#then it's a toss up between if i can convince them to give me anxiety meds or my concerta prescription. fuckers.

[necromancelena]

ughhhhhh I need my ADHD medicated again I've been doing well all things considered but the difference in how easy things are is night and day

[mishasminion360]

How Do You Do It?

Jack Daniels x fem!reader

Warnings: Mild language; words said in anger; stress-induced anxiety; mild angst; self-doubt; but lots of fluff, I swear.

Summary: Being a new mother and a homemaker are two difficult jobs to juggle at the same time, and even more of a challenge when your husband is constantly away. When Jack returns from his latest assignment to find you overtaxed and irritable, he decides to make it up to you by spending a day in your shoes.

A/N: What a busy summer/early fall. So much has changed in such a short time. Change is weird sometimes and brings a lot of stress. Had my first-ever panic attack. Zero stars; do not recommend. But even the stressful, scary parts of our lives can be inspiring. This fic is proof of that 😝

P.S. As you can see I began this fic in the fall of 2023 and look how late I’m posting it! I’m sorry for the long hiatus, folks, but believe me when I say it was necessary.

How is it that your husband is the secret agent, but the weight of the world always feels like it’s been thrust upon your shoulders?

The day you found out you were expecting was one of the happiest of your life. You and Jack had been over the moon and spent the entire adventure of pregnancy fantasizing about all the joys of parenthood that would arrive along with your bundle of joy. You weren’t kidding yourselves; you knew that a baby brought big changes and more than a few challenges. You just weren’t aware of just how high those hurdles would be until you were thrown into the race.

The roles of wife, homemaker, and now mother all seem to merge into one monstrous, never-ending task; and your duties seemed all the more daunting when you were left to fulfill them alone.

Jack is nothing short of attentive and dedicated when he’s at home. The problem is that “home” is usually the last place one will find him. As of late, his job with the Statesmen pulls and pushes him this way and that into parts unknown where he’s embroiled in espionage for some indeterminate period, leaving you with a house to maintain, meals to prepare, clothes to launder, and a colicky infant to soothe.

You’re trapped inside a pressure cooker and the temperature is nearing critical.

***

“Baby Shark” is on its 25th iteration, every “doo doo doo” is like a bat to the back of your head. You dance topless in the living room with your wailing son clutched to your naked chest. You’d tossed your t-shirt into the wash twenty minutes ago, covered—like the two before it—in your baby boy’s milky vomit.

Your sanity is a mere thread, frayed, delicate, and seconds away from completely unraveling. Your head is pounding and back aching, and you’re trying to convince yourself that the flush of heat you feel just beneath your skin is not a fever. You can’t afford to be sick now. Not when you are all your son has; when you are all you have.

“Daddy’s home, darlin’!”

The sound of his voice, the familiar clip-clop of his boots on the hardwood floor, should fill you with after hardly having heard it for a solid week. Instead, it has your already tepid body simmering with frustration.

“Hey there, Mama Mare.” The affectionate term oozes from between his grinning lips with all the smooth, sweet ease of honey. “Give this ol’ cowboy some sugar. He missed you.”

His lips are on yours and then detaching themselves before your mouth can even register it’d just been in contact with another; far quicker and more careless than the long overdue reunion kiss you’d been anticipating. The brief little smooch held about as much passion as a handshake.

“There’s my little cowpoke!”

Jack lifts his squalling son from your arms and little John’s cries instantly cease. Of course they do. Of freaking course.

“Well, now, you didn’t have to get all dressed up on my account, honeybee.”

You snap to attention after possibly having fallen asleep on your feet for a split second to see that Jack’s devilish gaze has zeroed in on your bared tits.

“You certainly know how to welcome a fella home.”

While he’s busy ogling your non-seductive nudity, your own eyes have locked onto the trail of muddy prints stretching from the front door, each filthy footfall a perfect imprint of the sole of Jack’s boots. Yet another mess you’ll have to clean up; another chore added to the already heavy burden you’re shouldering.

“How’s about after dinner we mosey on upstairs, put this little buckaroo to bed, then I show you just how much I missed you?”

You don’t even know how to respond to him right now, so you don’t. You simply turn your back and walk away, seething in a silent rage as you stomp your way upstairs to put on the thickest, ugliest sweatshirt you can find that leaves everything up to the imagination.

John starts to wail once again, but that’s Jack’s problem now. You have about a million other tasks to accomplish—make that a million and one, thanks to his filthy freaking boots.

You slip into the master bath and toss back a couple of Advil for your pounding headache and by the time you re-emerge, Jack is pacing around your bed, hands on his hips and a pensive scowl on his face.

You take a deep breath through your nose and the words tumble from your lips in a sigh. “I haven’t started dinner yet. Give me just a few minutes and I can—“

“Did I say somethin’ wrong?” he blurts. “‘Cause you gave me a look back there that reminded me of an angry steer about to trample a rodeo clown.”

“Just forget it,” you mutter, brushing past him toward the door. His hand wraps around your wrist before you can cross the threshold.

“I ain’t forgettin’ nothin’,” he drawls as he turns you to face him. “Sugar, what’s wrong? No use lyin’ because I can tell somethin’s stuck in your craw.”

Oh, it’s stuck alright. Like a bug in a windshield.

“Jesus, Jack,” you sigh. “Maybe it’s the fact that I’ve had a total of five non-consecutive hours of sleep this week. Or it could be the fact that the house is a mess or that I’m down to my last pair of clean underwear. All the chores have been put on hold so I could tend to our son while you’ve been off playing ‘secret agent man’ in God only knows where.”

His mustache twitches and his jaw ticks.

“Honeybee, why didn’t you tell me you’ve been strugglin’? I would have—“

“Because I shouldn’t have to tell you!” you snap. “You should know me well enough by now to tell when I’m not okay! You should already have some inkling of how hard it is to raise a child and that the process usually goes much smoother when both parents are involved. But I guess I’m just a fool for assuming. Getting shot at is far less hazardous to your health than changing a dirty diaper after all.”

When the red finally clears from your vision you see that Jack’s has become clouded with a look you’d only bore witness to once and concluded that you never wanted to see again. His mirthful brown eyes dulled by a deeply rooted pain planted long ago by a cruel twist of fate. He’d been robbed of his first chance to be a husband and father and you’d just accused him of squandering his second.

“Sugar, I’m….I’m sorry.”

Shit. It’s not fair. You have been miserable for an entire week and you can’t stand to see him miserable for even a millisecond.

“No, I’m sorry,” you insist, voice and legs quivering. You lower yourself to the bed before exhaustion and gravity get the better of you. “I’m just so tired. Tired and frustrated.”

He drops to the bed beside you and pulls you into one of his signature hugs you’ve missed so much. The tightest of embraces that only he can give.

“I know you’re working hard to provide for our family,” you sob. “I know that but still I….I feel so alone, Jack.”

Before even a single southern-drenched syllable can leave his mouth, a sharp wail blasts from the baby monitor and your body reacts instinctively and urgently. You shoot up and out of Jack’s arms like a rocket.

“Let me check on him and then I’ll start dinner,” you say with a sniffle.

“I’ll get him, darlin’,” Jack insists, gently grasping you by the wrist and halting your minimal progress toward the door.

“But he probably needs—“

“I will get him.”

His hands are on your shoulders now—firm yet gentle—and grounding, comforting.

“Please, let me take care of my boy so you can take care of you, honeybee. And then, later, I’d like to take care of you, too. If you’ll let me.”

You can only muster a nod before he’s striding out of the room. Taking advantage of the first minute you’ve had to yourself in a week, you slip into the shower and let the warm spray unclench every muscle coiled tight with stress.

By the time you emerge, John is sleeping peacefully and a pizza’s been ordered. Jack dotes on you the entire evening, giving your aching feet a rub down with his skillful hands and cuddling you close as you both zone out to some ridiculous reality TV. His mere presence is a balm to your weary soul.

Whenever the baby cries in the middle of the night and your body moves on instinct Jack stills you, urges you back to the mattress, and takes on the challenge himself. It’s the best night’s sleep you’ve had in you can’t remember how long.

***

And surprisingly enough, you don’t manage to sleep any later than 9 a.m. The smell of extra greasy bacon lures you from bed, a siren’s call to your stomach.

John bounces in his high chair, babbling around a mouthful of mashed banana, most of which appears to have ended up on his face, shirt, and chubby little fists. Jack is an even more astonishing sight than your messy son, strutting about the kitchen in your frilly apron topping his off-white Henley and faded Wranglers.

“Well, good mornin’, sugar,” he cries, grabbing your hips to tug you in for a kiss. “Though I wasn’t expectin’ to see you up so soon.”

“How did you expect me to stay asleep when something smells incredible?”

“That would be my famous chocolate chip, peanut butter, and banana flapjacks.”

In true Southern gentlemanly fashion, he pulls out a chair and eases you into it before setting a towering stack of syrup-soaked pancakes before you, coffee and bacon following suit.

“Better eat quick now, darlin’,” Jack urges as he takes a seat with his plate. “You’ve got a busy day ahead of you.”

As if you could forget. That laundry is begging for attention, the house hasn’t had a good dusting in you can’t recall how long, and Johnny already needs a bath—

“I made you an appointment for noon.”

Your train of thought instantly stalls on the tracks.

“Appointment?”

Jack grins over the brim of his steaming mug.

“Honey, you need a break. Figured you might enjoy yourself a little spa day.”

You can hardly believe your ears.

“Spa day?”

“Yes, ma’am. Massage, mud baths, whatever the heck they do with seaweed, the whole nine yards,” he explains proudly. “I even called up your buddy from work and asked if she’d like to join you. And it’s all on me.”

“But Jack, what about John? And the house, the laundry, the cooking?”

“Gimme some credit, sugar,” he chuckles. “I think I can keep the homestead standin’ and our baby boy breathin’ for a day. Besides, it’s high time I start puttin’ in my fair share of help around here, isn’t it?”

You’re not sure if you want to thank him or burst into tears. Maybe both.

“You do so much, honeybee,” he says warmly, voice as smooth, rich, and sweet as the syrup sluiced atop your pancakes. “You move mountains every day to make this house a home. How’s about lettin’ someone do somethin’ for you for a change?”

You scarf down the rest of your pancakes before kissing him with sticky lips and racing up the stairs to get ready for your big day out.

***

You feel rejuvenated and refreshed. Brand fucking new. A far cry from the husk of a woman who’d left the house this morning. Wrapped in seaweed and slathered with mud you’d been returned to the earth and reborn at full strength, like a phoenix risen from the ash.

You'd been reunited with an inner strength and power you'd all but forgotten. And thank God for that, because you're going to need every bit of it to face the chaos you come walking back into upon your return home.

You can hear John’s piercing wails before you’ve cut the engine and opened the driver’s side door. You can smell the smoke before you've even reached the front steps.

Inside all hell has broken loose. Gray tendrils of smoke slither through the air, teasing the detector into screaming its warning. Your baby boy is giving it some stiff competition with his own cries as Jack struggles to bounce him on one arm while he tries to fan away the smoke with the other. Both gestures prove futile.

“It’s okay, buckeroo. You’re okay. Don’t cry. Please, please don’t cry.”

Jack looks so frazzled. The situation is far from funny so the last thing you should do is laugh at his expense. But dammit if you don’t anyway.

“Do you need some help there, cowboy?”

His frantic eyes find you through the haze and pierce you with a desperate, wordless plea. You take the inconsolable infant from your husband’s arm and soothe him into silence as Jack does the same to the smoke alarm.

“There now, Johnny. See? Everything’s okay. Daddy made the bad sound stop.”

“He just stopped cryin’ for you. Just like that.”

Something in his eyes burns. Something in his voice cracks.

“I couldn't bring him any kind of comfort. He didn't….want nothin’ to do with me.”

Your weary cowpoke sags into one of the chairs at the kitchen table and buries his face in his hands with an exasperated sigh.

“You were right, darlin’. I'm useless.”

You settle John into his high chair with a teething ring to distract him before turning your attention to your distressed husband.

“To be fair, I never said you were useless.”

“You may as well have,” he sighs. “And if you weren’t thinkin’ it before you’ll be thinkin’ it now.”

You smirk. “Rough day?”

“Oh darlin’, you don’t even know the half of it.”

He begins to recount the day’s challenges, his voice raising in pitch as goes from describing one hurdle to the next. He almost seems on the verge of tears.

“And I got so distracted while tryin’ to get our fussy boy to eat his dinner that I failed to hear the timer and let ours burn. Hence the fiasco you came home to. And when John started bellowing for his supper I was in the middle of the laundry and I forgot to separate the colorful items from the rest, so my new red jockeys turned our bathroom towels pink and….and I just failed so miserably today, sugar. I’m so sorry.”

You laugh, unable to help it. It’s all you can do at this point. “Welcome to my world, sweetheart.”

“How on Earth do you do it, sugar?”

If you’re being honest, you ask yourself that question at least once a day, and not always with the same emotional connotation behind it.

“There’s just something inside of me that encourages me to power through the difficulties. A force, a reminder.”

“An iron will for damn sure,” he scoffs.

“No, that’s not it,” you chuckle. “It’s love, Jack. For you and our boy. That’s what keeps me going.”

He looks at your have cradling his own, a gesture of both dominance and comfort. In this moment he believes that he is made of inferiority.

“I love you both to the moon and back, yet I can’t even do a load of laundry.”

“Jack you do enough. I have not, do not, and never will doubt your love for me and John,” you reassure him. “Acts of service just happen to be my particular love language, not yours.”

“Then what is mine?”

You lift his hands and kiss both sets of his knuckles. “Words of affirmation.”

His acts of service are for the world, but his words are just for you.

“But ain’t actions supposed to speak louder?”

“For others, maybe,” you shrug. “But that’s only because no one else speaks as loudly as you.”

@grimeylady @rav3n-pascal22 @mamacitapascal @insomniamama1 @pedrosbisch @emmaispunk @lv7867 @reonlouw @hawaiianmelodies @heythere-mel @healingstardust @delorena @pedropasxal @caesaryoulater @fangirling-alert @fromthedeskoftheraven @axshadows @dragon-scales88 @spacepastel-blog @spideysimpossiblegirl @hauntedmama @mswarriorbabe80 @horton-hears-a-honk @wild-at-heart-kept-in-cage @a-trial-run-on-paper @oonajaeadira @dhadiirah @felicisimor @practicalghost @luz-introvertida @amneris21 @hb8301 @tanzthompson @littlemisspascal @dobbyjen @supernaturalgirl20 @alexxavicry @harriedandharassed @trickstersp8 @neganwifey25-blog @twistedboxy @emiemiemiii @energeticspookyshark @thevoiceinyourheadx @pedr0swh0r3 @anamiad00msday @secretwriterpp @wannab-urs @pedrostories

[sleepy-aletheas]

I love the difference between the companions the twins get, and the consequences of them.

(I'm going absolutely insane over the animation, I've been thinking about Morning Star Lumine and Evening Star Aether the whole day, and it makes me wanna curl up and cry)

I go into this not just because of the animation, but because Aether is my Traveler, so I'm more in tune with that then with Lumine being the main character. Also for added angst, it just makes me more sad that in this version Aether has a sister figure, and Lumine a brother figure that they travel with.

It just shows what a difference the companionship has on them, how important that is to a person on such a journey.

The parallels between them and their companions are so stark.

With Aether being swaddled in warmth and comfort, his sadness lingers, ever present, but he has a friend by his side that cares about him and his feelings. That tries to bring understanding to him about the world and make the world understand him. He isn't a lost soul, because he has a guide that leads him onwards, through good and bad, that keeps him sane and just.

Aether faltered a few times already when he was roped into other people's messes (be it Inazuma or Fontaine; he came there to get information on his sister, not to solve political mayhem that had nothing to do with him) and it was always Paimon that convinced him to stay and help, give it a look at least; and then he would help and not question it anymore, because that was the right thing to do.

(Sure, Paimon being theorized about being the Big Bad in the end, and turning on the Traveler and whatnot is on the table, but I think she might get tempted through her growing paranoia and separation anxiety to bind the Traveler to the world, to her, but she will ultimately refuse, because that's not right, how could she be so unfair and take the decision from her best friend, her world like that? There are too many ways they can go with her in the end.)

But then there is Lumine, and she is alone. Well, not physically, Dain is going on the journey with her...for the most part. It's often overlooked that they separated in Sumeru, where she was with the Aranara, and he went to the Girdle of the Sands, before she followed after him. But in the animation we can see how distant and cold their companionship is. They don't talk, don't look at each other, Dain is usually turned away. She is curled up on herself, always sad, always wistful.

And from the first official meeting Aether had with her after waking up, in the room with the upside-down statue of Barbados, we get to see Lumine's coldness to Dain. And that just brings these scenes into perspective of the times we get to see her. She was treated coldly, was alone a lot, probably missed the companionship she had with her brother, because they are the same in the end (at the beginning). Both are friendly, and a bit silly, and helpful and love their friends. But she didn't have what Aether has now. She was tossed into Teyvat without a clue where her brother is, the world was going through A Lot, she must have seen horrors and the worst of what people can do, and all that was then crowned with having a companion that was distant and probably going through horrible mental anguish himself. She didn't have a Paimon that could bring out a smile, distract her for a moment, to offer warmth and affection and banter.

So Lumine seeking solace and answers in the Abyss, and getting tangled with it is not out of the question. If there was some brainwashing, an undisclosed amount of time she spend with Khaenri'ahns before/during/after the Cataclysm, or something else, it doesn't really change the tragedy that if she had a companion that cared for her, she most likely wouldn't have turned out this way.

[sirthisisa-wendys]

Hi! I absolutely adore your works! Can I ask for one where you give benkei head at a place like a cinema or something 👉🏼👈🏼

Yes, yes, you can. Shit I got carried away describing all of this... MAY THE QUEEN OF KEIZO ARASHI SMUT RETURN TO HER THRONE

Nosebleed Seats: Keizo Arashi x Fem!Reader

wc: 1,5k

tw: nsfw with *plot*

masterlist

It had all started as a joke. But when you get into the empty theater, holding onto your boyfriend's hand for dear life, your anxiety spikes.

"Maybe we shouldn't..."

