#why does this actually look decent though

[spookomooko]

Why is the art arting

Excuse me

(This is the second time I've drawn him so art gods please forgive me if it's not accurate)

[ponderingmoonlight]

Sanemi Shinazugawa standing up for you

Pairing: Sanemi x fem!reader

Word Count: 2,1k

Synopsis: You are used to no one believing in you, to get picked on by other corps member because you're a girl. Until one of them crosses the line and starts a fights. Until a certain someone stands up for you when no one else does.

Warnings: not proofread bc I have a gym date with my boy (in order to have a biceps as beefy as (y/n)'s lmao), reader gets reduced to being a weak woman when she is anything but that, bad girl energy, Sanemi being a cutie

„I can’t believe they allowed a little girl to participate.”

“Look at her. There’s no way she survived the training of the former sound hashira, the serpent pillar and landed here.”

“Probably nothing but luck. Or she cheated.”

Don’t listen to them, just focus on staying hydrated and eating enough for your upcoming training. It has always been this way. You, a girl in a world of boys against everything. Why is it so hard to believe that you are capable of doing what they do when two female hashira show them how it’s done? You work your ass of day in and out, stayed consistent for your whole life. You’re always the first who appears in the morning and the last of them who falls into bed after practice. Nothing in life is given you for free, especially when it comes to strength. But apparently, they fail to realize this even after being a part of the demon slayer corps for quite some time.

“I bet she slept her way up.”

Your heart drops to the floor, eyes widen in sheer disbelief. You, sleeping your way up?

“Yeah, maybe she aims to be the fourth wife of him or something.”

“So that’s why he’s always going easy on her.”

“I can hear you. Loud and clearly”, you finally speak up.

They are talking about you as if you are nothing but air, as if you wouldn’t share the same air. Anger begins to rush through your veins uncontrollably. All this work only to be called the mistress of a former hashira?

“I couldn’t care less about the existence of a woman who fucked her way up”, one of them spits directly into your face.

“How are your trainees doing?”, the white-haired men questioned while staring into the sunset.

“Most of them are trash. That one though…”

Instantly, Sanemi’s gaze is glued onto Obanai who now sits next to him.

“Really? You’ve got one that has some balls?”

“A girl, to be exact. She seems decently skilled and Actually just transferred to your training”, Obanai clarifies.

“I never heard of a girl getting through Uzui’s basic training until now”, Sanemi replies while rubbing his chin.

A girl, huh? He can’t put a finger on the last time he ever trained one. But if Obanai talks so highly about you, there sure must be something going on.

“She’s got potential. Let’s just hope there’s enough time.”

“Instead of lying around like the loser you are, try training next time. I don’t need to fuck my way up, I’m all good by my own”, you bark back along with straightening your shoulders.

Who does this guy think he is? Talking behind your back like that while you don’t even know who the fuck he is.

“You’re nothing but a weak woman, I’m sure it was way too easy for you to wrap them hashira around your finger.”

You draw closer, his dreadful eyes piercing like arrows through yours. But you couldn’t care less. No, this is enough.

“Bold coming from a guy who obviously never touched a woman in his entire life. To be honest, I could give you one or two reasons for that. But it’s not my job to tell you what kind of loser you are. Now excuse me, the training session with the wind hashira begins soon and you definitely aren’t worth being late to that.”

“Why do I have to waste my time with those losers?”, Sanemi mumbles to himself while walking towards the campsite where all the trainees are located.

Or wait, didn’t Obanai talk about a skilled girl earlier? Maybe she’ll last longer than that bunch of losers. While getting closer, his eyes fall on a crowd of multiple guys cheering and staring of what looks like a sensation in the middle.

“What the hell is going on over there?”

You manage to escape his punch just before he hits your face with full force, so unexpected that your eyes widen. Did he just try to slap you? In your face?

“Are you out of your goddamn mind? We are here to get trained and not to fight each other like animals!”, you roar at him.

Another dash forward, another failed attempt to hit you with full force while everyone around you starts eyeing you up and down. This must be a cruel joke, a nightmare. You joined the demon slayer corps to fight against injustice and to support peace. But in this very moment, you find yourself surrounded by your comrades who definitely try to hurt you.

“You just have to play the smartest one, don’t you? I don’t give a damn about your little game. I will never respect a woman who fucked her way up”, he jeers back at you.

You force yourself not to cry, to not show them how much their fucking words sting. All your life, you were forced to fight against those who wanted to see you suffer, does who didn’t put trust in your abilities. Your neighbors, your friends, even your own family. Never more than a little girl with crazy dreams, never more than average with no one who believes in her.

“You have no i-“

An enormous storm of air swirling around you catches you completely off guard and almost sweeps you off your feet. You aren’t able to see anything anymore, let alone move. Fuck, what is this? Definitely not the power of that jerk from before. Your lungs feel like bursting under the immense pressure, chest so tight that you have to force air in and out. What on earth is this?

“That’s enough. Who do you even think you are?”

When the storm calms down as rapidly as it came, you find yourself landing onto the floor with your knees just in time while everyone around you bumps into the ground head-first.

“S-she attacked me! It was her fault!”

Your eyes widen in sheer horror when you begin to realize who was responsible for this. There he stands with his katana in his hand, his white cloak still flowing in the wind.

And his dreadful orbs are set on you.

You try to scream, try to defend yourself, but all of the sudden you forgot how to speak. This is the wind hashira, Sanemi Shinazugawa. After all those countless sessions with Tengen and Obanai, it was your goal to get here, to impress him.

But now you’re kneeling to his feet while countless men point their fingers at you, claiming you’re the one responsible for this mess.

“So, this was you?”, he questions.

There is no doubt in the fact that his ask is directed towards you. Not when he looks at you so serious with his hand clutched into a tight fist.

“I didn’t mean to cause trouble”, you finally press out.

Defending yourself is a waste of time. With all those men saying you’re the problem, your words mean nothing. All you can do is sit here and hope that you’re able to stay, hope that the wind hashira won’t send you back home like everyone predicted.

“You have to be fucking kidding me”, he mutters with low voice.

It’s over. This is it, your final time at the hashira training. Even giving your best wasn’t enough, apparently. Not when nobody believes in you except yourself. You should have kept quiet, should have ignored their stupid sayings. You furrow your eyebrows, wild eyes going hard.

No. You did everything right. No one is allowed to talk to you in such a manner, to say all those nasty things about you. It was the only right thing to defend your honor. There is nothing to regret.

“Are you really trying to make her responsible for this when I heard your dumb ass talking shit about her? You have some fucking nerve, lying into the face of a hashira.”

Time stands still, you don’t dare to make a move while the crowd around you goes silent. Did the wind hashira really just…Stand up for you?

