioned lack of desire to intentionally be evil in video games. but, i feel like this man wouldn't touch a video game with a twenty yard pole, both out of a lack of desire and a lack of ability. again, trying not to be bigoted against wookies, i just feel like the two we see in the KOTOR games would specifically, as individuals, be bad at video games

mira: shooters, stealth games, and any combination of the two. would love the stealth parts of the MGS games, would play the shit out of the thief games, boomer shooters like half life etc. slightly better than atton at the exile's goddamn party games, which she relentlessly taunts him with. mains snake in smash, plays incredibly lame and spammy

[ushidoux]

False Intimacy - Oikawa x Reader

Summary: You’re an escort that is quite good at her job but one particular client happens to catch you a bit off guard. (~1.9k words)

Warnings: minors dni, nsfw, fem pronouns, fem!reader, escort!reader, implied dom/sub dynamics, hurt/comfort

A/N: Ngl I was gonna write mean dom oikawa just cuz and then it got ~deep~ i’m sorry lmao

---

It was a colder night than usual in Buenos Aires, or maybe it was just the slight chill that ran up your spine when you remembered your client’s phone call just a couple of hours ago.

Please arrive at 8 pm sharp. I’m not a fan of tardy people~

His voice was honeyed before he cut off the phone abruptly - smooth and sweet as though masking some unpalatable part of his personality you hadn’t quite detected. 

Not that you would put your guard down anyway; most of the men you dealt with, either the extraordinarily rich, terribly famous, or some wretched combination of the two, were in some way dangerous. They all seemed to thrive on the same idea: that they had some power over others, and this could manifest in anything ranging from bratty behavior to a god complex.

But you could deal with these things well, you had been in the business for long enough. Oikawa Tooru was no problem.

He must have watched you arrive because the moment you stepped before his hotel room, taking a moment to adjust your hair and check on your makeup in a compact mirror before knocking, you heard the door swing open.

“You follow directions. Delightful,” he almost whispered, a sly smile on his face, shrouded in dark due to the paucity of light generated from a single lamp in his hotel room.

Had he been waiting, or was it the fact that he knew you wouldn’t disobey him?

You nodded.

“I’m quite compliant when I want to be,” you emphasized, in the sultry voice you reserve for meetings like this.

Oikawa’s smirk grew even wider. Hook, line and sinker. 

With the lack of continuation to your opening banter, you now started to wonder why he wasn’t moving; his frame, larger than you had expected in person, lingered in the doorway, seemingly blocking it and he made no indication of letting you inside. 

This was strange. Usually, it didn’t take long for your clients to undress you and have their way, at the very least a quickie before you actually went out with them, especially if they were having you meet first before the venue. There was a pause where you took a deep breath, trying your best not to look as disconcerted as you felt. What was he doing?

Oikawa was still staring at you, but not in the way your other patrons ogled you as though you were a piece of meat, nothing more than a purchased pussy. He stared at you with greed as though you were the most precious item in a set, and he were preparing to introduce his prized collection to a waiting crowd.

If it were an attempt to fluster you, you had to admit that he was close.

But not quite.

“Shall we advance to our location then?” You asked, sweetly. 

There was something like a snort that he made, derisive and slightly maddening. You raised an eyebrow reflexively, but instead gave him a wide, somewhat vapid smile. 

Good customer service. Men like him love power.

“Oh, are we planning to be fashionably late, Mr. Oikawa?” You said, tapping a finger to your lip and furrowing your eyebrows as though you were trying oh so very hard to think. 

“We’ll get there when we get there,” he replied. To your relief, he did finally lead you into the hotel room, into a wide suite that illuminated upon the clap of his hands, revealing a modern open plan setup with white on white furniture, fully glass windows that gazed onto the city skyline and bossa nova playing quietly from a speaker. You had barely heard the music it since you had been so focused on him.

Knowing that he was not a native of this country, you considered teasing him to re-stabilize power dynamics.

“This is Argentina, not Brazil, you know,” you teased, as you gently set yourself down on the edge of his couch.

He was the one to raise an eyebrow this time, as he circled around the bar island across from the living room.

“I mean about the music,” you said, with a soft laugh. He smiled.

“Of course.”

A pop of a wine bottle opening disrupted the tension between you two even further, and you crossed and uncrossed your legs with mild discomfort while watching him pour two glasses of red wine for the two of you.

“What’s your name again, darling? I have awful manners,” he said. 

You had the impression he was lying, but still you repeated your name for him.

“It’s a beautiful name,” he crooned as he handed you your drink.

---

If it weren’t for the fact that you’d watched him like a hawk as he poured out your glass of wine, you would have thought that he’d drugged you.

But you weren’t exactly drunk - not in the typical sense, but there was an altering of the senses that seemed to overcome you as the night progressed. Between the flashes of the camera as party guests filed in, a particularly lavish dinner, drinks, and a too-short dance where Oikawa literally whisked you off your feet, you were starting to feel less professional and more… needy. 

You guarded your heart well normally, so this was a new feeling for you, the sudden overwhelming need to fulfill your contract in the fullest. 

Quite frankly, by the time you had made it back into his private car, you were absolutely itching to be fucked. It didn’t help that Oikawa had grown comfortable enough over time with you to place the palm of his hand on your bare knee, his fingertips grazing your inner thigh.

He wasn’t looking at you by now, but your eyes were absolutely transfixed on him. He was talking on the phone quietly in an even Japanese, as though you weren’t even there, and by the sound of his soft laughter, his conversation must have been pleasant. 

The little bit of warmth between your legs as his hand suddenly moved up your thigh and then back down could only be called distressing.

---

“Did you enjoy yourself?”

Did you or are you? The fact that he was asking this, while kneeling between your legs, slender fingers gripped on both sides of your shaking legs, and licking slow, languid strokes from the opening of your vagina to your clit made it unfair for him to expect you to answer.

His kisses were slow in between questions and through waves of pleasure as his lips pressed against your privates, you managed to eke out a “yes.”

It felt wrong to be feeling like this, inappropriate as though you were using him rather than him using you. As his tongue dipped into your center, you even dared to let out a soft moan, which only encouraged him to plunge in deeper, tightening his hold on you as you threatened to clamp your legs shut.

“Calm down,” he ended up growling suddenly, and your stomach stirred with excitement. A sound so animalistic didn’t sound fitting for a man as elegant and soft-looking as him. In an attempt to mollify the sudden tension he could feel permeating your entire body in anxiety, he whispered, “Don’t worry, you’ll return the favor soon enough. Plus, you taste delicious.”

Your heart fluttered.

Once he’d savored you to his fill, he rose to stand between your legs, inserting those same meticulous fingers into your pussy before leaning over to transfer the taste of your own fluids to your lips.

How can he be so tender to a stranger? You thought briefly, as you melted into his kiss. You were getting carried away, down in dangerous, dangerous territory.

His hands kept working as his tongue teased yours.

Shifting quickly from pussy to the mounds of your breasts, his hands continued to massage your body while your lips remained locked, until he maneuvered himself on top of you. A warm, hard cock laid pressed against your belly and his, igniting more fire between you.

Put it in, put it in, your body seemed to scream, but you knew better than to demand. You’re here to deliver fantasies, not indulge in one, even if Oikawa did not seem to get the memo.

He made your toes curl and your spine curve before flipping you over so that you lay atop of him.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, looking up at you as sincerely as one does an old lover. It was at this moment that you found yourself leaning forward to initiate the kiss before stopping yourself.

Distance was needed desperately. Remember, this was not a man who loved you.

You broke your demure act (which wasn’t really much of an act anymore) to pull back gently against the weight of his amorous stare, and slid downwards so that you could wrap your lips around his cock instead.

A blowjob is much less intimate, you told yourself. But you didn’t jump quite to that immediately.

Steadying your hand, now trembling almost as much as your heart was (what the hell was going on?), around his readied shaft, you glided your hand back and forth, aided by a few drops of precum leaking from the head and a generous amount of spit. You focused on his well-developed abs, not his eyes that were squeezing shut and the pretty mouth that groaned softly with every movement.

He was entirely too pretty for his, or your own good.

Why not a real partner? You wondered for a moment who you were standing in for. He touched you all too tenderly to be someone who cavorted casually. 

Even as you took him in your mouth, and his fingers made their way into your hair, tugging gently and praising you for how good you worked him up, bobbing your head up and down like the expect you were, you found yourself wondering. 

You took him deep enough to the point that you had to suppress a gag a couple times, and feeling the tightening of his grasp of your locks, you knew you did a good job.

“Fuck, baby, just like that.”

You considered maybe getting him to finish like this, in your mouth, so that you could go on your merry way and get as far away from this man that was already getting in your head as soon as possible, but he was pushing you off of him gently before you could get far enough. You ended up under him yet again, faster than you could bear.

His cock nudging its way against your folds on its way to your entrance made you shudder, and then he pushed inside you with another groan that was disgustingly beautiful.

Every thrust inside you felt like heaven but twisted; it felt far too self indulgent the way he wrapped his arms around you as his hips rolled against yours. He moaned your name, the name he asked for just hours ago, too familiarly as though he’d known you for a decade. The rhythmic slap of his skin against yours was hypnotic and you almost ascended as his arms raise your legs to dig into you deeper.

It’s too intimate, far from transactional, the explosive way you came around his cock, clawing at his markless back as you writhed around him, riding the wave of your orgasm. He pulled himself into a sitting position as you came, carrying you with him and holding you tightly as he followed shortly after. 

You could feel his cock twitch inside you.

And finally, you swore you could hear the name of the person he truly loved mumbled into the crook of your neck.

In response, you cling to him just a little bit longer.

[contreparry]

Hello and happy dadwc friday!! For a prompt, I would like to submit: "🧁Getting distracted while waiting for the tea to brew" for Anders?

Absolutely! Here's some modern!roommates AU, but with Anders and Justice, for @dadrunkwriting!

Anders was more of a coffee man. Yes, yes, he enjoyed herbal tea in the evening and would never reject a cup if offered, but if he were to choose how he was going to inject caffeine into his system, his first choice was coffee. The second was a caffeine pill. The third was tea. Dead last was energy drinks. Hadn't touched one of those (Dragon Flame, TALON, etc.) since med school.

But Justice brought the electric kettle into the office, and Anders wasn't that picky, so rainy afternoon tea it was, then!

Anders was washing out the remnants of the morning coffee from his coffee mug (the one shaped like a cat's head with a chipped ear) when Justice walked into the back room, clearly frazzled. He was playing with the headband that he used to tie back his locs, twisting plain black stretchy fabric between his fingers as he stared at Anders, his gaze piercing into his soul.

“Uh, problems, Justice?”

“I heard that your apartment lease is up,” Justice said. Blunt as ever, Anders thought as he poured hot water over the tea bag and started mashing it against the inside of the mug with a spoon. He probably overheard his earlier call with Hawke. Or the one with Varric. Maybe both. Frankly Anders wouldn’t be surprised if Justice knew about his situation before he did. He always seemed to know what was going on in the city, though Anders had no idea how he did it. That was just how Justice was: as knowledgeable as the local gossip and prim and proper as a Chantry Mother.

“Yeah. Mrs. Em’s ready to retire, and her daughter can’t manage the place, so...” Anders shrugged. “Wasn’t planning on staying forever, but it’s a bit sooner than I’d like.”

Understatement of the age, but at least he hadn’t collected that much junk over the past year. The move wouldn’t be too difficult. And there really was no one to blame: Mrs. Em had never fully recovered from her fall in the kitchen, and her daughter couldn’t pack up everything, quit her job, and move from Nevarra to take care of her ailing elderly mother AND her rickety house, and everyone was frankly quite unhappy with the situation. Anders liked Mrs. Em- she was nosy, sure, but she didn’t mind having a mage around and was fond of animals. And he definitely wasn’t going to find a cheaper place close to work. He might have reassured his landlady and her daughter that he had everything under control, but under the surface Anders was panicking. Where he’d end up in the next month he couldn’t say. Varric had plenty of options, but Hawke’s suggestion was the best. The only problem was...

“If you need a place to stay, my office is big enough for a futon,” Justice offered, his words stilted and awkward but terribly sincere. Anders smiled and clapped his hand on one of Justice’s broad shoulders. Good-hearted, blunt Justice, always ready to offer his help even when it would cause him no end of trouble.

“And we’d drive each other crazy in a fortnight, knowing us,” Anders replied. “No, no, I have a few ideas. Hawke’s got this friend who has a spare room. Cheaper than the last place since I’m splitting rent, and I’d have access to the green line.” It was practically the perfect arrangement, save for one teensy tiny detail...

“And what is the catch?”

Anders sighed. “You know the one guy who tends bar with Isabela?”

“The elf with the lyrium tattoos and the, ah... “staff up his ass?” That one?” Anders winced at Justice’s bland delivery. When he said it that way Anders’ complaints sounded horribly petty. But they were perfectly honest reasons to dislike the man! Stupid Fenris and his muscular arms and angular features and cat-like eyes and gravely voice-

“It’s his place.”

“And you say rooming with me would be a disaster,” Justice remarked. He leaned against the doorway and stared Anders down, his expression flat.

“Well, I like you, Justice! Of course I don’t want to get in a fight with you because I didn’t vacuum the hallway or my cat got into your room,” Anders said quickly. “Anyways, it’s just an idea, I have a week to make a firm decision. Look at some listings, stack up my options, write a living will...”

“Anders!”

“What?! If I get murdered by a sketchy roommate someone has to take care of my cat!” Anders insisted. Justice looked almost disappointed, which felt almost as bad as having a mother say that she was disappointed in her child. Possibly worse, since Anders hadn’t spoken with his mother in years. But Justice only sighed and shook his head before tying his dark locs into a low tail at the nape of his neck.

“I understand. But my offer remains. You’re a friend, Anders,” Justice said, which was the most sentimental thing Anders ever heard Justice say. But then the man smiled, a brief little upward turn of his mouth, and he added:

“And we would be hard pressed to find a healer as capable as you. I’d prefer you stay alive.” He turned on his heel to return to the front desk as Anders gaped at him.

“You ass!” Anders called back before gathering his sweater and clipboard from the table, the tea in his cat mug slowly cooling, forgotten.

[bbq-hawks-wings]

Why I've warmed up to "Baby Bird"

With the release of the third MHA movie in Japanese theaters, they released a short chapter featuring Endeavor, Bakugo, Deku, Shouto, Tokoyami, and most importantly Hawks. A translation/preview/breakdown of the chapter here.

But long story short, we got this interaction between him and his fans when they spotted him at the airport. He says roughly, "Hey, baby birds! Let's not make a ruckus, we're in an airport-" before getting completely mobbed.

Now, up to this point "baby bird" was a nickname we only saw Hawks using in fanfiction, and it really took off during the wave of new followers he got after a particularly popular set of fics went viral in the community. However, it left a sour note in a lot of people's mouths, and mine in particular was due to the fact I tended to find these fics warped his character a little too much for the sake of drama which only got worse as people followed, emulated, and really got behind the movement. I simply didn't like it because I associated the nickname with a widely known OC who looked like Hawks but was barely recognizable from a character standpoint.

So what changed?

Basically, I heard it from Hawks' mouth himself - the same Hawks I've known and loved from his introduction.

Hawks doesn't care that he's about to be mobbed by his fans. He also doesn't look overly excited for the attention. He's just completely unbothered by it either way.

It sounds like either a nickname he gave to his fans or more likely one they made for themselves that he acknowledges in their presence the same way BTS calls their fans the BTS Army. The kanji for the words he used literally means a bird's chick, so it's a perfectly innocent nickname that doesn't carry some of the more racy connotations a lot of fanfics have given it.

Hawks makes a note to give his fans little interactions whenever he's spotted on the street. Literally every time someone shouts "HAWKS!" when he's on the rooftops or flying overhead he gives them a smile and a wave acknowledging their presence. We also know that this isn't a fake act he plays up for PR because he frankly doesn't need it or care for the attention - it's something he does entirely for the benefit of his fans, and these little casual, personal interactions are very much in character for him.

He's performing crowd control even if it doesn't look like it on the surface. Do you really think these fans that straight up tackle him and pick him up twice in so many minutes would actually stop chasing him around the airport if he ran? No, that's a much bigger disruption for everyone else just trying to board their plane and go about their business. He could choose to leave, but there would be a rowdy mob following him around trying to get his attention the whole way.

Last, but most importantly, he is letting his fans be in complete control of the interaction.

This absolute gem of a panel, if I'm not mistaken, has him saying, "Ah, they don't want to stop!" as he's being whisked away. There is no power dynamic he's leveraging. He finds a way to let his fans have their fun in a safe setting while being mindful of the people around him, and it doesn't even phase him.

As a platonic, innocent nickname now spoken from Hawks himself acting true to character, "baby bird" is kind of growing on me.

[vinylhazza]

A Lesson Learned (E.D) Part 1.

Summary: Ethan’s job as a teacher is to give his students the best education that he can. But when Y/n, a student that has caught his eye a time or two, catches him by surprise in his classroom during lunch, he’s unable to hold back the fire that was sure to break free at some point. 

Word Count: 8.1k

Warning: Rough sex between student and teacher. You're welcome. 

Ethan wasn't stupid. He knew that the girls in his class snickered and swooned over him from the minute they walk through that classroom door, to the very moment they left. That’s why he had a set of rules. They were simple, but very clear and strongly advised. 1. No consults or help during lunch 2. No help after school, under any circumstances. It was just too risky. It wasn't that he was worried he would slip up, it was just that the girls in his class were very bold with their advancements towards him and he was concerned it would get too out of hand if he allowed them to come in whenever they wanted for “help.” Because help was never really help with them. However; he did give the students an option to come in during a free period, where teachers flittered through the halls and his door was always open. He has yet to see any of the girls take him up on that offer, except maybe one of two that don’t really need the help. 

He had three classes, Seniors, Juniors, and Freshmen. All Composition and Reading. They were all pretty much the same, just a slight curriculum change to make it harder for each grade as he saw fit. The girls in his Senior class were the worst with their flirtatious behavior, so bad sometimes that he’s had to call them out or send them to the principals office - feigning that he’s concerned they won't be able to focus enough in his class because of their small crush. It was a serious problem - some even slipped him their number when handing in their papers or passing notes on purpose during class because they knew he would take them away if they were caught. He’s never used them of course, simply throws them in the trash with a shake of his head. He wasn't meaning to be cocky about it, it just made him a bit nervous and uncomfortable. Unfortunately, some girls still hadn't gotten the memo. 

But he was still surprised when he heard the light tapping on the closed door, small shadows of feet appearing against the tiled floor just outside. He understood that it was nearing the end of the semester and the students might be panicking a bit too hard over their studies, he’s been there a time or two during high school and college. But his rules were set in place for a reason. He figured it was better to make the rule for everyone rather than show “favorites”. He knew some of the students would probably love the extra study time, but he just couldn't take the chance. The lunch rule wasn't even his decision quite frankly, it was also a school rule that you must reside in either the lunch room, football field, or atrium during lunch hours - no sneaking off on your own agenda without a valid reason. Coming to his classroom wasn't really a valid reason. Yes, some students slipped past the radar, but it wasn't often. Girls were sneaky, and being one of the only males in an all girls school, he started to learn their little tricks. 

He sat still behind his desk, eyes glued to the stand still shadow behind the aquatex glass window of the door. A frown stretched across his face as he wondered who it could be, the place was normally deserted and quiet during lunch break - a good 45-60 minutes of absolute silence. Depended on the day.  He wondered briefly who it was and what they wanted. Even though the knock was quiet, it nearly scared him - that’s how unusual sound was at this time of day. He was sure he could blast his music as loud as he could and no one would be able to hear. He didn’t of course, it would disrupt his concentration. 

It bothered Ethan sometimes that he had such a close eye on him at all times. Just because he was young, with a tall, sturdy frame, thick hair, strong jawline, plump pink lips, and a naturally prominent bulge that he couldn't hide no matter how hard he tried. There were always eyes watching his every move. No, he wasn't the type to flaunt his sex appeal. He didn't like that he was watched like a hawk because he was “hot”. He knew he was watched, knew the women lusted after him, but he kept himself in check. He also knew he was attractive, confident, and had a charm that could sway any girl to be on their knees within seconds. He’d used it quite a few times in college. But as far as he was concerned, he was at the school to teach Composition and Reading - not to stare at girls in their tiny skirts or at their shirts that they refused to button the way they should. He wasn't here for that, plus half of the girls were underage anyway. That and it was just simply wrong. Strictly against the rules. 

And it wasn't just the students that would throw themselves at him - but the female staff as well. That made the eyes on him even heavier, as if someone higher up was just waiting for him to slip up, take the bait and get himself into a mess he’s sure he’d never get out of. Because of the close watch on him, he would try and escape from the prying eyes of his co-workers during his lunch break just to sit by himself and get much needed work done that he might not have time for at home or during the day. He liked that this was his alone time without anyone bothering his concentration. He actually thought it was one of the crucial parts of his school day. 

He got enough sex to satisfy his needs elsewhere anyhow, not much, but enough. It slowed down after he had a small fling with a female teacher when he first arrived at the school - but it ended as quickly as it started. He fucked her twice and then she turned obsessive and he had to end it in the kindest way he could. He didn't have the energy for the “coworker against coworker” fiasco that would surely start if the word got out that he rejected her after they’d had sex. It would sound dishonorable to everyone that didn't understand the situation. But other than that, it was women he took interest in that were friends of friends, even some women he’s hooked up with before. It wasn't like when he was in college - he was kind of a sex crazy beast in his younger years. That hasn't changed, he just didn't have as much opportunity. Though since he wasn't really meeting anyone at school, he wasn't making it a point to go and find a random female to fuck. Just wasn't his forte. But he liked to believe he got enough. Enough to keep him from going insane. 

He sighed softly, not all that happy about being interrupted, but not wanting to ignore whoever it was and be rude. He set his blue inked pen down, stopped the soft music playing from his phone, and pushed the hair back on his head neatly. He noticed that on many occasions it gets quite frazzled from him tugging on it when he was bored or frustrated. He wondered for a moment if it was just another teacher wanting to come and sit with him for some company, but that didn't sound appealing for him if he’s honest. He wanted to be alone and most of the teachers knew that. He cleared his throat, just to assure the person who was waiting that he was inside, before he finally spoke out calmly, but with enough volume that whoever it was could hear him, “Come in.” 

The door opened slowly, slowly enough that he just knew it wasn't a teacher. Teachers opened the door with purpose, not a hint of shyness in sight. Students were always the ones that opened the door like it weighed 100 pounds. That thought in mind, he wasn't really surprised that he was right. But he was surprised to see the familiar face of one of his best students. He recognized her beautiful face immediately as she appeared slowly from behind the door. Blushing cheeks and all. 

She stood almost nervous with her snug white blouse and grey plaid skirt. A dull outfit for such a bright girl. But it wasn't her fault she had to wear a uniform. He knew what the girls had to wear and he knew she was a little older than the rest of the girls in her class. She was in his Senior class he remembered. She was ravishing. Utterly fucking gorgeous and he couldn't deny it. Ethan tried his hardest not to look down her body. But he found himself holding back more than he thought was normal. She was normally very shy, sat in the back, had her head low during class, fiddled with her pen a lot. She had cute quirks that he caught onto early in the year. She was always the first to hand in her paper, and it was always excellent, had neat handwriting and wonderful thoughts - but she refused to participate in class discussions. He never thought anything of her silence, so he thought it was strange that she would come to his class unannounced and during a time she wasn't allowed. He knew she knew the rules that had been set in place for all four years and even before that. 