Keizo stops on the stairs to the back of the theater and eyes you curiously. His blue eyes sparkle with mischief, even though you're not sure of yourself anymore.

"You chickening out on me, princess?"

You clench your thighs at the sound of his husky voice. Sure, you might be chickening out, but what if someone did show up to the nine a.m. showing of "Scarface"?

"No one in their right mind would wake up that early and want to see this movie," Keizo had laughed, taking his phone from your hand and hitting the "purchase tickets" button.

"What if someone sees?" you hiss, hurrying past the empty rows as if people were there and listening. "Movie theatre employees walk around the place all the time."

"So you think some kid is going to bother to walk up all of these stairs just to make sure--"

"You never know!" Keizo laughs, moving toward the middle of the row.

"I'm sure we'll be fine. And if you really don't want to do this, we don't have to. Scarface is a decent film, in my opinion." You hesitate once more, watching your boyfriend settle into a seat comfortably and take a sip of his (your) drink. Keizo waves you over, titling his head at you as you stand on the end of the row.

"You want to leave?"

"No, I just..." You pause again. Keizo stands, holding the drink carefully. When he stands in front of you, you look away sheepishly, noting the fabric on the chairs in front of you were fraying and that the air had a familiar aroma of stale popcorn.

"If it's not an enthusiastic 'yes'," Keizo whisper, catching your chin between his forefinger and thumb.

"Then it's a 'no,'" you finish, exhaling gently.

"Let's go home, yeah?" When he says those words, a burst of courage floods through you.

"No." You statement catches your boyfriend off-guard. His eyes blink a few times before he echoes,

"No?"

"No. Let's stay." He stands there for a moment more, trying not to question your motives. But it comes out anyways.

"I'm not trying to convince you--"

"Middle seats," you urge him, pointing. "Right there is good." The unsure way with which Keizo eyes eyou does nothing to your resolve. You stand there, flat-footed, finger still pointing at the seats. "Go."

"Baby--"

"You want your dick sucked?" you say, albeit a little too loudly.

"Yes," Keizo hisses, grabbing your hand. "Fine, fine." You don't miss the smile that comes to his face as he turns around as if he were suddenly a kid in a candy shop. You both sit in the middle, directly below the projector that the trailers are playing on.

"Not until the movie starts," you murmur and Keizo nods, taking the Skittles you offered him from your hand and tossing them all back.

"Ew," you comment, but he shrugs, smirking.

"I don't separate my colors like you, baby," is all he adds to his chewing sounds.

It feels like forever until the lights go down and the movie screen flicks on, the old film giving you a sense of nostalgia. It's even longer - at least, it seems that way - until you feel brave enough to sneak your hand down your boyfriend's waistband. Keizo shifts a bit lower in his seat and exhales slowly, each breath straining from his throat as you palm his half-erect cock.

When you pull his length out of his sweatpants, the tip is already leaking pre-cum and shining in the flicker of the scenes on the screen. You lick your lips in preparation to taste it, to let the saltiness of it bloom on your tongue and awaken the lust already rousing from its long sleep.

But you choose to draw out your desires, stroking him and listening to his labored breathing. "You're doing me dirty..." he breathes, just as a character on-screen says,

"Well, you don't know shit 'bout chicks, Chico. When they see this, they know. They go crazy. They don't resist me."

Finally, you lean in and ghost your mouth over Keizo's cock. He almost jolts out of his seat, his hands keeping a firm grip on the armrests. "C'mon, baby," he pleads, but you only dart your tongue out to lick at the ample pre-cum waiting for you. "Not playing fair."

"No such thing," you whisper softly, each breath tickling his skin. It seems Keizo wants to leap up and take you, but he keeps himself under control just long enough for you to suck on his tip once, then let it pop free from your mouth.

You do it repeatedly, and by the time you're good and ready to cup his balls and go to town, Keizo is panting and sweating. He tries to focus on the movie to keep his mind from going insane, but you take him into your mouth slowly - inch by inch - letting your tongue relish in every ridge on the way down.

A hand knots in your hair, not pressing down but holding you there as a sign of pleasure. "Yes," Keizo hums, his body relaxing as you go down his shaft. "Just like that." You can barely make out what's happening on the screen while you suck Keizo's cock, saliva dripping past your lips and smearing all over his thick, veiny shaft. The taste of precum is like manna from heaven, but you choose to keep that pleasure to yourself - Keizo would have plenty of time to hear about how much you enjoyed this later.

"I'm close," he wheezes, and for once, you don't want to hear that. Not when this movie lasted almost three hours, and you're barely an hour in.

You opt to slow down, which seems to frustrate your partner more than excite him. His fingers tense in your hair, but that doesn't urge you to go any faster than you already are.

"Y/n," Keizo whimpers. "Please, baby. Let me finish down that throat."

"Not yet," you reply. You fist his cock and suck on his balls liberally. "I want this to last." The look in Keizo's eyes could kill a thousand men. But it doesn't work for you. "You've got me in here watching a three-hour movie. Might as well savor it, right?"

Keizo doesn't agree, but he groans, leaning even further in his seat. You resume your pattern of sucking him inch by inch, then going a little faster throughout the next twenty minutes. Over and over, Keizo's hands and feet betray his impending orgasm, and each time, you find the willpower to stop.

"...Every dog has his day."

The cock in your hands twitches violently, threatening to erupt with each stroke, each breath, each kiss. But you torture him anyway, smiling even though he can't see you in the darkness.

Finally, Keizo's arms are shaking from restraining himself for so long. His right leg is jumping, and there's very little stopping him from cumming except maybe focusing on the movie. But his thoughts are a blur. All he can think about is cumming. If someone walked in, he'd cum in your mouth anyway, keeping his gaze on the intruder as he did so. But no one comes to rescue him from the torment.

"Ready?" Your voice lifts above the din of the movie, the ra-ta-tat of the guns, the snorting noises, and so many other nuisances. Keizo nods quickly, blood rushing straight to his cock in an attempt to prepare for... whatever.

You don't even speak as you gag on his cock liberally, the sounds of the movie overshadowing your blessed dedication to his pleasure. "Oh shit," Keizo gasps, feeling his toes curl. You place a hand on his stomach, and suddenly, it's over for him.

Hot white flashes burst in front of his eyes, and you feel every single throb and twitch of his cock dumping a massive load of cum into your mouth. You swallow and swallow, but it doesn't seem like there's any end in sight until Keizo chokes out a pained grunt, squeezing his eyes shut and angling his hips a little higher.

Once he begins to go soft, you lick at him a few times, making sure you've cleaned up every single drop. Keizo's hand cups your chin and brings you up for a long, wet kiss to seal the events of the morning.

He tenderly tucks himself back into his pants and sighs, his eyes fluttering.

"Fucking hell," he breathes as you wipe your mouth. "This needs to be a monthly thing."

"Next time it's your turn," is all you say, standing up before the movie's even over.

"Where are you going?" Keizo wonders, standing up despite his confusion.

"I've already seen this movie," you admit brazenly. "Not really a second-time watch for me, though." Keizo's unsure of how to reply, but he follows you anyway, taking your hand in the dark movie theater and guiding you down the stairs, like any gentleman should.

[battyaboutbooksreviews]

🦇 Practice Makes Perfect Book Review

❓ #QOTD What movie do you wish you could live as your life's story?

[ Find my review below. ]

🦇 Annie Waker is ready to find her happily ever after; someone she can start a family with, like something from one of her favorite romance movies or novels. Unfortunately, that's harder than it seems when you live in a small town where everyone knows EVERYONE'S business. After a date calls her "unbelievably boring," Annie wilts like one of the sunflowers in her flower shop. Luckily, the perfect learning opportunity presents itself in Will Griffin, bodyguard to Annie's sister-in-law-to-be, Amelia Rose. Inspired by Audrey Hepburn's Funny Face, Amelia recommends that Will (sexy, tattooed, has-no-interest-in-getting-married Will) tutor Annie in the way of saying. Can they fight their obvious attraction to one another amid steamy practice dates?

💜 I don't know how, but I managed to hit a streak of fake/practice dating romances (not complaining one bit -- it's a cute trope!). This story is as sweet as a bouquet of tulips with quick wit and sass tossed in between. Will (William? Wilson? Wilbur?) is a stern brunch daddy (a guy who looks scary but is actually all soft and sweet to the person he loves) for Annie from the get-go, quick to fall despite the traumatic upbringing that made him reluctant to let love in after all this time. Will encouraged Annie to be herself, defying the angelic reputation the entire town as pinned on her since childhood. With Will's coaxing, she learns more about herself, begins to take risks, and eventually stands up in a show of character development. The character development for both Annie and Will is beautifully flawless; proof that two people can bring out the best in one another, all while staying true to themselves. Will constantly coaxes Annie to speak her thoughts, even despite her self-consciousness and self-doubt. They defy the miscommunication trope that too many romances fall prey to.

💙 First, I want to express my gratitude for the lack of a miscommunication trope here (there's an itty bitty one, but it only lasts a few pages). Unfortunately, there is a bit of tension lacking in this book. Annie remains steadfast in wanting someone she can start a family with until the end, while Will has convinced himself he isn't worthy of love. While these internal conflicts are consistent, the only external conflict is the town's petition to keep the two of them apart. I expected to see that as a catalyst for small roadblocks the two would need to navigate. Instead, it's pure fluff and cuteness; a sweet romance, for sure, but lacking in substance. There was so much opportunity to explore mental health (Annie's social anxiety, all of Will's issues, the pressure Annie feels because of her reputation, grief), but other than the mention of therapy in passing, it's not given the attention it deserves.

🦇 Recommended to fans of soft, closed-door romances. This is a sweet, quick, fluffy, cute af romance (and Will is definitely worth swoony over).

✨ The Vibes ✨ 🌸 Contemporary Romance 🌺 Part of a Series 🌻 Small Town Romance 💐 Grumpy vs Sunshine/Opposites Attract 🌹 Dual POV 🌷 Closed Door Romance 🥀 Fake Dating 💬 Quotes ❝ “It seems to me, Annie, that you are just waiting for someone to give you permission to be yourself out loud.” ❞ ❝ And the thing that scares me the most is how desperate I am for her to know all of this and believe it. ❞ ❝ This one is for the softies. The tenderhearted sweeties. The introverts who are afraid to shine. ❞ ❝ For introverts like me with social anxiety, the process of dating is equivalent to waxing your bikini line. Menstrual cramps on day two of your cycle. An emergency dental procedure you weren’t expecting—and guess what: they’re fresh out of novocaine. ❞

[give-soup-please]

I guess this should be seen as a romantic prompt. The reader wants a weighted blanket but can't afford one. The narrator plans to buy them one as a gift, but being the touch starved dork that he is, decides that he wants to 'be' the weighted blanket and turns his physical form into that. The reader gets to enjoy a talking weighted blanket that sometimes can be convinced to read them bedtime stories and the narrator gets all of the snuggling he could ever want.

Narrator as a weighted blanket (romantic)

(oh sweet jesus, i’ve never wanted anything more in my life. Well done on the prompt. I’m not going to lie, this is the most fun one I’ve had in a while.)

You see a weighted blanket on sale, but even at a discount, it’s a bit more than you can spare right now. You put your wallet away with a soft swear. The narrator sees you’re unhappy. He wants to make you happy. Therefore, he must become your weighted blanket. Another victory for logic. 

He approaches you about the idea. You stare at him incredulously. “Narrator, I- is it even possible for you to do something like that? I thought you were only limited to a human form.”

“Not at all, reader. You’ll find that the atoms and molecules that make up ‘me’ are quite flexible. I’m not bound by the traditional laws of physics. If you want me to become a weighted blanket, a weighted blanket I shall be.”

You are slightly embarrassed. “Are you sure you want to be in close contact with me like that?”

The narrator is flustered, but quickly pulls himself together. He can’t let you in on the secret that he would love to have the opportunity to hold you. “W-Well, it is quite the noble sacrifice to make, but for you, I’ll do it.”

You recline in bed, a little nervous, not sure what to expect. The narrator’s voice is gentle. “Are you ready?” You give him an affirmation, and a few inches above you, he starts to materialize. 

He looks like smoke at first, then condenses into a cloud. You watch the fabric that’s ‘him’ weave itself into a blanket, and then it- he- settles on your skin. You shuffle around a bit, trying to get comfy, and then your muscles relax automatically. He’s slightly cool to the touch, and the weight feels so good. 

“Oh, this is lovely!” The narrator says. You hum in agreement, anxiety melting away. Within a few minutes, you are completely relaxed, and the narrator can feel it in your muscles. You’ve turned into a puddle. He’s smug. You’re completely relaxed under his touch. How could he not be?

Sometimes, when the narrator talks, the blanket vibrates slightly, and you can feel it on your chest. It’s very soothing.

On occasion, on the sleepless nights, he’ll recite a story he’s memorized. Between the weight of the blanket and his voice, you sleep fairly quickly. 

The narrator is in heaven. He gets extended contact with the person he loves most. He loves how you feel, when you wrap him around you. It’s like being the big spoon and the little spoon at the same time. It’s so satisfying to feel your muscles relax as you go to sleep. He’s doing that. He’s helping you. 

He gets very passionate about you having a strict sleep schedule all of a sudden. He just wants what any partner wants, a dedicated eight hour cuddle session. That’s totally normal, he protests. (he’s a mega cuddle fiend, but he’ll never verbalize it.)

I like to imagine that sometimes, when you’re resistant to the idea of sleep, the narrator notices. Maybe you’re in the middle of a project, maybe it’s just procrastination. In cases like this, the narrator manipulates the physics engine he’s working with and chases you in his blanket form. It’s half hilarious, half terrifying as he floats after you down hallways. Of course, his voice is… Let’s just say, it has a very special tone to it.

“Come to bed, reader~” Meanwhile, you’re snickering and half heartedly tossing pillows at him.

He wraps you up tightly, saying “Gotcha!” With a triumph in his voice. “Now you have no choice but to rest.” You’re smiling. It’s all in good fun, of course. 

Sometimes, this goes one step further. One day, he does this and you’re in a bit of a challenging mood. “I don’t care how comfortable you are, I’m not going to sleep.”

He replies, “Oh, please. If I so chose, I could have you knocked out in ten minutes.” Your grin is infectious. “Prove it.”

Between the weight and his expertly ranged voice, he manages it in eight. You’re pouty the next morning, but not in any serious way. It was nice to have someone who cared about you being well rested, whatever alternate reasons he had.  

[ro-is-struggling]

Anxiety || TASM!Peter Parker x Reader

Pairing: TASM!Peter Parker x Reader (I wrote this with Andrew's Peter Parker in mind because I’m in my Andrew Garfield era but you can imagine the other Spideys if you want, it’s not too specific)

Warnings: mentions of anxiety and insecurities (nothing too graphic), Peter being a loving supportive boyfriend. I think that’s all but if I missed anything let me know!

Word count: 1200+

Summary: Peter comforts you after you had a bad day.

English is not my first language so there could be a lot of grammar mistakes in this. Also I wrote it on the bus on my way back home so it could be a mess. 

Notes: okay so I have social anxiety and yesterday I had to do a presentation in class. I was terrified but it went well for the most part. The thing is that on my way home my stupid brain tried to convince otherwise so to distract myself I wrote this little thing. I wasn't going to post this but then I thought maybe there could be someone out there who needs to read this as much as I needed to write it at that time. So here it is. Enjoy and remember: you are doing great and Peter loves you and is really proud of you!

I hope you like it! Likes, comments or reblogs are very much appreciated!

"Hey, I'm home" you announced as you closed the front door of the apartment you shared with your boyfriend. Peter was home. There was light coming out of the living room which meant that he had not left to patrol the streets of New York as his alter ego yet. As you tossed your keys on the small table on the entryway you thanked the universe for his presence. You needed him. There was nothing you wanted more than to hide in the warmth of his embrace and forget about the world outside. 

The journey back to your house from class had been exhausting. A mere 15 minutes separated your apartment from the place you studied at, but that was more than enough time for your mind to upset you, your brain overthinking even the stupidest things. You spent the whole trip trapped with that damn voice in your head that always ruined your moments of peace and quiet. That voice that always told you that you weren't enough, that everybody hated you and made fun of you, that you fucked everything up and all you did was embarrass yourself every time you opened your mouth. You knew that it was all lies, nothing more than your fears and insecurities talking, but it was hard not to listen to them. Impossible to ignore without a distraction to help you bury it in the depths of your mind. 

That's why you were filled with joy when you saw Peter's head poking through the hallway. You threw your backpack to the ground and ran to him with open arms.

"I missed you too, ladybug" he mumbled into your hair, holding you close to him. "How was class?"

"Fine, I guess" you answered him half-heartedly, voice muffled by his chest. You didn't want to let go of him until his good humor rubbed off on you and made you feel better.

"You're gonna have to speak up if you want me to hear you, bug" Peter said pulling away from you. You huffed in protest, pouting in hopes that it would be enough to convince him to wrap his arms around you again. But your efforts were in vain.

"We can hug all you want later, I went patrolling in the afternoon so we could spend the night together" he explained, taking you by the shoulders to put some distance between the two of you. "What happened?"

Of course he knew something was wrong with you! He knew you better than anyone. He could guess your humor with a quick look into your eyes. It was scary sometimes how good he was at reading your body language. But for the most part you were grateful because he helped you open up about your problems.

“Nothing" you said trying to avoid the embarrassing conversation that was coming. You thought about lying to him, but when you saw the look on his face you knew it wasn't worthy. "I had to give a presentation in front of the whole class. I was nervous about it but the teacher passed me."

"Really? That's great, bug! I'm so proud of you" Peter cheared. He knew about your social anxiety, about how difficult it was for you to do mundane things such as speak up in class or order food. He always noticed when you were uncomfortable and tried to help you in any way he could. But he also encouraged you to go out of your comfort zone even if it was in small things. Peter was a great guy to have around in stressful times. He always knew what to say or do to silence that voice in your head that didn't let you live your life in peace.

"Yeah, I thought so too. I got a couple of things wrong but the teacher was really nice about it."

"So what's the matter then?" he asked you, looking at you with a soft gaze.