“Now get lost, all of you brats. If you’d be as good at fighting as in talking shit, we would have beaten all demons already.”

He doesn’t have to tell them twice. In the matter of seconds, the usual crowded area is deadly silent with only you and the white-haired man remaining. Your heart almost beats out of your chest, eyes now fixated on his back. Why would he even stand up for a stranger, especially a girl? It’s probably best if you get away from here as well-

“No, not you. You definitely stay”, he instructs you after you take one single step forward.

You freeze right in your tracks. What now? Will he kick you out, send you back to your family? What if he didn’t mean those words he said earlier, what if he’s not convinced that you are in fact innocent?

“Listen, I’m sorry about t-“

“You really have some balls, dealing with a bunch of guys like that. My honest respect for that.”

 “What?”, you blurt out.

And there it is. The most breath-taking smile you’ve ever seen, a smile that makes your heart and stomach flutter, that leaves you standing there like an idiot. You never actually believed in love, let alone to fall for someone. But the wind hashira, standing in front of you with his katana casually placed over his shoulders and his hand on his hip while smiling at you…

You’re lost. Deeply, completely, utterly lost.

“It’s clear that you’re working hard and I admire that. They have no right to talk to you this disrespectfully. I’m the only one who’s allowed to do that”, he replies with his charismatic low voice.

“Thank you for standing up for me. For a second, I was pretty sure you’ll send me back home”, you admit while avoiding his gaze.

Maybe you’re still able to prove them all wrong, maybe you will make it after all. The hashira training is your chance to finally show your true self. You grab the handle of your katana tightly. And you will do everything you can to use that chance.

“Why would I send someone like you home when you’re one of the best corps members? These guys don’t know shit about you and it’s clear that they’re jealous. Don’t listen to those people and keep up the hard work.”

The man in front of you definitely isn’t the monster you’ve heard of. The rough and loud wind hashira who has zero control over his emotions, who rejected his own brother. The man who means nothing but violence, nothing but trouble. No, that man in front of you is smiling at you, teasing you in order to become better. And you’ll do everything to thank him for believing in you.

-one week later-

“You can’t keep her for yourself any longer. Apart from Kamado, she’s one of the greatest chances the demon slayer corps have. It’s Gyomei’s turn to train her”, Shinobu explains calmly, earning one of the deadliest looks ever from the wind hashira.

Truth is, he doesn’t want to let you go. He wants to see you every day, wants to train with you as often as he can, wants to talk with you into the night. What is left when you’re not around except the effect you had on him, the admiration he holds for you in his heart? Sanemi thought he’d never be able to find love again, that no other woman would ever catch his heart. But there you are with your determination made of stone and heart made of gold.

“She’s better off with me”, he mumbles with a pout, not daring to look into the insect pillar’s eyes.

It’s clear that he’s acting ridiculous. When it comes to gaining more strength and abilities, you’re definitely not better off by his side only. He can’t just gatekeep you for his own will.

“Don’t tell me you started liking her”, Obanai comments dryly.

“Sanemi, is it possible, that…that…”

“Don’t you dare saying that”, he warns the pink-haired girl opposite of him.

“ARE YOU IN LOVE WITH (Y/N)!?”

“SHUT UP, I NEVER SAID THAT!”

“YOU DON’T HAVE TO SAY IT, I CAN SEE IT IN YOUR EYES!”

“WHY? BECAUSE THEY’RE BLOODSHOT!?”

Him, in love with a woman? How ridiculous…

Right?

He huffs to himself. Yeah, there is no denying in the fact that he fell a little too hard.

Tags: @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix  @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @beatrexworld

@froufrousnowman @hidazinie @tomiokathedepresso  @poketrainer2270 @chaoticwinnercupcake

@lees-chaotic-brain @wordskeeper @polarbvnny @sugu-love @ryva @baku2345

@komelrebi-san @kentocalls (your fic will be next) @barbuse @sunshine7queen

[r3starttt]

WARM LIKE A GUN

jealous ex ! Ellie

CW: toxic and obsessive behavior. stalking. strap-on sex (r!receiving). use of names like whore, slut, good girl. toxic relationship. spit. clit slaps. cum eating. jealousy-hate sex. teasing. dom! mean! el.

It had become a ritual, a perverted quotidianity. Hands burning at the emptiness, aching to get the smallest tact of your flesh. Tongue sticking out at the tought of you and fingers desperately scratching every fold of her skin pretending it was you.

Not even the cigarette abstinence had such effect on her mind, on her body, on her life. Maybe because that didn't involve skin to skin contact, maybe because that was a sin she didn't actually care about.

She was always this insane, always too focused on the next victim instead of enjoying the achievement of getting what she so much wanted. Obsessively wandering her eyes at the women on the street to find the new target, unconsciously flirting with waitresses and nice ladies at every place she stepped in.

But you made a mess of her.

Ellie really tried to get over you, after all that's wham she wanted - in the very, very first beggining. The result was some half-lided eyes looking for you in every crowd, for an ass like yours, tits as deliciously shown as yours. The image of when she first met your persona never disappeared, and kept on playing with her.

Her mind got so traumatized she kept on looking trough photos and pictures of you to make her remember the real you and not the perception she'd built of you - same she got from when she first met you.

Hands over your hair, running down your body at the beat, a drink in hand and the widest smile she's ever enjoyed of. You approached her first.

Maybe that's why she never forgot about you, because you've chosen her as your target, and not the other way as Ellie was- is, so used to do.

And probably that's the reason behind the violent though of ripping your skin off your body, well, she wouldn't, not literally.

Those same hands that caught her attention for the first time now touching someone else's body. Gripping at a ridiculously short dress to get a taste of someone else's ass. Is that what you've become now? She's not even hot, or nice, or decent. She's a whore, do you like whores now?

No blame on her tho. You yourself wanted to rip your own skin off- same reason, the sight of her.

The woman in front of you wasn't bad. Nice ass, breasts bouncing at her every move, doe eyes trying so desperately to catch your attention by batting her pretty long lashes. Red lips running out of color and painting the glass in hand instead, wandering over your neck in another desperate attempt to get a taste of you.

She was nice, just not your type.

She would've, in any other moment of your life. Just not now, when you have ellie eye fucking you as you so much missed.

You were equally insane, target over target until you got to her. The thing is, she wanted to get rid of you and you never planned on fighting her back.

You regret it now, you should've played a little bit more.

Drink and drink and drink, you were beyond lost on your thoughts the heat and the music. Some feminine hands deliciously dancing over your body, you've got over ellie once again.

Or so you thought because you had to excuse yourself moment later before you got a little bit of councsiousness back. Getting rid of the roaming hands over your body and the multitude of gorgeous women that caught your attention at you every step.

Purse in hand, heels making your feet bleed and your dress barely covering your body anymore. The air hit your skin, made your hair dance a bit and your eyes open wide to make yourself at home as fast as possible.