She took a step inside the room, hands toying with the white bottom button of her blouse. A small smile rushed to her face at the sight of his eyes lingering on her patiently. 

“Can I help you?” He ushered her forward, earning him a small nod and the view of her turning around the shut the door softly behind her. He took note that she twisted the lock quickly, secretively. His eyes flickered with confusion at her actions, but he shook his head to rid the look before she turned back around and took a step closer to him with a nervous huff from her rosy lips. If he looked closer, he might see her visibly shaking. 

“You know I don’t usually offer help during lunch,” he explained, knowing she knew, but making it clear that she was breaking the rules. He felt bad for a moment that he sounded so harsh and cold. He was unsure why she was even here, she was the top of her class - she’d always had a steady A in the class - and every other class he’s sure. Surely she didn't really need the help. 

“I know Mr. Dolan I’m sorry, I just need a little bit of help,” she finally spoke, doe eyes blinking a few times at him, showing off her long lashes. He saw that her pupils were dilated but chose to ignore it. He didn't want to make any assumptions that weren't true. 

“You can come back 5th hour if you’d like, I don't really have the time during lunch...Y/n right?” He pondered, leaning back in his chair, crossing his arms over his broad chest while he stared her down. God she was beautiful. 

“Uh yeah.” A sweet smile makes it’s way to her face, along with a pinky blush. She rocks back and forth on her heels, a nervous habit he’s noticed a few times this year.  She doesn't ask many questions, but when she does she always falls into that habit. She just never knew what to do with herself when it came to him. 

“Well, Y/n just come back in a few hours with any questions you have and we can go from there, sound good?” The way she’s making his heart race is making him sweat, his hand coming up to loosen the tie from around his neck. He felt like he might choke if she kept batting her eyelashes at him like that. 

“You don’t even have a second to listen?” she simpered, dipping her head to the side and giving him her best puppy dog eyes. There was a glimmer in her eyes he hadn't ever seen before, it had him clearing his throat once more. He really wanted to cut her some slack, just feeling the nerves radiating off of her was making him nervous now. The way she’d said it made it seem like she came to talk to him about a personal problem, and that alone had him tensing up from his neck to his shoulders. He’s not really all that good with personal problems, hell he’s not even good with his own. Plus if this is true, he doesn't know why in the hell she would go to him and not any of the many female teachers in the building who were far more equipped to help. 

“I really don't mean to be bothering you, I can see your really busy. I’m just kind of nervous about my grades and with finals coming up I’m getting in my head about all of the work...” she carries on, resulting to chewing on her bottom lip to ease the nerves coursing through her. 

“There’s really nothing to worry about, Y/n. You’ve always excelled in this class and I’m sure the final won’t be any different. I can assure you that you’ll find it easy. I can give you extra study material if you’d like, just to freshen up.” He really was trying to pacify her, not knowing exactly what to say to someone that was so nervous about a class that was clearly so easy for them. Not only that but she kept chewing on her fucking lip and it was driving him mad. She wouldn't even meet his eyes, seemingly making it worse for him. 

“Honestly...that’s not really my problem,” she admitted with a sigh while she stepped the tiniest bit closer, noticing his eyes flicker down to where her silky smooth thighs rubbed together while she walked, “I kind of need some personal advice, sir. It’ll only take a second.”

The look she was giving him from under her long lashes was void of any of the shyness he’d seen moments before, no. This time he could see something devious and lustful pooling in her dilated pupils. She watched him closely as a look of confusion took over his handsome features once again. He chose to ignore the fact that she was now standing directly in front of his desk, keeping his eyes trained solely on her face and nowhere else. 

“I think a female teacher would be better fit to counsel you with a personal problem, miss Y/l/n. I’m afraid I wouldn't be too much help,” he smiled softly at her, eyes full of sympathy. So handsome. “But I do advise you to get back to lunch before an administrator finds you in here. I don’t think they’d be too happy about seeing a student roaming the halls when it’s such a nice day outside.” 

“Sir, I don't think you understand,” she rushes, “I really need your help. I came to you for a reason.” 

He watches her tongue dart out and wet her lips quickly, but he noticed nonetheless. He notices a lot of the things she does. 

“Is it serious? If it’s serious you should see the principal. But you really should get back to lunch, Y/n,” he urges on before she has a chance to answer, “You may come back 5th hour if you’d like. I’ll have more time to talk. But it’s best if you get back to your friends.” He’s nervous about how close her body is, breath turning shallow from the sweet smell of her perfume. 

Her brows dip down as she huffs, frustrated that he’s not catching onto her obvious flirting - and if he is, that he’s not giving her anything to work with. Ethan sits upright just as she rounds his desk, the toe of her shoe pressing against the wheel to roll the chair back further. He stays still, staring up at her looming frame over him, too shocked to do anything else. If he was expecting anything from her, it definitely wasn't that. He feels the soft tips of her hair rubbing against his cheekbone just as she swings her leg over his exposed lap, fitting to him snug. She’s straddling him, clothed core pressed right up against his bulge. Her skirt was bunched up over her thighs, smooth skin exposed for him to touch if he wished. 

“You see the thing is...none of the female teachers have what I want...what I need,” she whispers, staring into his hazel eyes that gawk at her twirling his tie between her fingers. Her tone is suggestive, seductive, everything it shouldn't be towards her teacher. 

“Miss Y/l/n, this is extremely inappropriate,” he grunts, wanting to push her off of his lap in shock, but instead raising his hands so he’s not touching her at all. If someone tries to come in he doesn't want them to see his hands even near her body that fits with his so...perfectly. No he needs to focus. 

“I’m just really stressed and anxious sir,” she whispers again, running her hands down his front and noticing how firm he was beneath the material of his dress shirt. She sighs as her pussy clenches at the thought of what resides beneath, “I haven't had sex in months which is far too long. I just need to be fucked right.” 

“Y/n get off. This is against the rules and you shouldn't be here,” he spoke sternly, as much as he could through his voice shaking. He expected her to look hurt, maybe even offended at him rejecting her in such an embarrassing way, but he only saw a smirk. 

“Mr. Dolan I need a man,” she hummed, “a man that will fuck me nice and hard. I need you Mr. Dolan. I need you to fuck me.” She popped her lip out into a pout, still running her hands up and down his chest until she hooked her arms around his neck and leaned in close to his lips. If he just leaned forward a bit they would be kissing. 

He really didn't expect for this normally quiet and shy girl on top of him to be so bold. He had never seen her like this and never thought in a million years these words would be tumbling from her mouth. He gasps quickly when she reaches down to tug at his belt buckle, staring down with a hungry look on her face, eye fucking him. 

This had never happened before and he wasn't really sure what to do. Normally the advances from the girls were subtle and harmless, but this was...this was dangerous in many ways. To say his morals were floating around in his head in a jumbled mess because he can feel the heat from her pussy against his dick is an understatement. He wanted it but he didn't want to want it. He grabbed onto her wrist in an attempt to stop her, watching her pout return to her face at the fact that he tried to stop her. 

“I’m well aware of your intentions Y/n. But this is wrong. I will not have sex with a student. No if, ands, or buts. Now leave and I promise we won’t ever have to talk about it again. I won’t tell anyone about this.” He meant it too. He didn't want a single person knowing that his student was sitting pretty on his lap in her...sexy uniform that wouldn't be sexy on anyone else but her if he’s being honest, “But I want you to get off my lap right now.” 

She sat for a moment, just staring at him to gauge his reaction before she slowly let go of his belt, looking as if she’d admitted defeat. “Okay...I’m sorry I broke the rules, sir.” But just as it had before, that same sensual grin came onto her face, sending a nice thumping from his heart through his chest once again as she said, “I’m so sorry that I've been a bad girl.” 

She slid her hips forward and back again repeatedly, not stopping even when his breathing stopped short and she felt his heart beating rapidly beneath her fingertips. She grabbed into the collar of his shirt, using it for something to hold onto as she rolled her hips into his, making it unbearable for him to stay in line. He watched in awe while she untucked her shirt from the waistband of her skirt, pulling it out and slowly undoing the buttons, one by one until she revealed the soft pink of her bra and the curves of her hips. She was breathtaking and he couldn't deny that if he wanted to. She pushed her core harder against his slacks, loving the pressure it put against her clit. His eyes traveled down the expanse of her body to where their hips met, feeling like he might pass out if she doesn't stop now. 

If he’s honest, he’s wanted this for quite some time. She’s just...something else. He’s caught himself staring at her longer than he should in lectures and she doesn't know it but he can see right up her skirt when she sits at her desk, his eyes drifting down far too often from his own desk. But he would never imagine himself acting on anything. The consequences that would follow if anyone ever caught him kissing her like he desired to, were scary to say the least. But he wanted to so bad. That thought had him gulping while he looked at her all spread out on his lap and grinding herself against him. Her head was resting against her shoulder, a blissed out look on her face while she rolled over his clothed dick, the skin of her thighs causing a rubbing sound that he didn't mind much. 

He was suddenly happy for a split second that she locked the door, even though he knew someone would be able to see the shadow through the glass window if they looked hard enough. He also know that the administrators and janitors had a key to his door and would surely use it if they had any indication something insubordinate was going on inside. It had him all jittery the think that someone could catch them even if he hasn't touched her...yet. He hated the fact that he was tempted, he was so tempted to fuck her senseless that it almost killed him to not have his hands dipping into her sides and roll her harder against him. 

His cheeks were heating up fast by the quiet moan that emits from her lips, soft and angelic. He knows that if he lets it slide they will only get louder and he doesn't want a single soul to hear. He knows that the building is deserted, but just the thought of someone hearing her sounds is terrifying and sends a panic through him, causing a hand to fly up and cover her mouth, the other to wrap around her throat lightly. It was the first time he’s touched her and he felt like his hands were on fire just by touching her skin. He was going to hell. 

She stared at him over his hands, breathing out through her nose and waiting for him to explain why he’d shushed her so frantically. He looks mad. And he is. He’s fucking pissed off that he wants her so bad and that he’s so hard beneath her he’s worried he’s leaking precum. He’s mad that she’s put him in a position that has his brain so out of order that he can't think of anything else but ramming his dick into her against his desk. He’s mad that he’s never wanted to fuck someone so bad in his life and he’s mad that she has to be his student. He’s mad because he wants her, and not just right now, but always and it’s driving him crazy. 

“Don’t you realize what will happen if I fuck you, Y/n? Do you fucking know?” He seethed, a hand reaching to grip at her ass deliciously, leaving a smack against the flesh and feeling it jiggle in his hands. She jumps away from his hand against her mouth from the contact, surprised that he made such a risky move when he’s been frozen like a statue the whole time. 

“You’ll cum...I’ll cum...we’ll have mind blowing sex,” she answers calmly, so sure it makes him more mad because he’s certain she’s right. 

“Wrong. I’ll get fired. I will be out on my ass before I can even blink,” he snapped, “I will lose everything. We will both be in a fuck ton of trouble, including you...then you’ll really be stressed won’t you kitten?” he hums, a smirk plastered onto his face as he leans in to ghost his lips over her own, testing the line before stepping over it. She’s pouting agains, wanting him to kiss her and show her what he’s really thinking because this denial is bullshit and she can tell he wants it. She can tell from his hard-on that’s pressing against her right now. 

She nods, not wanting him to deny her but still understanding why he’s so scared to want it. But Ethan takes her by surprise when he places both hands under her ass and lifts her up like a feather. She clutches his biceps tightly from his sudden movements, clinging onto him just until he sets her on the edge of his desk. He had one hand buried in her hair, making a fist and pulling. 

“So I’m gonna need you to keep that pretty mouth closed okay?” he growled, sinister glare set straight into her eyes. He was serious. No games here. He was holding back a smile at the giggle she let out next, overjoyed when he spread her legs wider. She’s keeping herself up on her elbows, grinning up at his handsome face, tempted to pull him down by his tie for a kiss. But he still hasn't gotten an answer. 

He grips her chin angrily, making sure she’s looking right into his hazel eyes, “Am I understood?” So stern. She knew that he was trying to assert himself, make sure she knew he was in the position of power. But he had nothing to worry about when it came to her, that’s all she wants right now. To have him take control and use her in the best way. 

“Yeah, daddy,” she simpered once again, a tiny pout on her face. He could feel the blood rushing to his cock in an instant. He’s never been called that before but something about the way she said it had him addicted already, “I promise I’ll keep you a secret, I promise I won’t tell,” she carried on, dragging a finger across his sharp jawline, leaning up just enough to leave a peck against the skin of his neck. When she leaned back, she was biting her bottom lip again. 

He couldn't think about how wrong this was. He couldn't think about the fact that he was possibly taking advantage of her when he was adult and was the one responsible for saying no. So instead of thinking he pulled her to the edge of the desk, tugging harshly on her plaid skirt. She sat in her matching baby pink panties, so delicate for such a dirty girl. He took the time to dip his hand down, cupping her heat and rubbing slowly, torturing her like she’d tortured him for so long. He only toyed with her for a moment longer before ripping her bra off, panties off as well, he groaned from deep in his chest as the sight of her dripping core. 

He wanted to take it slow, feel every curve of her body, every inch of her skin - but considering his compromising position he needed to make it fast. He couldn't waste time. He needed to fuck her hard and fast like she wanted and get it out of his system because it’s eating him alive. He didn't have the time to caress her and kiss her tenderly. He just couldn't take the time right now. The thought of someone coming to knock on the door while he had her splayed out wide and wet on his desk was something that chilled him to the bone. 

He paused for just a second so that the rapid thoughts in his head could quiet down and let him focus: What if she’s underage? What if someone comes? This is so wrong. You’re gonna get fired. But how could he ever say no?

Instead of getting lost in his thoughts and overthinking the entire situation, he chose not to think at all - let his instincts take in. He quickly grasped the cold metal of his belt buckle, peeling it from his belt loops on his slacks and pushing them all the way down his legs and to the side. He watched her gazing at him dreamily, so focused on his large hands pulling his massive length out for her to see, sitting so deliciously in his palm. She licked her lips when she noticed the tip was the same reddish pink as his freshly kissed lips. He tossed his underwear into the pile of clothes on the floor beside the desk, forgotten. He leaned over her, taking another second to land his lips on hers once again, tasting her chapstick and feeling his heart warm at the way she leans back up when he tries to pull away, sighing into his mouth. 

When he breaks free he’s grabbing at himself to rub the head of his cock up and down her wet opening. Ethan teased her slowly, tapping at her clit just to hear her gasp and jump beneath his touch. She clenches with a wince when he tries to push in slowly, never has she been with anyone this big and she hope he understood from the whimper that slipped out. He gave her a soft smile, rubbing his hand over her soft thigh in understanding, making sure that when he tries again he takes his time. 

He has to stop halfway, throwing his head back from the way she grips him so tight, overwhelmed. Y/n grips his arms, bracing herself for him to sink all the way inside of her. He captures her lips with his own as he rammed his cock into her time and time again, relishing in the warm tight wetness of her pussy that he’s not stopped thinking about since she unknowingly opened her legs from beneath her desk months ago and he caught sight of heaven on earth. His hips met hers with a harsh smack, loud enough to be heard from outside the door, but a delicious sound to his ears anyway. Ethan was over the moon, buried deep into the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen, who happened to be none other than his student. He breathed hard when his gaze went from her bright eyes down to her chest that rose and fell rapidly, down to where he disappeared inside of her heat. 

Y/n couldn't hardly breathe just looking at his body so firm above her, tie swinging with every thrust of his hips, buttons undone at the top of his shirt. She was tempted to shut her eyes simply from the pleasure and euphoria that took over her every nerve, but refrained when she saw the blissed out look on his face she’d only ever seen in her dreams. 

She had envisioned this exact moment so many times within her daydreams, scribbling mindlessly while she watched him talk about nonsense in front of the class, scanning her eyes over his front the best that she could when he wasn't looking. It was maddening to want his cock so bad. She’d dreamt about being fucked against this very desk. She’d woken up in a sweaty gasping frenzy from the vivid image of what she is seeing right now. But this time it was real and she was being fucked on his desk. The grunts and groans emitting from his mouth weren't a figment of her imagination any longer. He was ramming into her shaking body so hard that the pens near her head were knocked to the floor with a clatter, binders falling, papers flicking off the wood and to the ground silently. But he paid no attention to the racket, only her loud breathing and gushing sounds coming from where he did his best to ruin her. 

A spark of anger arose from deep within his chest when he looks up to find her grinning at him, a gloating sneaky little glare that reads “you love this and you know it.” It made him angry because she did this, she walked in here everyday in her short she knew was too short, she came and sought him out, made him weak, made him want her. With an angry “fuck” Ethan’s wrapping one hand around her throat - not too tight, but tight enough to make a point and grumbling low, “You knew what you were doing didn't you?” 

She grabs at his wrist, hand fumbling with his fingers for a second, just feeling at them lightly with a smile, nodding her head and batting her eyelashes. She could feel her thighs shaking and tightening around his waist, her heels pushing into his thighs to push him into her harder. 

“Such a fucking slut...is this what you wanted?” he continues to growl from within his throat, hard staring her with dark, lust-filled eyes. 

“Y-yes,” she gasped, a strangled sound coming from her throat from the pressure of his hand around her airway, “fuck me harder daddy please. Love it so much.” 

Ethan had become hot and sweaty quickly, a patch forming on the front of his shirt from where he’d soaked through, enough to have him yanking at his tie and hastily removing it from around his neck. He suddenly felt very large in a shirt that normally fits so well, but then again he was never pushing against the buttons and railing a beautiful girl into his desk, so that might be a factor to think about. 

“Fuckin’ hot in here,” he grumbled to himself as he unbuttoned his blazer all the way down, feeling the cool air touch his chest for the first time and sighing at how good it felt. He still hasn't stilled his hips, his rhythm even and steady. It impressed her that he had a will to keep going to matter what and she just knew that even if someone did knock on that door - he wouldn't stop. He would finish what he started. But looking at his bare torso that showed under the unbuttoned shirt still had her breathless and swooning. She hadn't expected him to take his clothes off, too worried about how fast he needed to be for obvious reasons. But she wasn't complaining by any means. 

The slither of tan skin that she could see had her whimpering and throwing her head back on the desk, nails reaching beneath the flailing fabric to rake her nails down the smooth surface - over every bump and ridge. She forced herself to open her eyes and appreciate the way his abs flexed with every thrust into her, the way his eyebrows were drawn down in concentration, the way he bit at his bottom lip and watched her closely. She hardly expected him to grip at the back of her neck to pull her up just enough to bury his face in the skin of her neck - kissing fiercely. His teeth dug in in the most delicious way, sucking on the sore spots and admiring the dark purple that was left behind from his assault. They would be nearly impossible to cover, and that made him proud. With a grin he gripped her hips tight, ramming himself into her harder still, chuckling at the bright red of her skin from his hips pounding into her own. If she wanted rough, rough was what she was going to get. 

“Yessss daddy right there right there right there-” she screeched so loud he was sure the entire city would be able to hear. But he didn't have the heart to stop her. He craved to hear that desperate howl, frantic and scared he was going to stop hitting that sweet spot that drove her to madness. Well, he wouldn't dream of it. 

“You like that spot kitten? Hm? Right here?” he mocked, pushing a hand down on her tummy and driving into her deep, stilling before pulling out all the way, and slamming right back in. 

She whimpered pathetically, throwing her head back and trying to crawl away from how deep he was. She’s sure that if she didn't want to look tough, she would be crying right now. But she just wanted to be good for him.

When he offered two fingers for her to suck on, she greedily opened her mouth, tongue out, flicking around the digits while they settled against the flesh. Her eyes trained on his own menacing hazel ones while she sucked, letting him gag her if he pleased, adoring the way she felt so full in not one but two places. The tears brimmed in her eyes while he pushed his fingers to the back of her throat, fucking her mouth with his hand and loving the gagging sound she gave him. 

“God look at you taking me so well...sucking daddy’s fingers like the good girl you are...so pretty,” he whispered, almost to himself with how low the volume of his voice was. But she heard, and it still made her feel good. The ball inside of her started to grow bigger the more he pushed into her, the harder he pounding, the more he gagged her, the more he praised and degraded her all at once. It was all too much and if he kept going she would have no choice but to let the fire consume her. 

She bucked her hip up, taking notice of the sound of crumpling paper underneath her and giggling when she remembered it was probably papers he was grading from before. If only they knew. If only they could see the way their teacher fucked her raw and wild on his desk, fingers dipping into her skin, groaning low and dark into her ear, smashing his lips against hers like he really meant it. Did he really mean it? If only they could know that the crumple of the papers he was going to hand back would be from their sexual escapade happening right now. It all made her head spin in the best way. 

Her screaming only rose in volume, his eyes widening and a hand rising to cover her opened mouth. He gave her a brilliant smile, but a warning still lingered in his eyes that looked down on her. “Shhh baby,” he shushed her, feeling her giggle behind his hand, her eyes shining at him innocently. But he knew so much different. He pulled his hand away only to lift her from the desk once more, shuffling her weight up his body, loving the way she fit him so perfectly. He held her in his arms, her own circling around his neck and kissing at his cheekbones lovingly. 

Ethan was still buried to the hilt, so deep in her pussy, so warm. He took her ass into his hands and bounced her up and down on his muscular body, smacking her body down onto his own and sucking at her nipples while she moaned repeatedly above him. 

Y/n hooks her ankles behind his waist, bucking her hips against his because she just couldn't get enough. He was addicting. She adored the way he gazed at her, sucked at her tits, treated her pussy like gold, kissed her like there was this passion he’s waited to set free for so long, adored the way he did a complete 180 from a professional that was scared to let loose, to a fuck machine that broke her apart with his dick. She moaned hungrily while she looked down at him suckling on her left breast, her bud rolling against his skilled tongue. She wondered for a moment what it would feel like on her pussy, wondered if it’s everything she imagined it would be. She had no doubts she was right. 

“How do I feel baby? Is daddy doing a good job?” he growls, looking for the reassurance he honestly didn't need. He knew he was doing amazing by the shaking in her thighs in his hands. But he still wanted to hear her filthy little mouth say it. 

“So good daddy, doing so good,” she emphasized every word, whimpering and moaning and gasping like a complete mess that she is. She would be okay if she finished like this, with him holding her like she doesn't weigh a pound, ramming her down onto his cock hard and fast and unbelievably easy. And she nearly complains when he starts to back up and tumble into the desk chair. It rolls slightly under the pairs weight. 

He wraps her lips within a tender kiss once again, breaking free with a sharp intake. “Ride me kitten,” he grunted, continuing to kneed the flesh of her ass in his hands. He doesn't know why he’s doing it, but he knows he likes doing it. And he knows she likes him doing it by the content smile stretched across her face. 

She nodded at his demand, situating herself against his lap to find leverage before she started to bounce with purpose. 

She continued to sink down, wiggling her hips just to tease him when she felt the small tickle of the tuft of hair near his belly button. She was clenching, grinding, genuinely throwing it back on him in a way he’s never seen before, and he doesn't think after this he’ll be able to keep himself in check. 