"You know how I get" you answered with a shrug, avoiding his eyes. You were embarrassed that such a normal thing like talking in class was causing so much trouble. "I started overthinking on the way home... Thinking about how stupid I must have looked with my face all red or how my voice sounded funny and now I feel weird. I just want to forget it all."

Peter moved a little closer to you. One of his hands traveled up to your chin, lifting your face to force you to look at him. Your eyes focused on the wall behind him and the light on the ceiling before settling on his face. You felt stupid and you were almost afraid to look him in the eye because you knew he would be able to read what was going through your mind without you having to say it. Peter was patient, waiting silently for you to decide to look at him before speaking.

“You are one of the smartest people that I know, bug. You got a good grade and that is all you should care about. No one laughed at you or thought you were dumb. Everybody makes mistakes and gets nervous during those things, it’s normal. I promise you no one cared.” 

His voice was soft and in his eyes you could see all the love he felt for you. He was willing to repeat phrases like that for the rest of his life if it made you feel better. Just thinking about it brought tears to your eyes. You were so grateful to Peter for everything he did for you. You would never be able to put into words the love you felt for him. It was amazing how a couple of words could silence all the doubts in your head when they came from him. He had a power over you that no one else had ever had before, and as much as it scared you a little at times, you were grateful. You could trust Peter with your life, you were sure of that.

“You’re right,” you nodded.

“Of course I’m right! I’m dating the smartest and kindest girl in the entire world” he said with a grin. The cheerfulness in his voice made you smile for the first time since you left class. Peter admired the curve of your lips for a moment before leaning towards you, closing the small distance between the two of you. 

His lips crashed into yours in a tender kiss full of love. You moved in synchrony, enjoying the sweet taste of each other. Peter cupped your face to pull you even closer to him and sucked in your bottom lip, making you gasp in pleasure. All your worries disappeared as you melted into his arms, reveling in the warmth of his body. The world around you ceased to exist, all you could focus on was his soft lips moving against yours and the way his fluffy hair felt under your hands. 

When you finally pulled away you were filled with calmness, remembering that everything would be okay as long as Peter was by your side. It was you and him against the world and you were more than okay with that. He was your rock, the person that always grounded you and you were so grateful to the universe for crossing your paths.

“Now, how about some dinner? I cooked us something” Peter announced after catching his breath.

“You cooked something?” you asked, looking at him with a raised eyebrow. He wasn’t very good at cooking, he was far too clumsy and forgetful to be able to prepare something edible.

“I ordered it, but I put it on plates! Doesn't the presentation count for something?”

“Of course it does, bug boy!” you laughed. “Now let's go eat, I’m starving!”

[drabbles-mc]

Road-Trippin’

Juice Ortiz x F!Reader

Combining 2 Anonymous requests: Basically it’s a best friends to lovers juice idea where he and his BFF go on a long car drive / road trip and listen to vibey music (examples: can I call you tonight? - day glow, the adults are talking - the strokes, undercover martyn - two door cinema club, tongue tied - group love, etc) and they basically just confess while driving and it’s so cute and If ur taking requests a juice friends to lovers would be super cute!

Warnings: language, fluff sweet enough to give you cavities

Word Count: 2.7k

A/N: Juice just deserves the happiest, softest love. He deserves a best friends to lovers storyline. Ugh I love this dorky man.

SOA Taglist: @masterlistforimagines​ @espieviolet99​ @mijop​ @chibsytelford​ @thanossexual​ @xladymacbethx​ @i-just-read-stuff​ @garbinge​ @lilah1903​ @bport76​ @toni9​ @unicornucopia-fuckers​ @buckybarneshairpullingkink​ @shadow-of-wonder​ @punkgoddess-98​ @paintballkid711​ @black-repunzel99​ @lexondeck​ @jitterbugs927​ @mrsstevenbuchananstark​ @mijagif​ @frattsparty​ @winchestershiresauce​ @bellisperennis0​ @crowfootwrites​ @redpoodlern​ @beardburnsupersoldiers​ @mveggieburger​ @xeniarocks​ @littlekittymeow​ @beardsanddetectives​ @juicyortiz​ @bruxasolta​ @i-love-scott-mccall​ @be-my-dear​ @flacalatke​ @withmyteeth​ @passionatewrites​ (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, let me know!)

Juice was just starting to pour his first cup of coffee for the morning when his phone started vibrating against the countertop. Looking down, the initial anxiety he’d had faded away when he saw it was your name flashing across the screen.

He smiled as he accepted the call, pinning the phone between his ear and shoulder as he got back to making his coffee, “Hey.”

“Juice!” the smile was audible in your voice.

He never considered you a morning person, so he wondered what had you so bright and cheery so early in the day, “What’s up, Y/N?”

“I am playing hooky today, and you should too.”

He laughed, “Playing hooky?”

“Yea! C’mon, it’ll be fun. I feel like I haven’t seen you in five million years.”

He chuckled before taking a sip of his coffee, “You saw me two days ago, you know.”

“Yea, like I said,” you laughed, “five million years. C’mon we could go for a road trip. Long weekend!”

“Does that mean you’re driving?” he had no interest in turning down the idea of getting out of town with you for the day, or a few days like you were making it sound like. Whatever time he could get with you, he would take.

You laughed, but your heart fluttered at the fact that he didn’t turn down the idea right out the gate, “We could take turns if you want.”

“That sounds like a nice way of saying you’re going to be driving,” he chuckled.

“I’ll let you drive the whole way if it means I’m getting you to blow off everything for a couple days and cruise with me.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?” you couldn’t hide the surprise in your voice—you definitely thought it was going to take a little more convincing than that.

“Yea, okay. I’ll pack a bag.”

“Holy shit,” you laughed, “Okay. M-me too. I’ll be over in a bit.”

When you hung up the phone you were still stunned that he had really agreed. A day trip? Sure, you figured it’d be easy enough to cajole him into that. But a bag-packing, long weekend getaway on a whim? You weren’t expecting to be that successful. You weren’t going to complain, though. You quickly starting pulling together clothes to get you through the next few days. Grabbing a handful of t-shirts and tank tops, you threw them into your duffle bag with a pair of jeans and a pair of shorts, along with your pajamas, which was really just another old t-shirt and pair of shorts. Stuffing a hoodie into the bag as well, you figured there really wasn’t much more that you needed. You left the bag open, tossing in little essentials to get you through the next couple of days, not really sure what the plan was going to end up being.

Juice was at his house going through the same motions. The last thing that he had wanted to do was call the club and say that he was going to be MIA for a few days, but he’d already said yes to you. The thought of disappointing you was worse to him than pissing the guys off for a few days, which was telling. He’d called Jax, figuring that maybe the VP would be a little more forgiving than the other officers in the club. And he was right.

“What’s eatin’ up all your time this weekend, then, Juice?” Jax was the only person on the planet who could talk and could make someone hear the smug little smirk on his face.

“Um,” Juice was caught between telling the truth, or trying to come up with something that sounded a little higher-stakes so that maybe there wouldn’t be any follow-up questions. But he’d never been a good liar, “Y/N called and—”

“Oh shit,” Jax laughed, “Big weekend plans with your girl?”

Juice sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he wished that he’d come up with literally anything else to tell Jax, “It’s not like that. She just—”

Hell would freeze over before Jax let the poor boy finish a sentence, “You got a whole weekend to change that now. Go get your girl, Juice. Don’t come back without results,” his laughter was good-natured.

Juice wanted to gear up with a response, but Jax hung up the phone before he could. Either way, he successfully untangled himself from the club for the next few days. Whatever jokes and remarks were waiting for him when he came home, he would deal with then. All that mattered for the time being, though, was packing and being ready before you showed up at his door.

He heard the sound of your car door shutting only seconds before you opened the front door of his house. You came all but crashing into his living room, an iced coffee in each hand and a smile on your face. Juice was fairly certain that as long as his heart didn’t burst inside his chest at some point over the next couple days, it was going to be the best weekend of his life.

“You ready?” you walked over, handing him his coffee before hugging him.

He tried not to let himself linger in your embrace too long. Pulling back, he flashed you a smile, “Ready.”

“Great!” you pulled your keys out of your pocket and tossed them to him, “Let’s go!”

He barely caught the keys in time, fumbling to keep them from hitting the floor. He couldn’t help his laughter as he watched you grab the smaller of his two bags and headed back towards his door to leave. Shaking his head, he slung his duffle bag over his shoulder and made his way after you. He lingered by the door for a moment, eyeing his kutte that was draped off to the side. Shaking his head at himself, he stepped out in just his plain white t-shirt and jeans and locked the door, knowing that that wasn’t part of his life for the next few days.

“Road trip,” the sing-songy sound of your voice filled the air as you tossed Juice’s small drawstring back into your back seat.

Turning the key in the ignition, Juice put the car in reverse. He turned to look behind him, arm reaching so his hand was behind the headrest of your seat. You watched him, more enthralled by the mundane action than you should’ve been. It took real effort to pry your eyes off of him when he brought his hand back to the steering wheel again, and you just hoped that he didn’t notice.

“So,” he spared a glance over at you as he drove, “where are we going?”

Your eyes widened, laughing as you shrugged, “I don’t know. You tell me—you’re the one who’s driving!”

He laughed, “I just figured you had a plan.”

You shook your head, sipping on your coffee, “I didn’t plan much past calling you and roping you into this.”

He let out a soft hum of approval, smiling at the sentiment of that. There was something reassuring about the fact that the two of you being together was enough of a plan for you. It was for him, too, but he didn’t know how to say that.

“Alright then,” he slowed to a stop at one of the only stoplights in the small town of Charming, “North or South?”

You beamed, “South. Always towards warmer weather, Juan Carlos, come on now.”

He chuckled, nodding as the light turned green, “Right. Guess I should’ve known that one, huh?”

A few minutes of silence passed between you as the two of you made your way out of town. Once the car hit the highway, though, you grabbed your phone and started to hook it up to the car radio. Juice’s eyes flicked off the road as he watched you, a smile still etched into his expression.

“You can use my phone, if you want,” he offered as he reached for his drink.

“Oh, no way,” you shook your head with a laugh, “You’re driving, I’m playing DJ. That’s the division of labor here today.”

He laughed, holding his hands up in faux surrender for a second, “Sorry, sorry. Forgot the road trip rules, apparently.”

“Mmm that’s what happens when all your long trips happen with a bunch of dudes on motorcycles,” your tone was light-hearted as you scrolled through your playlist.

He shook his head at you but didn’t say anything more as he eased back in the driver’s seat, relaxing a little more now that the two of you were on an open, straight stretch of highway. It was a different kind of relaxing to be cruising inside of a car to begin with, but to be driving with no real destination in mind with you sitting shotgun was something else entirely. He kept his eyes on the road for the most part, but he couldn’t help stealing glances over at you as you kicked your feet up onto the dashboard, flipping your sunglasses down over your eyes.

You were taking sips of your coffee between songs, usually just to refill for your next round of road trip karaoke. Juice couldn’t help but to be impressed by the sheer number of songs that you had memorized. Not only that, but it wasn’t until all of this, that he realized that he had never heard you sing before. All the time that you two spent together over the last few years, and the other trips (although they were shorter with a much realer direction in mind) that you’d taken together, it was the first time he'd really heard you sing.

“You can make requests to the DJ if you want,” you said with a chuckle as you rested your head back against the seat, “But I do reserve the right to deny them.”

He laughed, “Alright, let me think about it then. That’s a lot of pressure.”

You smiled, looking over at him as he drove. It was a sight that you could get used to, him in the driver’s seat of your car with one hand on the wheel, one resting on the edge of the open window. He’d put his sunglasses on too, but from the angle you were watching him from, you could still get a decent glimpse of the real expression on his face. He had never been good at hiding from you anyway.

“Okay, I think I got one,” he nodded, a soft smile on his face.

You listened as he rattled off the song and artist to you, not recognizing either of them. You didn’t know what to expect, but you let it play regardless, and you were surprised at the light melody that started playing from your speakers.

“Wow,” you chuckled, unable to hide that you were a little impressed, “this wasn’t what I was expecting.”

“No?” he laughed, feeling his face start to get warm.

“I was expecting something a little more,” you gestured vaguely with your hand that wasn’t holding your phone, “Wu-Tang.”

He couldn’t stop his laughter, “I listen to other stuff too, you know.”

“Apparently so,” you smiled, letting quiet fill the space between you again as you listened to the lyrics of the song he’d chosen.

The two of you started to go back and forth like that—after every couple of songs you chose, Juice would tell you the name of one to play. What started off as a fun way to pass the time slowly started to feel like something that meant just a little bit more than that. The more you listened to the words, the more butterflies appeared in your stomach. And, judging by the tiny, cute smile curling Juice’s lips as he listened to your music, he was feeling the same tension starting to build.

It wasn’t awkward, though, when it easily could’ve been. You were determined to get Juice actually singing before the first leg of the trip was over, but for now you were willing to happily settle for his passionate lip-syncing and steering wheel drumming. It was the most that you’d seen him smile in a long time. You wished that you had decided to do this sooner.

“Can I ask you something?” you looked over at him, lifting your sunglasses so that they rested on top of your head.

He shrugged, nodding, “Sure.”

“What’d you tell the guys? Like…did you tell them that you were going on a road trip with me?” the last two words came out quieter than you meant for them to.

“Oh, uh,” he chuckled nervously, “I just called Jax. He…he was cool with it.”

“Really?” you cocked an eyebrow. You and Jax got along fine, but you were surprised that he was alright with Juice blowing the club off for a whole weekend last-minute.

“Yea,” he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, trying to figure out just how honest he was going to be with you, “I just, um, I just called and said I wasn’t gonna be around. I told him you called and he didn’t even let me finish explaining,” his entire face felt like it was on fire.

“Oh really?” you laughed, “What, he think I’m a good influence on you or something?”

His laughter had a hint of nerves to it, “Something like that, yea.”

Just because he kept his eyes glued to the road didn’t mean that you couldn’t still see the look on his face. You could tell that he was holding something back, and you wondered if he could tell the same thing with you.

“You good?” you asked, reaching over and resting your hand on his shoulder.

He swallowed hard, trying not to let the contact distract him from his driving, “Yea, I’m good,” he chanced a look over at you, “You?”

You didn’t even have to give him a verbal answer for him to know—the smile and the starry look in your eyes said it all. It was hard for him to wrap his head around the fact that you were really looking at him like that. Mustering up every last bit of courage that he had, he reached over and rested his hand on your leg just above your knee. His palm was calloused from years of hard work, but his touch was still soft. You let out a hum of approval as you let your head rest back again, eyes starting to drift shut as you focused on the heat bleeding from his hand into your leg.

“Oh,” he spoke up, tapping your leg lightly after a few minutes of silence, “I got another request.”

You chuckled, opening your eyes as you grabbed your phone, ready to type in whatever song he told you next. You felt like you had learned more about him in the last couple of hours than you had in a long time. You knew that Juice had a softness to him, but this felt different, it felt special.

“You know,” you said as you dropped your hand on top of his, “you can be a real sap, Juan Carlos.”

He laughed, looking over at you, “A sap?”

You beamed, looking over at him as you nodded, “Yea. With all your little love songs. It’s…it’s cute. I like it. Sappy looks good on you.”

He was caught between wanting to kiss you and wanting to melt into the driver’s seat. Neither of those were viable options since he was currently whipping down the highway. “You think so?” he couldn’t stop his nervous laughter.

“I do,” you paused, interlocking your fingers with his, “I’m glad you’re here, glad we’re doing this.”

He reveled in the light squeeze you gave his hand, “Me too.”

“You know the worst part about this, though?”

His heart dropped into his stomach at your words. He chanced a look over at you, “What?”

“Usually this would be the perfect time to kiss you, you know, with the background music and all, but I can’t or you’ll crash the car.”

It was the most wholesome laugh that you’d ever heard as he shook his head at the bluntness of your statement. He tightened his hold on your hand, lifting it so he could press a kiss to your knuckles, “I’ve been thinking that for the last forty-five minutes at least and I’ve been losing my mind.”

You were laughing now, too, “Next pull-off?”

“Oh,” he nodded, “For sure.”

You laughed, soaking up the feeling of his thumb tracing repeatedly over your knuckles, “It’s gonna be a good long weekend, Juice.”

Looking over at you again, it was impossible not to mirror the satisfied grin on your face, “Yea, I think it is.”

[strawberry-nugget]

𝙈𝙤𝙤𝙙 𝙈𝙪𝙨𝙞𝙘 | E.Kirishima x Reader

Pairing: Kirishima/ reader, Bakugo/ reader (mentioned)

Summary: You shouldn't want him and he shouldn't want you, it's sinful and forbidden. But he can't help coming back to you, and you can't do anything but take him in every single time. Until today that is.

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: Aged up characters (twenties), NSFW 18+, plot with some p//rn but it's not very detailed, unprotected sex (please use condoms everyone), cheating, casual penetrative sex, jealousy, the seggz is pretty vanilla though

↪A/N: tennis player Kirishima, tennis player Kirishima, idk how I came up with it but I can't get it out of my head, written for @doinmybesthere 's 3k event collab and based on The Hills by the Weeknd, don't be shy to tell me if you liked it, I almost wrote 4k in a day which is unusual for me

5.30pm [Missed Call: Red]

5.31pm [Missed Calls(2): Red]

The bubbling notifications are spamming your phone, each call, succeeding the other in persistence and length, making your phone crawl onto your coffee table in restless buzzing. To your salvation the device is on silent; you're just unable to bear the overwhelming sound of your ringtone echo through the empty walls of your apartment, to let it bounce between concrete like a slimy ball, only for it to hit you on the face with tremendous force.

It's one of those days that you can't answer Kirishima. Too perplexed in the wields of your mind, blaming yourself for this horrendous situation, delivering raw swears at him for simply existing.

You don't know how it came to this nor when was the exact moment things switched. Was it at the party that you met him? Or the thousandth time you took him in and let him ruin relationship after relationship. Either way it was horrible for not only you, but also him, and all the people that have been caught up in the sidelines of this rotten affair.

You shouldn't want this anymore and truly, you don't. You're tired of being the second choice, of hiding behind your little finger, crying yourself to sleep at night, only to put on a sultry face for every time he comes. Once, twice a month.