The sight inf front of you wasn't knew though, a sort of new expensive motorcycle you somehow knew was standing right in front of you- well, resting near a wall, being lightened enough by the fluorescent lights outside the bar.

Was it a neighbour's?

-

It wasn't

It wouldn’t make sense since it's resting again in front of you, now at home.

It would be a psychotic coincidence, Ellie to be more precise. You had no one else in mind.

Not that you actually care either, you looked for her on those hands at the club, on your drink and those red lips that got to touch your skin eventually. You really wished it was her, but not really, you were fine without her and if she got another taste of you, even when you wished it happened, she would go insane. And you weren't in the mood to deal with her.

Or so you thought.

Because the way your hands are intertwined on her hair, tugging at it- says otherwise. The way the palms of her hands are gripping at your flesh also says otherwise.

There's a mix of alcohol and cigarette on your mouth, a tint of weed too. You can feel your lipstick all messy over your lips, you can see it on her face. There's drool connecting both, it's all so desperate and stupid. Humiliating.

Your legs are around hers, keeping her still. Ellie's doing the same, with her hands on your ass, spanking it whenever you try to make this go faster.

Your arms are locked around her neck, scratching it oh so slightly. Her nose tickling your neck, your clavicle, breathing in and out all of you.

You're both aware this is a once in a long time thing, because yes it's gonna happen again just not any soon.

"You've find yourself a new whore to fuck?" Her voice echoes out of nowhere, causing a knot on your stomach. You simply shake your head, enjoying how the tips of her digits dance along your stomach, up your chest. "no?" She whispers once more, her breath hitting your neck, accompanied by her saliva just some seconds later as she leaves wet sloppy kisses along your shoulders.

"You mind it?" You hit back, relentlessly. In response there's only a chuckle. One of her hands keeping its place on your ass, the other one gripping at your breasts, individually and so desperately it hurts. "You're mine" her response rebounds in your mind, too proud yourself to let her hear what she wants, but "you think so?" Her palms let go of your body, her touch getting deeper on your stomach just to push you. "I know so"

"Oh, is that so?" Your fingertips pass swanning over the hem of her shirt, just the perfect amount to get a taste of her stomach. "Want me to prove that to you?"

Her hands get fully off your body, now placing her palms over her her waistband to get rid of it. You already know what she wants, what you'll receive from her. There's no way she wasn't planning on going back home without fucking someone and fuck it makes your skin burn, what if it wasn't you the one she'd fuck tonight? Maybe you do like- "such a whore williams"

"Sit on it" she avoids your latest mock, simply making herself comfortable and doing you a favor by opening her legs enough for you to fit on her lap.

Her hands roam over your dress, naturally pushing it up your waist. "I'm the whore?" The tip of her digits rubbing circles over your already damped cunt. Your mouth opens very slightly at the touch, trying to contain yourself from giving her what she so much wants, failing.

"Make yourself ready f' me, yeah?" you swear you discern a mocking smile on her face, becoming more visible the more you pass your clothed cunt over her dick. Her hands rest on the sides of her legs, getting the privilege of watching you lose all that attitude you've won the pass minutes.

You whine at the sensation. Thrilled every second, every move- desperate to bounce on her, clenching oh so hurtfully around nothing. Her lips pressed eventually over the crook of your neck, sucking, nibbling or kissing every inch of skin she could reach.

You kept on grinding onto the buldge, letting out small pleads here and there. Whining and mumbling nonsense, helping yourself to keep your body in place by ressting your hands anywhere over her body.

"You think she could make you feel like this?" At the absence of your response, well, a poper one that wasnt lol by a whine out of that pretty mouth of yours, she spoke again "havent even started and you cant speak? Mhm?" One of her hands moved again, down your body. Her palm shoved down the hem of your dress, touching very slightly the tip of your clit, giving it some slapps before actually making small circles above. "So?"

"The fuck are you- fuck" cut off by a sigh, you tried to speak once more "the girl at the bar?" Your legs started to lose their strength, you had to slow down.

"Is there someone else?" If anything, you despised her stupid teasing, her nonsense questions and how she always had her way with humiliating you. "No" you simply whined, feeling the palms of her hands restrict you from moving anymore.

"I'm gonna make you mine" her lips pressed over yours in such aggressive kiss. Underneath you, her hands worked on getting rid of your underwear, getting rid of anything keeping any distance left between both. "m' gonna stretch you n' fill you up" giving the situation your mouth simply let out a whine, letting her know you were beyond thrilled by such idea. Being hers forever, making this games between both end.

Her thrusts start slow, giving you the chance to even ride her. She was getting something else in exchange of course. Her mouth being filled by your nipples, licking and sucking absolutely senseless. That until her hips started to slam into yours. "think anyone else can make you feel like this, hm?" She whispered in between your breasts, eyes fully fixated to your closed and clenched ones. Such delightful scenery for her.

“you can play cool, but I've been watching you" she interrupted herself by the desperate need of getting a taste of your lips. Harshly grabbing your cheeks to pull you closer. Instictively you opened your mouth, giving her all those pretty noises as closely as she wished. "No one's ever got you soaking their fucking cock" there's a mess going in between her and your mouth, everything so wet and messy, and fuck your pretty voice driving her insane.

Her hips kept on diving thrusts into you. Bouncing you up and down onto the soaking plastic, making a mess underneath. Her thighs being equally wet and her clit being hit just perfectly at how you clenched and bounced around the strap.

"Gonna cum f' me?" You nodded, feeling the knot on your stomach get yourself all weak and numb. You could still taste your lipstick, the outline of your lips wet down your chin. Fucking humiliated by her once more.

Ellie started hitting into your cunt with harsher bucks, desperately to make you cum, she felt close. Wet and obscene sounds filling the room. Smacks that splattered the slick shared, groans and a stoic figure wuickly replaced by whined and shacky hands roaming over your body, playing with your ass, gripping it so harshly.

Her eyes wanderer over your face, down your body, enamored by the creamy arousal that drowned your pussy leaking down her cock so deliciously. "Can't- Ellie" and just like that there was such pretty mess down your thighs. Your unsteady breathing accompanied by whines. Fuck she would never get over you.

Her fingers quickly plugged inside your sensitive cunt, clenching around her for one last time. All to stuff you back in and get a taste of her hard work.

Months of watching you fuck with random girls, wanting to get rid of them the moment they came outside your house. Months of wishing it was her making you feel this nice. She'd achieved it.

Her fingers popped into her mouth, kissing you next, almost instantly. She had to share, didn't she?

"Always such a good girl f' me, aren't you?"

[alexaloraetheris]

Oh boy, I feel like it's time for a post nobody will like.