She moaned in his ear just by the feeling of his large hands caressing up her back and down to her ass to leave a harsh slap, surely leaving a lovely red splotch behind. He found the strength to raise his head from her tits, tightening his grip on her ass and moaning softly at how good she felt, “Such a good girl for me. Ride my fuckin dick, yeah that’s it. Make me cum, baby. Be good and make daddy proud of you. Make me cum.” 

Ethan could feel his orgasm coming in strong, racing through him fast. He sat back in the chair, closing his eyes and really feeling all of her walls contract around his shaft and hug him so tight. He breathed out hard through his nose, trying to decide whether he would have the strength to hold it if he opened his eyes again. 

Y/n grinned at his struggle, bouncing faster and faster, moaning louder and longer. His jaw clenched with every swear word that tumbled from her rosy lips, reminding her of just how handsome he was. When she let go around him, her juices spraying out against the tan skin of his thighs, he thought he might lose it at the sight. She was writhing and dragging her nails down his arms, scratching at his skin. 

“Fuuuckkkkk oh my fucking God that’s so...oh my fucking God right there,” she screeching louder than ever before, shocked that she hasn't felt him release into her yet. 

The heat that had just erupted inside of her was unlike anything she’d felt before. Certainly one of the hardest if not the best orgasms she’s ever had.  He gave her a cocky grin when he smacked his hand down onto her ass one final time before lifting her away. He couldn't risk cumming in her and her not be on birth control considering he hadn't used a condom for obvious reasons.

 “Get on your knees,” he ordered her hotly, voice low and stern. She dropped to the ground with wobbly knees and a racing heart, her pussy clenching around nothing in particular now that she was empty. She still felt herself dripping in arousal against the floor beneath her, knowing she will most likely have to go home and change after this and feign illness. The soreness in her limbs already tells her walking won’t be the best option for the rest of the day.

 She took him gently into her hand, wrapping her plump lips around his swollen head to suckle and kiss it gently. She wanted to drive him crazy, wanted him to look at her with pleading eyes and a panic in him that she won’t let him cum. When she removes her lips, she receives that very same look, begging without actually saying a word. So licks up the underside of him, a slow, hot stroke of her tongue. Messy and filled with saliva. He watched her carefully, resting a hand within her hair as she enveloped him in her wet mouth. He thought he might pass out when she pushed him all the way inside her mouth, deepthroating him with tears forming at the corner of her eyes. She took it like she was forced, even though he had simply rested his head back and let her work at him. It was all too much. She started to pump what she didn't have in her mouth, feeling him twitch against her tongue and buck his hips up randomly, gagging her. 

“Y/n I’m gonna-” he’s cut short with a long breath from his nose, clenching his jaw tight while he finished down her throat in long hot spurts. She was clenching her eyes shut and taking it like the good girl she was, swallowing every drop he gave her. It surprised her that it was sweeter than she thought, all thoughts of the liquid being bitter now gone. He continued to groan above her, sensitive and wincing from her hand that kept pumping him. She knew he was completely finished, she removed him from her mouth with a pop and an angelic smile, kissing his tip one last time. 

He was frozen in his chair, frozen and shocked and fucked out and scared. Scared because he’s never cum that hard in his life ever. Shocked because he didn't want her to go. Frozen because she was rising her feet already, giggling while she gathered her clothing from the ground and got dressed in quick motions. He couldn't even find it in himself to move from how hard he’d just orgasmed. 

He watched her calmly, arms dangling over the arms of the chair, limp and lifeless, dick laying against his belly. He smiled softly when she leaned down to leave a breathless kiss on his lips, then his cheek, then his jaw while she held his face gently. “Thank you daddy,” she whispered, kissing his jaw just one more time before she leaned back to send him a wink, “I promise I won’t tell.” 

Ethan sat still while she pulled her panties up her legs, then her skirt, before buttoning her blouse and tucking it in to try and look the same as she did when she walked through the door. His head spun at the swivel of her hips as she tugged up the skirt, knowing if he had more time he’d fuck her again. She grabbed her bag from the floor, swung it over her shoulder and looked back at him with a grin, raising her hand to wave at him just as she opened the door and slipped out into the hallway, leaving him alone. The door closed with a click, normally it was quiet, but now that the moans and slapping of skin were absent, it sounded deafening. 

He looked across his destroyed desk, papers strewn every which direction, pens on the floor, papers wet from her juices, seeing it in a totally new light than he had moments before. He scooped the pens from the ground, then the runaway papers, then his clothing that he had ripped from his body in a moment of weakness. That’s what it was right? A moment of absolute weakness that can never ever happen again. 

It was just a moment that will be erased in history, never spoken about. He tried cleaning his desk up as neatly as possible, trying not to worry about the fact that he was naked, that is, until the bell rang and panic set in. 

He fucked a student. He actually fucked her. He didn't just have sex with her but he fucked her. He’s naked right now, in his classroom, cleaning up the desk that he fucked her on. He’s going to have to teach after this. He’s going to have to care about teaching her classmates after this. He’s going to have to think of her pussy now when he jerks off. He’s going to have to try and forget the way she just rode him in his chair like a dirty little slut. He’s going to have to try and forget the way she’d called him daddy. He’s going to have to forget that he wants to do it again.

 “Fuck.” 

tags: @dolandolll​ @stayalivw​ 

[sukiglycerin]

call it fate (or a christmas miracle) || katsuki bakugou.

* pairing: bodyguard!katsuki bakugou x earthbending quirk!reader (gender neutral!)

* genre: bodyguard!au, fluff, some angst, fake dating, aNd thEre wAs OnE bEd

* words: 10.3k (help)

* warnings: swearing bc bakugou, too much backstory, idk what bodyguards even do, there’s a fight scene (in a similar lieu to the sports festival arc), hunter x hunter? no this is tsundere x tsundere, i want to hug bakugou, yes i imagine mr. tanaka to be the tanaka from kuroshitsuji, christmas is a very minor aspect of the story (but the title was too good to resist)

* original request from @apexqueenie​: Hnnnnnnnnnnnngh can I get a Bodygaurd Bakuboi x bratty reader who don’t like to be watched like a hawk cuz she wants to do fun things pretty please? // and from anonymous:  if it's ok, can I request Bakugou with a reader who has a quirk like earth bending please? // and from @killkurzyackerman​: ÒWÓ UR REQS ARE OPEN can u do a bakubabe with like lil sassy bad bitch vibe reader bc ive seen a lot of fics that sorta like softie or angel type and no offense theyre great but ya know sumthn diff this time please

* a/n: this is a very long fic, to say the least. i combined these three requests! though reader’s quirk doesn’t appear often, it conveys my thoughts on how bakugou would go about with that quirk. moreover, i hope this reader is badass? i realize that that characterization is quite hard for me. so, i hope you don’t see reader as super soft! i made them fight back against bakugou (literally, too) and kinda bratty hehe. i got to explore a lot of new things with this fic, so i hope they reach you well. this is a repost because it originally did not show up in the tags!

* synopsis: things had gotten boring with bakugou as your bodyguard. it was only until an interesting proposal by the man that things would change. well, maybe a little too much would change...

you, to be quite simple and honest, were getting tired of katsuki bakugou. he'd been your bodyguard for years (years! much longer than any other you'd hired!) and he was getting boring. dull. plain. any synonymous word would fit. he was boring like a 24 hour session of watching paint dry, monotone like a professor’s droning that never failed to put you to sleep. (perhaps he was even more spiritless than professor sato at the academy. he caught you sleeping no less than thirteen times in his class. the number didn’t even account for the times he didn’t catch you.)

to the untrained eye, katsuki bakugou is vibrant. he's aggressive, unruly, and ruggedly charming (somehow). he's a wonder in a suit-and-tie and the epitome of an oxymoron with his harsh words, rough hands, and crisp suit. it was that very reason you’d hired him; his personality excited you. it seemed unpredictable and it was a challenge.

like all other challenges, bakugou was not impossible. once the challenge was overcome, time flow was stagnant; you watched the ticking of a clock as the day passed by you. you’d gotten used to him and he’d gotten used to you. these days, he watched you like a hawk. you could never slip past those sharp eyes anymore, no matter what you did. he was not fazed by any of your antics (ticked off mildly, sure, but he could live with it).

“leave me alooooone,” you whined for the fourth time in an hour as you exited a mall. bakugou's hands were full of shopping bags filled with everything from clothing to the latest technological invention. you weren’t sure how he was supposed to protect you in that condition. though, to be candid - in the first place, you didn’t need protection. you attended a private institution designed to maximize the use of your quirk as a child and graduated with absolutely flying colors. on top, you’d taken various martial arts outside of school. you didn’t know why your parents were still concerned about your wellbeing. you handled it fine. around 99.9% of the time, you could easily beat your bodyguard in a fair fight. it was a regular practice for you; so common that there was a reward if a bodyguard could last longer than six months working for you. not that any of them liked to be called bodyguards.

“sweetheart, i would if i could,” bakugou gritted through his teeth. “pay’s too good to- goddamn, what did you even buy?” he’d stopped behind you to adjust his grip on one of the bags.

you hummed pleasantly, continuing at your same, leisurely pace. his question was a rhetoric; he watched you buy everything with your black credit card. you watched as a car pulled up in front of you.

“there’s our ride,” you said, brushing bakugou’s shoulder as you stepped into the car. he grunted in response, loading the car with your purchases.

“fight me with your quirk when we get home,” you said during the ride. “you have, what, a boom boom quirk?”

he made a noise in his throat, voice hard. “my quirk’s explosions. nitroglycerin.”

“dangerous,” you said through a smile. he’d never used his quirk around you, but you were already starting to see possibilities of strategies you could use.

“so says the master earthbender,” he retorted sarcastically.

you clicked your tongue. “we’ll see who wins in the fight, explodo-boy.”

“finally brave enough to challenge me, eh?"

“i was always this brave.”

“oh, give it up already, bakugou!” you directed another wall of rocky terrain toward bakugou, who blew up the land and sent rocks flying. his stance was hunched slightly, forehead matted with sweat. the sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up to his elbows, coat long abandoned on the rugged terrain.

“tired already?” he snarled. he put his hands together, preparing for a bigger explosion. you didn’t let him have this opportunity, slinging a large rock to absorb the impact of the explosion. he dodged swiftly, to your disappointment, but his attack seemed to be subdued.

you used his delayed reaction time to try to trap him with terrain under his feet, but he was somehow a step ahead of you. you heard a popping noise; bakugou was propelled through the air, your rocks blasted already and a cloud of dust forming. you cussed under your breath, already moving yourself away from his estimated landing spot that was too close to you.

he sent crackling explosions to the bottoms of your feet, but you easily dodged them. you created a temporary platform of elevated ground to protect yourself from the small explosions, jumping off it and rolling away. he was already aiming a larger blast toward you, presumably expecting your escape route. you figured it’d be a directed blast to pierce through a wall. you knew that the explosion would be unavoidable. to counter, you created a line of walls resembling dominos. they acted as stairsteps; you quickly ran up to the highest you could conjure in the short time you had before bakugou hit them. you grabbed the closest piece of rock that you could and leapt as bakugou’s blast made contact with your steps, chucking the rock at him and aiming to kick him when you landed. you knew he had no power to counter, being unable to react quickly due to the powerful nature of the blast he’d conjured.

you were about to win when the door to the training facility opened. you froze, literally, in midair and frowned, turning to look at the intruder.

“fighting, young-?” one of the butlers, tanaka, said. he was an elderly man with a gentle voice, but his eyes always seemed to glint with a clandestine humour in it.

“you can call me by my first name. please put me down, tanaka,” you said, no malice in your voice. he nodded, and you softly landed on your feet next to bakugou. you’d known tanaka for far too long for him to use honorifics with you. he’d practically raised you as a child.

“you haven’t fought in a while,” tanaka commented. he conjured a water bottle (you never knew how he had the right things for the right occasions) and walked toward you.

you made a noise of acknowledgement. “and it seems i was just about to win.”

he smiled tenderly. “i’m sure.” he handed you the water bottle, which upon further inspection, you saw was ice cold.

“thank you,” you said, gingerly accepting the beverage. the water flowed soothingly down your throat, easing the aching that had formed due to all the dust you’d kicked up in the fight.

“mr. bakugou?” tanaka asked, offering another water bottle (seriously, where did he get that?).

“thanks,” bakugou took the bottle. he drank feverishly, quickly finishing the bottle in what must’ve been two seconds flat. so undignified.

“y/n, you have an appointment in 15 minutes with-” tanaka said as you capped your water bottle.

“oh, yeah,” you said, waving off the matter. “i got it.”

you brushed off the dust on your clothes and started toward the exit. bakugou was quick to follow you, nodding politely to tanaka.

bakugou stood outside the door during the meeting you had with your father. you were not a minute too late or too early when you stepped into your father’s office, freshened up and dressed in clean attire, the dusty clothing from your fight with bakugou long discarded. the smell of leather and mint enveloped you, reminding you of the days you’d play in your father’s office in your youth. the room was always dim, the light on your father’s desk being the brightest object in the vicinity when the curtains were pulled down. when you were younger, you liked to pretend the room was made of chocolate, as the color was so dominant on the interior. your father was not pleased to find five-year-old you trying to bite the corner of his desk, to say the least. 

the sight of his office was ever-so familiar to you, and once held a feeling of endearment in your heart. that was then; now, you only ever entered the room for a business-related matter. your face was blank, lips held in a thin line -  you anticipated the topic of the meeting since your father first scheduled it a week ago. it, quite frankly, was inevitable; you could be neither opposed nor favorably disposed to it.

“i’ve found a compatible match for you, y/n.” your father sat at his desk, eyes intensely trained on you. “they’re from a well-off family with a strong quirk.”

compatible. it didn’t mean they got along with you or would be a good partner; no, it meant that they matched the superficial criteria set by your family.

“yes, father,” you said indifferently. he nodded, as if already expecting the answer.

“you’ll meet them soon. we’re arranging the date,” he folded his hands on the desk. “tanaka will alert you of it when it’s finalized. that is all.”

you nodded, taking your cue to leave. giving the room one last glance, you started to push the door open, then paused. door halfway open, allowing outside light to stream into the dark room, you looked back at your father. it was now or never to ask, you guessed.

“father… we wouldn’t happen to be having a family gathering anytime soon, would we? for new years or anything...” you hadn’t had any in the recent years, but you’d figured you’d ask. the scent of homemade food and the comforting chatter of the gatherings always made your heart swell.

he grunted, not looking up from the papers he shuffled around in his hands. “no.”

“ah. okay,” you said, sighing quietly. you knew better than to get your hopes up for such things. you turned back to the light, where bakugou was awaiting you, and shut the door behind you with a thud.

you walked in silence.

“so, no plans for the holidays?” bakugou asked bluntly.

“eavesdropping, i see,” you deadpanned.

“shouldn’t’ve had the conversation in front of the whole damn world.”

you rolled your eyes. “what about it?” you asked. “my lack of plans, i mean.”

“well-” he coughed awkwardly into his sleeve, averting his eyes. “that old hag- my, uh, mom, somehow got under the impression that i’m no longer… single. probably because of my profession - she thinks it’s ridden with scandals like a damn drama - but, uh… she’s expecting me to bring… company home for our christmas dinner…. and i can’t ask any of my friends, ‘cause she knows them… i wouldn’t damn ask you if i had no other option…”

“thanks,” you interjected. you held your tongue from making a comment about how little friends he probably had. “anyway, why don’t you tell her no?”

he slouched. “have you met her?” he grumbled. “the hag won’t listen to me. trust me, i would’ve, but… you can’t refuse her, once her mind is set on something… she’s too stubborn for her damn good.”

“like you,” you remarked, earning a small shove from the man.

“pl-” he choked, “pl - ah, fuck - please can you go to the dinner with me? it’s just for a night and morning, i need you to fake being my date. i can tell her we broke up later or whatever, i just really need…”

your lip curled. a desperate bakugou was a rare sight, and you wanted to relish in it for as long as you could. you feigned further consideration.

“but there’s so much i would rather be doing…” you whined. it was a lie. all you wanted was some variation in your life; a dinner didn't sound too bad. perhaps there was a dark secret within the bakugou family you could exploit. 

“like what, wasting money?” bakugou muttered bitterly under his breath. you shot him a dirty look.

“fine, please?” he asked again. “there’ll be some damn good food… and, uh…” you tapped your foot with false impatience.

he cussed under his breath. “i’ll do whatever you want, damnit, just go with me! please!”

you cocked an eyebrow. “whatever i want?”

“yes, for a day,” he groused. “only a day.”

“alright!” you pumped your fist up. your father’s business training came in handy sometimes. “when’s the dinner?”

“this weekend,” bakugou said. “we also need to, uh, figure out how to act more… coupley.”

“...right,” you said. business class had not prepared you for that. “how the fuck do we do that?”

as it turned out, you two were not the best pair to fake a relationship. neither of you had actually been in a relationship prior to this. you didn’t really have time to date on top of your studies and such; you didn’t need to, anyway, because all of the people who were romantically interested in you bored you. their personality traits either consisted of rich or doormat. as for bakugou - well, he was bakugou. you couldn’t see anyone wanting to date that brute.

“i’ll pay,” you said upon entering a cafe. it was a big cafe, nestled in the midst of an even bigger mall. your tone was firm; there’d be no way bakugou would be paying. you looked up at the menu and said to him, “the usual?”

he was silent for a moment, and you almost thought he hadn’t heard you. he cleared his throat. “uh, yeah, sure. the usual.” weird.

you ordered yourself a drink and bakugou his usual order, a decaf iced caramel macchiato with light ice. he looked at you with a strange emotion on his face when you handed him his drink.you practically shoved it in his hands while he was too starstruck about god-knows-what.

the two of you settled at a booth (“table,” bakugou had argued. you eventually won the debate).

“so… trivia about each other, right?” you asked. “i guess we’ve got to get to know each other more.” he nodded. “well, first, you need to stop being so quiet. right now, you’re not my bodyguard or anything. we’re, uh…. dating. we’re partners. datemates. lovers.”

he choked on his drink at the word “lovers.” he sputtered, then gained composure. “yeah.”

“okay, i need to you to be more casual.”

“tch, who said i’m not casual right now?!” there it was; this was the bakugou you’d known when you first met him. he was awkward and amateur-ish, stumbling on his words and failing miserably at being polite. it was a fond memory. overtime, he’d obviously polished himself up (but only in the presence of you and your family).

“that’s more like it,” you said.

“tch.” he sipped his coffee, unrelenting to admit that you’d won.

“well, let’s cover basic facts. your birthday is april 20 and you like spicy food.”

he coughed again, setting his drink down. “yeah.”

“are you okay? d’you need water, or something? are the lights in here too bright?”

he shook his head, eyes still dazed with a certain unclarity. “‘m fine, idiot.”

you weren’t convinced. “...whatever you say.”

he took another sip, closing his eyes then continuing as normal. normal, in the standards of bakugou, of course. “i-i think i know damn well enough about you. don’t need to prove shit,” he grumbled the last bit.

“a little bit too well,” you muttered saltily. “well, this is a learning experience for me, take it or leave it. we need to get along at the dinner, don’t we?” you drummed your fingers on the table, eyes darting around at the cafe. the decor was pretty. 

he made a grievance under his breath, but nodded. “there’s my dad and my mom - the old hag - and me. i’m an only child.” figures. he continued, “they both work in fashion… yeah… my dad’s more quiet than my mom, she’s loud… apparently we’re a lot alike - don’t comment - but yeah, she’s my mom. they live in shizuoka, and it’ll be just them at the dinner. you’ll need to stay overnight...”

“seems… intimate,” you commented offhandedly.

he whistled. “you think?”

the gears in your head turned as you stared into the space over bakugou's shoulder at a large poster of some featured drink. it was all small talk to you, but you saw this meeting for what it was. an opportunity. it was your break from the uniform days plaguing you for the past week's - he wouldn’t need to watch over you, now your fake lover. lovers were equal. 

love - what was love? you didn’t know, but it didn’t matter. feigned or not, it was different. couples were moody, from what you could gather. one day they’d be hanging off each other’s limbs, and the next, they were bickering their heads off. it sounded fun, to be a couple with bakugou rather than his employer. you could say goodbye to normalcy and tedium.

you felt your lips turn into a smile as a plan developed in your mind, tapping the table at an increasingly faster tempo. who cared about the dinner? you were a fake couple! you could break away from the norm and find the things that made bakugou tick. you could gain a one-up over him. you could pick his personality apart piece by piece until it broke the monotony of daily life. you watched bakugou’s expression grow puzzled and frustrated. you pretended to be deep in thought, aware that bakugou was opening his mouth to make a snarky comment presumably about how the smile on your face was getting unnerving to him.

you didn’t let him speak, instead cupping your face in your hands and leaning in towards him. “how do you think we should become more intimate, kat-su-ki?”

you think you got soft over the years. when you first met bakugou, he was a rough little thing. being the same age as you, he was far less qualified compared to the other candidates to be your bodyguard. he looked out of place in his suit identical to everyone else. call it fate, or what you will, beckoning you towards him. when you first met him, you could’ve never imagined how far into the future you’d be stuck with the boy. all of the bodyguards you’d hired prior to bakugou’s appearance in your life didn’t last long. it wasn’t their fault; no, no, they were very competent. extremely competent - to the point it was boring, scrutinized under their meticulous gaze. you could do absolutely nothing under their watch, and where was the fun in that?

so, long story short, you hired bakugou for his incompetence. you’d low expectations for how long he’d last. you were surprised he could even put on a tie properly. from the way his hair spiked in every which way (“undignified!” your father had complained to you) and how his feet shuffled against the nice, newly polished cherry wood floors (“the scuff marks…”), bakugou was far from the epitome of a bodyguard. he couldn’t sit still and constantly made weird crackling noises (which you later learned were small explosions, not the concerningly incessant crack of his knuckles). the cherry on top to the disaster pie called bakugou, however, was his speech. he was polite, at face value, but also incredibly rough at face value. if you transcribed his words down, they’d be all standard formalities. it was the quirky way in which he presented his words; gritted out like somehow had forced him into this job. actually, scratch that, it was like this job was the be-all or end-all of his life. he was like an extremely tsundere shounen protagonist. he needed to win (“win what?” your father had laughed in disbelief) and be the very best. you'd… appreciate the sentiment more if you were his mentor in becoming a pokemon trainer.

of all the things bakugou was at the time, he was not a stoic old man nor a cold, indifferent boy who looked down on you snottily; he got the job. much to your father’s chagrin, of course. you’re pretty sure he had a backup bodyguard during the first month or so of bakugou’s employment, in case bakugou dropped out mysteriously for any reason. 

surprisingly, bakugou was competent, but not infuriatingly so. he had snark, and under any other employer he would’ve been fired in the first week. he did his job, and that was all. it was fun to tick him off, too, and so easy. it was - dare you say it? - cute. you wanted to watch him fall apart and leave, as so many others had. you waited for the day he’d get used to you or vice versa, when you’d wake up with nothing to look forward to. in the end, no one ever stayed with you. you could usually figure that out within the first week of a bodyguard’s services.

these days, you started feeling that way. bakugou was just becoming everyone else you’d ever hired. he was becoming everyone else. for some reason, though, you still clasped onto the thread of hope that maybe he was different, and that led you down a series of events trying to convince yourself he was different.

at the same time, you told yourself he was like everyone else. did you want him to stay or not? you didn’t know anymore. maybe fate would spin something good out of this, or maybe he would. you didn’t want it in your hands anymore.

being flirty was definitely not the best route of plan, but man, it was efficient. what better way to fake being a couple than organically develop that relationship? that was your bullshit reasoning to the logical part of yourself (when it was obviously far from the truth).

yeah, it was definitely not the best plan. you bored of it quite quickly, but couldn’t shake off the lasting feeling of fluttering in your stomach. you supposed it was because it was the most reaction you’d gotten from bakugou in months. you’d never seen him so disgruntled.

he was very, very blushy. you didn’t know how you hadn’t learned of it earlier. his cheeks were dusted strawberry red, matching the hue on the tips of his ears. ah, tsundere bakugou had returned for a short period of time. you wished you could've taken a picture of him.

you tapped the tip of his nose and he hissed at you, cheeks darkening a shade.