[New Messages: Red]

Babe, you there?

Read 5.38pm

[New Messages: Red]

Babe I got practice at 8.

I know you're reading those.

Read 5.39pm

[Red is typing…]

[New Messages: Red]

I'm outside btw

A fresh, tremendously sharp wave of anxiety rushes through you at the little notification -it can't be like this again, not today. The thudder in your chest is unbearable, heart too weak to stomach the weight of your decision, fingers too reluctant to type out your response.

He's probably smirking while staring at his phone, not a single care in his head. It's loathing to your mind as you confirm your speculation, shooting a glance out of your window, landing your eyes on his car.

He shouldn't be here.

His thousands dollar car doesn't belong in your urban street, not in your side of the town. And it's so dangerous that he's doing this to see you. You've played the worst scenarios in your head a thousand times, millions of headlines on sites and the news about this; Eijirou Kirishima, on his way to claiming a fifth Grand Slam, caught in affair with university student.

Atrocious, degrading, exposing. A hit to his career that would bother the media for a couple of weeks and paint your name in mud along the way.

Why can't he just be content with the model that he's with? You're nothing like her, not as pretty and you don't have her body, you don't have her face, but he still says he finds you better, says he knows you better, but he just can't be with you.

[You]

Can't do it today

Sorry

You're good to yourself, only when you deny him and only when you feel the satisfaction of being the one to do so. It's pointless to sulk over saying no. He can go fuck other girls, play with their hearts and leave you to your otherwise peaceful life. Even if it is just for today.

You don't have the chance to let a smile creep to your face when your doorbell rings. The jiggling sound bursts into your eardrums once and twice, three dreaded times and they're enough to make your stomach churn, your neck tight and your skin ache.

You contemplate on opening the door for him, subconsciously letting yourself feel like a vulnerable prey, who, after running away to save yourself, is choosing to walk into the wolf's den, so willingly that you can feel yourself drifting away with each step you're taking towards the door.

"Babe,"

The swing of your door handle, the crack of your wrist, the creaking of your door as it opens to reveal him; they're all embarrassing. You can't tell if they fall short on his ears, too caught up in the way he looks -all swollen muscles and tall legs. You're running out of courage to say no and he knows this.

He's not as innocent as this cheeky smile frames him out to be, he's not the sweetheart everyone wants him to be either.

He's Eijirou, who's selfishly standing on your door, who's barging his way in your apartment, who's grabbing your cheeks and slamming your face in his, biting your lips until he draws blood, just to punish you for standing up against him.

Your door is slammed behind him, one bend of his knee and it's falling into its rightful place. To shield the sins of your affair, to bring you comfort and privacy as he attacks parts of your neck, your chest. Places that only squeeze perfectly under his touch.

"Babe," He calls again, in between soft kisses. "What's gotten into you?"

You frown and try to look away, past his cocoa colored orbs, past the swelling that's taking over his lips -and yours- with a numbing, tingling sensation.

"Eijirou—"

"I don't have much time in between training, I got a game the day after tomorrow."

It's always like this, you know. He doesn't have to tell you twice or try to excuse his own self for what he does or how he acts. You're pushed between schedules, or slammed into his timetable like a truck when he feels like indulging with you again, hidden between the lines of his free time.

You're sure at this point that it's the thrill he's after. The sinful taste of your lips on his, how he feels in control while chasing after you, when you can't keep up with him.

His lips don't taste like sour cherry anymore, but you let them wiggle against yours with triumph, you let him want to catch his breath as he pulls back and you put the minimum effort in returning the passion you receive.

You pull back, ignoring the words he's whispering against your face, only to take in his features once again.

Soft black hair pulled into a low ponytail, spiky bangs that fly all over his face and his tips drowned in a fiery, foxy red. The only reminder for who he was before his tennis career blew up. For who he was before he turned into this cocky womanizer whom you're desperately after with a longing heart.

"I'm just not in the mood today."

"Well let's get you in the mood then huh?"

He smiles, nose scrunching and chapped lips hiding behind his gums as his hand moves to your thigh, tagging your shorts with furry. As if he's desperate to have you, right here and now. As if bending you over the couch will help put out a fire in him. That's how he always convinces you to keep this going.

He's making you feel like not having you this way is insufferable.

You're buried in the crook of his neck while being pushed onto the couch, nibbling a soft spot that you've found, rubbing his skin on the top of your tongue. You know how to do this without leaving a mark, you can hold back from wanting to take all you can get from him.

But today it's different. It's going to be the last time.

It's not like any other time you've told yourself that you are going to end this. Today you're going to leave a mark, you're going to bite your way into his skin and drink from his poison -the intimate attention he's only ever willing to give- and you'll get drunk in it.

"Fuck," He grunts against your lips. "Fuck, don't stop that feels good."

You don't stop, eager to listen to him, to breathe into his neck before you wrap your lips a little lower and closer to his collarbone. You should be asking if this will cause him problems, but gone is the guilt that veils your coinsense otherwise. You suckle on a spot and then another, stealing his groaning moans one by one as they fall from his lips, plushing them softly in a spongy part of your brain, where they can rest forever, until you've forgotten them.

"Get your shirt off Eijirou," You plea, ogling eyes watering from the pressure that's applied in the apex of your thighs and he's quick to follow your command, lips curling upwards in a sweetheart smirk.

You're going to miss the way the apples of his cheeks cover his eyes when he smiles like this. But there's no going back for you and him.

With legs that feel like burning rubber you hug around his horse, watching the way his muscles flex and fold with his snappy movements. His shirt, tousled and wrinkly, tossed in an unknown corner of your living room, only for him to guess where it is after he's gotten his fix of you.

Thick fingers probe at your sides, pulling your shirt downwards in a silent plea, take off your shirt, give him the satisfaction that he wants, indulge into this as much as he wants you to.

But today, you're not in the mood for this. So instead of pulling your shirt off, you unbuckle your pants, pulling them down at the most dreadful speed, making him bite his lip impatiently.

You won't miss this, the way he's expecting so many things of you.

And if he notices something's wrong, he doesn't say a word, presumably content with getting what he wants; the rear view of the gap between your legs, where he can bury himself and get lost for the next thirty minutes.

"Fuck baby," he moans. "Why do you smell so good?"

You grunt, averting your gaze from his as he pushes your bangs away from your face with the back of his hand. You want to miss his puppy eyes. Ghosting him won't be easier for you if you don't.

But damn if he couldn't read you this well, things would be easier.

"Not in the mood to talk?" You look even further away to avoid the question, "babe, you can tell me if you're not well, you'll feel better if you let it out"

You don't need someone to tell you how to feel. You've decided when the two of you are going to be through. It's set and done, even if he feels at the top of the world right now, you won't inflate his ego anymore.

"M fine Eijirou, put it in," You bite his lip, putting huge effort in making him forget about what he thinks it's bothering you. "Want you to put it in m'kay?"

Sultry, fake voice, he's heard it all before and he doesn't have the right to call you out for it. Whatever he does next, you're his for the moment and for the last time.

Repeating is your rightful way of convincing yourself of not giving up on your decision. If only he could have broken up before deciding to wet himself in you, if only you hadn't taken him so eagerly, if only you hadn't become just like him. Welcoming him despite availability status, afraid to lose him, saying that a little sex wouldn't hurt. If you could do this on repeat, then you could get rid of him quite as easily.

You're not better than him and he's taken your vulnerability to him for granted. He's loved the attention you've paid him from time to time, whenever he's given you so much as a mere call.

You should pretend to moan, to hurt his ego, but as he's delving into you, slowly, mellowy, his kisses feel like burning sunshine, August breeze against your skin, kissing your shoulders lightly. It hurts that this salvation is coming from his mouth, as it moves rhythmically against every inch of you.

"Fuck, fuck, ah, you feel so good, you know that?"

You don't answer, nor do you wrap your lips around him. You don't move them against his when he goes to kiss you, but you coo into his warm embrace once his hands come to cradle you in a tight embrace.

"I love you," He slips up and you contemplate on whether you have to start hating him from this very moment. "I just wanna be with you, I—" He grunts. “—this is why you don't believe him, but nonetheless you hold a moan in as well. "Fuck, I'll break up just for you.”

Now that's a new one. A new addition to the long list of red flags you have with his name on top. You can't fall for it. You absolutely can't. If you do, he'll treat you just like this, he'll fuck behind your back and kiss you goodnight before going off to sleep with someone else. Like he's slept with you, once, twice, thrice.

And you're going to hate being the one who's fooled, despite deserving it more than anyone else. And another girl, or guy, is going to be his subject of desire.

You shouldn't want him to be yours, but you're lewding your 'I love yous' out of your mouth like they're nothing, poisoning your heart until there's nothing left but dust and sucked up blood, all devoured by the greed he's made you feel.

"You love me too?"

"I do," You cry, rocked between him and the couch, neck hurting by the way he's digging his teeth in yours.

"I'll fucking leave everything for you babe,"

He shouldn't. He won't. You tell yourself he's only saying this because he wants to come, to make you feel dirty with his actions and fish out words that make him ecstatic or send him over the edge from your mouth.

Rhythms are peaking, his hips burning from his movements, foreheads are dripping in sweat, lips taste salty against each other. The perfect picture, the most tingling sensation, and you're too fucked to go back, or keep yourself content with him. It feels the same as the last time, a numbing knot in your stomach, commanding you to rip your heart out and throw it away, spooning mewls out of your mouth.

If you could, you'd mute him, not wanting to listen to how beautiful he sounds as he's coming down from his high. If you could, you'd look away, and wouldn't try to burn the image of his body as he's falling apart in your mind.

"That was—" The sigh that leaves his chest through his mouth is liberating, you can tell—"amazing. I still love you, so much babe."

His hand soothing the pain of his thrusts, does nothing to make you feel better. You want to shove it away, but you don't, unhappy with the way you're turning out to be.

"It's time for you to go, Eijirou, isn't it?" You remind him. A hand pushing him off of you and quickly smoothing your T-shirt over your legs to deprive him of the view that'd make him wear a smug of triumph.

"So quick to get me to go. Did you find someone else again sweetheart?"

You don't reply as you're putting on your underwear and pants, shoving his shirt into him with a heavy hand.

"You did, didn't you?"

"None of your business, go off to your practice, your girl, don't patronize me anymore."

He gruffs, beautiful features scowling in that stormy gaze that reeks of his authority, "Here I am pouring my heart on you and you found someone else"

"Eijirou, it's seven thirty, if I were you, I wouldn't be late for practice. You got a game the day after tomorrow."

No more dealing with his pouting, you're going to bawl your eyes out if you have to do it. The sooner he's out of your house, the sooner you'll get this over with; the tight lamp in your throat, the image of him smiling at you like this, him admitting feelings that he shouldn't have.

Hurting him isn't the role that suits you. Because you can't do it. You can't hurt that warm sunshine he has on his face. He has to be the one to hurt you like he's been the one to drive you away. It's too late for him to change or reverse your roles.

You don't want to fight and he knows it.

He knows you, so well, well enough to use you as he wishes to, letting you believe you're using him too. You're going to make him watch you slip away, and he won't do anything about this.

So he's eager to leave as you're pushing him out of the door, he doesn't cup your cheek with his hand, and doesn't kiss your forehead tenderly like he always does.

"You should come to this party Mina is throwing, let me meet your new guy."

Like hell you'd ever do this, he knows, but teasing won't hurt a bit. Eijirou can deal with you dating other men, he's claimed you well before, he'll do it again if he has to, especially now that he's decided to have you.

"Yeah yeah, and if I do, don't ever call me again, 'kay?"

You're too good to not do as he says, or not to fall back to him, and he's too good to not come back to you. To him, you're a match made in heaven, to you, you're a lost cause, burning in the fiery pits of hell as atonement for your sins.

He doesn't know that you'll fall apart before dressing up, how you'll tell yourself you're not doing this for him, but as a statement against him.

You're no better than him, in fact, you're worse.

…

The only problem is, that when Eijirou pulls up at Mina's party after practice, you're already there. Drink in your hand, flared jeans hugging your legs, layered tank tops that cover the bruising truth of this evening, laughing at whatever your friends are saying.

When he puts out his phone, calloused fingers furiously typing a text addressed to you, you're too far gone into another glass, dancing a little dance before grabbing everyone's cups to go for a refill, greeting them in that silent way of yours, drunken smile.

And then you'll pass him by and blink at him, you'll mutter a small greeting and he'll grab you by the hand and whisper in your ear just how hard he'll take you driving the night. You'll swoon, moan, forget about the drinks and follow him anywhere he leads you.

That's how everybody knows about the two of you.

This time, though, you don't cast a single eye on him. In fact, you're tainting him, walking past him while ignoring him, leaving him awestruck and hurt, like his confessions earlier in the day meant nothing to you.

It's a hit to his heart, how your jaw drops as you bump into Bakugo over the kitchen counter, eyes too wide at the sight of him. How your finger dances playfully on his chest and as you smile at him when he whispers something in your ear.

It's infuriating how you drop the cups near the sink and follow Bakugo outside, or how the blond waves at him with a pressed smile against his lips, signaling that he'll be busy for a while.

His insides churn, tummy aching in a feeling of guilt, one unlike anything he's felt before. Losing you doesn't taste in the way he thought he would, it's worse; sour and poisoning. It makes him flee the party, furious and bitter.

When he's back, his body is heavy, feet dragging him across his apartment, mind blank as he follows his basic routine before bed time, fixated on how easy it seemed for you to just ignore him and flee with one of his friends as soon as he came over to the party he invited you to, wondering how you could be so ruthless with him all of a sudden.

Sweet talking Kirishima with a smile of gold, the sweetheart of the professional Tennis scene and you're over him in the split of a second, pushing him away from you without an explanation or heart wrenching speech. Not giving him the satisfaction of some closure, just forcing the cold tempo of your sudden departure in the depths of his heart.

He pays no mind to the girl that sleeps beside him, back turned to him like she's oceans apart, despite the unspoken bound that's keeping them together. He'll leave her, make up for all the damage that he's done, in any way that he can manage to.

It all comes down to the fact that no one can love you like he does, no one can want you like he does. Someone can do it better, but you have to want him.

5.30am [Missed Call: Red]

5.31am [Missed Calls(2): Red]

[New Message: Red]

Fuck, with Bakugo out of everyone?

Delivered: 5.31am

[New Message: Red]

Did you have sex with him?

Babe answer me.

Delivered: 5.32am

[New Message: Red]

I'm breaking up with her tomorrow morning.

And I'll come over.

Babe.

Babe please.

Delivered: 5.33am

[New Message: Red]

I'll take you on a date and we can talk about us okay babe?

Let me know when you wake up.

I love you.

So much.

Delivered: 5.38am

Read: 10.23pm

[You]

(Attached Image)

Sorry 'Red' even if you sound like a total douche, cheeks forgot her phone at my place.

I bet on her answering your late night drama when she takes her phone back.

[Red is typing...]

Super thanks to @celestidarling for proofreading this and giving me the biggest pump of confidence to post

↪Up Next: Dragon King Bakugo

[devils-malady]

AU where Ethan convinced the 4 lords to flip on Miranda and are learning to function in a world that is unfamiliar to them.

•Alcina was shown the internet by her daughters and eventually found a way to make a post saying:

"Tall, single white female seeking maidens for my blood wine and what my daughters call 'Netflix and Chill'."

The post goes viral and she has more applications than she can handle with volunteers willingly donating blood for her and her daughters to use as needed. (And A LOT of offers for Netflix and Chill)

•Moreau is able to contact some ecologists to help him clean up the reservoir and bring back more of the native wildlife. But it has become a popular wildlife park and fishing destination and people are actually nice to him. He is ecstatic.

•Donna absolutely started a YouTube channel on doll making and sewing. Has become a major hit, receiving an offer with a big company to help distribute her own line of custom designs of doll parts and clothes. The site is almost always sold out because she makes relatively low stock because she still wants to make sure everything is up to her own quality standards (responding to people's comments and emails had helped her begin to address her social anxiety and she discovered online therapy). While Angie has blown up on tiktok for her prank vids. 

"My name is Angie and you're watching me turn other people into jackasses."

"*Ethan, off screen, behind the camera* Language!"

•Heisenberg has started making found metal sculptures and is making a killing off something Ethan and Mia called "hipsters". He doesn't know what those are but they sure love to spend money on the weird shit he's been making. He's really quite content with this turn of events and it's the first time he's actually liked his powers. But he would never admit it.

After discussing this with my friend, here's something we came up with in honor of the upcoming festivities:

The 4 lords want to make Ethan and Mia, the resident Americans, feel more at home, so they plan a surprise 4th of July cookout for them.

First and foremost: 

Angie is the kid from that vine, you all know the one.

Donna: "What do you have?"

Angie: "A KNIFE!"

Donna: "NO!"

Later, Donna, out of breath and holding a squirming Angie: "Who gave Angie a knife? Today of all days?"

Cassandra: *whistles innocently, slipping to hide behind her mother.*

Auntie Donna is not above using her gifts on the Dimitrescu daughters when they are being overly cheeky. Just a little zip to remind them to behave. Alcina calls it "tough love". Mia and Ethan have both told her that's not what that means.

•Heisenberg is the grillmaster. But he's shockingly (heh) horrible at it. Everything gets burnt.

Karl: "Ah, Ethan and the Winterses! Welcome to the party! Hamburgers or hotdogs?"

Ethan: "That's charcoal. That kills people, Karl." (I absolutely couldn't resist)

Someone pointed out that the Duke should be cooking to which Heisenberg responded with: "Shut yer fuckin' hole!" And went back to his grilling, doing a better job purely out of spite.

-It was Angie. Angie pointed it out.

-Heisenberg was the subject of her next prank vid as retaliation.

•Alcina and her daughters exclusively eat blood sausage for the party, while Alcina is getting wine mom drunk asking Mia questions about the American holiday, while also providing endless entertainment for baby Rose. Alcina gives the best hugs and cuddles (you cannot convince me otherwise). It is ridiculously adorable to watch her in all her 9' 6" glory, coo at and baby talk to her. (We also discussed at length the boob nest she could create just by leaning back and setting Rose between her cleavage. Hands free baby holding ftw!) (Somebody artsy please draw this, I have a need)

The daughters get jealous and start pestering her for attention before eventually having a game of chase with Moreau in their swarm forms while he's out for a swim in the reservoir. It makes him feel included.