We all know clothes are getting worse. Recently I found some jeans I bought in high school, and since I lost weight recently I tried them on and they fit, so I'll be wearing them once we get out of the Hell season.

But I took them and compared them to the most recent pair of jeans I bought, and... Honestly the difference in quality is so fucking stark it made me want to give up on life. The jeans I wore in high school have gone through everything. I'm talking half of Europe here, because one of our teachers was pretty big on school trips everywhere she could get the money for. They've been washed, tumbled, survived an actual car crash and they're still good.

The most recent pair I machine-washed ONCE, everything else was hand-wash only. I babied them to the max because they made my ass look like was on Instagram. Do you know what they look like now?

They're full of fixes like these. They lasted less than a year on their own. I got another decent year out of them SOLELY because I kept fixing them. And fixing them again. The crotch alone I had to fix SEVEN TIMES. I COUNTED.

And these weren't cheap jeans! C&A jeans tend to be around 40$ these days, and I got these for about 30 with a discount. I expected them to last me AT LEAST a few years, because those high school jeans? THEY'RE THE SAME FUCKING BRAND.

Considering this was the quality I was getting for nearly 40$ I figured I might as well get the same quality for 15$ and downloaded SHEIN. I didn't get jeans from them but I got some light, fluttery summer pants in the style that, honestly, I fucking love. I got three pairs for the price of one C&A jeans, and I am aware I will have to baby them even more, because out of the five pairs of pants in total I have bought on SHEIN only ONE is made of the fabric that I might be brave enough to machine wash. And with SHEIN continually getting sued for using sweatshops I probably won't be getting those pants again.

So what to do with that shitfuck situation?

I am insanely lucky my grandma knew how to sew really well and didn't mind me looking over her shoulder as long as I was quiet. I am aware that's not a skill everyone has, but quite frankly? When nobody has any money and even paying big bucks for clothes does not guarantee any kind of quality, and even fucking THRIFT STORES are full of just junk now, I think it's time to face the facts.

You need to learn how to sew.

I'm not talking about sewing your own clothes, though if you can and you have the time and patience, it's probably the best option (good luck finding decent fabric, because we can't even find THAT anymore unless you're ordering from fucking Belgium). I'm talking about fixing up seams and sewing on a patch, little repairs that make your clothes last. It might be junk, but with sewing you can make it last twice as long for the price of a spool of thread.

Now that I've pissed off everyone who is, for some reason, morally opposed to learning how to sew because it's a 'girly hobby' or 'supporting the patriarchy' (a take that left me baffled like nothing else) I'm going to piss off everyone who already knows how to sew.

I recommend getting this little guy.

It's called a stapler sewing machine, for obvious reasons. If I recall correctly, it was invented to fix clothes on the go for fashion shows and/or cosplay. It does only a chain stitch and needs to be pushed manually, but if you need to, like, hem your trousers and you don't want to spend half an hour on doing it manually (and don't already have an actual sewing machine) this is a lifesaver.

Here's a tutorial how it operates:

Now, why am I recommending this? Because it will only set you back six bucks. I got two right off the bat because I was banking on one not working (and I was right) and so I could use it for spare parts. The one in the video (Spring Come) is the one I have as well, and it's the one that actually works. I can't vouch for any unmarked ones, but the blue one works. It IS a little temperamental, but with a bit of practice it makes things so much easier.

The reason I'm not recommending an electric machine of any kind, even the one that costs 18$, is because, if you're a beginner, then an automatic sewing machine becomes a machine that exponentially speeds up the rate at which you make mistakes, and if it breaks down, good luck fixing it unless you have a dad/uncle/friend who knows his electronics. This thing can be fixed with a screwdriver, and takes the same needles as an ordinary sewing machine.

You can buy a bundle of needles just about anywhere for any price and they'll be decent as long as they're steel, but I would recommend looking for some actual better quality thread. Everywhere else, you can pinch pennies, but the thread itself is what's holding your clothes together, so this should be the part where you're looking for quality instead of price.

Alright, those of you who didn't scroll past with a derisive scoff at my take, I hope I've been helpful.

[wileycap]

So, uh, Netflix Avatar, huh? Yeah. I guess I'll make a really long post about it because ATLA brainrot has is a cornerstone of my personality at this point.

So.

It's okay. B, maybe a C+.

That's it.

Now for the spoilers:

The biggest issue with the Netflix version is the pacing. Scenes come out of nowhere and many of the episodes are disjointed. Example: Aang escaping from Zuko's ship. We see him getting the key and going "aha!", and in the next scene he's in Zuko's room. And then he just runs out, no fun acrobatics or fights, and immediately they go to the Southern Air Temple where he sees Gyatso's corpse, goes into the Avatar state, and then sees Gyatso being really cheesy, comes out of it, and resolves that conflict. Nothing seems to lead into anything. The characters don't get to breathe.

The show's worst mistake (aside from Iroh fucking murdering Zhao) is its' first one: they start in the past. Instead of immediately introducing us to our main characters and dropping us into a world where we have a perfect dynamic where Aang doesn't know the current state of the world and Katara and Sokka don't know about the past, thus allowing for seamless and organic worldbuilding and exposition, they just... tell us. "Hey, this is what happened, ok, time for Aang!" There's no mystery, no intrigue, just a stream of information being shoved down the audience's throats and then onto the next set piece.

The visuals are for the most part great, but like with most Netflix productions, they just don't have great art direction. It feels like a video game cinematic, where everything is meant to be Maximum Cool - and none of the environments get to breathe. It's like they have tight indoor sets (with some great set design) and then they have a bunch of trailer shots. It's oozing with a kind of very superficial love.

Netflix still doesn't know how to do lighting, and with how disjointed the scenes are, the locations end up feeling like a parade of sets rather than actual cities or forests or temples. As for the costumes, Netflix still doesn't know how to do costumes that look like they're meant to be actually worn, so many of the characters seem weirdly uncomfortable, like they're afraid of creasing their pristine costumes.

The acting is decent to good, for the most part. I can't tell if the weaker moments come down to the actors or the direction and editing, but if I had to guess, I'd say the latter. Iroh and Katara are the weakest, Sokka is the most consistent, Zuko hits the mark most of the time, and Aang is okay. I liked Suki (though... she was weirdly horny? Like?) but Yue just fell kind of flat.

The tight fight choreography of the original is replaced with a bunch of spinny moves and Marvel fighting, though there are some moments of good choreography, like the Agni Kai between Ozai and Zuko (there's a million things I could say about how bad it was thematically, but this post is overly long already.) There's an actually hilarious moment in the first episode when Zuko is shooting down Aang, and he does jazz hands to charge up his attack.

Then there's the characters. Everybody feels very static - Zuko especially gets to have very little agency. A great example of that is the scene in which Iroh tells Lieutenant Jee the story of Zuko's scar.