“a boop?” he scoffed indignantly in disbelief. “who calls it that? a five year old?” but you could tell that he really enjoyed it on the inside.

“what- what are you playing at, dumbass?” he swatted your hand when you tried to boop him again.

“c’mon, couples need to do coupley things, katsuki,” you cooed. “like overly affectionate pda~”

you didn’t know someone could get so red.

“since when did you call me by my first name?” he grumbled, unable to form any other type of response.

“since we started ‘dating,’” you teased back, realizing that watching bakugou become more and more uncomposed was more fun than you’d expected. he'd never become so open around you; after all, you'd had a strictly professional relationship prior, so bakugou never expressed any hint of a personality other than his behavior when he was first hired. it was a good change, in your eyes.

then, as you did of most things, you bored of it. sure, flustering bakugou was fun because he was so outwardly tsundere, but your attention span was short. he was already starting to recollect himself in record time, face cooling from a startling scarlet to pink and remarks becoming increasingly cohesive.

you're not even sure if he was aware of your gaze resting upon him as you half-assed responses and watched the gears in his head furiously turn. when he got real worked up, he pouted when speaking and occasionally slurred words together. his eyes tended to veer away when he thought of a response and he always got fidgety. 

eventually, you stopped teasing him. by this time, the ice in his drink had already melted and you were dangerously close to kissing him on the cheek (it was an impulse thing! you were not catching feelings!).

if there was one thing you learned, it was this: bakugou was truly a sight in his emotional state, though you could argue his unassuming state was equally, if not more breathtaking.

you noticed it as morning light illuminated him through the window of your room, hitting the silky fabric of your bedsheets around him. he was reading some book, dressed in comfortable attire that felt oddly domestic. maybe it'd be the most casual you'd ever see bakugou.

the thought struck a chord in you, making you wonder what'd happen after the dinner. it'd be awkward, for sure. it dawned on you that these moments with katsuki would vanish and things would go back to normal. they'd disappear into thin air, like nothing had ever happened. you weren't well educated in horology, but you were pretty sure that the time you'd spent with him would vanish as well, not to be spoken of or referenced ever again. time would keep trudging forward and you'd only be able to stare back as it disappeared on the horizon line.

you wanted to grasp the time that flooded your hands, encase the moment in glass and hold it in your palm forever.

"oi, idiot, what are you staring at?" and maybe it was the first time you truly heard bakugou's voice. it was rough on the edges with a soft core, you realized. maybe, after these couple of days, bakugou had started to care for you.

"nothing, stupid," you mumbled, returning your attention to your phone, but you couldn't shake off the newfound feeling that holed up in your heart. bakugou didn't care about you, you told yourself. you had a strictly professional relationship with him, and that was only broken for the time being because he needed a favour. 

right. this was all for a favor.

nights spent testing each other on the most miniscule of facts and afternoons spent telling each other stories about each other - it was all nothing. it wasn't a big deal, you repeated to yourself.

still, you couldn't help but to look back up at bakugou and let your imagination run. he wore a black shirt and sweatpants, a complete 180 turn from the typical three piece suit he normally wore. maybe this is what he'd look like in the mornings if you were a proper couple, not client and bodyguard - maybe in another universe. you could imagine his bedhead, hair all messy and eyes still worn with sleep, vastly different from the professional persona he had around you.  you'd wake up inhaling the scent of caramel and feeling his warmth surround you, feeling secure merely in his embrace. it'd be him and you in your own little bubble, unperturbed by the entire world.

wait, caramel? you wondered. where did that come from?

"you're staring again, dumbass," bakugou grunted, not looking up from his book.

"zoned out on the blandest thing i saw, sorry," you replied.

you sat in silence like that for a while. you weren't not exactly sure how it was bonding time for the dinner (were you sharing telepathic waves?), but it was comfortable like a fluffy comforter on a frigid winter day. it felt secure, like a home you never had in your own bedroom. every now and then there was the sound of a page turning from bakugou and a tap on your phone from you, and things never felt so normal. it was too short an eternity for you; before you knew it, you had some event to attend to for your father, solely there for the image of his company.

you didn't see the bittersweet look on bakugou's face as he watched you leave, or how he hadn't even finished a chapter of his book during the hours he'd sat with you. as his eyes followed your disappearing silhouette, bakugou wondered if he'd ever be able to see you like that again.

a foreign giddy feeling filled your chest as you got ready for the dinner with bakugou’s parents. you’d brought a bag for light travel packed with essentials (pyjamas, toothbrushes, and things like that), having planned ahead. you were typically indifferent to gatherings of any kind, having attended so many for your father. besides, this was a favor for bakugou. you weren’t sure why you were being so indecisive choosing an outfit for the dinner, or why your heart felt light as a feather, fluttering about in your rib cage boundless. this was no big deal, you told yourself. it’d only be bakugou and his parents; you’d spoken at gatherings of far more people with less nerves. you penned it down to only being excited for the food which was so coveted by bakugou. his mother, mitsuki, was apparently an outstanding cook (bakugou was apparently good as well), and you had to admit, you missed the heartening scent of homemade dishes. her specialty was spicy curry - your mouth watered at the thought. 

yes, you reassured yourself as you walked out of the door and met the fresh, winter air outside, you were only in it for the food. you had an abnormally fast heart rate and a spring to your step (as noted by bakugou) solely for the food. 

shizuoka prefecture was two hours away from your hometown, tokyo, and you forced bakugou to drive. the trip didn’t really feel like two hours, anyway, in your opinion. according to bakugou, that was only because you were sleeping the majority of the time and he was stuck with the dull task of driving and only the low hum of the radio to entertain him. 

“well, this is it,” you said to bakugou, approaching his parents’ home, bag in hand. it looked quite elegant on the outside, snow thinly blanketing the well-kept greenery in the front. you turned to look at him. his suit looked nicer than usual, on full display because he refused to wear a coat despite the frigid air biting at any bit of bare skin unsheathed on your body. (“just the perks of having a great quirk like mine,” he’d said. you punched his shoulder.) you huddled closer into the warm padding of your coat, watching your white breath dissipate in the air.

“it is,” he belatedly said. his face was atypically solemn, eyes downcast and seemingly lost in thought. you didn’t comment on it. something about the nippy winter air numbed the atmosphere, as if all warmth had subsided only to your coat. 

“do i look alright?” you asked him, trying to wipe away any last bits of drool you might’ve had on the corner of your mouth.

“yeah. you look… really nice,” he commented quietly. you didn’t mention that your bulky coat was covering the entirety of your attire. a heavy silence fell over the two of you.

anyway, the mood was quickly relieved by the presence of mitsuki bakugou, who greeted the pair of you at the door with her husband, masaru. bakugou really was a spitting image of his mother, sharing the same spiked blond hair and annoyingly clear skin with her. they also had similarly loud personalities, you observed later on. they’d often bicker with no real malicious intent. they were both much different compared to bakugou’s father, masaru, who was a gentle, soft-spoken man with brown hair and glasses. 

mitsuki met you with enthusiasm, eagerly asking you questions about yourself and your relationship with bakugou. it was strange to see bakugou so quiet; though, at some points in the conversation, he looked like he was going to be sick. you didn’t have time to ask him about it, occupied by his mother’s unending but well-meaning questions. you’d expected to fib for most of them, but the truth easily slipped from your tongue. even compliments about him were half-truths. 

"when we first met, he was like a fish out of water!" you recounted to mitsuki. "he stumbled on his words and my father didn't approve of him as my bodyguard. but, i pushed through, and here we are! right, katsuki?"

"r-right," he coughed, unable to look you in the eye and fidgeting nervously.

"it amazed me, too," mitsuki admitted. "i'd never seen our katsuki looking so polished before - it used to be a trouble getting him to even wake up at a decent time." she smiled at you. "you've brought a blessing on him."

bakugou cleared his throat. "don't talk about me like i'm not here," he grumbled.

"oh, katsuki," mitsuki cooed, pinching bakugou's cheek. "masaru, let's prepare dinner." she looked at you and bakugou. "the two of you don't need to worry about a thing - oh, you still have your bags! i’ll put them in katsuki’s room."

upon the absence of bakugou’s parents, the two of you sat beside each other without a word. 

“are you… feeling alright?” you asked suddenly, breaking the silence. “you don’t look so well.”

“fine,” he grunted. “i’m fine.”

“are you sure?” you teased in an attempt to lighten the mood. “not nervous meeting the parents?”

he cracked a small smile, but his fingers still nudged each other in his lap. you touched his shoulder, first in an attempt to comfort him, but soon realized that he was very toasty. you scooted towards him; he stared at you with an surprised, indecipherable expression. you linked his arm with yours and leaned into him, inhaling his cologne and bathing in his warmth.

“what?” you mumbled. “you’re warm.” you intertwined his fingers with yours. “warm,” you happily cooed, eyes slipping shut. 

“jesus christ,” bakugou hissed. “you’re freezing. is it humanly possible for your hands to be this cold?” his other hand enveloped your hand (still being held by his), rubbing his thumb soothingly on the heel of your palm. a bubble of warmth fizzed inside you, heart effervescing like a carbonated beverage. he held you long after your hand had passed room temperature, and you sensed that maybe the fuzzy feeling jittering about you wasn’t his quirk. it was like some sort of low fire, crackling deep within you. you hadn’t much time to dwell on the thought when your eyes jolted open, smelling really, really good food wafting from somewhere near.

“look at the lovebugs,” you heard mitsuki murmur, standing in the doorway connecting the kitchen to the living room leaning on her husband. “dinner’s ready,” she softly said upon noticing your eyes on her. 

your eyes widened, looking down at the hand entwined in yours, and you look at the man next to you. bakugou was sound asleep, tranquil slumber having sheathed itself around him. his head leaned against the top of the couch, mouth slightly agape and chest falling rhythmically.

“hey,” you whispered. reluctant to let go of his hand, you used your opposite hand to tap his shoulder lightly. “hey, sleepyhead.”

bakugou groaned, eyes still closed and body unmoving. “five… more… minutes…”

“sure,” you said easier than you expected. you immediately let go of the man’s hand (he reached out toward you blindly at this) and stood up. “i’ll just eat all of that food you've been looking forward to by myself…” mitsuki and masaru looked at you fondly.

“nice try, dumbass,” he said gruffly, standing up and putting a hand on your shoulder. his eyes were lidded with torpor and his voice was an octave deeper. it sent shivers down your spine - you hadn’t ever heard his voice like that - and a part of you wanted to hear it again. sadly, the effects of sleep passed him quite quickly; by the time he’d said “let’s eat, dumbass,” and made his way to the dining room, his voice was back to normal.

dinner consisted of scrumptious-looking (and tasting!) chicken katsu, curry, and even more conversation. your mouth watered as you spooned yourself the perfect ratio of rice, curry, and chicken in one bite. you politely raved to bakugou’s mother about her heavenly cooking, and bakugou never looked so proud or embarrassed in his life. masaru discussed fashion with you, mitsuki occasionally chiming in and offering to show you pictures of young bakugou modelling. you courteously declined for the fear of bakugou’s face getting any redder than it was already. 

“y’know, katsuki really wanted to be a pro-hero when he was younger,” mitsuki reminisced. “he even was accepted at that really prestigious hero school, ua.”

you looked at bakugou with questioning eyes, and he shook his head dismissively, hesitant to the topic. you wondered what he was doing here, as your bodyguard, rather than the hero he aspired to be. it wasn’t like he’d be unable to become a sidekick once out of ua, so what happened…?

at the end, you seemed to have gotten the approval of mitsuki and masaru. your heart twisted in pain realizing who you were and why you were here; this was asked of you, nothing real. you pushed the thought away, returning to the dining room after washing your hands. 

“oh, my!” mitsuki exclaimed as you entered the dining room. “it’s getting late.” she turned to you. “we don’t have a guest bedroom, so you’ll have to share a room with katsuki, if that’s alright?”

you looked to bakugou, who seemed lost in his own thoughts. “sure, i don’t mind,” you replied. 

“i’m sure you’d love to see bakugou’s childhood room.” this brought bakugou abruptly to his senses; his eyes rounded, face looking like a deer caught in headlights. 

a smile tweaked your lips. “i’d love to.”

you didn’t know what you were expecting when mitsuki opened the door to bakugou’s room. certainly, though, you were not expecting this. his room was decorated from head to toe with all might merchandise, carefully collected through the years. it could’ve been worse, you admitted to yourself, but bakugou’s interest in all might surprised you. the level of admiration bakugou had for the former symbol of peace was clear, plastered on the wall posters and figurines which dotted his bookshelves. 

“of course,” misuki said, “this is all really from his middle school days. he had to move to a dormitory system in high school, and i’m afraid he didn’t take much along with him…”

you tilted your head at bakugou, who’d taken particular interest in the ground with his hand sheepishly on the back of his neck.

“it’s cute,” you reassured him gently.

“though katsuki’s bed is pretty big, we could pull out a futon if you’d like…” 

“it’s alright.” shit. why did you say that? noting the bewilderment on bakugou’s face, you added, “we are dating and all…” you mentally smacked yourself for assuming bakugou would be comfortable sleeping in the same bed as you. “yeah,” bakugou said, much to your shock.

“that settles it!” mitsuki smiled. she winked. “don’t stay up too late.”

after mitsuki and masaru bade you goodnight and closed the door behind them, you were left alone with bakugou.

“hey, is that a picture of you?” after looking around the room, your eyes fell on a framed photo sitting on bakugou’s dresser. you reached for it, recognizing a familiar spiky haired blonde boy proudly holding a trophy.

“wait-” the frame was already held in your hands.

“aw, you were such a cute kid.” you teased, “can’t say the same about now.”

he huffed, ears reddening. “there’s a photo album on the bookshelf,” he mumbled, pointing to a thick looking book on his bookshelf. you eagerly plucked it from the shelf, holding it like a precious treasure in your two hands. he shoved his hands into his pockets and rested his chin on your shoulder, watching you open the photo album. 

the first photo was a baby photo, of course, and you could feel that it was taking every part of bakugou not to rip the book from your hands and scorch it all out of embarrassment. the first few pages were those of baby bakugou, eating food with his hands or playing with his parents. as the book progressed, you watched him develop a quirk (blowing up a vase) and become interested in pro-heroes (clutching an all might doll to his chest with a big smile on his face). the photos became more scarce as bakugou grew, but he seemed to grow happier. paging through photos of him in high school, the man’s gaze seemed to grow softer and fonder. his high school pictures consisted of him either standing in front of the famous ua or making an indifferent face with a group of his friends, who looked vaguely familiar from somewhere. upon further inspection, it dawned on you. you could recognize them all - they were young versions of the pro-heroes red riot, pinky, chargebolt, and cellophane. they regularly appeared on your newsfeed for one heroic deed or another, so it came no surprise to you that they attended the famed ua high. 

as for bakugou, though? you couldn’t understand what he was doing there, or rather, here. if he graduated ua, he’d be right on track to become a pro-hero, not a bodyguard. 

bakugou already sensed your revelation, shutting the book and putting it down. sitting on the bed, he squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“i know what you’re thinking,” he stated. he took a shaky breath. “i’m- i’m not ready to talk about it.” 

“okay,” you replied. “i think… we should get some sleep. you have to drive back tomorrow.”

he snorted. “me?” 

you nodded like it was a given.

the night was long, dragging in the same manner that you’d trudge through deep snow with weights on your ankles. it wasn’t that bakugou’s old bed was uncomfortable; it was surprisingly plush. you laid awake, though, as the clock ticked by and the house went silent. you felt as stiff as a wooden board, staring at the dark ceiling and thinking about everything and nothing.

your thoughts first strayed to bakugou’s childhood, and how he’d seemed the poster child for an aspiring pro-hero. how could he have given that up? he had friends, dreams, and a path open to his aspirations. yet somehow his life had deviated into this, pretending to date you for his parents’ sake.  

it felt strange to lay in his bed in his parents’ house and not to really call him yours. not that you wanted to call him yours outside of this scenario. definitely not. it was just the guilt gnawing at you that impaired your proper judgement - your conscience felt pity. you pulled off a large lie to bakugou’s parents that you were dating when in reality, you’d never even gone on a proper date with the man; for all you knew, he could be a terrible person. he could have terrible dating manners and leave to the bathroom when the check comes in an attempt to force his date to pay. it was hard to imagine, but hey, you reasoned to yourself, it was a possibility.

“can’t sleep either?” bakugou’s deep voice startled you. you thought he’d fallen asleep hours ago.

“yeah,” you snorted. “and here i thought you were in the habit of always sleeping early,” you referenced his mother’s stories of him in middle and high school. you turned on your side to face the man.

“kinda hard with five different all mights staring at me,” he joked, gesturing to his plethora of all might-themed decorations.

you imitated all might’s larger than life voice. “i am here! … to watch you sleep!”

bakugou first snickered, which then transitioned into a full-blown, unrestrained (yet somewhat hushed) laugh. you couldn’t help but laugh too, watching his features crinkle and gummy smile widen. your heart felt peculiar in your chest, but you couldn’t figure out the feeling. in the years you’d known him, you’d never seen him so relaxed or open. you knew you’d miss moments like this in the morning, when you’d drive back and the deal would be over. it sent a bittersweet pang to your heart - why couldn’t moments like these last forever?

you woke up to find bakugou gone, leaving you alone in the bed with only a warm indentation next to you letting you know he’d just left. you rubbed your eyes groggily, sitting up and pushing the covers aside. you swung your legs over the edge of the bedside, standing up and making the bed once again. you padded out of the all might-furnished room to the kitchen, where you could hear quiet footsteps and the sizzling of a frying pan.

“someone’s finally awake,” bakugou’s husky voice remarked. he was standing at the stovetop, wearing an apron over his nightwear and frying eggs. sleep had worn his voice deeper; you swooned at the domestic sight before you. no, it wasn’t swooning, you told yourself. just… appreciation. you really wanted to make a comment on his muscles, bulging from his short-sleeved shirt.

“that looks really yummy,” you said, in no way whatsoever referencing his biceps and definitely referring to the egg in the pan.

“i’d like to pretend that was an innocent comment, but the direction your eyes are looking at beg to differ,” bakugou deadpanned. you looked away, flushed.

“so, whatcha making?” you said, plopping yourself on a chair. 

“eggs, rice, natto, miso,” he said. “but nothing for you until you change and brush your teeth.”

you stuck your tongue out at him. “who are you, my mom?” you continued, “i used to hate natto when i was younger.”

“it’s good for you,” bakugou said, moving the egg onto a plate of steaming rice.

“you sound a lot like my mom,” you replied. “but i like natto now, just not too much of it.”

“i liked natto when i was younger,” bakugou said.

“really? all of my friends hated it. they complained about the smell.” you reminisced about your childhood days, when your biggest worry was whether you had homework or not.

“speaking of smell? your breath. go brush your teeth.”

“wh- i’m so far from you, there’s no way-”

“no hygiene, no food.”

“who even says that?” but you were already out of your chair and heading towards the bathroom.

“oh, by the way,” bakugou said as you were halfway through emptying your plate with rice in your mouth, “what do you want?”

“wha?” you said, chewing the egg-natto-rice mixture in your mouth. “what?”

“the deal,” he said. “before my parents wake up.”

“the deal-?” you racked your mind for any deal you’d made in the recent days, as you weren’t much a gambler, then it hit you. the deal. in an attempt to convince you to pretend to be his date, he’d said he’d do whatever you wanted for a day in exchange. you hadn’t thought about it at all.

“um,” you said intelligently. what did you want? you wanted to spend more time with him, but there would be no way…

“take me ice skating.” he choked on his rice.

“what?”

“i really want to ice skate…” you lied. “i’ve never been.” another lie.

“you want to go ice skating with me?”

“pay for me.” you could’ve paid for yourself. “and, you have terrible dating skills. how are you supposed to get a real partner? consider this beneficial for yourself.”

he blinked, taken aback. “...okay,” he agreed, dumbfounded. you hoped he couldn’t see through you. “when?”

“today, duh.”

by the time you finished your plate, bakugou’s parents had woken up to bid the two of you farewell. hours later, you found yourself at an outdoor ice skating rink in tokyo.

the rink was decorated festively; surrounding trees had been wrapped in golden lights and there was something in the atmosphere which bustled with cheer. those skating were either children or couples, laughing and skating together. you told yourself not to pay too much attention to them, but there was something about the way they looked so happy that made you yearn for the same.

you clumsily clomped toward the entrance of the rink itself, clad in four layers of warm clothing and worn rental skates. cold air nipped at your cheeks and your breath was a snowy white before your eyes. patting your cheeks in an attempt to half hype yourself up and half warm yourself up, you tensely stepped onto the frozen water. clunk. clunk. 

“you look like an idiot,” bakugou said as you made your way onto the ice with slow clunks. he was surprisingly cocky about his skating prowess once he’d gotten his skates on, despite his lack of experience on the ice. he was unaffected by the chilly weather, wearing a thin jacket and denim jeans despite the vast majority of other skaters wearing winter coats. 

“it’s cold,” you responded. slippery ice beneath your feet, you suddenly felt a great deal less confident in your ice skating abilities. it might as well have been your first time skating, in the eyes of bakugou. you took baby steps on the ice, both hands gripping the side rails while bakugou glided breezily past you. 

“c’mon, idiot, loosen up~”

easy for him to say. “i’m- trying,” you gritted out, attempting to copy his fluid motions. 

“hey, dumbass, take my hands.” bakugou stopped in front of you, both hands outstretched for you to hold. you looked at him warily, then accepted the offer, his hands replacing the railings. 

“don’t hold them that hard,” bakugou said. “i’m not going to drop you. relax.”

you nodded, gulping as you released your death grip on his hands. starting to skate backwards (an incredible feat in your eyes), he slowly guided you along the edge of the rink. you spent most of the time staring at your own feet, trying to keep your balance and rhythm in time with bakugou’s. once you seemed to get the hang of it, he sped up ever so slightly, loosening his grip on your hands.

“just like that,” and his voice was much gentler than you’d ever heard it. you looked up to meet his soft gaze. your heart leapt and he quickly averted his eyes. “um,” he coughed awkwardly. “i think you’ve gotten the hang of it.”