•Moreau has been setting up a little water park for the festivities. He had a slide and water guns put in, with a water balloon station and there's also an extreme slip-n-slide that Angie has been absolutely vibrating to try (The one that decapitated those crash test dummies). Angie had to wait though because she was put in timeout for the knife debacle. But when she gets out of Angie Jail (Rose's turned over baby play pen), she waits until she can get all 3 of the Dimitrescu daughters like a bowling ball taking out pins, sending them crashing into the lake.

•Somehow, Donna was put in charge of the music, which turned out better than Ethan and Mia had expected when they saw her with the sound system set up. She gives off big old school victrola record player with opera vibes because of her aesthetic, but it turns out crowdsourcing ideas on her YT gave her a playlist of epic proportions. She also ended up messing around with a mixing program someone sent her, and the list has a few of her own mixes tossed in.

Angie (with a lot of help from the Duke and Karl) got her tiny little gremlin hands on some fireworks. That also turned out better than anticipated with only one occasion of someone getting partially set on fire. (It was Karl and it went viral on tiktok.) Angie was put back in Jail for the rest of the party.

[asweetprologue]

hematoma of the heart

Octoberfest 9: Wound reveal (whumptober #30)

Hitting the tree is more surprising than painful. A strange shock goes through Jaskier’s entire body when it happens, a litany of unspoken no no no through him as his side slams into the wood and he topples to the ground. For a moment he can’t see, can barely even think, just feeling a dizzying sense of wrongness that makes his skin buzz with anxiety. 

Then, finally, the pain does come to him, bursting from his ribs. If his breath hadn’t already been crushed from his lungs, he would have wheezed at the intensity of it. He lies there for a long moment, curled into a protective ball and trying to get his chest to expand beyond the jagged feeling in his ribs. Through bleary eyes, he can see that Geralt is still fighting the fiend, twisting and rolling deftly around it. That’s good, Jaskier thinks. Gives him some time to sort this out. 

The fiend hadn’t even really been paying him any mind, which was almost more embarrassing. Jaskier had gotten in the way, a bit, though it wasn’t really anyone’s fault that the fight stumbled its way so close to his hiding spot. Normally Geralt would never allow Jaskier to tag along to a fight this dangerous, but as usual trouble found them. Geralt had picked up the smell of the fiend on the breeze, and the noble bastard hadn’t been able to leave well enough alone. His stubborn bravery and selflessness is one of the many reasons Jaskier loves the man, but at this exact moment he finds himself wishing that, for once, they’d just kept out of it. 

After a long moment of lying still and trying to gather his wits, Jaskier slowly sits up. He leans his back against the offending tree and tries to stay as still as possible, not wanting to draw the fiend’s attention or break Geralt’s stride. Mentally he takes inventory. Toes and fingers wriggle when he tests them, so that’s good. No pain in his neck, though it radiates out from his left side and across his back like a sunburst. When he sticks a hand against his shirt he doesn’t feel the wet, tacky sensation of blood, so aside from a few abrasions it looks like he’s escaped with his skin intact. 

Jaskier knows his ribs are bruised, maybe even slightly broken, but overall it’s not as bad as it could be. Jaskier watches as Geralt’s sword descends into the neck of the fiend, a hot spray of blood splashing across the ground and Geralt’s face. The second the beast falls to the ground, Geralt looks up and finds Jaskier’s gaze, his own eyes wild.

Jaskier realizes two things at once. One: Geralt is going to be livid if Jaskier was hurt during a fight, and there’s a very great chance that it will make him not want to take Jaskier on hunts in the future. He’ll say that Jaskier is at risk and is a risk himself, likely to cause Geralt to get distracted and wind up with one of them dead. Never mind that Geralt often needs help after a hard fight, might not be able to make it back on his own or just needs a hand patching up the worst of his wounds. Never mind that Jaskier hates being left behind, hates sitting in a cold, empty camp or inn waiting to see if Geralt will come back this time. Never mind that Jaskier’s entire supposed reason for being here is to get first hand experience of what monster hunting is really like, even if that maybe isn’t so much the reason he’s so dedicated to the Path anymore. 

And two: Geralt will blame himself. 

Jaskier decides, in the span of a second, that he’s not going to say anything. It’s not so bad, after all. How hard could it be to keep a few bruised ribs to himself? 

In the time it takes for him to determine this course of action, Geralt is upon him. He doesn’t touch - Jaskier touches Geralt. Geralt does not touch back, unless it’s to manhandle Jaskier out of danger. Jaskier tries not to think too hard about why this is. Geralt looks at him, his eyes intense but unreadable as always, and Jaskier takes a steadying breath that makes his ribs ache. 

“Jaskier,” Geralt says, almost more of a grunt than a name. He’s only breathing a bit more heavily than normal, as if he’d just been on a light morning jog. “You alright?”

Jaskier nods, forcing himself to climb unsteadily to his feet. The movement is agony, his back screaming as his muscles shift and stretch. He bites his cheek, forcing himself not to gasp or wince. The pain isn’t sharp, just pulsing, which is a good sign. He thinks. “All accounted for,” he says to Geralt, hoping that his voice doesn’t sound too strained. 

With another human, Jaskier doesn’t think he’d have been able to get away with it. No one would be able to get thrown against a tree with such force and pop back up perfectly alright. But Geralt isn’t human, and over the years of traveling together, Jaskier has realized that Geralt knows fuck all about how much humans can withstand. He is both terrified of their fragility and entirely unaware of their limits. He grew up around witchers and has never stuck around any human beings long enough to figure out what really could hurt them. Jaskier thinks, sometimes, that maybe Geralt doesn’t touch him because he’s afraid Jaskier will break. But then Jaskier falls from a horse or gets punched in the jaw or stumbles over the side of a small ravine and Geralt will act surprised when Jaskier’s ankle is twisted or his face is bruised. The witcher just has no idea what will actually cause damage and what Jaskier can walk away from.

So Jaskier plasters on his most convincing court mask and gives Geralt a winning smile, and he knows he’s won when Geralt gives an almost imperceptible shrug. Jaskier watches his shoulders drop ever so slightly, his expression loosening just a fraction. Jaskier drinks up Geralt’s worry like a man drowning of thirst, but he’s still relieved when Geralt turns back towards the fiend. If Geralt knew he was really hurt, his tender concern over Jaskier’s well being would morph into guilt and anger, and that’s the last thing Jaskier wants. So he forces himself to follow after Geralt, and he doesn’t even limp. 

Jaskier does not limp as they set up camp that night, or as he follows Geralt to town the next day, or over the course of the next week on the road. It’s probably making the healing process longer than it needs to be, he knows, but he’s in too deep now to back down. And if he winces occasionally when he’s getting up in the morning, stiff and sore and aching, or if he sucks in a breath to hide a yelp when someone brushes past his wounded shoulder in an inn, Geralt doesn’t seem to notice. Jaskier changes when Geralt leaves for breakfast or to take a piss or to bathe and he thinks he does an okay job, overall, of hiding it. It hurts in another way, deep in his gut, that Geralt doesn’t say anything. Jaskier doesn’t want him to say anything, doesn’t want him to know, but in another way he does. He really does. He wants Geralt to find out and be upset because he cares about Jaskier, cares about his well being and whether he’s in pain. He wants the full force of those golden eyes on him with total attention, those broad hands running across his flank to search for damage. Jaskier wants. 

Maybe that’s why he lets his guard down. Or maybe he’s just healing nicely, and so for a few hours Jaskier just… forgets. They’re in a tavern, stopped in a small town a week and a half away from the fiend encounter, and Jaskier is a bit drunk. He’s been playing, for the first time since he was thrown into that tree, and it felt so good he got a bit lost in it. The crowd was small but invested, lively and eager for entertainment, and Jaskier had been passed more than a couple of tankards. Geralt had watched it all unfold with mild amusement, matching Jaskier cup for cup but barely tipsy by the end of the night. Jaskier had stumbled up the stairs with Geralt close on his heels, likely making sure he didn’t tumble back down the steps. He isn’t that drunk, truly. Barely wobbling as he’d made his way into the room. But as he tugs off his boots now and tosses aside his doublet, he’s drunk enough that he forgets, for the first time in a week, that he’s got something to hide. He turns away from Geralt and unbuttons his shirt, yawning around some garbled sentence about how many ales he’s had. The fabric has barely left his shoulders when he hears Geralt make a strangled sound, and turns to find himself nose to nose with the witcher. 

“Uh,” he says, articulately, and hisses as Geralt’s fingers come up to prod his side. Oh, right. Fuck. He’d been doing so well. 

“What the fuck is this?” Geralt asks, and his voice comes out as a low, warning growl that Jaskier feels in his toes. It’s threatening, he reprimands himself. Geralt is scary when he’s mad. Not hot. Scary. “Jaskier,” Geralt says, and Jaskier snaps back to the moment. 

“I’m fine,” Jaskier says, too quickly. He’s trying to pull his shirt back up to cover up the canvas of blue-purple-yellow that’s scattered across his ribs and shoulder, but Geralt’s hands are in the way. He must be truly surprised, to break his own rules about personal space like this. “I fell, it looks worse than it is. Nothing to be concerned about, truly, I don’t even think my ribs took too much damage -”

“When?” Geralt says. His tone and his hands are demanding, pulling Jaskier’s arm up away from his body so Geralt can get a closer look. Jaskier feels himself flush under his touch, and he’s annoyed at himself for it. 

“Uh, a - a week ago? Around then? It’s been a few days.”

Geralt looks away from the bruises, his eyebrows pinched together. His golden eyes are intense, searching Jaskier’s face for a lie. There’s a moment of quiet between them, Geralt thinking with his hand spread across Jaskier’s ribs, and then his face softens with surprise. “The fiend hunt,” he says, and then his face shutters into that expression, furious and guilty, that Jaskier was trying to avoid this whole damn time. 

“I was fine,” he tries to say, but Geralt is already growling at him. 

“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me, Jaskier?” he snaps. Gentle-rough hands push Jaskier down onto the one bed in the room. They’d decided to share, to save money. Always to save money. Geralt starts pacing, not an aimless trek but a journey around the room, pulling various supplies out of their scattered bags. “You could have died. What if your lung had been punctured? Or your kidney ruptured?” A jar and a roll of bandages are thrown down by Jaskier’s side, and the bard winces at the sharp movement. Geralt stops in front of him, fists clenched at his side, glaring down at Jaskier’s face. Accusation in every line of his body. 

Jaskier sighs. Runs a hand through his hair, not bothering to hide the wince as it pulls at his side. “I didn’t want to worry you,” he says, and his voice is smaller than he’d like it to be. He didn’t do anything wrong, really. Geralt isn’t entitled to know of Jaskier’s every scrape and bruise. Yet Jaskier feels guilty regardless. “It wasn’t anyone’s fault. The fiend was there, so was I, I ended up fine! I’ll be better in another week or less.”

Geralt looks away, jaw clenching as he studies the far side of the room with intense scrutiny. Without looking back, he says, “You should have told me.” 

Before Jaskier can respond, Geralt turns and gathers up the supplies on the bed and sits down beside him. The lid of the jar pops off, releasing a cool, minty smell into the air. “Lift your arm up,” Geralt says gruffly, and Jaskier does. He can only go up so far without pain, so he rests his forearm on Geralt’s shoulder, suddenly aware that he’s bare from the waist up and Geralt is still fully dressed. It makes him feel off balance and short of breath, for some reason. A moment later Geralt’s fingers are smoothing lightly over his ribs, rubbing whatever salve was in the jar across Jaskier’s bruises. The gentle touch steals the rest of the air from Jaskier’s lungs.

Jaskier lets Geralt work on him in silence, the minutes stretching out silently between them. He’s not sure what to say - how to tell Geralt that he didn’t want him to be mad without sounding like a child, how to make Geralt feel less guilty without being patronizing. Jaskier never quite knows how to manage Geralt’s emotions, not like he does everyone else’s. A crowd, a pretty barmaid, a professor at Oxenfurt, all of these are easy to push and pull where he pleases. Easy to predict. Geralt… isn’t. He digs in his heels when Jaskier tries to lead him, closes himself off when Jaskier tries to get a peak under the mask. Geralt is, Jaskier thinks, perhaps one of the most complicated people Jaskier’s ever met. He knows that’s part of the draw. But it’s frustrating in moments like these, when Jaskier wants so badly to say just the right thing to make Geralt’s shoulders relax, to make the deep frown marring his lovely mouth loosen into a smile. He thinks he could figure it out, given enough time. If Geralt will let him. 

When Geralt finally moves to face away from him, to attend to his back, Jaskier speaks. “I’m sorry,” he says, and he forces his voice to be steady and firm. “I didn’t want to worry you. I didn’t want you to feel bad for not - That is, I don’t blame you. And I didn’t want to slow you down.”

Geralt's hands still on his back, his warm palm burning where it rests on Jaskier’s shoulder blade. It’s so hot in the room, sweat prickling against Jaskier’s brow, and Geralt’s hand doesn’t move. “I don’t care if you slow me down,” Geralt grunts. Jaskier can feel his breath on the nape of his neck, and he can’t suppress a shiver. Geralt must notice, but he doesn’t comment. 

“You very much do,” Jaskier argues, irritated. “You remind me on a near nightly basis that if I’m not up when the sun is you’ll leave me behind. I don’t even bother to ask for a break anymore because you never fail to remind me that it’s my choice to be here. And it is, I know that. I’ll keep up, and if I can’t I’ll take my leave. You’ve made it quite clear that the onus of responsibility rests with me, and I accept that.”

From this close Jaskier can nearly hear Geralt grinding his teeth together. “Not at the expense of your health,” he says, and he sounds properly angry now. “Fuck, Jaskier, you can’t think I’d - That I wouldn’t wait, that I’d leave you behind when you were hurt. You could have fucking died, if it’d been more serious. You couldn’t have known that it wasn’t, right away. What if I’d woken up the next day and you’d choked to death on your own blood in your sleep? What if you’d -” He cuts himself off.

Now Jaskier turns to face him, shocked by the display of emotion, feeling Geralt’s hand shift across his back. Geralt looks away from him, hiding, but the expression that Jaskier catches on his face is… pained. As if it would truly hurt him, to see Jaskier damaged beyond repair. Hesitantly, Jaskier reaches out and touches Geralt’s knee. “I’m sorry,” he says again. “I didn’t think of it that way. I just didn’t want you to take it personally.”

Geralt’s eyes meet his again, smouldering in the low light. Jaskier suddenly remembers that he’s a bit drunk, and they’re so, so close together. The space between them is warm, and Geralt’s hand slowly slides down his back to rest at Jaskier’s hip. “I always take it personally when it comes to you,” Geralt says. Jaskier breathes out shakily. Geralt reaches out with his other hand and gently grasps Jaskier’s elbow, making Jaskier’s fingers press more firmly into his knee. “Tell me next time,” Geralt says. And then, “Please.”

Jaskier is powerless to refuse him anything in this moment, so he says, “Alright. I will. Just don’t leave me behind.”

“I won’t,” Geralt says softly. “I won’t. I promise.” Something tense releases in Jaskier, because Geralt is not frivolous with his words and a promise means something coming from him. He won’t leave Jaskier behind. 

“Well good,” Jaskier says, and smiles easily at him. His side feels better now with the salve and the fuzzy layer of alcohol in his system, and every part of him touching Geralt is tingling pleasantly. It’s a lot of parts, he realizes giddily. He’s nearly in Geralt’s lap, held close by Geralt’s hands in something that’s nearly an embrace, and Geralt’s lips are right there. All Jaskier would have to do is lean forward just a smidge, press them together gently, soft as a feather -

Geralt’s eyes flicker to his mouth, and Jaskier flushes hot all over. Gods. Just a look and he feels undone. 

But before he can do anything, Geralt is up and halfway across the room, tucking the jar away like nothing had happened. Jaskier lets out a breath that’s equal parts disappointment and relief. A moment later Geralt is back at his side, holding the roll of bandages. 

“This will keep you from pulling them while they heal,” Geralt says gruffly, and Jaskier obediently raises his arms up as much as he can. Geralt wraps up his ribs efficiently, and it does feel a little more stable. It will help him sleep, at the very least. Just before he wraps the light gauze around Jaskier’s shoulder, Geralt leans in and drags in a deep breath. 

Jaskier splutters. “Are you sniffing me, Geralt of Rivia?”

Geralt huffs out an amused breath against his skin. “Checking for infection. You don’t smell sweet, so you’re probably alright.”

“I smell plenty sweet,” Jaskier gripes. Geralt finishes the bandages, tying them off neatly. Jaskier feels compressed, a bit, but it’s for the best. 

“You smell like ale,” Geralt says with a raised eyebrow. “And the salve. And that lavender soap I hate.”

“You only hate it the first day I use it,” Jaskier points out. The smell is too strong for Geralt to abide by. Jaskier tries not to use it unless they’ll be apart for a day or so. He’d bathed with it the day after the hunt, hoping that the intensity of it would mask anything else Geralt might scent on him. Pain, or distress. Geralt had supported a pinched look of annoyance for a full half a day.

“Go to sleep, Jaskier,” Geralt says, and it sounds annoyed and fond at the same time in equal measure, which Jaskier wouldn’t have said was possible before he met Geralt. The most complicated man he’d ever met. “You need to rest.”

“Up at dawn?” Jaskier guesses, shucking off his pants and settling under the covers. Geralt removes his own boots and pants and crawls in on the other side, settled between Jaskier and the door. Jaskier’s not sure if it’s to protect him or to keep him from running off. As if he ever would. 

“We’ll leave when you're ready,” Geralt says, snuffing out the candle flickering on the bedside dresser. In the darkness, Jaskier hears, “I’ll wait for you.”

For once Jaskier has nothing else to say to that, so he settled down into the covers and plans to sleep past noon.