In the original, it's a very intimate affair, and he doesn't lead the crew into any conclusions. Here, Iroh straight up tells the crew "you are the 41st, he saved your lives" and then the crew shows Zuko some love. A nice moment, but it feels unearned, when contrasted with the perfection of The Storm. In The Storm, Zuko's words and actions directly contradict each other, and Iroh's story gives the crew (and the audience) context as to why, which makes Zuko a compelling character. We get to piece it out along with them. Here - Iroh just flat out says it. He just says it, multiple times, to hammer in the point that hey, Zuko is Good Actually.

And then there's Iroh. You remember the kindly but powerful man who you can see gently nudging Zuko to his own conclusions? No, he's a pretty insecure dude who just tells Zuko that his daddy doesn't love him a lot and then he kills Zhao. Yeah. Iroh just plain kills Zhao dead. Why?

Iroh's characterization also makes Zuko come off as dumb - not just clueless and deluded, no, actually stupid. He constantly gets told that Iroh loves him and his dad doesn't, and he doesn't have any good answers for that, so he just... keeps on keeping on, I guess? This version of Zuko isn't conflicted and willfully ignorant like the OG, he's just... kind of stupid. He's not very compelling.

In the original, Zuko is well aware of Azula's status as the golden child. It motivates him - he twists it around to mean that he, through constant struggle, can become even stronger than her, than anyone. Here, Zhao tells him that "no, ur dad likes her better tee hee" and it's presented as some kind of a revelation. And then Iroh kills Zhao. I'm sorry I keep bringing that up, but it's just such an unforgiveable thematic fuckup that I have to. In the original, Zhao falls victim to his hubris, and Zuko gets to demonstrate his underlying compassion and nobility when he offers his hand to Zhao. Then we get some ambiguity in Zhao: does he refuse Zuko's hand because of his pride, or is it his final honorable action to not drag Zuko down with him? A mix of both? It's a great ending to his character. Here, he tries to backstab Zuko and then Iroh, who just sort of stood off to the side for five minutes, goes "oh well, it's murderin' time :)"

They mess with the worldbuilding in ways that didn't really need to be messed with. The Ice Moon "brings the spirit world and the mortal world closer together"? Give me a break. That's something you made up, as opposed to the millenia of cultural relevance that the Solstice has. That's bad, guys. You replaced something real with something you just hastily made up. There's a lot of that. We DID NOT need any backstory for Koh, for one. And Katara and Sokka certainly didn't need to be captured by Koh. I could go on and on, but again, this post is already way too long.

It's, um, very disappointing. A lot of telling and not very much showing, and I feel like all of the characters just... sort of end up in the same place they started out in. I feel like we don't see any of the characters grow: they're just told over and over again how they need to grow and what they need to do.

To sum it up: Netflix Avatar is a mile wide, but an inch deep.

[itneverendshere]

maybe wheezie or even sarah needing rafe to pick them up from school or attend a back to school night. like the school calls rafe to pick up sarah after getting in a fight. or the teacher calls him in to discuss that wheezie struggling in math

thank you for the request!!! 🫶🏻🫂 i think rafe's always had a soft spot for wheezie so i did this one for her cause i personally can see their dynamic being really cute.

 we're both older now - r.c

pairing: rafe x pogue!reader (bartender!reader universe)

Sitting in the passenger seat of Rafe’s truck, you couldn’t help but sneak glances at him. His hands were on the wheel, jaw clenched just enough for you to notice, but not enough to freak out.

It’s been months since rehab, and you swear, you’ve never seen him like this before—so focused, so... responsible. It’s kinda hot.

But that’s not what you’re here for. Not right now.

You’re headed to Wheezie’s school because, apparently, she’s been struggling with math. She didn’t want to tell Rafe because Ward’s rarely at home these days and she didn’t want to bother him. When you found out, you could’ve smacked her. You get it—Rafe’s been under a lot of pressure lately—but you don’t think she realizes how much he cares about her. That’s why you two are heading to a parent-teacher meeting like it’s the most normal thing in the world. It’s not. 

“I should’ve known something was off,” Rafe mutters, breaking the silence.

You look over at him. “You couldn’t have. Wheezie’s good at keeping stuff to herself.”

He shakes his head, his grip tightening on the wheel just a little. “I’m her brother. I should’ve noticed.”

You reach over, resting your hand on his arm. “You’re doing your best, baby. That matters.”

He lets out a breath, his tension easing under your touch. God, sometimes it’s hard to believe he’s the same guy who used to pick fights at every chance he got just a few years ago. It’s been almost a year since his last relapse, but every day you see him fighting to be better—for himself, for you, for his sisters. And honestly? It does something to you, seeing him like this. 

You pull into the school parking lot, and he parks the truck, turning off the engine. For a second, he just sits there, staring straight ahead. You know what he’s thinking. He’s wondering if he’s good enough to handle this, to handle all of it.

“You got this,” You say softly.

Together, you walk into the school, and after a quick conversation with the receptionist, you’re led to Wheezie’s teacher’s classroom. The room smells like dry-erase markers and stress, the kind you remember from my own high school days.

Except, this is a private school, completely different from what you were used to, and back then, you loved school. You were good at it too—really good, actually. Straight A’s, honors, full ride to a decent college…but life had other plans.

You look at Rafe as you wait for the teacher to start the meeting. He’s sitting up straight, listening intently, and your chest tightens a little.

The same guy who used to blow off any responsibility now sitting here, laser-focused, ready to step up for his little sister. The teacher starts talking about Wheezie’s grades, how she’s been falling behind in math, and you can see the guilt in his face. You squeeze his knee under the table, trying to ground him, but honestly? This was hitting a little too close to home for you, too.

“I can help her,” You hear yourself say before you’ve even really thought about it. Rafe turns to look at you, surprised, and you shrug like it’s no big deal.

The teacher blinks, probably not expecting the girlfriend to jump in with a solution. “What did you score on your final exams?”

You move in your seat, not expecting the question but not exactly shy about your answer either. "I got a 1600 on my SATs," You said, trying to sound casual about it, even though you could see Rafe’s eyebrows shoot up next to you. 

The teacher’s eyes widen slightly. "That’s impressive," she says, "You must’ve had a lot of options for college."

You shrug again feeling that familiar feeling of bittersweet regret. "Yeah, I had a full ride to a few places.”

“And you didn’t go?”

The way she says says it—like she can’t imagine why you wouldn’t go—hurts a little. 

"Yeah, well... life happened." You try to brush it off like it doesn’t bother you.

Rafe’s hand slides over to yours under the table, interlocking your fingers and giving you a gentle squeeze. It’s subtle, but it’s enough for you. To remind you that you made the right choices, even if they weren’t easy ones.