“okay.” you started to let go of his hands, testing your balance skating without anything to hold onto. in small amounts at first, you start to let go, allowing your strides to become longer and longer. bakugou matched your pace beside you and eventually, the two of you fell into conversation. you’d both forgotten your own words about how this was for him to gain dating experience; it felt too real to be practice.

“the truth is, i was really, really close to becoming a pro-hero,” he confessed, “but i was injured in my third year. i had to take a break for a year or so, but by that time, i was too rusty for the job.” 

“but-” you said, almost stumbling on the ice at the revelation, “didn’t you do all that training-?”

he shrugged. “it’s the reality of it,” he said dismissively, a momentary shadow crossing his face. he recomposed. “i’m over it now.”

you had the slight suspicion that his words didn’t ring quite true, but let go of it. still, you couldn’t help but think about all of his all might decor - he must have idolized the man, only to fail at his dream. his room was like a memento to everything he wanted yet couldn’t reach. “you wouldn’t have met me if you hadn’t become a bodyguard,” you said cheerily in an attempt to distract both him and yourself.

“true,” he smiled. then, almost to himself, he added, “i don’t regret that.”

the two of you skated a couple more laps around the rink. conversation faded and your feet became more and more sore after skating for so long. a chill had settled itself onto your bones as the sky tinted in anticipation of the evening to come.

“we should get going now,” bakugou said. “before it gets too cold.”

“yeah-” your phone buzzed in your pocket. “hang on, give me a second.”

it was tanaka, telling you that you had a date scheduled by your father in two hours. it took you a moment, it really did, to remember who you were and what your priorities truly lay.

you made it a point not to tell bakugou what the call was about on the way back. you told him it was about a business deal, and he pretended to buy it. the car ride was desolate, lacking all warmth despite the heater blasting. you felt guilty; why had you lied to bakugou? you and he both knew you were lying about the business deal. was it pity? why had you felt the need to protect him?

you could only amount it to the fact that maybe bakugou was becoming a friend. maybe bakugou was becoming someone you never wanted to hurt. your thoughts were the only thing you could hear over the buzz of the car’s heater. you looked to the sky with imploring eyes as if some cloud on the lavender-tinged atmosphere listened and could provide you an answer. 

you weren’t sure if it was the clouds’ doing or some star hiding behind the sun’s light that washed a sense of solemness by the time you returned to meet tanaka at the gates. it was almost enough to make you forget the sad feeling you held whilst looking at bakugou one last time before stepping out of the car to greet your old butler. the feeling was unfathomable to you; in your daze on the ride back, there’d seemingly been no reason for such a feeling to linger in your heart. why had you felt so much guilt, so much sadness for this man you were supposed to be strictly on business relations with?

not that you’d done this, anyway. your business relationship with bakugou ended the minute you agreed to that favour he’d proposed, and was further broken when you ice skated together. you wondered if he felt the same as you, or if things would return to the way they had been after this date tonight. somewhere deep in you hoped it wouldn’t - hoped he wouldn’t forget it all. (“stay here,” you’d told him when you stepped out of the car. his stare was vacant; would he? you weren’t sure why you even asked.)

“tanaka,” you said stiffly. the air was frigid around you (when had the temperature dropped so suddenly?) and a breeze wrapped itself around your legs. an impulse told you to turn back, look at bakugou, and tell him the things you left unsaid - but you didn’t. 

“y/n,” he nodded. it was like a wake-up call. this was who you were, truly. your father’s pawn, his company’s pawn. you were a face used for business and nothing more. you traded your feelings for your father’s wealth - that’s who you were.

yet it was the past two days that made you feel more like yourself than ever before. the time spent with bakugou, of all people, made you feel genuinely happy. he made your name feel more like yours than your father’s. it seemed it was he who could only coax this feeling out of you. you, certainly, couldn’t imagine it being anyone else. there was something unlike anything you’d experienced before which bakugou gave you. but you couldn’t let your father down, could you?

“y/n, we must go now,” tanaka urged. 

you didn’t look back.

bakugou watched you leave with an inscrutable expression. as soon as you vanished from his sight, he let out a deep sigh and bashed his head on the steering wheel, then rubbed the spot of contact. that would leave a mark.

he wished he could pretend he didn’t know what your sudden meeting was about. he couldn’t. what kind of bodyguard was unaware of his client’s schedule? you were going on a date, on account of your father’s absolutely superb matchmaking skills. he wanted to strangle the bastard. 

god, he was an idiot to have gotten his hopes up about you. just like countless other things in his life, you were unattainable. he was constantly in pursuit of the impossible, it felt, yet none of his endeavours’ ends had quite felt like this. it started when he was a child with a newly developed quirk. constant words of praise fluttered around his ears, all applauding his strong quirk and natural intelligence. it continued when he entered school, winning academic and athletic awards for what everyone called his talents. (he remembered looking up the definition of “talent” in a dictionary in his elementary school’s library and being sorely disappointed. no one had seen the hours he’d dedicated to practicing and studying after school - all of that couldn’t amount to what everyone else had called natural talent.) 

in doing so - winning all those competitions - he’d somehow earned the approval of all those around him. it was never something he’d wanted or aimed for, but it soon started to fit him like a custom-tailored outfit. somewhere along the way, he started to seek out the approval of others, flaunting his accomplishments to do so. however, as years went by, one thing became apparent: the tactics used on his peers and teachers would never gain his parents’ approval. he so yearned for a tad of his parents’ praise or satisfaction; even an “i’m proud of you, katsuki,” from them would’ve sent katsuki to the stars and back. he never was quite sure, as a youth, how to gain this prize, so to speak. and so, for the sake of his parents, he became stronger and stronger and thus began his journey to attain the first impossibility in his life.

high school, at once, came knocking on his door in the midst of this endless journey. with it came izuku midoriya, the boy katsuki had bullied in middle school. this time, though, it was izuku who was stronger; katsuki had so wanted to atone for all that he’d done to the boy, but it proved something impossible. on the physical level, izuku had already forgiven him and moved on. it wasn’t enough for katsuki, who’d really done nothing to deserve izuku’s kindness. so katsuki set off, trying to truly deserve the boy’s forgiveness and make up for everything he’d done. in katsuki’s mind, there would be nothing he could do that would balance out the weight of his actions to izuku. hence unraveled the second impossibility katsuki set up for himself.

the third impossibility found itself in katsuki’s third year at ua academy. he was working for his parents’ approval and atonement for izuku; this impossibility, though, would send everything crumbling down. impossibles, unlike any math equations covered during his schooling, could not be cancelled out the more brought into the equation. it was perhaps katsuki’s only salvation and lifeline, his passion to become a hero. fate snatched this very possibility from katsuki’s hand, snapping the lifeline and dangling it just out of his reach. all of it was cruel - the sympathetic words spoken from recovery girl’s lips and the weeks katsuki had to sit out of hero training. even worse was how katsuki watch his grade drop from one of the top in the class to only passable in general studies, no longer sharp enough to qualify for a pro-hero. by the time he healed, he was rendered unable to rejoin the hero course. his goal was thrown away easily, becoming another impossibility.

katsuki trained himself physically for a new job. an acquaintance had introduced him to being a bodyguard, and katsuki figured that was close enough to being a hero. not that he particularly enjoyed the notion of waiting on someone’s every beck and call. but through and through his countless impossibilities and misfortunes, he had to move forward. he was tired, so tired - hearing his parents’ disappointed voices on the phone and looking up to see a billboard of the newest top pro-hero, deku. when he foolishly and naively got his hopes up about you, the logical part in him knew it was doomed. he knew that as he stared at you, illuminated by a golden light in your bedroom, it was ill-fated. you were a miracle opening up a new life to him - but miracles weren’t real.

of all the impossibilities in his life, you were the most painful. why was he cursed in such a way? where had the happiness in his life gone, if not with you as you walked away from him? he stared at his suit cuff, suffocated in the stupid attire. he should never have taken this job. 

a knock. another knock. three more rapid knocks, and he finally looked up to see your eager face looking at him from the passenger side window. he hastily unlocked the car door with a click.

“finally,” your exasperated voice said to him, tinged in a happy hue that he’s confused by. 

“wh-where’s tanaka?�� katsuki stuttered. “your date-”

“i did it, bakugou.” you beamed at him. “i refused. i said no.”

“wha-what? you refused what?” 

“the date, duh!” you laughed. you grew quiet. “i realized something. i realized that all i want is you, and it’s… it’s about time i start taking control of my life.”

katsuki cracked a smile. a real one, not painful like so many others he’d faked before. “you’re a dumbass, you know that?” and it was endearment, bringing you close to his heart. 

maybe fate had decided to bless him. maybe it was all the impossibilities in his life that had cancelled each other out to give him you. 

“oh, and by the way,” you said, changing the topic. “i’ve been thinking a lot about it recently. we need to have a rematch for that sorry excuse of a fight we had the other day. i will have an undisputed victory over you.”

“you’re on, moron.”

it was definitely fate that brought katsuki to you.

[violetnotez]

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(Requested) Hawks x reader

@chxcolxtemilk: Can I get an imagine with Hawks where the reader is his gf, and she got a BODY. She’s hourglass, slim thicc. Anyways. So during that intern arc where Bakugou and todoroki are like interning with Endeveour and it’s like a meeting and the work students are there and they all think reader fine af, but like mineta takes it overboard and hawks gets protective. Especially since readers hero costume shows off her curves please! Have a nice day ❤️

I read “slim thick” reader and my eyes went 👀👀👀-also sorry if this is a little wonky in the canon timeline cause my brain can’t function 😂😂

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⤷Word Count: 1200+ (?-Im just guessing here sidfnsdifiw)

⤷Warnings: Pervy Mineta, cursing, the usallllll

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Hawks stood in the back of the room, his arms crossed around his lean yet sturdy body, a smirk gracing his lips as he watched you speak with a loud welcoming voice to the newbies.

Hero schools across the nation were starting up their students for internships with hero agencies, and UA was no different. Countless teachers from that high school were shuffling their kids into agencies, and it was one of your duties to greet the students that were about to enter their internships for the other pros. It saved alot of time when one hero told the kids the do’s and don’ts of their internship, so you had sorta graciously took the role (you had lost a match of Rock Paper Scissors to Hawks and you were fuming).

Only you could make public speaking interesting to him-especially when you were in your hero suit (even if it sounded pretty perverted).

He couldnt help himself from letting his eyes wander around your frame- you were dating after all, it wasnt like you wouldnt want him to...but damn was that hero suit a blessing to his eyes. Whoever designed it, he wished he could perosnally thank them for making it so perfectly sexy on your frame.

 Your quirk relied on you to show a little more skin, as you needed to physically touch things in order to activate it. Which made it the perfect for Hawks (and others) to gawk at your curvacious figure- deep swoops on your chest, high cuts against your leg that showed off your hips, an expanse of the soft skin of your thigh….it was absolutely tantalizing to him and left his whole body throbbing every time he saw you in your suit.

Hawks felt his heart thump in his chest from the back of the room as he watched you bend down, apparently having dropped a piece of paper on the floor.

How you bent down gave the best view of your chest-the mounds pushed up so delciosuly he licked his lips from the sight- and then the nervous, innocent laugh you gave as you fiddled with your hair- god, you really just the most beautiful little birdie, werent you?

Hawks loveisck grin quickly melted away when he heard a slow whistle come from the seat in fornt of him- apparently somebody else found his little chickadee pretty too…

Immeidately Hawks felt his the feathers on his back ruffle- he usually wasnt protective at all, as long as  everyone knew that you were his and his only.

But oh, the moment he got a whiff of someone trying to flirt or be smitten with you-he immeidately did a 180, becoming fussy and dominant as he shielded you or sent the person a death glare behind a strained smile. 

“...could you imagine snuggling into her boobs? They must be so soft….” he heard a nasally, boyish voice whisper to his friend next to him, a few seats to his right.

Well-that was pretty fucking creepy.

Hawk’s head swiveled around, trying to find the voice. He was trying his best to not let his emotions do something rash-he didnt want to throw you off your task by doing something stupid. He was pretty known for his outgoing and filter-less peronality, so it was taking everything in him to just be calm for once, for your sake. Hawks quietly began to walk behind the seats of the kids, trying to find the owner of the voice.

“Ohhhh I would do anything for her if I could call her Mommy just once-”

The hell was this kid?! And how old was he to be making such nasty ass comments??

Hawks felt his cheeks flush, his eyes darting around, finaly landing on a student who seemed to be whispering to his friend with electric yellow hair.

He recognizied the kid with the bright hair- you had taken him on as a intern, his name was… Kalimari? Kanimari? 

He didnt quite remmeber, and frankly didnt really care that much as his eyes were trained on the kid next to him- he was so short, only his hair was visible from the seat- if you could it hair. Three balls of messy purple spheres were planted on his head as he leaned into the boy next to him.

“Hey Kaminari you think you wanna switch interns? Ill do anything, anything to just be next to her…”

“No way man!” the kid “Kaminari” whisiper yelled at him, “I landed a total babe as a intern, Im not loosing that-”

Hawks blinked a few times in complete shock- now this kid too! He knew you were a hit with the men (because hell he was a total fanboy before meeting you just because of how hot you were), but god he didnt realize you were popular with the teens too! It made sense, boys were pretty, well- interested- in women alot more at this age, but still- it bothered him how possessive he was getting because of these boys.

“Ahh please Denki!”

“Nah Mineta youre crazy!”

So his name was Mineta...Hawks leaned against the wall, his hands fidgeting as he tried to stay calm.

He might be petty enough to give a small call to his intern and see how he can make his life a little hellish….

Hawks drew his gaze back to you, hoping that maybe watching you speak will calm him down...but the kid wouldnt let up.

The whole time you were talking “Mineta” made every comment in the book, wondering “if you liked short guys”, “how big your butt was”, even asking if you had modeled lingerie….Hawks was pratically mortified for you.

Were all guys liked this? Cause god, if it was, he was going to have a problem...he felt his chest fluff out in dominance, his feathers pratically vibrating from agitation because of how possessive he was feeling and he couldnt do a single thing.

He watched you looked around the crowd, a soft radiant smile on your lips.

“Does anyone have any questions?” you asked as you peered up at the students.

Mineta instantly raised his hand, Hawks stomach churning with dread.

Unaware of the situation Hawks had just witnessed, you gave to boy a bright grin. 

“Yes?” you asked goodnaturedly.

Mineta sniffled, his voice nasally and somewhat desperate sounding. 

“Yeah I had a question- um, how big are you boo-”

Haha, nope.

Hawks instantly sent a bunch of feathers zooming towards Mineta, each one ramming into his open mouth. The force took over his frail body, the sight almost comical as his eyes grew wide with fear as he began to lean back, his pudgy hands flailing.

Hawks felt a small part of him inflate with dirty pride from his little trick, a lazy grin gracing his lips as everyone in the room turned around to watch him with complete shock.

“Sorry about that kiddos, had to just demonstrate somehting for you guys real quick...” Hawks looked down at you, your face blushing yet riddled with conufsion. He sent you a small smile, giving you a quick wink- “Ill tell you later” was written on his face as he turned his attention back to the students in fornt of him. 

“...when you intern with your heroes, show them some respect...cause words get around when you talk out of place-”

The Mineta kid turned around, sputtered coughs dribbling out of his mouth as he picked fluffs of feather off his tongue. His eyes widened as he turned around and realized what was going on, the #2 hero giving him the deadliest glare imaginable. 

Hawks could almost feel sympathy for the kid-almost. He must have realized who had shut him, after all, you two were dating (and Hawks had made sure that everyone knew that).

Hawks sauntered over, a dark grin wrapping against his complexion as he kneeled down to get to the kids level.

“I’d watch what you say, kid- my feathers can get sharper when I want them to,” 

A gulp could be heard from Mineta, his skin paling as the #2 hero, the one dating the pretty herione in front of him, had pretty much threatened him.

Yeah, he stayed quiet after that.

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Taggings:

Everything Taglist (All Fics, All Characters):

@bunnythepipsqueak​ @pasteldaze​  @ionlyspeakinmyheroacademia​     @notadrian​  @hithoeshi​ @sizzlingbarbarianglitter​ @sunnie-nugget​ @shoutosteakettle​ @we-mentally-unstable​ @sm0kingcrack​ @wesparklebitch @kac-chowsballs

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Buy Me A Kofi| Masterlist

[sunnysaylorboy]

my opinion on/a surprisingly passionate defense of Mulan (2020) (SPOILERS)

I’ve seen a lot of ppl ragging on the new Mulan for so many reasons, so I will go over why these (mostly) are stupid reasons and why I love the new movie.

1. Liu Yifei supporting the Hong Kong police. Now this is not a stupid reason, this is valid. I am an East Asian studies major, and as much as I love Disney, when I first heard the news I knew I could not watch Mulan (2020) in good conscience. It went against everything I have learned in my studies, and everything I believe. However, now I am almost positive Liu Yifei was forced to make those comments- I've seen several sources saying so recently. You can look for these sources on your own, because this isn’t the whole point of my post, but I think it's true. A movie about a woman defying her government and social expectations of the time? Hong Kong citizens could absolutely use her as a symbol for protesting against China. It makes sense that the government would take preventative measures before this could happen. But anyways, I was not planning on watching Mulan (2020) until I found out that what she said was most likely fake/forced.

2. The removal of Mushu. Yes, I too miss Mushu but I completely understand why they did that. A lot of ppl make these sort of complaints about the live action remakes not using humor in the same way as the original, but that’s bc it doesn’t translate well. Humor in animated movies is exaggerated or silly, and it works in that medium but if you do the exact same in a live action film, it will come off as too slapstick. Think Will Ferrell in Elf (still a good movie). Mushu’s whole character is based off of this humor that appeals more to kids, and it would have really made the dialogue with him super cringey. and I know if they made him a more serious supportive character people would've complained about that too, so I understand why they did it.

3. The removal of Li Shang. I miss our bisexual boy too, but I actually think they did a really great job with the new guy Honghui. The directors removed Li Shang because he is in a sense, Mulan’s boss, and they felt that it was too much like the #MeToo movement, which I applaud. At first I was upset that supposedly this new character would be a jerk to Mulan until he found out she was a girl, but that's not what happened in the film fortunately. Honghui and Mulan start off on the wrong foot but they grow as comrades and sort-of friends, and Honghui is the first to stick by Mulan’s side when she reveals who she is. Even if there aren’t as many signals of him being bi, I think they progressed their relationship nicely. (I was sorta hoping for a kiss at the end though).

4. Mulan’s “chi.” Apparently people do not like that Mulan already has a sort of warrior streak inside of her already, as opposed to the 1998 version where she struggles to get used to the army. I think this is an overgeneralization. Mulan does struggle to become a soldier, as we can see in the training montage. Similar to the pole and the arrow at the top, she cannot reach the top of the mountain carrying the buckets with her arms outstretched like everyone else at first- then when she manages to do it, she knows she has proven herself. Plus, I like that they gave her more character. We don’t see any of Mulan’s childhood years in the original, so it is a little hard to understand why she is such an outcast. She only had one incident with the matchmaker and suddenly she is questioning her identity. But the 2020 version establishes that Mulan has been different from the start and everyone has known it since then. It makes it more believable that she brings dishonor on her family so easily. And just because she has strong chi doesn’t necessarily mean she is already a warrior. She is told to hide her chi as a child, and she does not tap into it easily- her commanding officers can sense something is holding her back. She is special, yes, but she isn’t “the chosen one.” She still works hard and she still relies a lot on her strategy instead of brute force just like in the animated version.

5. Lack of musical numbers. I do miss the musical numbers. But they did well with incorporating the musical themes from the original into the movie. The little “Honor to Us All” theme playing while she gets ready for the matchmaker? Perfect. The bit of “Reflection” playing when she reaches the top of mountain? Beautiful. And “Reflection” playing at the end when she is recognized as a hero? I was bawling. Also, this isn’t the first remake that Disney hasn’t made as a musical- the 2015 Cinderella did not include “A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes,” (except in the credits like Mulan did), or “Bibbidi-Bobbido-Boo,” or “So This is Love.” I know that Cinderella is an older movie and may not be as beloved to this generation as Mulan, but those song are still incredibly iconic to the Disney brand and I didn't see anyone complaining about those songs being removed. Idk, I don’t think it’s a big enough deal to be upset over it, especially because they included instrumentals of the songs for the live-action version.

6. The addition of the witch. I can’t believe people are complaining about the personification of the hawk from the first movie- seriously, watch the remake and you’ll see how great Xian Liang’s character is. I love the parallels drawn between her and Mulan. Despite fighting for opposite sides, she sees herself in Mulan, and Mulan sees how she might end up if she had chosen the route of evil. I think they did it wonderfully and I’m definitely not gay for Gong Li...

7. The cost. This one, I understand. $30 is a lot to pay for a movie, but I get it because they’re losing money from not going to theaters for a few months. I paid the $30 because I felt like I had waited long enough to see it, I was foaming at the mouth the night of its release, and I had $30 I was willing to spend on it. Ofc Disney is a multi-million dollar company, so I don’t begrudge anyone pirating it bc screw capitalism.

I just had to get this off my chest because so many criticisms of this film seem so unjustified, weak, or deliberately negative. I swear, not just with Mulan, I see so many people who hate the live-action remakes- it’s like they’re trying to find things to hate about them, and I'm frankly getting sick of it. Like damn bitch why you gotta be so negative about everything?? The acting is great, the music is phenomenal and timeless, the costumes are so extravagant, the action sequences make you hold your breath in anticipation... y'all will find anything to whine about and I'm TIRED. And it seems like some of y'all are purposefully ignoring WHY they made these changes. These changes were made to adhere to the Legend of Mulan more closely, to make up for some of the racial insensitivity/cultural inaccuracies in the original, and to appeal to their Asian audience. the 1998 version is a VERY Americanized way to tell they story- so stop complaining, you got “your version” that appeals to you.

Some things I loved were

1. Mulan’s sister. It’s not often we see Disney princesses with siblings. Even though she didn’t have much screen time, I loved Xiu and the relationship she had with Mulan.

2. The phoenix symbolism. In Mulan (1998), there is heavy dragon symbolism as Mulan is preparing to run away to the army. This insinuates that Mulan is the dragon, the protector of the family, and that is why the Great Stone Dragon doesn’t awaken later. In this version, she is instead guarded and represented by a phoenix. In Chinese mythology (correct me if I'm wrong), the phoenix stands for yin and yang, harmony and is often the female counterpart to the dragon. The wings specifically represent duty, which is why the wings of the phoenix spread behind Mulan when she saves the emperor singlehandedly. Though I don’t know if they intended this, in Greek mythology the phoenix is a symbol of death and rebirth. Mulan is reborn again as Hua Jun, but ultimately in this version she is not discovered as a girl, she chooses to fight as one. The moment she does, “Hua Jun died, and Mulan was born again,” as she sees the phoenix once more. Mulan is the phoenix, and she brings harmony after defeating the Rourans. It’s beautiful.

3. The avalanche scene. A lot of the battle scene was different, but I loved that they kept in the avalanche from the original. Mulan’s planning in this one shows how big her brain is, and how well her strategy works.

4. Xian Liang and Honghui. As I already mentioned, I really loved how they portrayed these characters.

5. The fight scenes. God they really got the perfect actress to play Mulan. Liu Yifei leaning back to avoid an arrow from a Rouran? Impeccable. Mulan’s display of her techniques when she and Honghui get into it when they’re supposed to be practicing? So cool. 