[hawks-supremacy]

Rubik's Cube of Emotions

Summary: You, Tsukishima and Yamaguchi used to be great friends but then one day it stopped. You and Tsuki are forced to confront each other when your new friend Yachi convinces you to be the new co-managers of the Karasuno volleyball team. (angst, fluff)

warnings: eating disorder, swearing, bullying?

genre: angst to fluff

word count: 2.2k

a/n: day 1 of attempting to write everyday until my birthday. Fun fact: I don't even like Tsukishima that much but my cousin hates him so I wrote it out of spite? Idk I don't like him but I see the appeal.

You were sitting in the library after school trying to do some research when your friend Yachi approached the table you were at. “Hey Y/n I need a favor.” She said sliding into the chair next to you. You closed your books and sighed, “Who is it this time?” You asked, looking at her. She looked at you shocked and started sputtering, “Yachi ninety percent of the favors you need from me are because someone was mean to you and you can’t confront them yourself. I mean last week Rei took your favorite pen and refused to give it back so you had to come get me.”

“Fine, it’s not that anyone was mean but this super pretty girl came up to me and asked me if I wanted to be the new volleyball manager because she graduates next year.” You held your hand up effectively pausing Yachi’s rambling, “Let me pause you right there and let me guess. You panicked, both because a pretty girl was talking to you and because she was your upperclassman and said yes.”

Yachi nodded, “Yes but that’s not all of it.” She said sheepishly, you raised your eyebrows and motioned for her to continue. “I also asked if you could be like a co-manager and she said that that was okay. I know you probably don’t want to but I cannot do this alone. Please come with me, the first practice I’m supposed to attend starts soon.” You rolled your eyes and started packing all of your stuff before starting to walk out of the library. You turned and saw Yachi looking like a kicked puppy, “Yach are you coming or not, you are the one who dragged me into this you big ball of anxiety.” She smiled and grabbed her bag running to catch up to you.

You were near the gym when you saw Kiyoko Shimizu. You assumed she was the pretty 3rd year that Yachi was intimidated by and walked up to her, “Hey Kiyoko? I’m Y/n, the person Yachi volunteered to be the co-manager I guess?” Kiyoko turned after hearing her name and saw you walking up to her with Yachi hiding behind you, “Yes, follow me. I’ll introduce you to the team.” You both followed her into the gym, you walking beside her and Yachi cowering behind you, gripping the sleeve of your jacket.

As Kiyoko opened the doors three boys approached one spouting compliments at her the other asking who you and Yachi were. “Guys these are your potential new managers.” Yachi took a step out from behind you before yelling, “Uhm, my name is Yachi!” You waved at everyone who was gathering around briefly telling them your name. As people were greeting you, you glanced around the gym, stopping at two people, Tsukishima and Yamaguchi. You looked at them for a few seconds before moving on to the third year wearing a bun.

He bent down slightly, asking Yachi if she was a first year. You tried no to laugh as she screamed and politely and panicky told him that she was a first year addressing him as if he was more than a third year and then freaking out when the two second years were staring at her. “Forgive her, she's not good with new people, she’s hardly good with people she knows. She’s still scared of me sometimes.” As you finished your sentence Yachi mumbled that she was scared of you because you’re scary.

The third year with the bun turned to Hinata telling him, “This is great now you have managers for next year.” Before Hinata could really say anything Kiyoko stepped in saying nothing was set in stone and that you too just wanted to meet the team. As Yachi said it was nice to meet the team everyone bowed and said “Hello” at the same time, effectively freaking Yachi out. As Kiyoko was telling them to back up and not crowd you both you didn’t notice as Yachi slipped outside, “Sorry for bothering you.” She said and closed the door. “Again sorry, she’ll get used to you I promise. I’ll let you get back to practice.” Everyone said goodbye and dispersed to go do their own thing until practice officially started. As you turned to leave you heard the annoying voice that seemed to follow you everywhere, “Are you really that obsessed with me that you would join the volleyball team somehow. If you really had that big of a crush on me you could just say so.” Turning you saw Tsukishima and Yamaguchi, the latter looking at you apologetically. You rolled your eyes, “Yes Tsuki I'm oh so obsessed with you that you consume every waking thought I have. Get over yourself.”

Walking out of the gym you saw Yachi crawling on the ground. You were about to ask her what she was doing when someone interrupted you, “You alright?” He asked. She turned around looking at him for a few seconds before yelling, “Please don’t kill me!” and sprinting away. “Kill you?” He asked mostly to himself. “Sorry about her.” You said to him, you seemed to be apologizing for her a lot today. He jumped, turning around to see you, “Jesus kid you scared the shit out of me don’t do that, nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“We’re the possible new managers for the team. She takes a while to warm up to new people. Also you shouldn’t be worried about a heart attack at your age. Lung failure seems more like it.” You pat him on the shoulder as you went to go find Yachi to sternly talk to her about Tsukishima and Yamaguchi being on the team. Yamaguchi you don’t mind as much, it’s Tsukishima that's the thorn in your ass. It’s not that you hated him, you just well, hated him. He sat behind you in your classes and constantly picked on you. Needed to always tell you that he scored higher on the test or his paper was better than yours. He was just annoying.

You found Yachi by her locker gathering the rest of her things, “Hey Yachi! I need to talk to you.” You said as you jogged up to her, “I don’t think I can do this man, Tsuki is on the team and he is not going to leave me alone if i do this with you.” She put on her jacket and picked up her bag and you two began to walk out of the school to go home, “Please, I can’t do this alone. You said you wanted to spend more time with me anyway. What happened between you two? Weren’t you really good friends with him and Yamaguchi before this year?”

You shrugged looking down at your feet, “He got a stick up his ass I don’t know what you want me to say.” You looked over and her and saw her giving you a disapproving look and you sighed, “Yeah we used to be great friends, best friends even. Then this summer he just started being cold to me. I honestly don’t know what happened and I don’t know if I want to know.” She nodded and was quiet for a few seconds before speaking up, “I get it, I do. But I really need you to do this with me. I might die if you don’t.” You sighed dramatically, throwing your head back, “Fine but you owe me. I may have only known you since the beginning of this year but even I know that you probably would’ve survived.”

It had been a while since you agreed to help Yachi with being the volleyball team manager and so far it had been hell. You ignored Tsukishima when you could but one of his perks and your downfalls of being childhood friends was he knew what buttons to press. Now here you were at some training camp in Tokyo and ignoring him could only do so much. It was the last day and so far you’ve had to deal with him treating you like you had to do everything he said, him loudly and obviously talking about you to Yams, and snide comments about the way you looked or something you did.

The last straw was when you sat down to eat and he made a comment about your weight. You and Yachi were sitting down to eat when Tsukishima walked over with Yamaguchi, “Gee Y/n do you really need all that food?” You didn’t say anything as you looked down at your plate. You didn’t think you got a lot, you got as much as Yachi. You weren’t necessarily insecure but your weight was always something your family commented on, eventually it made you cut back on eating, some days not eating at all in hopes of maybe trying to lose some weight to appease your family. Lately it hasn’t been so bad, Yachi has been helping with it, you were eating more regularly and getting back to normal. But now you feel like you’re back to square one. “Not gonna say anything? That’s a first.”

You set your plate down on the step you were sitting on and told Yachi that you really weren’t that hungry before walking away. As you walked into the gym you were all eating outside of you heard Yachi talking to Tsuki and Yams, nearly yelling. It’s honestly the first time you’ve heard her raise her voice for the first time that wasn’t out of nervousness or anxiety.

You were tossing a stray volleyball in the air when you heard the door open and close. “Yachi I told you I’m not hungry honestly.” You said focusing on the ball not looking at her. “I’m not Yachi and you should eat something.” You sighed as you heard the one voice you probably didn’t want to hear right now, “Do I need to stop eating or do I need to eat? Make up your mind Tsuki.” You caught the ball and turned to face him. He was holding your plate of food and scratching the back of his neck avoiding eye contact, “I uh, I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

You scoffed, “Is The Tsukishima apologizing? I didn’t know you knew how. You’ve been an ass since this summer and now that you know you hit a soft spot you change? Not happening. Besides, it's not something I go around advertising.” You sat down on the bench and he followed suit setting the plate in between you both. You sat there for a few minutes not saying anything before he cleared his throat, “I really am sorry. You look fine. I’m sorry about being an ass to you this whole time, please eat.”

Narrowing your eyes you looked between him and the food, “If you’re so sorry then why? Huh? Why are you being an ass? I mean one minute we’re all friends and the next you’re rude and dismissive.” He sighed, rubbing his face muttering that it was stupid. “Tsuki it’s not stupid to me, I lost two of my closest friends seemingly overnight with no reason at all. I’ll eat if you tell me what the hell changed.”

He thought for a second leaning on his knees before speaking, “Yamaguchi and I were hanging out one night this summer and you came up in the conversation. After a while Yams made me realize that I maybe like you. I didn’t know how to deal with that so I pushed you away instead and I may have pushed it too far. I’m sorry for everything I just didn’t know how to tell you so I probably handled it in the worst way.”

You paused for a second thinking about what he said before laughing and picking up the plate to start eating. “You aren’t gonna say anything just laugh? See this is why I didn’t want to tell you.” He said standing up. You finished chewing your bite, “Sit down, god you’re so dramatic. I laughed because this all happened because you’re emotionally constipated. Yanno if you told me this once you figured out your rubik's cube of emotions we probably could’ve been dating this whole time.” You didn’t say anything else and finished eating what was on your plate as he sat down with his mouth open gaping at you. “Wait so you like me too?”

You covered your mouth as you tried not to laugh at him, “For someone who constantly pointed out how they were smarter than me for the majority of this school year, you’re pretty fuckin dumb aren’t you.” He pushed you over and told you to shut up. “Oh come on Tsuki, is that anyway to talk to your girlfriend?” You watched as his ears began to turn red and he repeated the word girlfriend in a questioning form. “Unless of course you don’t want me too, then this was all for nothing and we can walk out of the gym like none of this happened.”

“Fine I guess, you’re uh, my girlfriend.” He said, coughing and looking away. You raised your eyebrows and laughed, “God Tsuki don’t sound like I held you at gunpoint. You’re such a tsundere. I guess I’ll deal with it though.” You said as you sighed deeply. He looked offended and pushed you off the bench as you both laughed at each other taking turns making stupid insults about the other person.

Outside the gym Yams and Yachi were all but pressing their ears against the door listening to your conversation, “They definitely confessed.”

[anika-ann]

In the Strangest Place (We Just Might Find Love) - Pt.2

Type: two-shot, pretty much canon

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader     Word count: 2750

Summary: You’re hiding from your boss in a supply closet, minding your own business, when a stranger joins you unexpectedly.

Steve is not entirely a stranger anymore; he knows about your troubles and you know about his. And he’s determined to sort out yours this very moment.

Warnings: mention of sexual harassment, a bit of angst, language, something that might be close to a panic attack if you squint

A/N: There we go... hopefully I’ll make mid-week a bit sweeter for some of you ;)

Part 1

“Alright, kids. Let’s have a trip.”

And you just stared.

…what?

“W-what?” you stuttered, suddenly consumed by the familiar feeling of losing the firm ground under your feet at the idea of trying to confront Gregory head-on. Not even Steve at your side was helping at all as the four of you started walking towards the IT department.

“I-I don’t have any prove! I can’t-- he told me he would--- that he would-”

“That he’d twist it around, convince the HR that you were crushing on him and he turned you down, which turned you into a soulless bitch craving revenge?” the billionaire finished for you and you just uselessly opened you mouth, unable to let out a word to deny it. It seemed to amuse him, because he scoffed; and there was something very bitter in that sound too. “Kid, he’s not the first asshole to take advantage of his superior position. I’ve seen the types. Relax. If Cap here believes you, then so do I. Plus, I know a liar when I see one. And you ain’t lying.”

You breathed in shakily, a flicker of hope igniting in your chest. Could it really be so easy? That couldn’t be right…

“T-thank you, Mr. Stark. I-”

“Yeah, yeah, just name your first kid after me,” Mr. Stark uttered, waving it off.

The Falcon next to you chuckled and you shot Steve a confused gaze. Was that how Mr. Stark usually was? You had never met him in person; you had only ever heard him giving a speech on TV and you knew he had a certain reputation, but this was… different.

You were surprised to find Steve watching you; perhaps he worried about your reaction to such bluntness, since he had seen your outburst in the closet. Upon meeting your gaze – probably shy and undeniably surprised – he charmed a tiny smile for you.

“It’s gonna be okay, see?”

“What are you even worried about? You have three Avengers coming with you!” Mr. Wilson questioned lightly and you bit your lower lip as you thought of the source of anxiety indeed.

Yeah, I have three Avengers and they are all men. Sue me for not being sure which side they would take – not until now.

“You’re not a full-time Avenger, Wilson.”

Falcon gasped, clutching at his chest theatrically at Stark’s remark. “Ouch, Tony. My heart.”

You let out a breathy laugh at their banter and felt yourself relax despite your better judgement. You almost let yourself believe it truly would go alright. Well, as much as dealing with such shitty thing could.

“You’re all my heroes,” you whispered timidly, which earned you a bright smile from Sam Wilson.

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“Cruel, Birdboy. You stole the old man’s line,” Mr. Stark hummed, amused.

“Heh! Sorry, Cap. But I’m sure you have a whole set of other lines to use on her.”

You choked on your own spit as Steve faltered in his steps, his grip on you growing stronger. What the hell did the Falcon just say?

“Oh my God, Wilson, shut up before we get stuck with another harassment report.”

“I don’t think this a subject for joking,” Steve interjected, slightly irritated, and you shot him a grateful look, because he definitely had a point.

Except… once you weren’t in such a sticky situation, you totally wouldn’t mind Steve Rogers using a line on you. Not at all. And his hand around yours felt nice for multiple reasons, the wordless comfort and support only being one of them. It was warm and slightly calloused, a reminder of his physical work, and it was bigger than yours, so sweetly and distractingly enveloping yours…

But now it was so not the time.

Your peculiar group approached the office and you didn’t even have the time to brace yourself as Tony Stark simply threw the door open, not bothering to knock.

“Thomas Ian Gregory, you are fired this very second,” the billionaire exclaimed dramatically.

You would think he was just being a drama queen, except he sounded deadly serious, using your boss’ full name which he must have read out on the door, and his eyes were throwing daggers at the man sitting behind the desk, looking as if he was the fucking king of the world.

Your boss blinked in surprise and eyed all four of you; Falcon with his arms crossed on his chest, Ironman minus his suit with a murderous glare and a hand raised towards him as if he wanted to point a finger and then Gregory’s gaze fell on your hand connected with Steve’s; you wanted to retrieve it quickly, but Steve wouldn’t let you, his grip growing firm. Anger flashed through your boss’ eyes for a second, before he composed himself and rose from his chair with an innocently confused expression.

You wanted to puke and you felt your legs turning into a shaking mess of jello. This was it. Now he would use his slimy words to turn this situation around and you were about to get fired and humiliated so much that jumping under a bus would be the most likeable option for you.

“Mr. Stark, it’s an honour. Captain Rogers, Mr. Wilson. What do I owe the pleasure?”

You couldn’t believe this--- this pig. Seriously. Who the fuck did he think he was?! How could he--- just lie so easily, pretending that everything was perfectly fine?!

But Tony Stark was not fooled by the charade and you mentally sighed in relief, sure they must have heard the weight falling off of your shoulders even in Jersey.

“I’m sure you heard me, Mr. Gregory. You quit and you’ll be hearing from the HR soon. And you’ll be damn lucky if this young lady right here won’t sue you.”

You honestly wished you were invisible when Gregory’s gaze flickered to you, subtle anger with a promise of consequences in his irises – consequences that would come should you not cut this bullshit right now.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand, Mr. Stark. If this is about the unfortunate feelings my assistant has for me-”

Tears of rage and baseless shame stung in your eyes at his words and you breathed in sharply to defend yourself; before you could, Gregory continued.

“Though I can see they weren’t very… honest. Obviously my inferior seems to be the ‘love them and leave them’ type, which I should warn you about, Capta-”

Breathless at his malicious made-out theories, you did not expect Steve to drop your hand in favour to tower over your boss, making him shut up with one single glare.

Alright, you could see why he had thought that simply appearing at your office would make Gregory tremble in fear. Your boss actually backed off and learnt onto a table, looking as if he was supporting himself under the weight of Steve’s judgement.

“I met this woman for the first time not half an hour ago, hiding from you, too scared of your dirty hands to return to her own workplace. Trust me, it left an impression, just like you are leaving one now,” Steve grunted menacingly, causing your heart to pound in your chest in fright even with his words not aimed on you. “If I can give an advice, you pack your things as fast as you can, apologize to her profusely, begging for her forgiveness and you don’t set a foot in this building or speak to her ever again. Do we have an understanding?”

You weren’t the only one affected. Your boss tried to reciprocate Captain America’s glare, but he failed miserably. He visibly gulped and circled his desk, still watching the soldier as if he was expecting to get hit; then his eyes just dropped to his desk and he frantically started picking random things from it.

You watched the scene in front of you, paralyzed. Your heart was beating its way out of your chest, pulsing in your temples, your breathing alternating between hitching and picking up. Your vision started to swim.

Holy. Shit.

“Cap, I think you broke her.”

Steve spun to you at instant, his eyes roaming your face; or you thought so. He looked worried now; or you thought so. Thinking and frankly evaluating the stimuli your senses were receiving was a bit difficult at the moment.

What the hell had just happened?

Gentle hands took yours, leading you out of the room. You blindly followed, unsure how to put one foot in front of the other, your body running on autopilot.

It was over. Thomas Gregory was no longer your boss and it had happened without you losing your job. And Steve Rogers had scolded him as if he was a five-year old kid – a very pervert one, but a kid nonetheless. Steve put a fucking fear of God into him. All of that happening within three minutes. And you just… couldn’t quite process all that.

You barely registered getting into and out of an elevator, being seated on a couch, having a blanket tossed over your shoulders and a cup of warm liquid pressed into your hands. You automatically brought it to your lips, only to be stopped by a tender fingers curling around your wrist.

“Careful. It might be too hot,” a pleasant voice warned you and you blinked, finally focusing your gaze, finding rather worried and very handsome face staring back.

You glanced at the cup, surprised to identify the drink as Steve’s hand let go of yours.

“Is that… is that hot chocolate?” you stuttered, bewildered. Well, more like… astonished.