The meeting wraps up pretty quickly after that.

The teacher gives Rafe some advice on how to help Wheezie stay on track, and you both thank her before heading out of the classroom. As you walk down the hallway, he stays quiet for a bit, and you can’t really read what’s going through his head.

By the time you get back to the truck, he turns to you, his brow furrowed slightly, like he’s still processing everything. "You got a perfect score on your SATs?"

Three years into the relationship and he’s still learning things about you every day.

You let out a small laugh, brushing some hair behind your ear. "Yeah. It’s not a big deal."

"That’s kinda insane," he says, looking at you like he’s seeing a whole new side of you. “Why didn’t you ever tell me that?”

You shrug for the millionth time today, suddenly feeling a little shy. “I don’t know. It just never came up. It’s not like it matters now, anyway.”

"It does matter." His voice is firm, and when you glance over, you can see how serious he looks. "You gave up a lot to help your sister. That’s not nothing."

Your throat tightens, and you have to swallow down the emotion rising inside you. The way Rafe says it, like he actually gets it, means more than he probably knows. "I just did what I had to do."

He nods slowly, like he understands that feeling all too well. "You didn’t have to offer to help Wheezie today. But you did.”

You don’t want to make a big deal out of it. "I want to help her. She deserves it."

Rafe doesn’t say anything, just looks at you with this soft, almost disbelieving expression. Like he can’t wrap his head around the fact that you’re still here, beside him, helping his family without a second thought.

"You’re amzing, y’know that?" he murmurs, his voice low and warm in that way that makes your stomach flip.

You feel your cheeks heat up, a shy smile tugging at your lips. "Stop."

"I mean it." He reaches over, cupping your face gently with his hand, thumb brushing lightly across your cheek. His eyes soften as they meet yours, filled with so much adoration it makes you want to hide. "I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I’m really fucking grateful."

You bite your lip, glancing down at his other hand on your knee before looking back up at him.

"You’ve been working hard. For yourself, for us. I see that."

His jaw tightens just slightly, and he looks down, almost like he’s not sure how to take the compliment. But when his eyes meet yours again,

"I’m trying," he says quietly. "I’m trying to be better."

"And you are," you whisper. "Every day."

The months of hard work, the late nights when you’ve held him through his doubts, the mornings when he’s shown up for his family even when it was hard. It’s all there, between you, unspoken but understood.

Rafe leans in, pressing his forehead to yours, his breath warm against your skin. "Thank you," he whispers. "For everything."

You close your eyes, letting the moment settle around you. "I’ll always be here," you whisper back. "We’ve got this."

“I don’t think I would’ve made it this far without you.”

You swallow hard, trying not to let it hit you too deep. But it does. Because for all the mess you’ve been through—his ups and downs, his relapse, his constant fight to be better—it always comes back to you. To this.

“I’ll always have your back,” You remind him quietly. “You know that, right?”

He nods, like there’s absolutely no doubt in his mind. “I know. You’re really good with her," he says after a beat. "With Wheezie. And with Milo."

You smile, leaning back in your seat. "Yeah, well, someone’s gotta look after the kids, right? Might as well be me."

Rafe’s lips twitch into another smile as he leans over, pressing a soft kiss to your temple, "Thank you, baby.”

“For what?”

“For sticking around,” he says, pulling back slightly to look at you. “Even when I didn’t make it easy.”

 “You make it worth it, Rafe. You always have.”

Because seeing him like this—happy, strong, responsible, and healthy—it’s more than just him trying. It’s him becoming the person you always believed he could be, from day one on that stupid country club. And that? That’s something you’d stick around for any day.

When you and Rafe pull up to Tannyhill, the sun’s already setting. You grab your bag from the backseat, and he takes a deep breath, his hand hovering near yours like he needs to hold onto you just for a second longer. When you step into the house, you’re greeted by the usual stillness that fills the place. It’s huge, but it always feels too quiet.

Wheezie’s sitting at the kitchen island, hunched over her phone, clearly trying to distract herself. Her leg’s bouncing nervously under the stool, and you don’t even have to say anything to know that she’s been dreading this moment.

As soon as she sees the two of you, she freezes, eyes wide, "Hey," she greets, her voice shaky.

Rafe glances at you, and you give him a small nod. You know he’s trying to figure out how to handle this—he’s never really had to play the role of ‘responsible older brother’ before. But he’s doing it. He’s trying. And that’s what matters.

"Wheeze," Rafe starts, as he walks over to her, and you can see the panic rising in her eyes as she sits up straighter like she’s preparing for the worst. "Why didn’t you tell me?"

She bites her lip, glancing between the two of you. "I-I didn’t want to bother you," she mumbles, her voice small. "You’ve been dealing with a lot, and I thought— I don’t know. I thought I could handle it on my own."

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. He’s quiet for a second, and you can feel Wheezie’s anxiety practically buzzing out of her. She’s probably expecting him to yell, to go off on her, but instead, he takes a step forward and pulls her into a hug.

"You ever keep something like that from me again," he mutters into her hair, his tone firm but warm, "and you’re grounded."

Wheezie’s eyes go wide in shock, like she wasn’t expecting that at all. Her arms wrap around him a little awkwardly, but you can tell she’s relieved. She pulls back after a second, staring up at him with those big brown eyes of hers. "You’re not mad?"

Rafe shakes his head, but his expression is serious. "I’m not mad. I’m worried, Wheeze. I’m here, okay? I got you."

"I’m sorry," she whispers.

He sighs again, rubbing a hand over his face before looking at her. "Don’t be sorry. Just don’t do it again."

She nods quickly, and you step closer, offering her a small smile. "You’re not in trouble, Wheezie. I’m gonna help you with the math stuff, okay? I promise."

Wheezie looks over at you, clearly surprised, and then back at Rafe. "You’re… really not mad?"

Rafe rolls his eyes but in that big-brother way that’s full of affection.

"No, Wheeze, I’m not mad. But next time you’re struggling with something, tell me. That’s what I’m here for."

She nods, relief washing over her features. "Okay. I will."

Rafe reaches out and ruffles her hair, something so casual and brotherly it makes your heart swell.

"Good. Now go do whatever you do, and remember—grounded if you pull that shit again."

You slap his arm, “Will stop cursing in front of her?”

He shoots you a half-smirk, looking completely unbothered. "Please baby, she’s sixteen. You think she doesn’t curse?"

Wheezie lets out a small laugh, covering her mouth as if she’s trying to keep it together, but you can tell she’s relieved. 

"Yeah, but maybe not in front of her big brother," you tease, raising an eyebrow at him.

Rafe shrugs, looking like he couldn’t care less. "If she’s smart enough to hide it from me, more power to her."

Wheezie giggles again, and you can’t help but smile. "Yeah, yeah," you sigh, rolling your eyes at him playfully. "You’re a great role model, Rafe Cameron."