All in all, I loved this movie just like I love all of the other Disney princess live-action remakes. Disney obviously spent a lot of money on the action sequences, the costumes, the backgrounds, the historical accuracies, the casting, the storyline, everything is amazing. I will definitely be watching again.

[emerald-amidst-gold]

Why have I done this?

So, as per a conversation with @little-lightning-lavellan, I was blessed or maybe cursed, with this idea about Fane. As such, I had to write a short story about it that I think will be like four chapters long because...yeah. XD

Anyways, enjoy part one! (Look at what you’ve done. IT’S GLORIOUS!)

***

Anatomical Observations - Chapter 1

It had happened once. Short lived, quick, and barely noticeable as many things were more pressing, the world teetering on a crumbling edge. But it was hard to ignore such small things when voices were all you could hear when one was trying to work.

Solas was highly divested in an article of research. A basic magical theory in concept, minor amplifications of lesser spells, but it still required his mind to bend, to become flexible much like his magic when he had first awoken. As such, he had not heard many people come and go through the rotunda, he had not even heard the doors leading in and out slam shut or creak open, nor a polite greeting or scurrying messenger. That was how deep he was in his bubble of concentration. However, one--no, two voices from directly above were currently making it incredibly, and he meant incredibly, difficult to remain focused. 

“I do believe that is my chair you are sitting in, Inquisitor.”, a male voice with a distinct Tevinter accent floated down from above, indignation and slight amusement laced within it. 

“I don’t see your name on it, do I?”, another voice, far deeper and like rolling thunder with how it always held a slight growl. It always made Solas involuntarily shiver, and the same remained true now, making his focus splinter further like cracked ice. “Anyhow, it’s Inquisition property. Got a problem, talk to Josephine. I’m off duty.” A sound like a page being harshly flipped made his ears twitch. 

A gasp. “And work her harder than she already is? Absolutely not!” Solas could tell the line was meant to be a jab, but it only held the telling of a joke within its haughty vibrato. 

“Then I guess you’ll just have to sit your ass on the floor until I’m finished.”, that rumbling timbre came once again, a shifting sound and a loud thud signifying someone’s boots had been slammed down onto something. 

“The floor? Me?!”, another indignant squawk, actually making Solas let out a frustrated sigh as he lifted a hand to pinch at the bridge of his nose. How much longer was this going to go on for? It wasn’t unusual for this type of banter to sound, but right now, he had work to complete.

And this was not helping accomplish that.

“Yes, the floor. Yes, you.”, another harsh flick of a page ruffling through the air. “Now, can you leave me alone? I’m busy.”

“Oh, yes, you’re quite busy stuffing your face with tea cakes!”, the Tevinter accent rose a pitch, as if in disbelief at what it was saying. “The crumbs! Have you no etiquette, Inquisitor?!”

“Nope.”, the gravelly voice responded with a heavy air of indifference, actually sounding a bit muffled as if it were eating something. “If Vivienne and Josephine can’t knock the elf out of me, no one can.”, Solas could just hear the sarcasm and roll of eyes in that statement. It almost made him chuckle, but he was still too miffed to push one through.

“Most elves I’ve met are very well mannered!”

“I’m not like most elves.”

“Well, that much is apparent!”

“Thanks for noticing. I’m so happy.”, the tone voicing that statement dripping with concealed disdain. Solas knew where that bitterness originated from, and hearing it always made his heart heavy. Heavier than it already was, even.

“You are a truly stubborn man! Fine, I’ll sit on the floor! The cold, cold floor!”, a scoff following right after those words as the sound of leather and, most notably a body, plopped down onto the stone. 

Solas let out a heavy, heavy sigh as silence finally followed that exchange, letting his head hang down to where his chin nearly touched his chest in defeat. It would seem his attention was severed as much as the world’s magic was. He would not be getting back into his rhythm anytime soon. 

“Perhaps I should find a quieter, more secluded place to do my work..”, he mused, lifting a hand to rub at his face slowly. “One of the lower chambers maybe..”

Solas sighed again before letting his hand fall back down to his desk with a light pap, eyes absently roaming over the pages of the tome before him. Maybe if he stilled his mind, found his anchor, he could try to decipher this line of text. The glyphs were a no go, however. Just trying to look at the faded lines was making his vision go blurry. Sadly, the theory he was trying to prove was reliant on those patterns, and they were far more convoluted than he remembered. Perhaps more things had adapted than he originally thought? Or did the older methods  have to be reworked, seemingly forgotten like so much else? He, frankly, did not know. He couldn’t focus, but he would have to try.

“A ward..?”, Solas muttered under his breath, brows furrowing as he traced a sigil with his finger. “No..it is more akin to a summoning circle. Or perhaps a rune?”, he continued, slowly feeling how his mind began to bend and think, the lines of the glyphs becoming clearer, more defined. “Ah! The outlining symbols are for--”

His musing was immediately cut off, much like the frayed line of his focus, as a shout had him freezing and quite literally jumping in surprise.

“Fasta vas! What are you doing?!”, a squawk, the curse in Tevene elongated between the two words for more flair.

“Would you calm down?! Dammit, my ears are fucking ringing now! Ugh!”, the rolling thunder voice no longer indifferent as its volume rose to make the very stone quake. Once again, it made a light shiver run down Solas’s spine despite his tensed up form. What was going on now?

“How can I be calm when you...you do that!?”, furious shifting sounded as if someone was flailing limbs about. 

“One, I don't know what the hell you’re going on about, Dorian!” The sharp snapping of a book making the ravens up above in the rookery flap in agitation. “Two, you can have your chair back because I’m not getting anything done with your needling!”

“I believe you need a needle, my friend! That looked incredibly painful!”

Solas felt his slowly relaxing body tense up at that, mind awakened, but for a completely different reason than trying to get magical research done. He lifted his gaze from where it was fixated on the pages of his book, looking upwards to search the railing that outlined the library for the source of the voices that had shattered his hour of contemplation. He knew them both, but the exclamation housed by one had him wanting to see the other.

Where..? Solas thought the question, eyes roaming every inch of the circular area before stark white had his gaze halting immediately. Ah. There we are. 

He would spot that messy head from anywhere, even in snowy regions like the Emprise. Though, the body that that hair was attached to did a fine job of location as well. Occasionally, he would find his eyes lingering, or searching for less...conventional reasons. However, this wasn’t the time to be thinking of such things, especially as his mind still reeled with what the unaccounted voice had yelled.

Fane was currently along one of the bookshelves, a gloved hand firmly pushing a book back into its place with a typical scowl plastered on his otherwise smooth face, the faded green lines of his vallaslin making an already striking face look more so. Solas felt his body relax as he took in the sight of the man, or rather, the dragon.

His dragon, to be more precise, but not in a way of physical possession. It was more fond, more willing than that. It was not a bond of slavery. It was a vow. A centuries old one, to be exact.

Solas almost called out to the other, a sense of fondness and curiosity as well as mild concern invading his mind, but he clamped his mouth shut when he saw Dorian stride up to the snowy haired man with a look of wide eyed fascination. That was an interesting look, and truthfully, a worrying one. Such looks harbored questions, and he knew Fane did not entertain many inquiries.

And for good reason.

“Wait, what? You can’t be serious?”, Dorian said with an airy laugh. “You do that, and just walk it off?”, his tone rose pitch in disbelief. 

Solas caught the glint of ebbing gold as Fane rolled his eyes, turning his larger frame to face the Tevinter mage more directly. His eyes zoned in on how the reluctant Inquisitor was tentatively rubbing at his jaw, working it back and forth slowly as if it were locked up. Dorian had said something about something being painful, hadn’t he? Was that what he meant?

“Again, I didn’t do anything.”, Fane growled out in denial, the hand upon his jaw shifting so he had it pinched between two fingers to where it appeared he was trying to fit it into place. “I was eating, and I bit my tongue because you pissed me off!”

Solas smirked faintly at his dragon’s typical usage of foul language despite the way he watched his odd movements like a hawk. Fane was incredibly eloquent, cryptic, even, but when irritation or just general boredom took hold, the dual being was a sailor. It always fascinated him rather than disgusted him. For a dragon, an ancient dragon, to latch onto common parlance as if it were the most natural thing to their being was intriguing. Then again, Fane had lived in this world for twenty-four years without knowing he was a dragon. That, would perhaps, be a more justifiable reason, but it still piqued Solas’s interest. Everything about the dragon turned elf was a point of interest. Especially now, with the way he was still nursing his sharp jaw and glowering at Dorian as if he was trying to work something out in his head.

“I’m sorry, but that was not you biting your tongue!”, Dorian exclaimed, shaking his head with that same look of disbelief before it morphed into a thoughtful look, hand coming up to absently stroke his mustache. “Though...if what I saw was..well, actually what I saw, then I have questions and curiosities regarding it.”

Fane’s expression went deadpan as he stared at the other, the golden light in his eyes all but extinguished as he turned on his heel to go the other way. Solas blinked a bit, even as his eyes followed the dragon’s retreating form.

He disengaged. Solas thought with certainty and familiarity. Unsurprising, but still worrying. He only resorts to that level of disregard when he is hiding something.  

His eyes never left Fane’s stalking form, noticing how his brows were furrowed deeply, but could see one of them twitching with nervous energy. Broad shoulders were raised much like a shield, narrow nostrils flared with attempts at dispelling whatever heat had invaded a snowy disposition, partially gloved hands flexed, tendons underneath leather bindings apparent from how much force was behind its pull.

And golden emerald eyes were now fighting for dominance - dancing and bashing against each other as abilities that had laid dormant for too long began to try and enable themselves in an attempt to mitigate the, no doubt, myriad of emotions coursing through a draconic mind. 

Solas felt his concern towards the ancient man mount at all those observations, but also, he felt slightly exasperated. The latter was only because he knew this strategy of deflection that Fane always used as his Queen upon the chessboard of his mental battles. He bounced, side stepped, and outright threw a verbal wall up when he did not wish to cross a specific square. It wasn’t that Fane was lying out of malicious means; he was doing it to protect himself and others. But Solas knew it only caused more harm, more warped perceptions.

It hurt Fane, and he knew all too well how much it hurt to keep the truth hidden, even if it was necessary for the long run.

That is the secondary explanation for this flight. Solas mused silently, eyes never leaving the dragon’s form despite his long strides. Whatever has happened puts his mask in jeopardy.  

So lost in his own thoughts and the duel of veridium, Solas didn’t notice how Dorian broke out of his look of repose as he noticed the other striding away with purposeful steps.

“Where are you going?”, Dorian called after the white hair elf, but not making an effort to chase after him with how far the other had already gotten from him.

“To beat the shit out of a dummy before I beat you.”, Solas heard Fane growl out lowly, dangerously, and for a moment, he easily caught the flickering of his eyes as they met with his own. He met that gaze with ease, reading them as no other could. The message they conveyed had him instantly seeking more as the shifting of deep emerald had his eyes narrowing in concern.

“What happened?”, Solas mouthed to Fane as he was unable to communicate precisely how the other did without it being perceived incorrectly. He noticed how the man had slowed to keep their gazes longer. There was such volume in them that Solas nearly wanted to tear his own away, but also delve deeper like he thristed for their color bound words, their fathomless depths amid a thin world.

Fane’s eyes flitted to the door that led to the balcony the Enchanter always occupied, and then down, to signify he was taking the adjacent stairwell from there to bypass the Great Hall before he disappeared from the edge of the railing, the sound of door slamming issuing his complete departure. 

Solas let out a quiet sigh before nodding, pushing himself up with his arms to stand straight. Well, it would appear he was most certainly not getting an ounce of work done today, and oddly, he was okay with that since concern was overriding his need for magical answers.

There were other, more pressing, questions that needed attending to.

***

[writerbyaccident]

A Proposal (Yandere Endeavor/Enji TodorokixReader)

Request: Requests are open yay!! 🤩😆 Totally cool if this request has already been done or can’t be done BUT ANYWAYS. May I request a yandere Enji Todoroki who becomes fed up with reader always hanging around/talking to Hawks and finally confronts her about it (they all work in the same agency if that works) ty!! 🤩🤩🤩

Author’s note: I hope it’s okay but to keep things congruent with the show and to help out the plot, I wrote hawks and reader as working in the same agency but enji working at his own

           Enji Todoroki was many things. He was a man of many superlatives. Powerful, aggressive, selfish, Enji was all of these things and many more. But one thing Enji absolutely refused to be was insecure. Even when All Might had kept him from the spot of number one hero, Enji had never been insecure, only frustrated and angry. No, he decided fiercely, he was not feeling insecure. He was feeling jealous.

           It seemed like every time Enji saw you these days you were with Hawks. Working with him, talking with him, laughing with him, it hardly even mattered what you were doing, it all made Enji furious. Even when he saw a news story about you and your work as a hero, at least half of the time Hawks was involved in some way, shape, or form. So when Enji arrived at your hero agency that evening, only to see you happily prattling away with the winged hero, that all too familiar bitterness practically choked him with how fast it appeared. Turning away, Enji tried to smother his envy with little success.

           Didn’t he have every right to feel jealous though? Wasn’t it expected for him to feel that way when what rightfully belonged to him began to wander? Wasn’t his anger justified when he was forced to see you hanging off of Hawks like some starstruck fangirl? Scowling at the image before him, Enji pushed through the office, his mammoth form and even more mammoth reputation making a path easily through the crowd.

           “So I think,” you were saying to Hawks, “that if we stay on the lookout—”

           “Ahem,” Enji interrupted with a forceful clearing of his throat. At the sudden noise and the sudden shade you found yourself in the midst of, you turned, a smile gracing your face when you realized who it was.

           “Oh, hi Enji!”

           “I’m so sorry to interrupt, but our reservation is for 5:45, so we need to get going.”

           “Reservation?” Hawks chirped. “Sounds fancy.”

           “Well, we’ve all been so busy lately, Enji and I haven’t had a chance to really catch up in ages, so he offered to get us a table somewhere fancy,” you explained with a bashful grin.

           “Yes, I figured that she deserved something special tonight,” Enji told Hawks with narrowed eyes.

           “I won’t hold you up then, have a good time!”

           With that the two of you exited the agency, Enji purposefully walking behind you slowly so that he could watch each delectable movement you made. Now that you were away from Hawks, he felt that he could finally give you his full attention, could finally appreciate that he would have you all to himself tonight. It was a satisfied, appeased kind of feeling, one that carried him through all the way from the appetizers to the entrée. And all Enji could think about was how soon he would have that feeling—have you—all of the time.

           “So what were you discussing with Hawks earlier?” he asked you over dessert. “Was it important?”

           “Just something about this case we’re working on together,” you answered simply, much to Enji’s annoyance.  He raised an eyebrow to signal you to continue, but you didn’t seem to notice.

           “It seems as though you two have working together quite a lot recently.”

           “I guess,” you said after a moment. “But you know, Hawks is the lead hero there, so he just wants to make sure that he’s involved in all of the biggest cases.”

           “Which just so happen to be the ones that you are working on,” Enji added slyly. Your fork pausing over your slice of cake, you looked up at Enji quizzically, wondering what it was exactly that your friend was trying to get at.

           “Um—”

           “It just doesn’t seem very fair to me, or very professional. A hero getting so involved in so many of one of his colleague’s cases. Unless you asked him to?”

           “Well, uh, no, I didn’t actually,” you mumbled.

           “Then I have to wonder why, exactly, Hawks is meddling in your work,” he mused, staring intently at the glass of wine in his hand. “If he might have some motive for insisting on helping you.”

           Silently gazing down at your unfinished dessert, you pondered the various implications that Enji was throwing your way. Could Hawks being trying to steal the credit for the cases you were working on? Or was he merely refusing you the freedom you needed to grow as a hero? As Enji watched the thoughts stir in your mind, he smiled to himself. Sweet little darling, he had you right where he wanted you.

           “I don’t mean to upset you, or to strain your working relationship with Hawks. But I’ve simply been thinking that you might do better at an agency that trusts you more, that lets you take the lead in your work,” Enji purred.

           “That’s easy enough to say, but an agency that would do that and also pays as much as mine is hard to find.”

           “I suppose,” Enji chuckled. “But luckily, I know such an agency that would just kill to have you.”

           Catching his not-so subtle message, you could only stare in disbelief at Enji for a moment.

           “Are you serious? You actually want me to work at your agency?” you asked in shock.

           “Of course. You are intelligent, skilled, talented. I would be more than happy to hire you. And even more happy to pay you fifty percent more than what you earn currently.” This time, you were struck silent not only by what you heard, but also by the positively greedy look in Enji’s eyes as he stared at you. You had to admit, the offer was definitely tempting. A pay raise like that was nothing to dismiss, and frankly, neither was the opportunity to work with Japan’s current number one hero. And besides all that, Enji was your friend, wasn’t he? He wanted what was best for you, wanted to help you, so shouldn’t you let him?

           “Alright,” you answered with an excited smile. “I accept.”

           “Perfect. I promise to take such good care of you.”

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[yeet-me-dad-dy]

The Drug in Me is You

Words: 3,300

Characters: Darkiplier x Gender Neutral Reader, Wilford Warfstache, Markiplier

A blazing sunset blanketed the world in shades of orange and gold - deep shadows standing in stark contrast against the brilliance of the evening sky - and Dark leaned casually against the white wood of an elaborately carved window frame as he gazed out toward the estate’s wrought iron gate and driveway. The raucous laughter of his fellow egos was dulled by the many thick walls that stood between him and them. Dark would join the group once Mark had arrived with the food… or once the unmistakable sound of dishes breaking and fights starting reached his ears, as it always did. He did hope that the others would behave themselves tonight, at least until after dinner was finished, but he didn’t expect much. Not from them.

A gentle breeze blew through the branches of one of the few birch trees in the front yard. The tree swayed and danced with the wind’s embrace, and then stilled as the current’s hand slipped from the tree’s and it waltzed away, leaving the birch alone once more. There was a loud crash from the direction of the kitchen and Dark sighed, running his hand down his face. He took in a deep breath to calm his already frayed nerves, adjusted his black suit jacket, and turned to make his way toward the commotion. Just as he stepped away from the window, he saw Mark’s car pull up outside. He shook his head in frustration. 

Dark entered the dining room with connected kitchen to see Wil, King, Bim, and Silver frantically trying to clean up a mess of plastic dishes that had tumbled out of the cupboard above onto the kitchen floor. The egos not fussing over the mess froze and watched as the dark entity stopped next to the kitchen counter standing tall, hands clasped behind his back, and a look of impatience upon his face.

Wil, King, Bim, and Silver hadn’t noticed him yet. They were arguing over who’s fault the mess was and trying to return the plates to the cupboard, but with them all shoving each other and tripping over one another, the plates just kept falling back out. With a crash, a stack of plates fell to the floor once more. One of them began rolling toward Dark and Wil tripped over himself in his haste to try and catch it, landing on the hard floor. The plate hit Dark’s shoe and then fell over. Wil’s eyes trailed up the entity’s leg, up his torso, to his face. 

“Darky!” he exclaimed when he saw who was standing there. 

He pushed himself up off of the floor, “accidentally” elbowing Bim in the stomach as he found his feet. 

“I was wondering when you were gonna come and join the party!” Wil exclaimed as he rushed forward and wrapped his arms around Dark, enveloping him in a bear hug. 

Dark rolled his eyes and pat his friend on the back before pushing him away. He looked over toward the dining area, where the rest of the egos were still just standing, watching.

“Doctor,” he said, inclining his head toward Dr Iplier.

The doctor gulped.

“I thought I asked you and Eric to set the table an hour ago,” he said cooly, eyeing the still-empty dining table.

“Oh, um… Well, you see…”

Dark put his hand up to silence him. He wasn’t in the mood to hear excuses. 

From the entryway, the door opened and Mark’s voice floated through the house into the dining room. 

“Everyone is gonna love you, I promise,” he was saying.

Did he bring someone?

Dark turned back toward the mess in the kitchen and studied it disapprovingly. This is why they couldn’t have real dishes… “Wilford, Eric, go help Mark bring the food in,” he ordered. Thankfully, neither of them tried to argue and rushed past Dark to go help.

“Bim, King, clean this up.” He motioned to the Googles, “You four, set the table with clean dishes and silverware. The rest of you, find your seats.”

The egos did as they were told, and Dark smoothed his suit down, ran a hand through his hair, and strode to the hallway that led to the entrance. He leaned against the light wood of the wall, arms crossed. Mark did have someone with him.

Wilford slid past Dark holding six XL pizzas, followed by Eric carrying grocery bags with 2 litre sodas. 

“Hey everyone! Mark brought a friend!” Wilford yelled, informing the others of your presence

You and Mark were still by the door. He seemed to be… comforting you? 

The entity tilted his head to the side to listen. 

“Hey, deep breaths, okay? You’ll be alright. They’re gonna love you, I promise.”

You looked like you were about to throw up.

Dark pushed away from the wall and made his way toward the door, studying you as he approached. You were picking at your fingers, shuffling in place, grinding your teeth, breathing hard. 

“May I help?” he asked Mark, stopping in front of the YouTuber and reaching a hand out to the last of the bags that he was holding. 

“Oh, uh…” Mark was caught off guard at the dark ego’s request, but handed him the bags nonetheless. “Yeah, thanks.” 

Dark nodded and took the sacks in his left hand, then stepped aside and gestured down the hall with his right. Mark put his hand on your back, giving you the gentle push you needed to make your legs work. The entity offered you a small smile as you stepped past him, holding your arms close to your body to make yourself smaller. You reminded him of Eric. You two would get along great if you weren’t absolutely terrified of one another.

Mark entered the dining room ahead of you to loud greetings, but you hesitated. Dark stood behind you, waiting for you to go first despite the hall being wide enough that he could have stepped past you.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

You turned around quickly. It seemed you had forgotten he was even there. He didn’t blame you, that happened a lot.

“Oh, no, um. I was… I was just…” You stumbled over your words as you tried to explain yourself.

“You’re nervous,” Dark observed.

You were rubbing your knuckles with your thumb, the repeated action turning the skin a bright red. You couldn’t meet Dark’s gaze as he studied you, instead looking into the dining room. The others weren’t rushing out to meet you, which meant that Mark told them to give you space. Good. Dark was sure that you would pass out if a hoard of egos came stampeding in your direction.

“They don’t bite,” the entity promised. “At least… not unless you ask,” he finished with a smirk. 

You chuckled dryly. Still, you couldn’t seem to make your legs take you any further. Dark hummed, thinking.

“Eric!” he called.

The anxious ego was standing near the edge of the room, smiling despite himself. He was closest to the hall and jumped when he heard his name coming from Dark’s lips. He shuffled over, wringing his yellow bandana between his hands. 

Dark passed him the grocery bags that he had taken from Mark. “Take these to the table, please,” he ordered, and Eric scrambled to obey. 

Dark moved his hand to hover over your back, the other outstretched to gesture invitingly into the dining room. “Come on,” he said, a soft smile tugging at his lips. 

You took a step.

Then another.

Dark guided you into the room and you tried to stop again when you saw how many people were gathered, but he wouldn’t let you. He pushed gently between your shoulder blades to lead you to an empty chair and pulled it out for you. 

“You can sit here,” he said.