“Yeah. You’re not allergic to milk or anything, are you?”

You looked up back to Steve’s face, only to find him with his brows furrowed in concern, lips thoughtfully pursed. It snapped you to action.

“No! No. It’s just… I didn’t have one in years. Thank— thank you.”

His expression cleared, as he was evidently pleased with himself. “Good. You’re welcome.”

The words fell off his lips so easily. As if he just hadn’t… hadn’t saved your career. Or your mental health, really.

You eyed the table by the couch, setting the cup down, only to fully turn to him. He seemed a bit confused at that; but God, you had something important to say and since you didn’t want to give up the blanket just yet, you decided to get rid of the mug at least to look less pathetic.

“No, Steve, I… thank you,” you whispered sincerely, feeling tears in your eyes for like a millionth time that day. His smile widened a little.

“You’re welcome. I’m sorry if I… if I scared you down there. It wasn’t meant for you.”

“You didn’t-” you blurted out in attempt to deny it and make him feel better, only to waver as his eyebrow rose, picture perfect of doubt. It made you chuckle at yourself self-deprecatingly. “It’s not your fault that I was… surprised by your little hulk-out. I guess I just didn’t see it coming.”

“Hulk-out, huh? How do you feel?”

You shrugged, exhaling slowly, thinking hard about your answer.

“Like I just watched my life take a way better turn that I would expect... and I’m still only watching,” you whispered honestly, which led to his face twisting in a grimace.

“Anything I can do?”

You couldn’t help it; you scanned your surroundings, realizing you were in something that looked fancy enough to belong to Tony Stark and was way too big to be part of an actual apartment. You ran your hand down the blanket covering your shoulders, reaching for the abandoned cup to blow on it softly and take a careful sip of chocolate. Steve’s questioning gaze observed you while you did so and you smiled blissfully into the cup as the delicious rich taste caressed your tongue.

“You mean besides comforting me despite being a complete stranger, getting my harassing boss fired and scaring the hell out of him, taking me to--- here, giving me a blanket and making the best cup of hot chocolate I had in years? Give me a second, I’m sure I’ll figure out something else,” you babbled and Steve’s smile grew, tense shoulders relaxing. “Seriously, Steve. This is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. I owe you. I- I know you’re a hero and all that, but… yeah. I should be asking you what I could do for you in return.”

“That’s not-- I’m not--- ...you make a pleasant company,” he said in the end as if he realized he couldn't deny any of the things you had listed. You lowered your gaze to the chocolate as his eyes twinkled at the statement.

“Ditto.”

“Does that-” he blurted out and you tilted your head to side, watching him curiously when he stopped talking just as abruptly. “This is a terrible timing, but that’s apparently an infamous quality of mine, because usually I wait too long, and… uhm…”

Your heart skipped a beat at the suddenly embarrassed soldier scratching the back of his neck, peeking at your through his eyelashes. Was that--- was he trying to-? No, it couldn’t be.

“Yeah?” you softly encouraged him to continue.

He wetted his lips, causing your previously tight gut to warm up.

“I understand that it’s the last thing you’re thinking about right now, but… when you settle down again... and things are a bit calmer for you… would you- uhm,  like to… maybe spend some more time with--- with me?”

If he had blurted the sentence in one go, you would have dropped your mug in surprise despite suspecting this incredible thing when he had turned bashful. But he didn’t so your brain had enough time to process the words slowly leaving his lips, one after another, little shy, little hopeful. Your heart was speeding up with each of them, ready to burst when he finished with a tiny nervous smile.

Well. How could you possibly say no to that irresistible creature in front of you? You smiled into your drink.

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

His face lit up. “Really?”

You wanted to chuckle at the pure surprise on his face, but it was just too endearing and so you had to fight the urge to make an embarrassing sound like an aww instead.

“Yeah, Steve. I’d really like that,” you repeated, hiding the teasing note in your voice. “But you’ve got to teach me how to make a chocolate that good, because seriously, it tastes amazing.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why not?” you demanded, a bit hurt, rather surprised. “I don’t want you to give up your secret recipe right away! Just… in time.”

He grinned at you boyishly, leaning a bit closer to you. You held your breath in anticipating, a the change. “I could. But then I wouldn’t get to enjoy the process of preparing it for you and your smile in return.”

You stared at him for few moments, taking the statement in, wondering if he was teasing you or was being serious. The corners of his lips were quirked up as if he was indeed joking, but there was a certain spark of honesty in his eyes.

You decided to play along, whether it was a game or not. Perhaps it was the relief of newly found freedom from a sleazy man in your life that plucked up your courage and woke up your jovial side.

“Aww, Steve, that’s so sweet. Is that your way of telling me you’re planning on spoiling me? Because then I would need significantly less time to… settle down.”

His grin widened at your words. “Is that so?”

“Mm.”

“Well then…” he brought up lowly, torturing you with anticipation when he didn’t continue, only to watch you with a mischievous smile.

“...then?”

“What are your plans for Friday evening?”

Oh, you were so glad you were sitting, because otherwise the force of the moment in which Steve Rogers asked you out on Friday night would knock you down.

You tried to think of an answer that wouldn’t sound like an over-enthusiastic YES, but his blue eyes staring into yours made it very difficult for you.

Dammit, it was harder to talk to him when you could actually see--- you smiled smugly at the idea that popped up in your head and raised an eyebrow in silent challenge.

“I’m hiding in a supply closet. Why, you wanna join me?”

Steve burst out laughing, throwing his head back with that sound and the picture armed your heart so thoroughly it was unfair.

“Sure thing. Would you like me to bring muffins and coffee or do you prefer an actual dinner?”

You found yourself laughing too and you suddenly believed that your life would indeed get better. It already had, after all.

S.R. masterlist

Beautiful divider by @whimsicalrogers 

Thank you for the kind feedback on the first part and I hope you liked this one too :))

Thank you for reading!

[hizashiiis]

Bakusquad + “Why are you awake” Part Two

PART ONE HERE

So here’s part two! Fun fact, the song Jirou plays you in her part is actually a song I wrote! I didn’t include any of the lyrics though because its lowkey really cheesy :/

I hope you like this! This one is for Sero, Mina, and Jirou.

Warnings: insomnia, depression kinda

Sero Hanta

- Sero is very much a hypocrite when it comes to getting enough sleep

- He’s constantly up at all hours, even sending you random texts if he can’t sleep

- But when you aren’t going to bed at a normal time?

- He’s so sad

- He looks like you kicked his puppy and then him in rapid succession. 

- It’s crazy because he seems to just instinctively know when you’re awake

- Like he bolts up in his bed all, “they ain’t in bed. I’m abt to beat some ass.”

- He’s never sure if he’s right though, so he texts you a meme he made specifically for you being up too late

- It’s probably really cheesy and outdated, but the effort is there

- If you respond to it (because you will) he knocks on the wall between your dorms and talks to you 

- Often, you both just stay up like that

Sero’s body is awake before his mind, moving him to sit up in bed before he can think. He was having a really intense dream; something about talking mice. He didn’t mind it, but he woke up as if he’d had a nightmare. 

Faintly, from the wall beside him, he can hear low music playing, but he can’t make out what song it is. It’s coming from your room, though, so he’s concerned. 

The sky outside is dark, clouds drifting across his windowed view of the moon. It must be pretty late; all the noise is gone, leaving nothing but static air, and the music. He leans over his bed to look at the time on his phone. It’s around 2 am. The song you’re playing ends, and he recognizes the next one. It’s on your sad playlist. 

He sends you the meme, as well as an invitation for a hug as soon as it’s morning. You respond almost instantly, assuring him that you’re fine, you just couldn’t sleep. But he knows you better than that. 

Knocking on the wall between you, he hears the music stop suddenly. He calls out to your wall. 

“Mi amor? What’s keeping you awake?” He’s met with silence for a moment before your shaky voice responds.

“I’m okay. I just kinda got hit with some sad, y’know?” He does know. He knows that this happens sometimes. It happens to him, too. But he hates hearing your voice sound so lost. You almost sound hopeless, and he can’t bear it. 

“I understand.” He places his hand up to the wall, wishing he could hold you. Unfortunately, you had both been told off by Iida for sleeping in each other’s rooms more than enough times lately, so he couldn’t just go see you. He opts instead for hugging a stuffed giraffe you had gotten him after the Sports Festival. 

“Do you want me to distract you, or do you want to talk about it?” He asks, stroking the giraffe’s head as if it’s your hair, not knowing that on the other side of the wall, you’re holding a stuffed lion the same way. 

“Distract me?” Your voice comes out only just loud enough for him to hear you, but he understands. He begins to tell you a story. He’s told it before. It’s about a great hero, one who fights crime valiantly, and his partner, also a fantastic hero. He ad-libs parts of it, making pretend villains say silly slogans, and recounting how the heroes save the day. 

As he reaches the end, he hears you giggle a bit. “Oh? Did it work? Are you smiling over there, my sweet?” He calls to you, a teasing lilt to his voice. 

“A little bit.” You respond, playing with your stuffed animal. “If you keep talking, maybe I’ll even smile more.”

He laughs, eyes bleary with sleep, but happy to talk to you the whole night.

Mina Ashido

- Honestly, she’s no better than you about staying awake

- She tries to sleep, but her thoughts are always racing

- Sometimes it’s thoughts of you, sometimes of new things she wants to try in training, or things she wants to see if she can convince her friends to do

- But she wants you to get adequate rest, even if it’s hard for her to do the same

- She used to get told off for sneaking to your room every night, but then Momo and Iida saw how much better you were performing in school on the days after she’d been there, and they started letting it slide

- It’s nicer for her, too, because she has someone to ramble to as the two of you fall asleep

Mina skipped down the hallway toward your room. It was a bit past midnight, and usually, you would be asleep by this time. It was well past lights out, and classes had run long that day, not to mention the endless exams that were happening at UA right now. So when she reached your door, she was surprised to find you watching a movie on your phone instead of snoring. 

“Hey bug! Why are you still up, don’t you know what time it is?” She says, throwing a grin your way as she puts her blanket down next to you. 

You shrug, yawning. “I could ask you the same thing, love.” She pouts at that, tossing her arm around your shoulder and pressing a kiss to your temple.

She watches you watching your show for a few minutes before saying anything. It looks good, she supposes, but she has a better idea of what to watch. “Scoot over.” She pushes you lightly, giggling as you scrunch to the side to give her more room. “Do you wanna watch something with me?” She asks, holding up her phone. 

You look at her for a moment. “That is what we are currently doing, is it not?” You hold up your phone in return, showing her the paused screen. 

“But I have a better movie!” She insists, unlocking her screen and shoving it above yours so that you can see her pick. She’s right, it is a better movie. You guys have watched the entire Studio Ghibli filmography, but even you know that her favorite, “When Marnie was There,” is the better option at this particular moment. 

You toss your phone to the side, pulling her in to lay next to you. “Fair enough, bubs, I guess yours is better.” You feign reluctance, watching her excitedly press play and tuck the blanket in around the both of you. Her arm curls tighter around your shoulders, and she giggles as the opening credits start. 

“Hey Minari?” You use her favorite nickname, looking at her through hooded, sleepy eyes. She hums in response. “Why is this one your favorite?”

Hearing the question, she pauses the movie, turning to look right at you. She’s quiet for a moment, thinking about her answer. “I guess because they remind me of us! Like I’m Marnie, and you’re Anna, and we’re having this great adventure together!” You feel your face heat at her words, thinking about the movie more critically now. Mina continues, “It’s like…” she pauses, finding the right words. “Like Anna is learning how her friendship with Marnie can make her feel more right, as a person. And I feel like that about you!” 

You’re tearing up now, unsure how to respond. Mina is so many things, and being with you is that important to her? It’s a new feeling, but certainly a welcome one. You pull her down, giving her a kiss. And then another kiss. And one on her nose. 

“Press play, Mina.”

Kyoka Jirou

- Lol u think she sleeps?

- She does, but not at night

- Were it not for classes, Jirou would be essentially nocturnal

- So you try to remind her to go to sleep

- Sometimes you’ll walk past her dorm at night, and you hear her guitar, softly playing her favorite songs

- Before you got together, sometimes you would sit outside her door and listen to her play

- Not in a creepy way, there’s just a little common area right outside her room and you like took a book there, you weren’t like ooh it’s late i think i’ll sit outside someone’s room and listen to them

- You aren’t Mineta. 

- But anyway

- Now that you are together, Jirou thinks it’s really sweet that you listen to her play

- Sometimes she leaves her door cracked open so you can come in

It’s 4 o’clock in the morning, and the light is on in Jirou’s room. You had come out to go to the bathroom, but you noticed her guitar, and decided to stay. The soft strumming is pretty, and you’re glad to be one of the few people allowed to hear it. 

Opening Jirou’s door just a bit more, you nod toward her desk chair in a silent question. She nods, so you go sit down. 

She’s playing a song you don’t recognize, and the lyrics are sad. Even still, it’s beautiful, and your eyes seem to naturally close, taking in the melody of her voice. She used to tell you her voice wasn’t anything special, but she seems content now to let you listen. 

The guitar resonates with the last few chords, and the ending note is held for three beats. When she’s finished, Jirou opens her eyes and looks at you, waiting for your thoughts.

“It was beautiful. Did you write that?” You ask her, your hands fidgeting with the urge to hold her own. She nods, but doesn’t say anything. 

You don’t acknowledge the sad theme of the song. She’s told you before that sometimes sad songs are easier than happy ones. That the melody is clearer. You don’t mind. All her songs are beautiful, and they reflect her in them, and isn’t that what makes a piece of art?

“I have another one, if you’d like to hear it?” She looks nervous; something you never see on her.

“I’d love to!” Your exclamation seems to snap her out of the anxiety in her eyes, which narrow a little. 

“Just…” She starts, looking away from you to adjust the capo on her instrument. “Don’t freak out, okay?”

Confused, you nod, and she starts playing. 

The song starts out with a few chords repeating in a loop, and then she begins to sing. The lyrics are confusing to you at first, and you still aren’t sure why she’s told you not to freak out. But then she gets to the chorus, and it begins to make more sense. 

Lyrics, in essence, are a poem, and this one is a love poem. Her thoughts, written out, are so sweet and loving, that you’re sure you don’t know what to think. She sings elegantly, like someone who’s never known how to dance, and yet is waltzing perfectly across a shining floor. 

She finishes the song with a declaration of loyalty, and you realize your eyes are watering. She looks at you, waiting for your thoughts. 

You say nothing. You don’t know how to say anything, so you stand, cross to her, and pull her into a hug. She’s not usually one for physical touch, but she holds you tightly. 

“It’s about me, right?” You laugh, leaving a kiss on her calloused fingers. She rolls her eyes. 

“Obviously.”

She smiles at you, pulling you to lay on her bed as she puts her guitar in its case, taking the capo off the strings. “You should sleep. It’s like, morning now.”

“You should too.” You retort, still holding her hand. 

“No.”

[stressy-enby]

Some Scars aren’t Physical: PART 2

Iida X GN! Reader

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Allusions to past abuse, swearing, slight panic attack, L-bombs, and the obligatory Izuku texting POV 😜🤪

Summery: (Y/N) had a terrible boyfriend in middle school. He was possessive, manipulative, and just plain awful. Since breaking up with Him, (Y/N)’s had pretty bad relationship anxiety. It’s so bad, that it makes them afraid to pursue their new crush: the kind, earnest class rep, Tenya Iida.

Link to Part 1

Masterlist

Please note: Reader is a little short. Like, Iida’s a tall boi, and Reader’s implied to be short enough to at least have to tilt their head a little to fully see them. If you’re 5’10 or taller, (first of all, fuck you, can I have your height?) then kindly overlook every time reader is described as short. I’m 5’2, leave me alone.

Btw, this is the end, y’all. I only planned 2 parts. Enjoy 😘 

. . .

Summer came. Villains attacked, a classmate was kidnapped and rescued, and you moved into the new school dorm system. You and Tenya had been going out for a little over a month. You were thrilled to be closer to him with the dorms, and he had shared your enthusiasm, even if it was somewhat more contained. 

“Y’know what’s funny?” You looked up at Tenya, swinging your interconnected hands between you. “I still don’t think I’ve gotten used to the convince of the dorms.”

“Well, we haven’t been here very long.” The bespectacled boy mused with a smile. 

“Yeah, but it’s like… somethings I forget that we’re even in the dorms.”

“Really?” Tenya pressed the Up button on the elevator, running his thumb over your knuckles as you waited for the doors to open.

“Uh-huh. Just yesterday Izuku and I were texting and planning a movie night, I made said something like ‘wanna come over to my place or should I head over to yours’, and he was like ‘we’re literally within the same 500 yard radius of each other. It doesn’t matter.’ My dumb ass really thought I was still in my own house.”

Tenya laughed as you pulled him into the waiting elevator and punched in your floor number. “What movie are you planning on seeing?”

“I’m going to make his sit through all of Mama Mia!, and possibly the sequel if we don’t start too late.” You cut your eyes to the side to squint playfully at your boyfriend. “Why? You want in?”

“If you’ll have me, I don’t want to encroach on your “bestie time”.” Tenya pulled his hand out of yours to make over exaggerated air quotes. 

You scoffed, lightly shoving him out of the elevator as it opened on your floor. “I highly doubt he’d care. Homeboy won’t say it to your face, but you’re his bestie too.” You grabbed his forearm, hugging it to yourself.

“If you’re sure, I wasn’t kidding about not wanting to intrude on you and Midoriya’s time. I know he’s important to you.”

You smiled warmly up at him, coming to a stop in front of your dorm room. “I really appreciate that, but you have nothing to worry about. If I didn’t want you there, I wouldn’t offer.”

“Hmm. I just might take you up on that, then.”

Tenya took both your hands in his own, brushing his lips against your knuckles. You giggled softly, squeezing his hands in response.

“I had a lot of fun tonight,” You said quietly. “It’s been really weird lately, we defiantly needed a night out.”

“Yeah. Things seem to be settling down, but I think the training camp incident’s still heavy on many of our minds.” Tenya sighed. “I know it is on mine.”

You hummed, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Then you certainly deserved a date night.”