He groans, “Please don’t use the full name.” The corners of his mouth tug up in a grin that makes your heart skip. “Alright, no more big brother lectures tonight. We’re good, yeah, Wheeze?”

Wheezie nods, still smiling. “Yeah, we’re good.”

[lunarfleur]

how aboutttt something with katsuki and him doing acts of service as his love language ?

Acts Of Service Bf Katsuki

Warnings: Mention of mental health! Not proofread!

A/N: Katsuki Bakugo they could never make me hate you

GN reader

Bro is NOT going to be lovey dovey and call you teddy bear.

And you’re most likely in the hero course because I can’t see him with someone who’s not.

Katsuki is emotionally constipated, so affection is rare

Most people don’t realize you guys are dating, actually

You just have to learn to read between the lines!

More than most things, he cares about his diet.

He skips out on “sometimes foods”, as he calls them, and prefers foods that are high in protein

He’s typically the one who makes your guys’ food and always makes things that are good for you

He doesn’t necessarily control what you eat, but a lot of his food is added into your diet so!

He’ll make you tea over coffee, and is always reminding you to drink water!

But aside from food, he normally does things that just makes your life more comfortable.

He’ll tidy up your shelves or fold laundry you haven’t gotten to (he’ll scold you for letting your room get messy because he’s a bit of a neat freak)

He’ll change your sheets or refill your water bottle

He irons your school uniform for you!!

And also just the tiniest things like untangling your headphone wires (if your have them) or charging your phone when it gets low

If you tease him about it, he’ll just tell you he’s doing you a favor (because he is)

Which is also why he’s good at dealing with bad mental health

He knows. Better than anyone.

So he never lets it get bad

When times are hardest for you, he goes out of his way a little more.

He’ll clean up the big messes he normally lets you take care of in order to prevent a depression room (he knows it can be overwhelming)

He’ll create a copy of the notes from your classes for you in case you didn’t feel like it

And even though he knows you might hate it, he always has you up at a decent time

On school days, it’s so you have enough time to get ready and eat (looking good can help you feel good)

On weekends it’s to go on runs and/or train

And if you complain?

“I’m doing you a favor.”

He really is.

[stylesloveclub]

sunshine (part 1)

In which Harry's a dick and y/n is a virgin who cries a lot.

˙· .° ｡  ˚ ｡  ° . · ˚ ˙ · . ° ｡ ˚ ｡  ° . · ˙ · .° ｡ ˚ ｡ °.  · ˙ ‧̍̊  

Y/n wonders if she thinks too highly of herself.

She thinks she’s pretty. Not in an obnoxious, self-obsessed way! She knows she’s not a supermodel, and she definitely has a lot of days where she looks and feels totally dead – but at the end of the day, she’s not hideous. She splurges on pretty makeup products, does her hair in the mornings, spends a decent amount of time planning out cute outfits… you know, little things to make herself feel pretty!

She brushes her teeth twice a day, showers regularly, flosses. Wears pretty perfumes that smell like flowers and lip gloss that tastes like strawberries. There’s a stash of gum in her bag that she’s always chewing on, so she knows she doesn’t have bad breath; and she carries an extra deodorant in her backpack too, so you can’t tell her she’s repulsive or anything like that. 

She’s kind. She smiles at strangers and always laughs at people’s jokes (even if they aren’t funny)— holds the elevator door open and says a polite “good morning” or “hello!” with her happy, cheery voice. And even though she’s a bit shy, she tries her best to spread love and kindness in the world. It just makes her happy to make other people happy!

Plus, being nice means that everyone else is nicer to you. So even if she’s in a bad mood, she’ll fake a smile and pretend like she’s happy y/n.

But, she wonders... if she has all of these amazing qualities– if she really is as pretty and kind and wonderful as she makes herself out to be– then why hasn’t she been kissed yet?

She loves her friends, of course she does! But how is she so different from them? Why do all of her friends get asked out on dates and have amazing boyfriends while she’s still a lonely virgin who hasn’t even been kissed yet? 

It’s not like she’s this super virginal person who gets grossed out by boys! She wants to be kissed, she wants to get fucked! She’s toyed around with the idea of just downloading tinder and losing it all to some stranger in one night stand, but her romantic heart just can’t stand the thought of it. 

Yes, she’s desperate… but she’s also romantic. Love is on her mind 24/7. It’s what she thinks about before she falls asleep, what she daydreams about whenever she gets bored. She could spend hours with a romance novel, hyper fixating on the little things that most people wouldn’t blink an eye at. The way the boy’s hand cupped the girl’s jaw while they kissed, or how their fingers brushed as they walked down the street. Little things like forehead kisses and prolonged glances across a room. 

She craves it for herself, desperately aches for the affection that she reads of. She wants to rest her head on someone’s chest and listen to their heartbeat as she falls asleep, feel their fingers playing with her hair, or their lips skimming her cheek. Wants to laugh under the covers and share secrets and be vulnerable and in love. She wants it more than anything in the world! 

And yet, she hasn’t even been kissed! 

Everyone else seems to do it so easily – find a nice guy, go out on a date, and fall in love. So why is it so hard for her? Her friends tell her that she's the prettiest and sweetest girl out there, and that the right guy simply hasn’t come around yet… but y/n can’t help but think, is any of it true?

Is she even that pretty? Is she actually likable?

What’s wrong with her?

˙· .° ｡  ˚ ｡  ° . · ˚ ˙ · . ° ｡ ˚ ｡  ° . · ˙ · .° ｡ ˚ ｡ °.  · ˙ ‧̍̊  

Harry hates these stupid college parties.

They’re loud and stuffy, with way too many people crammed into one room for his liking. The alcohol is cheap, the music is annoying. The entire apartment smells like weed, and there’s not even a secluded corner for him to mope around in without some group of drunk girls completely invading his personal space. Everything about these parties sucks.

If he could, he’d leave. But he’s meant to give a ride home to his roomie Blake, and Blake’s currently hooking up with the host of this party. 

So Harry’s stuck here. Great. 

He checks his phone, and it’s nearly midnight. Blake should be done soon, right? The blonde girl who’s been talking to him for the past 20 minutes is getting awfully close, her hand trailing on his biceps and migrating towards his chest, and she’s blinking up at him with fluttery bambi eyes. 

Any other night and Harry might be into whatever this girl is hinting at, but he’s 100% sober and 100% not in the mood to hook up with a girl who’s taken one too many shots. He grabs the girl's hands and peels them off of his chest gently, muttering something about needing to use the restroom (he doesn’t even need to use the bathroom, he just needs a minute away from the pounding music). 