You sat down reluctantly and he took the seat next to you at the head of the table to your right. The chair to your left was empty, saved for Mark who was in the kitchen getting himself some food. Wilford sat to Dark’s right, shoving cookies into his mouth and watching you like a hawk.

“Now, now, Wilford, it’s not polite to stare,” Dark warned.

Wil pouted, but broke his gaze away from you to look down at his plate. “Aw, c’mon, Darky. Y’know, you can learn a lot about a person by staring at them!”

“Yes, I know, Wil. But it also makes people very uncomfortable,” Dark tried to explain.

“There’s nothing wrong with that!” Wilford tried to argue, but Dark put a hand up to silence him.

“In this case, there is. Please, Wilford. Don’t stare.”

Wil’s shoulders slumped forward and he picked grumpily at the pizza on his plate. The other egos were talking and laughing amongst themselves, mostly paying you no mind, but occasionally glancing in your direction. They were curious about you, which was to be expected, but they were giving you the space you so obviously needed.

Mark set a plate of food in front of you, causing you to jump in surprise. He smiled and offered an apology before taking his seat next to you. 

“I hope Dark is behaving himself,” he said as he took a bite. 

“Always,” the entity replied coldly.

Wilford scoffed. “Mark, Darky won’t let me make friends with your friend,” he complained. 

Mark smiled and shook his head. “Don’t worry, Wil, you’ll get to make friends. There’s no rush.”

Wilford hmph’d and returned to his meal and Dark watched out of the corner of his eye as you reached up to push a chicken wing around your plate with a finger. Your eyes fell on Dark’s hands folded on the table in front of him, and he could almost see the gears in your head turning.

“I don’t eat,” he said, an explanation to the question you were too scared to ask. 

“Oh,” was your only reply before you turned back to your food.

Mark nudged your shoulder with his. “No one is gonna judge the way you eat, Y/N. Look around you. See these idiots stuffing their faces? Have at it.” 

You scanned those gathered at the table, taking note of the, quite frankly appalling, way that they were devouring their dinner. Most of them, anyway. Like Dark, the Googles and Bing didn’t eat. The rest of them were eating so quickly, it was a wonder no one choked to death. 

Finally, after some internal debate, you picked a piece of pepperoni off of your pizza and popped it into your mouth, chewing slowly. You ate like this, picking small pieces off of your food and chewing them deliberately, and by the time everyone else was finished, Dark was sure that you had barely eaten anything.

Once dinner was over, everyone made their way into the living room for “game night”, as Mark put it. Sure, games were played, but it was mostly arguing, breaking things, and loud music. The mess from dinner would be cleaned up tomorrow. Dark, less than eager to make his already pounding headache any worse, excused himself from the rest of the group to go and calm his mind. You had Mark, you didn’t need him, and you weren’t his responsibility. 

Dark made his way up into the mansion’s tallest tower and gazed out of one of the large windows over the manor grounds. The sun had set, and the moon was high in the sky, casting an ethereal silver glow over the yard and illuminating the white marble walkways. It was quiet up here, peaceful, and, if even for only a moment, Dark could breathe. He could think. However, on these nights, he chose to let his mind remain blank. He tried to, at least, until your image infiltrated his mind, uninvited, yet not wholly unappreciated. 

You were an enigma. Mark had lots of friends, all of which had come to meet the egos, and none of them had had this effect on Dark. None of them interrupted his quiet thoughts, wormed their way into his mind like you had. He’d only known you for an hour or so, and here he was with your face in his mind’s eye.

Dark shook his head, trying to rid himself of the image. You were nothing special, and even if you were, Dark had no interest in you, not romantically, not even platonically. He didn’t care about you. You were nothing to him.

And yet… after enough time had passed that Wilford should have come and found him by now, Dark found himself worrying about your well-being. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. This was stupid. He was being stupid. He was tired, that was all. His sleep-deprived mind had found something to latch onto, and that something just happened to be you.

He made his way down out of the tower and back to the main floor of the mansion, complaining internally to himself as the music blaring in the living room became louder and louder the closer he got.

The ego stepped through the archway into the room, pausing momentarily to take in the scene and reach over to turn down the music from the speaker by the entrance. Normally, Wilford would have run up to him by now - he could sense Dark’s aura and was drawn to it like a moth to a flame - but Wil didn’t appear. Dark’s brow furrowed as he scanned the room. Finally, through the crowd, he spotted Wilford’s yellow shirt and rainbow suspenders in the far corner by one of the windows. He had you cornered and was talking animatedly, waving his hands around. When did he take off his pants?

Dark stepped into the room and wove his way through the crowd toward his friend. As he approached, he could hear Wilford grilling you, asking all kinds of questions. When did you and Mark meet? Are you two in a relationship? What do you do for a living? What’s your favorite color? Do you like sweets? Have you ever murdered anyone?

Dark stopped next to Wilford, resting a hand on his shoulder to get his attention. 

“Darky!” Wilford exclaimed excitedly when he turned and saw his friend. “I was just about to come find you, but Y/N here wouldn’t let me leave.”

Dark nodded and patted Wilford on the shoulder before removing his hand to tuck it into his pocket. 

“I think our friend here needs a little bit of air, Wilford,” he said, his voice laced with a silent warning. Back off, Wil.

The pink-mustached ego’s shoulders drooped once again, just as they had done when he’d been scolded at dinner, and he stuck his bottom lip out in a pout. 

“But we were getting to know each other!” he whined.

Dark reached a hand out to you and you subconsciously scooted closer to him so that he could wrap his arm around you.

“I know, Wilford. But what do I tell you about every friend that Mark brings home?”

Wilford shrugged.

“Wil,” Dark warned. 

He mumbled something that got drowned out by the music and cacophony of voices. 

“Wilford.” Dark said the ego’s name more forcefully this time.

“I have to share Mark’s friends!” Wil replied, loud enough to be heard this time. 

“That’s right,” Dark nodded. “And now it’s my turn.”

Wilford stomped his foot on the ground and let out a huff, but turned on his heel and walked away nonetheless, muttering something that sounded like, “Never let me have any fun…”

Dark turned to you with a smile. “Come, join me on the porch.”

You nodded and he led you through the crowd, out of the house, and onto the large, wraparound porch that hugged the front of the mansion. He let you go so that he could pull the door closed behind him and then gestured with his head as he walked along the porch to the attached gazebo. You followed him, cautiously, but not fearfully, as he might have expected. 

Once beneath the pavilion’s roof, he took a breath and leaned forward to rest his arms on the railing. The night air was chilly, and you wrapped your arms around yourself for warmth. He turned to observe you. The fairy lights strung on the gazebo’s supports illuminated your face in a golden glow, your features casting sharp shadows across your skin. You wouldn’t look at Dark.

He sighed and rose, turning toward you and tucking his hands in his pockets. 

“Why are you so shy?” he asked, brow furrowed. Surely, something had made you this way. People weren’t just scared of everything for no reason. If Eric was anything to go by, then something had happened to you to make you so anxious. So fearful. 

You didn’t respond, and your body shook as a cool breeze blew through the manor grounds. He sighed and rolled his eyes before unbuttoning his suit jacket and sliding it off. He offered it to you.

“And why do I feel the need to protect you?” he asked, this time more gently. 

You regarded him in stunned silence. 

“Take it,” he commanded. “You’re cold, and I doubt you want to go back inside.”

You swallowed and nodded, reaching a shaking hand up to take the jacket from him. Your fingers brushed his, lingering there for a moment too long before they wrapped around the fabric and he opened his hand to let it slide free, into your grasp.

You shrugged it on and pulled it closed in the front, then wrapped your arms around you once more. 

He watched you for a moment before turning to rest his hands on the railing. The stars were shining bright in the dark night sky, tiny pinpricks of light twinkling invitingly so, so far away. He found himself looking at you again. You were gazing upward, watching the same stars that he was, and their brilliance was reflected in your clear eyes. 

You were both quiet for a moment before your voice found Dark’s ears - soft, uncertain. 

“Sorry,” you mumbled.

His brow furrowed. “Pardon?” he asked.

“Sorry,” you repeated, ever so slightly louder. “For… for being so…”

He shook his head. “You have nothing to apologize for. What I asked - about you being so shy - it was a rhetorical question. I was questioning myself more so than you,” he admitted in an attempt to comfort you.

You were quiet, but he could tell that you had something more to say, so he rose again and, crossing his arms, leaned his hip on the railing. You had his full attention. 

“Why do you feel the need to protect me?” you asked, glancing up to catch his eye for only a moment before returning your gaze to one of the fairy lights. 

It was his turn to hesitate. “I… I don’t know,” he replied with a shake of the head. 

You shuffled closer to him.

“Well… thanks,” you muttered. “Thanks for sitting with me at dinner and getting me away from Wilford.” 

The corner of his mouth twitched up into a smile - a genuine smile, not the fake one he plasters on when he’s trying to manipulate someone. That wasn’t supposed to happen. Was he actually… feeling something for you? No, that couldn’t be.

He cleared his throat. “You’re welcome,” he answered, and then, to try and reassure himself, he added, “Don’t get used to it.”

You chuckled dryly. “Don’t worry, I never do.”

But maybe, just maybe… Dark did want you to get used to it. Maybe he did want you to get used to him being around, to get used to him protecting you.

Maybe he wanted to get used to it, too.

Maybe he wanted to protect you.

Maybe, just maybe… he liked you.

@specialagentlokitty​

[angryhausfrau-writes]

Something Old and Something New - Chapter 9: ...and a Show

Dinner feels like it's dragging on forever. Part of that may be the requisite several courses – canapes, soup, fish, entree, salad, and cheese plates - plus aperitif and digestive. And that's not counting the wedding cake as the dessert course. And all of it must be eaten in tiny delicate bites so as to appear refined and ladylike.

Frankly, Marjory is ready to throw propriety to the winds halfway through the third course. All she wants is to dash her silverware to the floor and run off with Charles to the honeymoon suite. Or Timbuktu, she's not picky. Anything to get away from the constant barrage of insincere well-wishers and political maneuvering.

But that's rather the whole point of the evening, so she will bear it with as much grace as she is able. And Charles is certainly in his element – powerful and cuttingly condescending and so completely the scion of American aristocracy. It makes Marjory laugh, it really does, to imagine just what the cowed and condescended wedding guests would say if they could see that Charles has his knee pressed against Marjory's under the table. If they knew just how kind and doting and sweet he can be. They'd all be shocked – and none more so than Charles's grandmother, who's watching over the wedding guests as they speak with the head table like a queen deigning to entertain petitioners. Cold and callous and utterly unsuaded by their pleas for mercy.

Though in all fairness to her, most of the guests attempting to curry favor are making a rather poor showing. Offerings of money and social connections means very little to a Winchester or an Oakes. They have both in spades – certainly more than a mere relatively impoverished offshoot of the Vanderbilt family. But custom dictates both sides play this game. They can no more refuse to petition the family than Charles can refuse to hear them out.

But all of this means that dinner takes several hours. And is almost interminably boring throughout.

Marjory can see that the back table, where all of the fun people are gathered, have similarly taken to rotating places throughout dinner so they can use the meal for a presumably much more enjoyable type of socializing. The focal point of the maneuvering appears to be Hawkeye – and she'll have to schedule a gossip session with Honoria, conveniently seated next to him, to pick up all the scuttlebutt once her honeymoon is over. Whatever the MASH contingent comes up with in the way of salacious gossip is bound to be infinitely more interesting than whatever one of the silver-spoon-set's mistress or polo pony or whatever has done now.

And Charles clearly agrees - Marjory can tell just how eager he is to join his friends at their table. But they must stand strong. Must endure.

She squeezes his hand surreptitiously in comfort. It can't be much longer now. They're bringing out the coffee and brandy and cigars. And then they'll have a few minutes to themselves before the room is cleared for dancing. They ought to be able to sneak away out of the spotlight then.

--

After dinner – and what appear to be obligatory stops at some of the more prestigious tables – Charles and Marjory come join the MASH table. And Trapper can see why they'd wanna join the unwashed masses. It seems like they're having a whole hell of a lot more fun than the stuffed shirts focused on propriety or whatever. And as much as Charles likes to pretend he's all proper – with a stiff upper lip and a heart made of stone - he really ain't.

And Trapper figures Charles oughtta have a good time on his own goddamn wedding day of all days. So he's happy enough to wave him over to join their Korean reminiscences – even if he's heard all of Charles's stories about eighty times by now. It's worth sitting through them again if it makes Charles look a little less like his public facade.

Plus, it gives him a chance to congratulate the other half of the happy couple. And maybe rib Charles a little about marrying up - cuz there ain't no way he's anywhere close to Marjory's league. And by Charles's blushing besottment, he knows it too.

And it's nice to chat with him for a bit. But they just saw each other and there's other fellas from further away who ain't seen him as recently wanting to say their own congratulations. So Trapper kinda backs off from the crowd, pulling Hawkeye along with him.

Cuz honestly? It's a lot. A lot of people, a lot of half-strangers – the partners of fellas stationed at the 4077 or people who'd only drifted through for a day or two, not permanent assignments, not part of the regular crowd. People who've all heard the legend of the famous Hawkeye Pierce and want a glimpse of the man. Want to crowd around and touch him like he's some kinda reliquary instead of a human being.

And Hawk's starting to look pretty run ragged at all the being at the center of attention-ness. All the feeling like he's gotta entertain people, be who the stories have made him out to be. So Trapper starts looking for an exit. And there – there's a door to the veranda right off the ballroom. Perfect.

“Hey, Hawk, I'm gonna step out for a smoke. Care to join me?”

The speed at which Hawkeye takes his arm and says, “Lay on, Macduff!” makes Trapper sure this was the right call. And he can't say he's too upset about a little alone time with Hawkeye, either.

--

“If I have to mmm hear one more mm question mmmm about when me and Margaret mmm me and Margaret are getting hitched mmmm oh Trap! I'm going to absolutely lose it!”

Trapper moves his kisses to Hawkeye's neck. He's talking too much right now to make his mouth a good target. And kissing him under the jaw usually gets him to cut out the griping pretty quick.

“No hickies, Trap! I mean it!”

Though maybe not in this case.

“Well, us coming out here alone and you coming back in with love bites would probably stop the questions about why the two of you ain't married yet.”

He licks over the spot he'd previously been trying to bite.

“But I promise I won't do anything to get us arrested.”

“It probably wouldn't work anyway,” Hawkeye says through a gasp. “They'd just think Margaret had snuck out here somehow.”

“Might be nice to have such an iron-clad beard. We could get away with a whole hell of a lot with Maggie as a built in alibi.” After all, that'd been the impetus behind them both chasing nurses so hard back in Korea. Part actual enjoyment – at least on Trapper's end, if not so much on Hawkeye's - part competition, and part cover.

But Trapper doesn't want to spend his limited time alone with Hawkeye thinking about that, so he goes back to mapping his skin with his mouth.

And gets pushed away when Hawkeye clutches a dramatic hand to his chest. “Trapper! How dare you suggest we move to Jersey! I absolutely refuse to live further south than Brooklyn.”

“You're such a snob, Hawk,” Trapper says, leaning back in to press another kiss into his skin. “But I guess you're right that Margaret wouldn't wanna leave off bossing around her nursing staff and move up north with us either.”

“So I guess we're stuck as bachelors, then.”

“Guess so.” Trapper kisses Hawkeye deep and full on the mouth. And they stay like that for a while, Hawk finally settled enough to sink into it.

Then Trapper pulls back a little and lights a cigar - since that's their whole cover for this little assignation – pulling on it just enough to light it. He needs all the air in his lungs to kiss Hawkeye.

Eventually, they hear the door to the veranda scrape open and Trapper puts some space between himself and Hawkeye. Who nearly undoes his efforts when he takes the cigar from Trapper's loose grip, wraps his lips around it, and takes a drag that Trapper feels in his dick.

“You're a fucking menace,” he growls, before taking the cigar away to prevent any further teasing.

--

BJ loses track of Hawkeye somewhere in the confusion of backslapping and well-wishes surrounding Charles and Marjory. And, noticeably, Trapper's gone as well.

And it's not that his frantic search for Hawkeye has anything to do with imagining what the two of them are doing by themselves, away from the party. It's just that BJ wants a chance to talk to Hawkeye away from the crowd of other wedding guests, that's all. His search is completely justified and not at all blown out of proportion.

When BJ finally finds Hawkeye, he's out on the veranda. And he is with Trapper.

They're standing in the lee of the building and Trapper seems to be acting as some form of windbreak for Hawkeye, practically looming over Hawkeye as he lounges against the wall. And it does something to BJ to see them like that.

Hawkeye's got a cigar in his mouth and he takes a long, slow drag. Then Trapper leans even further into his space and says something BJ can't quite hear but that ends in a growl. And then he's pulling the cigar from Hawkeye's mouth and taking a drag himself.

BJ is definitely interrupting. And he feels a little bit bad about it – but he really does want a chance to talk to Hawkeye – and just Hawkeye. And this seems like his best shot at it. If he can get Trapper to leave, that is.

“Hey, Hawkeye, can I talk to you for a minute?” BJ asks. As if all of this is normal and he isn't interrupting an obviously intimate moment.

Hawkeye just stays where he is, lounging against the wall, completely relaxed, and looks expectantly at him. And Trapper makes no move to move away from Hawkeye, either.

“Alone.” And that maybe comes out ruder than he'd intended. But if it works, BJ isn't going to exactly split hairs over the etiquette of horning in on his crush's elicit relationship.

“Figure I'm just about done out here anyway,” Trapper says after a beat of silent communication between himself and Hawkeye – which BJ has been seeing a little more of than he'd like tonight, if he's being honest.

And then Trapper stubs his cigar out on the wall next to Hawkeye's head. He's leaning in again, bracketing Hawkeye with his arm and BJ is. BJ is...

And then Trapper's pulling away, thank God, and saying, “I'll go see if Kat has an opening on her dance card.”

“Save a slot for me, will you?”

“You've always got a slot on my dance card, Hawk,” Trapper says with a wink.

BJ knows he's just joking. But. But what if he isn't.

He puts that out of his mind and just enjoys having Hawkeye all to himself for a while. And it's almost like being back in Korea together. They're on the same wavelength, practically finishing each other's sentences, full of inside jokes. And BJ thinks that maybe, just maybe, he can tell Hawkeye how he feels – all of how he feels.

But then BJ has to open his big fat mouth about Trapper.

--

When Trapper gets back inside, the band is just finishing tuning up and he gets to watch Charles and Marjory sweep across the floor in an elegant waltz. And it ain't really his favorite way to dance, but there's no denying they look real happy dancing like that together and he's glad he gets to see it. Especially cuz he missed the wedding ceremony. This feels like maybe almost as meaningful as witnessing the vows. Certainly more meaningful than the Godawful speeches from earlier.

And then there's all the other dances between different members of the wedding party, which kinda ruins that whole intimacy and tenderness deal. Especially the truly awkward looking dance between the bridesmaids and groomsmen – well, awkward on the part of Honoria's date, who seems to deeply regret whatever life choices led to him having to dance with the groom's drunk sister - who appears to be trying to drag him into a foxtrot rather than a waltz. But at least there's some entertainment value there.

And honestly, that seems like a pretty good idea, the foxtrot thing. So Trapper has a few dances with Maggie and Kat that are nice and sedate and in three-quarter time. But when Honoria stumbles back over, the two of them manage a pretty decent swing rhythm over top of the orchestral music. Which spurs other couples to try the same thing.

Letta and her husband show off an excellent Charleston – and Radar and Patricia are doing something that is very obviously not a waltz. Must be some new craze all the kids are into.

Trapper wishes Hawkeye were here, cuz he'd love this. And he'd prolly try and put a lindy to the slow waltzes, which is bound to be worth seeing. But he's still shooting the shit with BJ outside, so Trapper just pulls Donna out onto the dance floor. And she's game to get tossed around a little, so that's fun.

“Not feeling like hotfooting it with the rest of the youngsters, Padre?”

Francis smiles up at Colonel and Mrs. Potter as they make their way off the dance floor – which has grown rather crowded and frenetic of late.

“I'm afraid that attending the seminary doesn't keep one up to date on the latest dance hall crazes very well.”

Sherm laughs. “No, I guess it wouldn't. And they're sure pulling out all the stops – I haven't seen dancing like this since VE day in Paris.”

“Well, we're not exactly the dance hall crowd ourselves anymore either, dear,” his wife reminds him.

Sherm harrumphs in grudging agreement. “Getting old's the damnedest thing – pardon my French, Padre. Half the time I feel like a damn newlywed, just setting up house with the missus. And then I look in the mirror and I ask myself when I got so Goddamn old. Again, pardon my French.”

Francis just waves his apologies away. “I've certainly heard worse language than that, Colonel. I was at the front, after all.”

“I'm sure you did.” Colonel Potter laughs. “I don't envy you having to hear confession for this bunch.” He gestures to encompass the dance floor. Which is filled with several couples dancing quite close together indeed.

“Let's just say that my life has gotten significantly quieter since I left Korea.”

Not that he actually heard many confessions while at the 4077 – not official ones, anyway. Sure, there was always the occasional soldier passing through the hospital wanting to unburden himself before he went back home or back to the front. Or Catholic members of the MASH unit who would confess to months worth of sins all in one go, in order to receive the Eucharist at Easter or Christmas mass. But most of the confessions Francis heard were closer to conversations. Conversations full of deep seated fears and guilt and longing and grief, but conversations. Without the trappings of the confessional or the stole or the traditional forms of penance.

Because the majority of his flock hadn't been Catholic, and some hadn't even been Christian. And it was his job to administer over them all in whatever way they needed – his own personal theology be damned. It was his job to help them.

But the Philadelphia diocese doesn't quite see things that way. He isn't there to help, he's there to administer – and that's it. He's there to tally up all of his congregation's sins and punish their trespasses. He's there to uphold the might of the Church – and therefore the almighty God – before all else.

So it's just as well that Francis has been mostly doing youth outreach, these days.

Most of the young men he coaches simply want someone to listen to them. To hear their problems without judgment. To feel like they matter, in the vast scheme of the universe – that they are seen in the eyes of God.

And Francis may not hear so well anymore, but he's able to do this one small thing. Just as he was able to do it for his flock in Korea. Who have all managed to come home – mostly safe and mostly whole – and about as well as anyone could be after experiencing what they'd all gone through together.

“Do you ever miss it? Korea, I mean.”

“That's a hell of a question, Padre.” Sherm sighs. “I've been through three wars and each one was worse than the one before. But Korea – getting to know all the folks at the 4077 – that was almost worth it. Worth the mud and the blood and the shi- the crap. Worth being away from my wife and kids and grandkid. Almost.”

Sherman looks out at the dance floor again. At all the smiling, laughing kids - who managed to make it home, who've managed to be happy.

“So I don't really miss Korea all that much, but I sure did miss this.”

Francis nods in understanding and they sit together in silence that's something akin to communion.

--

Hawkeye comes back inside to find that the 4077 has caused a whole pile of chaos and consternation – and he's missed being at the heart of it!