He chuckled, a soft, blissful expression painting his sharp features. He cleared his throat, his cheeks beginning to darken. “(Y/N), uh, I’m going to ask you something. Before I do though, I want you to know that saying “no” is an expectable answer. I’m not going to be upset, I promise.”

You raised both eyebrows, brows furrowing. “Okay,”

Tenya took a deep breath, squinting his eyes shut for a second before reclaiming eye contact with you. “Can I kiss you?”

You swore the world stopped. You vaguely heard laughter from the dorm a few doors down, but it didn’t register. All that mattered was Tenya. Beautiful, respectful, wonderful Tenya, and how he wanted to kiss you. He hadn’t asked when you’d had your first kiss back in middle school. He just swooped in and-

Nope. You’re not thinking about Him. He’s not here. He can’t hurt you anymore. Tenya’s here, and he’s asking if he can kiss you. 

And you want him to kiss you.

“Yeah. Yeah, I would really like that.”

A small smile cracked across Tenya’s nervous face. He gently cupped you face with his hand. “You’re sure? Absolutely sure that you…”

You stood on your toes, knotting your fingers behind his neck. “Kiss me, Tenya.”

And he happily, albeit nervously complied.

. . .

After a draining school day and the mountain of homework that followed, all you wanted to do was collapse. You flopped over on your bed, groaning into the blanket. You were so tired you didn’t even feel like going down to the main floor for dinner; you figured you could raid your mini fridge when you got hungry.

Tenya’s gonna have a heart attack if he thinks I’m skipping meals, you thought with a dry chuckle. Just as you were unlocking his phone to text him, you heard a knock at your door. 

“Yeah?” You called, refusing to leave the comfort of your bed.

“It’s me, Tenya.” He replied. “Can I come in?”

“Sure. Yeah, get in here.” You sat up to greet your boyfriend, tossing your phone aside.

He entered, pressing a kiss to your forehead before joining you on the bed. “How are you, dear? You’ve been hiding in here since the class ended.”

“Tired. So tired.” You mumbled, leaning into his large frame. 

“Oh, well, that certainly explains your absence.” Tenya remarked. “Are you hungry? I was thinking we could go out someplace to get something to eat. Somewhere off campus.”

“Um, I…”

You’d never liked saying no, especially not to Tenya. You’d never really had a reason to; you usually agreed with whatever he suggested. He’d never liked it when you said no to Him. He’d guilt you into giving into whatever it was He wanted. He’d twist your emotions until you couldn’t do anything but halfheartedly agree to His whims.

You were still far too tired. You couldn’t even bring yourself to go downstairs, much less out of the school. You didn’t want to. You wanted to say no.

But the word wouldn’t form. 

“(Y/N)? Honey, are you okay?” Tenya asked, a concerned expression taking root on his face. “You look distressed, and you’re shaking, what’s wrong?”

“Uh, I-” You swallowed thickly, breathing going funny. “I don’t-”

“Shit,” Tenya muttered under his breath. He slipped off the bed to kneel in front of you, taking both your hands in his own. “Shhh, (Y/N)? I don’t know what’s going on in that head of yours, but I promise you’re going to be okay. Try taking some deep breaths, okay? It’s alright. I’ve got you.”

You slowly calmed down, your anxiety settling as Tenya whispered soothing words and caressed your hands. “I’m okay. Thanks.”

“Of course,” He murmured, brushing hips lips against your knuckles. “Can you tell me what happened?”

You hung your head, shame twinging in your gut. “I’m too tired to go out, but I wasn’t sure how to tell you no. I guess I got nervous.”

“Okay, why is that scary to you?” Tenya retook his seat next to you, rubbing a gentle hand across your back. “‘No’ is an acceptable answer, (Y/N). You shouldn’t force yourself to do anything you don’t want to do.”

You tugged on his shirt, eyes beginning to brim with tears. “Can I sit in your lap?”

“Oh, come here.” Tenya encouraged, opening his arms.

You crawled onto him, sitting sideways on his thighs and leaning against his chest. He tenderly wrapped his arms around you, tucking your head into the crook of his neck.

“I had a boyfriend in middle school who wouldn’t let me say no to Him.” You muttered, nuzzling more into Tenya. “He’d guilt me into doing whatever He wanted. He did a lot of other shit too, I don’t think I can get into all of it right now, though. You’re nothing like Him, and I know that. I really like you a lot, Tenya, and I trust you, but I still get nervous sometimes because I keep thinking about what it was like with him and it’s ruining things with you and I don’t wanna fuck this up and I hate it and-”

“(Y/N), you’re crying.” Tenya interrupted, brushing his thumb across your cheek. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, honey.”

You nodded mutely, wiping the rest of your tears. “ ’m sorry,”

“Please don’t think you have to apologize. I understand. You have nothing to be sorry for.” He assured you, gently rocking you back and forth. “None of this is your fault.”

He held you for another few minutes, rocking you until your tears stopped falling. “Thank you, Ten.”

“You’re welcome, dear.” He kissed your forehead, smiling loving at you."Can you promise me something?”

“I don’t know, what is it?” You asked, squinting.

Tenya laughed softly. “That you’ll say ‘no’ to me when you have to.”

“I’ll try,” You twisted your shirt in your fingers. “I don’t want you to be upset with me, though.”

“For what? Having your own opinion? Not wanting to do something?” He pulled away from you a little to look you in the eyes. “That’s unfair to you. You’re far too precious to me. I don’t want you to feel like you’re trapped being with me.”

You laughed breathily, smiling for the first time all night. “That’s just it, Tenya. I don’t feel trapped. I feel free.”

Tenya let out a dumbfounded laugh, blush spreading across his face. “W-well, I’m glad.”

You softy threaded your fingers into his hair, kissing him sweetly. He melted into your touch, pacing a hand on the back of your head.

“Thank you,” You whispered against his lips.

“For what?”

“For just… being you. You’re amazing, Ten.” You pursed your lips, organizing your thoughts. “And… I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you.”

Tenya’s grip on you suddenly slackened out of shock. You would’ve slid right out of his lap if you hadn’t anchored yourself by griping his shoulders.

“Woah, sorry,” Tenya quickly gathered you into his arms again, face burning. “You surprised me. Um, did- did you mean it?”

“How could I not?”

 Tenya let out a dazed puff of air, a flustered smile tugging at the cornered of his lips. He lightly kissed your jaw, his fingers dancing over your waist with a feather-light touch. “I love you too, (Y/N).”

. . . 

(Y/N): Yeah, I was just too tired to go down to dinner. Don’t worry, I’ve got food up here. Tenya wanted to go out for dinner, but a minor panic attack changed his mind 😎

Izuku: Wait, panic attack? What happened?

(Y/N): He asked if we could go, and I got a little nervous about telling him no

(Y/N): I freaked out a little bit, and he held me for a while. I told him a little about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named

Izuku: …Voldemort??

(Y/N): 😑

(Y/N): Yes, Izuku. I dated Voldemort in middle school.

Izuku: Lol, how’d that convo go?

(Y/N): Really well, actually. Tenya was supper understanding. God I love him.

Izuku rolled his eyes, snickering as he texted back, Totally news to me. 🤣 When did you come to that realization? 

As he hit send, a different text notification slid across the screen.

Iida: (Y/N) got anxious about something and explained a little of their “bad dating experience” you mentioned to me. They were a little distressed about the whole thing, but they still managed to fluster me.

“What am I, the middle man?” Izuku asked himself, sighing as he texted his friend back.

Izuku: Ooh boy. What’d they do?

Another text from you. Izuku navigated back to your thread. This was already getting tiresome.

(Y/N): I dunno. We had a date a month-ish ago, and we had our first kiss afterwards. I think I may’ve had some sort of idea that I was in love with him then, when he asked if he could kiss me.

Iida again. “Good grief,” Izuku muttered.

Iida: They told me they loved me. It threw me for a loop, but I managed to regain control of my senses to tell them that I loved them too.

Izuku: Geez, you two are hopeless.

Iida: What do you mean?

Izuku: I’m currently switching back and forth between texting both you and (Y/N) gushing over each other.

Iida: Oh.

Izuku: Yeah man. This is fun and all, but (Y/N) called me as their wingman first. Go get your own, lmao

Switching back over to your message, Izuku sent one last text:

Izuku: That’s really sweet. Anyway, Iida is also texting me at the exact same time as you are. Thought I’d pass along a message he didn’t ask me to pass: he’s head over heels for you. I’m now muting my phone. Being friends with you two is exhausting. 

[sanguineness-wings]

Why are you running?

(read on ao3)

Pairing: Hawks x gn!Reader

Rating: SFW

Warnings: bird traits/instincts

hawks/raptors have this instinct to chase and attack if you turn your back on them, so what if you accidentally trigger it 👀

----------------------------------------------------------------

The sun was dipping low on the horizon, sending amber rays of light between the tightly packed skyscrapers. You shield your eyes from the light as you step out of the convenience store, your groceries in hand. After you take a moment for your eyes to adjust, you note a small crowd gathering just up the sidewalk from you. And from the center of it sprouts a large pair of crimson wings.

It’s a dead giveaway, those wings were plastered everywhere across the city, on billboards, on buses. There’s no escaping Hawks’ image.

As you watch on, the man himself suddenly hovers above his adoring fans, stretching out his impressive wing span leisurely. Leaving you with a perfect view of his wind tossed hair kissed with dying sunlight and a lopsided smile on his lips.

It makes your heart clench as you look on with awe. He’s so effortlessly beautiful it hurts to look at him. It’s also incredibly intimidating. How can those fans just talk to him like it’s nothing. You couldn’t even imagine.

Your staring must have caught his attention as suddenly his gaze turns and locks onto yours. You feel your stomach lurch, frozen with embarrassment. Hawks has the audacity to offer you a softer smile, making your cheeks heat up instantly.

Your brain screams at you to leave now. Your shyness urging you flee the unexpected attention. So you sharply turn your back to the crowd, and the gorgeous Pro Hero, and hurriedly make your escape.

Without consciously knowing why, you take a final glance over your shoulder. Even with Hawks’ signature visor over is eyes, you can see his pupils dilate, nearly completely blown black before constricting to tiny pin pricks in a split second. His smile has fallen from his face, leaving behind a cold blankness. A shiver runs through you and a cold sweat breaks out under your collar.

Your brain unhelpfully supplies, “Haha, I’m in danger!” Adrenaline courses through your veins and you run. A full sprint down the sidewalk in panic. It’s a ridiculous response in hindsight, but you’ve never seen such an inhuman look on Hawks’ face.

You barely make it a few feet before you feel a gust of wind behind you and suddenly your vision is nothing but red. Massive wings envelope you entirely as powerful arms lock around your waist, almost bruising in their strength. You’re dragged to your knees as the body behind you curls over your spine. You feel the prickle of stubble against your neck and jaw, hot puffs of breath against your skin. You’re utterly trapped.

All logical thoughts are thrown out the window with your heart thundering against your ribs. You don’t dare move a muscle.

An indiscernible amount of time passes before you hear a huffed laugh next to your ear, making you shudder.

“Well, isn’t this embarrassing, damn. I’m really sorry about all this. Are you alright?” Hawks says in a tight voice as he slowly releases you from his grip.

You’re shaking as you awkwardly stumble to your feet, Hawks aiding with a gentle, gloved hand on your elbow. When you finally get the courage to glance at his face, your heart does a somersault in your chest. A light blush dusts the bridge of his nose and the apples of his cheeks. He has a hand behind his head sheepishly, using the other to steady you on your jelly-like legs.

“I haven’t done something like that since I was a teenager in training,” he admits, bashfulness coloring his voice.

“…and what was that exactly?” You finally find your voice, wincing inwardly at how shaken it sounds.

“Oh you know, like…bird stuff? Well, hawk stuff? Like predator instinct?” Hawks shifts from foot to foot, looking anywhere but you.

“Like...you thought I was prey?”

“No! No, it’s not like that. Well, I mean kind of. But not really? It’s hard to explain. You turned your back and I just…couldn’t help myself. I’m really sorry. Did I hurt you at all?” Seeing this level of uncomfortableness on Hawks was so jarring from how he normally carries himself in the public eye. It was like all of his confidence was parred away. 

“I’m okay, really. Just gave me a fright, that’s all.” You’re really trying your best to sound casual, adding a weak laugh to hopefully defuse the tension.

He humors you, offering a half-hearted smile as he stoops down to gather up your groceries that you didn’t notice had spilled across the sidewalk.

"Well, if you’re sure you’re okay, I should be off. A hero’s job never stops.”

And with that he’s gone, taking off into the sky. You stand there dumbly on the sidewalk in shock for a few beats.

You then hear murmuring, whispering, and the click of photos being captured. Horrified, you realize Hawks’ fans were watching everything and recorded every second of it. You curse under your breath as you start rushing home, ignoring the growing crowd behind you. If Hawks wasn’t going to eat you alive, the internet certainly was.

---

Get it together, Hawks. What the hell was that?

The winged hero cursed at himself with gritted teeth and a furrowed brow as he shot across the sky. He shouldn’t have done that. He was trained not to do that. The Commission pushed him hard to ignore the animalistic pull to hunt and another traits they deemed unsightly or dangerous. And he had gotten good at suppressing those instincts. He passed all of their tests and drills after years of intense training. He never had a slip up since starting his Pro career.

His mind was racing as he tried to pin point what made him react like that. Did he let his guard down? Got too comfortable in the moment?

He thought of the way you trembled in his arms, immobilized with fear. The thundering of your panicked heart and the quiver of your voice. A shiver crept down his spine, making his hair and feathers stand on end. He liked it. The thrill of it all lighting up parts of his brain long neglected. 

A frustrated growl escaped his lips, lost to the roar of the wind around him. He really shouldn’t be entertaining those thoughts, even for a moment. He felt gross. 

He dug his phone from his pocket, sending a text to his PR manager. The least he could do was give them a heads up. Though pictures and videos of the whole incident were probably already circulating. His PR team had their work cut out for them, it was a seriously bad look for the hero. 

Almost immediately after he sent the text his phone buzzed angrily with replies from his team and an incoming call from the Commission. His heart sank to the pit of his stomach. It was going to be a long night.

---

The days following were a nightmarish blur of embarrassment and anxiety. Your brief brush with Hawks was plastered across every social media platform. You couldn’t escape all of the memes and GIFs. You wanted nothing more than to blink from existence.

Most people thought the whole thing was funny, even wishing it was them tackled to the sidewalk by Hawks. Your coworkers teased you mercilessly, constantly asking if you at least got his number afterwards. 

There weren’t many, but a few comments filled you with anger. They were using this to fuel for their hatred towards those with heteromorphic quirks. They claimed that this proved they were dangerous, nothing more than animals. Which, of course, was ridiculous. 

But you did your best to keep your head down and ignore the notifications on your phone. You kept reassuring yourself that this would all blow over soon. And sure enough by the end of the week the internet was distracted by “leaked” selfies of Hawks in grey sweatpants, posing in front of a bathroom mirror.

---

Hawks had just started an early morning patrol as he glided and weaved through the streets. He’d been taking on extra hours lately, finding it easier to distract himself on the job rather than staring at his bedroom ceiling. Who needed sleep anyway. If he stopped, all he could think about was you. The fear on your face. Your frantic pulse against his skin. Guilt gnawed away at him. He didn’t want to scare you, what type of hero would he be if he did. 

Instead of dwelling on the thoughts eating at him, he focused on the streets below him. It was relatively quiet, only a scattering of people going about their lives. He swooped lower, maneuvering between lamp posts just for his own entertainment. He pulled up short abruptly, nearly smacking into one of them.

His heart lurched in his chest, recognizing you immediately as you made your way down the street. He had a little mental battle with himself. Half of him wanted to talk to you, just reassure himself that you were truly okay after all this madness. The other have was telling him to leave you alone, that he’d only made it worse.

After hovering awkwardly for a few moments he made his decision. He made a show of circling ahead of you before landing, trying not to startle you. 

---

Having Hawks appear in front of you was the very last thing you expected on your walk to work. You had convinced yourself that you’d never see him again and that, even if your paths crossed, he wouldn’t want to be seen with you.

Yet here he was, with a charming smile on his face and feathers gleaming in the sun. 

You approach him cautiously, pulling out your earbuds. “Um, hi?” you start apprehensively, not sure what the hero could possibly want from you.

As you catch up to him he starts walking beside you, joining you on your commute. His wing stretches out behind you and curls around your side. Smart, you think. Even if the two of you catch someone’s eye, you were largely blocked from view.

It’s comfortably warm beneath his wing, with your shoulders brushing against each other as you walk. Your heart speeds up a little, being this close to him is a little overwhelming. Especially with the memory of him being pressed over you still fresh in your mind.

“So, I wanted to start over, if that’s alright with you. I don’t think I gave you the best first impression,” Hawks explains, his eyes fixed ahead.

“Definitely a memorable one,” you quip lightheartedly. You were more mortified by all of the unwanted attention. You knew deep down you were never in any real danger. 

Hawks snorts, making you glance at him. You watch him roll his eyes. “Not my best moment. I’m really sorry I scared you so badly. I swear I’m not going to hurt you, or anyone.”

It makes you pause as you stare at the side of his face. “I know you wouldn’t. And you didn’t even leave a mark. We can just say it was a...weird, unexpected hug. Leave it at that.”

Hawks’ gaze catches yours for a brief moment before looking away quickly, a serious look sliding onto his features. “You know that’s not what it was.”

“I know but...I’m not going to judge you for your bird stuff, or whatever it is. You’re still human. Even with the wings. We all have weird, awkward tendencies. I’m a mess of them too, and I don’t even have a Quirk. You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of.

“So don’t beat yourself up too much,” you say, gaining a bit of confidence the more you speak. “You’re not a monster.”

Silence stretches between the two of you, both lost in thought. You surprise yourself when you are the first to break it. 

“Besides, I thought we were starting over. I’m y/n,” you begin, nudging his shoulder with your own as you offer him a warm smile.

“I’m Hawks, but you already knew that. Say, why don’t I treat you to some coffee. There’s this great little cafe not far from here. They have these pastries that are to die for. Trust me, you’ll love it!” The hero chatters away, with you still safely tucked away under his wing.