But it looks like the little dance party that's sprung up in his absence is still going strong. They've attracted a bit of a crowd, too – mostly bored kids and all the MASH guys not busy dancing with their own dates – all standing around the dancing couples in a loose circle. It looks a little bit like an exhibition and Hawkeye can see that Trapper is showing off some of the fancier steps he knows while dancing with Kat. And it looks like he's having a pretty good time – but Hawkeye's willing to bet neither of them would mind too much if he cuts in. And since BJ's run off to dance with Peg, well, there's not much point in him standing around on the sidelines.

“How'd it go, dear?” Peg whispers into BJ's chest as they waltz together. “Did you tell him?”

BJ sighs. “I wanted to, I really did, Peggy. And I tried. But I made the mistake of mentioning Trapper - and then Hawkeye was too busy gushing on about him to listen to anything I had to say.”

He looks over to where Hawkeye and Trapper are giving the kids who've congregated around their little group swing dancing lessons – with Hawkeye focusing on footwork, and Trapper throwing the kids around like grinning, giggling sacks of potatoes.

“And I – I couldn't just stand there listening to that. Not without doing or saying something stupid.” Not without wrecking his own chances of Hawkeye hearing him out. His own chances with Hawkeye.

“Well, I'm glad you didn't put your foot in it,” Peg says matter-of-factly. “And I'm sure you'll have plenty of opportunities to talk about it later,” she adds in consolation.

They dance on in silence for a while.

“That's the thing, Peg – what if I don't? What if I can't?”

BJ glances over at Hawkeye again, who's now looking warmly, so warmly, at Trapper as he very seriously leads a little girl through a slowed-down Charleston. He looks fucking besotted.

“It's not like me telling him will change anything.”

It's pretty obvious that Hawkeye isn't going to hear BJ's confession and come rushing into his arms. It's obvious that, for whatever reason, the barrel of commitment issues that is Hawkeye Pierce loves Trapper – has chosen to spend his life with Trapper.

And maybe, BJ consoles himself, it's just a case of Trapper getting there first. Staking his claim. Because BJ still doesn't understand what it is Hawk sees in the guy, what it is Trapper can offer him that BJ can't offer more of or better or.

He shakes his head to dispel that train of thought. Because that way lies madness. And he's been trying not to be so petulant about this.

And Peg's giving him a look.

“I'll try to find a chance to tell him as soon as I can.”

Peg nods. “That's all I ask – that you try.” She moves her hand off his shoulder to cup his neck. “Now how bout you stop thinking on Hawkeye and show your wife a good time?”

BJ pulls her even closer – till she's practically plastered to his front – and does his best to put Hawkeye out of his mind. But it's not easy. Not when Hawkeye is so bright and shining and right there, head thrown back in joyous laughter. And so, so beautiful.

--

Him and Hawkeye are making a pretty good showing of teaching dance moves to all the kids who've been let run loose by their rich snob parents – parents too busy with squabbling and grandstanding and standing around drinking champagne to look after their own damn kids – and so used to servants, prolly, that they don't even think that it could be their responsibility.

And Trapper don't mind doing it, really. He likes kids, and it ain't their fault their parents can't be bothered with 'em. It's pretty fun, even, once he convinces the kids they gotta behave like decent human beings and wait their turns or he ain't gonna teach 'em. So, Trapper don't mind at all what his evening's turned into.

But Trapper knows Hawkeye – better than he knows himself sometimes. And he can see that mischief's brewing, can see it in his eyes.

So he ain't surprised when Hawkeye starts making noise about this being fun and all but he really wants to dance the lindy sometime tonight. And he starts making an exaggerated show of looking around for a dance partner. And Trapper just knows what's gonna come next in this little production Hawk's putting on.

“Does anyone here know the lindy hop? Anyone at all?” Hawkeye looks pointedly around the crowd, practically daring them to come forward.

Next to him, Trapper sighs resignedly – though he really don't mind all that much, if he's being honest – and raises his hand.

And Hawkeye starts in on the next act of the pageant. “Anyone other than Trapper? A woman, maybe? A woman of the female persuasion?”

No one says anything. And Trapper makes eye contact with Letta, who most definitely knows the lindy, he's sure of it. But she just winks at him and stays silent.

“Looks like you're outta luck there, Hawk,” Trapper says with a commiserating hand on his shoulder.

“I know. I was really looking forward to it, but I guess that's just how it goes.”

And Hawk looks at their audience with sad puppy-dog eyes, a cue for the next act to start. Cuz they need someone else to step forward for the next part of this little play or it won't look right.

Max takes the cue – and she always was quick on the uptake when it came to schemes and practical jokes. Always willing to help out a friend.

“Nah, c'mon Hawkeye. You talked it up all the time in Korea – how good you were at the lindy. And now you're gonna wiggle outta showing us again? We ain't even being shelled.” Max takes a breath so the next line has maximum impact. “I think it's just that you ain't even all that good.”

And that – that's perfect.

Making it a challenge. Making it so that Hawkeye loses face if he doesn't do it. Making it so that it plays right into the competitiveness of American masculinity.

And then Charles – who'd wandered over sometime during the dance lessons, apparently – makes it even more iron-clad.

“Yes, Hawkeye. Show us your prodigious skill on the dancefloor that I've heard so much about – and have yet to see in person. If you're not bluffing, that is.”

And that seals the deal.

“Why Charles, you know I could never refuse your oh-so-reasonable request. And certainly not on your wedding day!” Hawkeye grins up at Trapper, full of delight and mischief and tenderness. And then he holds out his hand, like some kinda gentleman or something. “May I have the honor of this dance?”

And Trapper takes his hand in kind, fluttering his eyelashes and acting like a real blushing belle – just really playing up the farce of it. The joke of two guys dancing together. The joke of it being Hawkeye leading.

Cuz then, they ain't looking close enough to see how Trapper leans into it. Just how tender Hawkeye's hand is on the small of his back when they come together. Just how well the two of them fit.

And the lindy's a good choice for this kinda thing. They ain't dancing too close together – most of the steps involve them flinging themselves away from each other, orbiting their joined hands, before crashing briefly together for a moment before being thrown apart again. And the pace is fast, frenetic, not at all romantic. Not visibly intimate.

Though Trapper doesn't know how it couldn't be intimate, not when it's Hawkeye, not when it's the two of them together.

The trust it takes – the soul-deep knowing of each other it takes – for them to switch who's leading in the middle of a step and not lose the thread of the dance. For them to part with Hawkeye leading and join back together with Trapper in charge, cuz he can toss Hawkeye around a little, show off some of their fancier steps. Cuz he can be the steady anchor for Hawkeye when he goes flying through the air in joyful abandon. Cuz he can be there to catch Hawkeye when he comes back around. Trapper doesn't know that there's anything much more intimate than that.

This. This was what he wanted, what he needed. The feel of Trapper's strong arms and steady hands. The knowledge that he's there to guide Hawkeye through the steps – and that he won't let him stumble. The feeling of freedom as he flies across the dancefloor, knowing Trapper will be there to catch him as he descends back to earth.

Hawkeye feels like his face is going to split open, his smile's so wide.

And he would love to dance with Trapper the rest of the night. To revel in that feeling until the end of time. But eventually the band ends their current song and they have to stop. Because they can get away with one song – already longer than he'd usually have when dancing the lindy, due to the slow tempo of the waltzes the band keeps playing – but two songs would be out of the question.

So the song comes to an end and he and Trapper separate. With plenty of backslapping and joking around and a general air of it all just being one big joke. And Hawkeye sketches an elaborate bow at the raucously cheering crowd of kids and MASH vets – and even some of the Back Bay brigade, who have deigned to stop and watch the show, are applauding genteelly.

“Thank you, thank you, you're too kind. Really.”

And Trapper's standing next to him, a friendly hand clapped to his shoulder. A hand Hawkeye can subtly lean into, press himself against. Use to shore himself up as he comes down from the adrenaline rush of the dance.

“Really, thank you. We're here all week.” Hawkeye grins at Trapper. “Or the rest of our natural lives, whichever comes first.”

“I don't think I can afford to put us up at this hotel for the rest of our lives, Hawk. Might not wanna tell 'em that.”

Trapper has started steering them off the dancefloor, through the crowd, and over to their table. So one of the snobs overhears that comment and laughs meanly. And Hawkeye can feel Trapper tense where he's still got an arm slung over Hawkeye's shoulders.

“Hmm, that's true. But surely you can afford to buy me a club soda.” Hawkeye fans himself dramatically with a hand. “I'm parched.”

“Sure, Hawk. I think I can swing that.”

Trapper relaxes slightly, with a task to fulfill and an excuse to get out of there. So Hawkeye relaxes too, and turns to chat with the Padre and the rest of the MASH folks. Because everyone seem to have taken Hawkeye sitting down as the official signal to end their own dancing and start congregating around the table.

And part of him hates being the social center of the 4077 again. Hates being pushed back into the role that'd driven him literally insane back in Korea.

But part of him is glad because it means he can deflect all of the attention off Trapper and onto himself.

And he isn't worried about getting lost again. Not with Sidney sitting across from him and BJ at his elbow and Trapper across the room. Not with Father Mulcahy smiling at him in gentle understanding and suggesting a poker game as he brings out a deck of cards.

[billyboyblue]

Superbat and #20 for the writing prompts, please. 😁

Wasn’t sure if you wanted the Fluff or the Smut 20 so i flipped a coin. lol. I could always do the other if that’s the one you meant! haha.

So sorry if this isn’t smutty like at all. lol. I’ll actually continue this later with the sexy parts, promise.

Superbat~ Fuck you/ I’m up for it, if you are.

***

Clark was raised right. He was polite, always tried to be considerate of others and their feelings. Never said anything if he didn’t have anything nice to say and always helped with the dishes after dinners. That’s how his mama raised him and he was quite proud of his down home attitude. He couldn’t help his Kansas smiles and twanging lilt when he was comfortable and relaxed.

Well he was not comfortable now. He was most certainly as uncomfortable as a person could be. Bruce was practically fuming, the only tell of which was his ticking and clenching jaw, which, to the rest of the league might as well have been a neon sign spelling out Batman’s absolute lack of patience.

“The entirely of the mission rests on this reconnaissance. Perhaps sending the most inexperienced, loudest, most destructive member isn’t the brightest of ideas.” Bruce said as he continued to stare Clark down from across the table. His lips were curled into a smirk and Clark was seriously considering how hard he’d have to blow to knock him out of his chair while still seeming like an accident. a thought he immediately felt guilty over. 

Though the look in Bruce’s eye said he knew exactly what Clark was thinking anyway.

“I can hear a whisper from miles away. I think I can handle a dinner party. Gothamites don’t actually have a trademark on those do they? Seeing as it’s all the elite do in this town.” 

Diana’s smile at the head of the table was poorly hidden and Arthur’s gaze shooting back and forth between them was barely ignored. Barry’s wide eyed stare was probably what should have clued Clark in that he needed to calm the situation, but unfortunately that went completely ignored. 

and how do you expect to infiltrate the star lab systems? Or retrieve the data that the techs received from the Galwat system? If we’re dealing with intergalactic meddling on earth we need to know what they have and how they plan to use it. Do you have a complete understanding of how to hack a level seven security system? because with Victor off world we’ll need someone who can do that the old fashioned way. Or was your plan to simply punch the keyboard until it spilled the beans?” Bruce wasn’t even looking at him anymore. He had already turned to Barry, who was still wide eyed and half scared of the tension.

a tension Clark could feel in his shoulders now. That Bruce still thought of him as a muscle headed small town good boy was more than a little infuriating. Also just the tiniest bit insulting as he thought that he and Bruce had been on the up and up lately. getting along and working together well enough. It was frustrating that he’d somehow gotten knocked down a peg or two on the Batman Respect list. 

and frankly, after a year of working together you’d believe Clark would make some leeway in that respect. From Clark’s side, working wit Bruce was amazing. he was focused and supernaturally prepared for just about anything. He was organized and his detective skills were simply unparalleled. his grouchy moods were almost comforting to Clark now, if Bruce was grumpy all was well in the world. That is until recently.

Until recently Clark would have been at the top of the list for this recon. he wouldn’t have been questioned as he volunteered. Until recently Bruce would have looked at him and nodded once in agreement that Clark was the best choice for the mission. until recently, Clark had felt that the moments of trust and companionship had become more solid and sustainable between he and Bruce. Apparently he had been mistaken.

The infinitesimally short instances of something else. Of something unspoken and deeper and much hotter than the casual banter that usually filled their interactions were also snuffed out. Now when Clark’s eyes strayed down to Bruce’s lips, he more than often caught them curling in distaste. 

And now that barely simmering distaste was spilling over into League business and a heart stung Clark was over it. 

“You know what, Bruce?” Clark spoke, voice steel hard.

“Okay, everyone out!” Diana announced before he could continue. Barry was gone before she finished her sentence but Arthur made no move whatsoever to move. Until Diana bodily dragged him by his ear out of the hall half cackling,half protesting. 

“If you’re going to continue, be quick. I-”

“Shut up! You stop talking right now.” Clark interrupted, raising his voice by a piddly margin. The fact that Bruce obeyed was momentarily surprising but he continued on. “Now I don’t know what you got caught up that bat cave of yours but i’m just about tired of it. You’ve argued against me going on just about any mission in past two weeks, and you have been keeping me on watchtower duty for just as long.

“I don’t know what i did to lose your trust, or your confidence, but I’m done sitting on the sidelines hoping i say the right thing that day to get you to smile at me like before. To get you to laugh at my stupid jokes. Or  hell even to get you to roll your eyes at me. Anything that makes me visible to you,because it’s so much worse Bruce. it’s so much worse just not being seen.”

Bruce stared after the outburst. his breathing was even and his heart, Clark could hear, was steady as a drum. He’d barely reacted at all and that more than anything made Clark finally lose it. His mama forgive him.

“Fuck you, Bruce.” he turned to walk away in a huff when Bruce answered.

“I’m up for it if you are.”

Clark was frozen, back to Bruce and mind racing. he couldn’t have heard right, right? Bruce hadn’t actually propositioned him like this. Like an awkward bar pickup artist. That couldn’t be possible. He turned back around slowly and was not surprised at all to see Bruce leaning back in his chair. Calm as you please. The man was infuriating.

“Tell me you were joking.” Clark says before taking a momentous step closer.

Bruce tracked the step like hawk but simply looked up at him as he’d simply been commenting on the weather. 

“Bruce.” Clark warned as he took another carefully tracked step clooser, 

Bruce only looked him up from head to toe, eyes raking over him and pausing in the most titillating places. 

When Clark finally came to stand in the vee of Bruce’s thighs, breath coming too fast and shallow, hands awkward and hanging at his side he wished to god the man would say something else. Anything else. Anything to prove Clark wasnt about to make an ass of himself. 

But Bruce said nothing. His eyes were half lidded and his hands were curled on top of his thighs but his mouth, un-smirking, unsmiling, remained stubbornly closed. So when Clark reached out. So slowly and so carefully it was as if the air itself would shatter. 

HIs thumb traced just below Bruce’s full wet bottom lip. Bruce’s eyes razor bright and tracking his movements unbelievably close. 

He tried one last time. “Bruce, if you want me to stop, you’re going to have to say so.”

When Bruce’s eyes shined with want and his lips followed his thumb and bit down just wantonly enough to make Clark’s knees go weak he knew there was no going back. 

He hauled Bruce up by the back of the neck and inhaled his obscene groan as their lips clashed. Bruce tasted like mouth and mint and Clark couldn’t decide what he wanted to focus on most. Bruce’s hands, spread over Clark’s chest were hot and his fingers were long and strong as he pushed Clark back onto the table. 

Bruce’s smile when they separated was so light and almost carefree it stole Clark’s breath faster than the kiss did. when Bruce fell to his knees, cowl still up and cape spread out behind him Clark realized suddenly where they were again and his breath stuttered.

Big blue eyes ticked up to meet Clark’s and just as he always seemed to, it looked like Bruce knew exactly what was passing through Clark’s head, and he found it amusing. 

When he felt the hot nuzzle against his crotch, Bruce’s breath warm through the fabric of his uniform he lost it completely. he didn’t finish off but only just.

“We are not having are first time where Arthur eats corn dogs by the dozen. My quarters. Now.” Clark said, Bruce’s face in his hands, looking up like some kind of perfect fantasy. he didn’t wait for agreement; he’d told Bruce he wouldn’t be stopping for anything after all. Clark picked bruce up, threw him over one shoulder and blurred into his room. “and i’m going on that mission.”

Bruce’s laugh as he bounced off the bed was loud and free.

[patricianandclerk]

Peace

My Ask | My Ko-Fi | My Ao3 | Requests always welcome!

When Anders entered the little shack the Hawkes called their home, neither Gamlen nor Leandra were to be seen. Gamlen was no doubt out at the Blooming Rose, and as for Leandra, Anders couldn’t be sure – he wasn’t able to get an incredibly good handle on her, much as he tried, and…

Did she disapprove? Of his interest in Hawke, of their spending time together? He didn’t think so. But how could he be sure?

It was a big shack, by the standards of Lowtown. Badly made, and freezing cold even in summer, but it was big, had a lot of space to it, and Anders leaned down to gently stroke the dog’s head. Felix was snoring softly, but he opened one eye to look up at Anders, yawning, and then flopped forward again.

He was still sleeping off their last hike up the Sundermount, Anders supposed, and he stepped over the dog, leaning to look through the door that led to Gamlen and Leandra’s room, but it was empty. The door to the other room, the bigger one where Carver and Hawke slept, and stored their armour, was closed, and when Anders brushed his fingers against it, he felt the glow of magic on the other side.

Shivering, Anders knocked his knuckles against it.

“Come in,” came Hawke’s voice, and Anders pushed open the door, inhaling the familiar ozone tang of magic on the air, but fresh and sweet – the smell of the Fade. Hawke was standing in the middle of a runic circle, his back straight, his hands spread out before him, and hovering on the air were a dozen blue-green balls of flames that floated, gently orbiting the mage at their centre…

Anders could hear the whisper and murmur that came from them, those flames. Even as he stared at them, mouth open, his eyes wide, they began to slowly dim and sink down to the ground, disappearing entirely before they touched the stone floors, and when Hawke turned to meet Anders’ gaze, he looked…

Tired.

“Oh, good,” he said softly, “it’s you. I love Merrill, merely that… I wasn’t ready for her particular baseline of energy.”

“Spirits,” Anders said. “You were— talking to them?”

“Studying,” Hawke said, gently shrugging his shoulders, and Anders watched as he got to his knees, taking a wet cloth and beginning to scrub away the chalk lines he’d left on the floor, soaking them away. “I’m not as good of a healer as you are, Anders. If I don’t put in the hours on the theory, I won’t ever be able to meet you on the practice.”

“Spirit healing isn’t a common field of magic,” Anders said in a low voice.

“No,” Hawke agreed. His voice was almost serene as he continued to wipe over the floor, on his hands and knees, working to clear up the chalk there. “Why are you here, Anders?”

“I was…” Anders trailed off, almost ashamed of the answer that came to his lips. He had been to the Hawke residence before, of course. He’d walked around everywhere with Hawke, had met Leandra, or Carver, or Gamlen, each their own variety of unpleasant to deal with. He had never come here, unescorted. “I needed a break. From the clinic. I didn’t know where else to go.”

Hawke stayed on his knees, but his hand on the cloth stopped, and he kept his gaze on the floor, on the chalk-dusted cloth gripped between his hands. Anders swallowed, hard, and heard Justice in the back of his head, irritable, demanding they return to proper work, demanding—

“Was your sister a spirit healer?” Anders asked. “Your father?”

“No,” Hawke said, standing to his feet and setting the cloth on one of the tables, wiping off his hands as he did so. “Bethany, she… She liked elemental magic. My father, too.” Anders stared at his back, at his exhausted shoulders, the way his head tipped forward slightly, his fingers touching the top of the desk. “Look, Anders,” he said, turning his head. “I’m sorry if you were hoping to go to the Hanged Man for a drink, but frankly, I’m tired. I’m still recovering from the hike last week, and I can’t come help you in the clinic, not today. I wish I could, but—”

“No, no, I wasn’t going to ask you to,” Anders said, stepping forward, the door closing shut behind him, and Hawke watched him, cautiously. “I’m… sorry, Hawke, I didn’t come here to disturb you.”

There were bags under Hawke’s eyes, Anders noted as he stepped closer. Bags under his eyes, and his breathing was a little heavier than usual – he wasn’t slouching exaggeratedly, but enough to be noticeable. Anders ignored Justice’s complaint in the back of his mind as he reached for Hawke’s shoulder, and touched it, gently.

“I can’t sleep in the clinic, sometimes, for people knocking on the door,” he admitted. “I suppose I just thought I could rest here, and it should have occurred to me that you have the same problem.”

“I was just about to lie down for a nap,” Hawke murmured, shrugging his shoulders, and his hand came slowly up to touch Anders’, cupping the back of his knuckles. He smiled, exhaustedly, and Justice was absolutely silent as Anders leaned closer, interlinking their fingers. “You could lie down with me, if you wanted.”

“I do want,” Anders said, nodding. “Yeah.”

--

Hawke didn’t even try to kiss him. Anders would have initiated it, once upon a time – a few years ago, he’d have dropped to his knees in front of Hawke in whatever cupboard he could shove him into first, would have shoved his tongue down Hawke’s throat at any available opportunity.

Times were different, of course. Hawke didn’t try to kiss him, so Anders didn’t try it first: they lay down together on Hawke’s cot, smaller than the one Anders had in the clinic, their legs tangled with one another.

Anders lay his head on Hawke’s chest, breathing in the Fade-smell that clung to him, and Hawke’s breathing was slow and even, Hawke’s hands rested in a comforting weight against his shoulders.

To Anders’ surprise, when Carver came in, he swore under his breath and irritably muttered to himself, but he didn’t open the shutters or light any candles, didn’t raise his voice to get Hawke to wake up. He just closed the door again, and was quiet in the other room, let his brother and Anders sleep together, uninterrupted.

“What was it that drew you to spirit healing?” Anders asked the next morning, burning with curiosity, when Carver was still asleep in the other bed, and Hawke looked at Anders through lidded eyes. “If it wasn’t your father?”

“Spirits aren’t like people,” Hawke murmured. “They’re kind without expectation. They’re kind because kindness is the done thing. They don’t do it for reward, or recompense, but because kindness is what they know.”

“Some people are like that,” Anders said softly, ignoring the warning rumble of Justice in the back of his mind, and Hawke rolled them over, pressing his nose against Anders’ neck, lying on top of him, heavy, warm… He was so unlike Karl, but Anders’ chest ached, anyway.

“Not enough,” Hawke agreed, his breath hot against Anders’ skin, making him shiver.  “But enough to make everyone worth saving.”

Anders shuddered, feeling a shiver run over his skin, and a warmth burn underneath. He swallowed, consumed with want all at once, want and affection and a desire to pull Hawke’s mouth against his no matter that Carver was asleep in the cot beside them, no matter, no matter. Hawke, who wasn’t angry, but was so, so kind; Hawke, who cared, who put all his free hours into working alongside Anders at his clinic; Hawke, who lay on top of him like Anders had done anything to earn him.

“Maker, what did I do to deserve you?” Anders asked.

“I was just thinking the same thing,” Hawke whispered, and Anders closed his eyes, tangling his fingers in Hawke’s hair and pulling him closer. It was remarkably easy, to sleep like that, Hawke’s body on top of his.

A man could get used to that.