He sends her off in the direction of her friends, who are giggling to each other in a corner across the room and not-so-inconspicuously checking to see if their friend has managed to successfully get with Harry. He’s sure they’ve realized that he rejected her when they all glare at him. Sorry to disappoint, he thinks to himself. 

He’s nearly positive that any bathrooms in this shitty college apartment will probably be occupied, either with someone throwing up all the drinks they’ve had or with a couple hooking up. But no harm in trying anyway. 

The first door that he tries to open is locked. The second door opens up to reveal a coat closet. 

The third door however, opens up to a bedroom. 

The walls are decorated with posters and pictures, fairy lights hanging from the ceiling, and tiny pots of succulents placed all over the room… but the one thing that stands out the most is the overwhelming number of books scattered all over the room. There’s a bookshelf on each wall, cluttered with books of all colors and sizes. Stacks of books lie on the nightstand by the bed, a stray book sits on top of a dresser, and a pile of new, untouched books sits pristinely in the far right corner of the room. 

Books, books, and more books all over the room. And, a book in the hands of a girl sitting quietly in her bed, staring at Harry. 

Dressed in a hoodie and some fuzzy pj pants, the book that she’d once held up closely to her face now rests on her lap as she blinks up at this strange intruder. She sits upright, closing the book but sticking her finger between the pages so that she doesn’t lose her place. “Um… hi?” she says quietly. 

He steps into the room, and looks at her blankly. “Hi.” She blinks at him. “S’this room taken?” he asks.

“Um. Well,” she looks at him curiously. “No, I guess not.” 

“Okay, good,” he responds, quickly closing the door behind him. He sits on a spinny chair that he pulls out from under a desk and leans his head back, letting out a deep sigh of relief. 

The girl, with her finger still lodged between her book, stares at him confused. Who is this guy? 

He’s cute, and she’s mildly embarrassed that he’s come into her room when she’s looking so… sleepy. But he also seems kinda grumpy and is obviously not in the mood to talk. He’s leaning back in her chair and closing his eyes, gently rubbing his temples as if he’s meditating. 

She observes him with wide eyes. Then after a minute of silence she awkwardly picks her book back up and tries to resume reading. 

Kinda hard to do with some random guy sitting in her bedroom, though. 

In this secluded bedroom, the sound of the music has decreased dramatically. Harry’s pounding headache starts to fade away, and he feels himself start to relax for the first time since he arrived at this stupid party. He looks around the room that he so luckily stumbled into. 

The desk in front of him is, to no surprise, cluttered with more books. A laptop is plugged in in front of him, and there’s a cup full of colorful pens and markers sitting against the wall. Hanging on the wall is a string of pictures starring the same girl with different groups of people. 

He looks at the pictures hanging from the walls. Then he looks back at the girl laying in the bed. 

“S’this your room?” he asks, finally connecting the dots.

She looks up from the book again and nods. 

“Oh,” he hums, surprised. He supposes he should’ve realized it as soon as he walked in. Girl in a room full of books, reading a book. Face clean of all makeup, snuggled up in a blanket, nice and comfy as though she’s just about ready for bed. It’s a bit silly that he only made the connection once he saw her pictures up on the walls. “Why aren’t you out there partying?” 

“Um… not really my scene,” she says, closing the book and looking at Harry properly. Her nose scrunches up, “And it smells really bad in there.”

“Jesus, tell me about it,” he groans. “Could hardly breathe in there. In fact–” he says, already standing up, “d’ya mind if we open up a window? Still feels stuffy in here.” 

She shows no resistance as he slides the window open, accepting the fact that she’d be sharing her room with this stranger until the party was over. Harry sticks his head out and takes a deep breath of the cool, fresh air. Much better than the sweaty, smoky, sickly smell going on inside the apartment. 

When he turns back around, the girl has rearranged herself. She sits criss-crossed on her bed and looks up at Harry, fidgeting nervously with her lip bitten between her teeth. 

She’s kind of cute. 

Harry breaks the silence again. “I think your roommate is hooking up with my roommate right now.” 

“Oh.” She blinks. “Is your roommate Blake?” 

He nods.

“Yeah, Maddie’s been saying that she, um… you know,” she looks down at her hands as they play with a loose thread on the hem of her pants. “Wants to hook up with him or whatever.” 

He nods his head, leaning back against her wall with his arms crossed in front of his chest. As refreshing as the air is, the night time breeze is cold. 

“No offense,” he says, “But you don’t seem like you’d be friends with Maddie.” Maddie (y/n’s roommate) has jet black hair, wears heavy eyeliner and black lipstick everyday, and is at least a little bit high 90% of the time. Y/n, in comparison, has flowery bed sheets, a stuffed bunny tucked in next to her, and is hiding in her bedroom while a party being thrown in her own apartment. 

She just smiles softly. “Yeah, we met online. But she’s really nice.” 

He raises his eyebrow. “She seems like a bitch.” 

She defends her roommate immediately. “She’s not a bitch!” But then she thinks about it for a second. Maddie can definitely come off a bit… harsh at times. “Well… she’s usually really nice to me, at least.” 

That makes sense. It would be very hard to be mean to this girl, he imagines. She’s too nice. It would be like being mean to a puppy or something. 

Good thing Harry isn’t mean. He’s just… a bit of a grump. 

She taps her fingers against the cover of her book awkwardly, staring at Harry as he looks up to her ceiling and closes his eyes. He just wants to be in his bed right now. 

After a few more minutes of silence, Harry pushes himself off the wall. “I think Blake should be done,” he says, checking the time on his phone. “I’m going to leave now.” 

“Okay,” says the girl quietly. She watches as he leaves with a nod of his head, and shuts the door behind him. 

That was weird, she thinks. 

Whatever, though. She opens her book and forgets about it. 

+++

Don’t people say that drowsy driving is just as bad as drunk driving? What constitutes drowsy driving? Should y/n even be out on the road right now?

She doesn’t know. All she knows is that Maddie woke her up with a phone call at 2 AM, asking if y/n would come pick her up from Blake’s apartment cause she was too high to get back on her own and she doesn’t want to stay the night there. 

Y/n, being the sweetheart that she is, obviously wants her roommate to get back safe. So she’s in her car, at 2 AM, yawning every three seconds as she drives to the location Maddie sent her.

She texts Maddie from the car, but Maddie doesn’t respond. She calls her, then sends another text, but still no answer. After 10 minutes of no response, she goes up to the door and knocks. 

Maddie doesn’t answer. Instead, it’s Harry.

His eyebrows furrow as recognizes the girl from that party he’d been at two weeks ago. She looks just as comfortable as she did then, in a big pink hoodie and a pair of sweats. “What are you doing here?” he asks, his voice confused and his eyes doubting. Not many people come knocking at his door at 2 AM.

Unlike y/n, who looks like she just rolled out of bed and drove here (that is exactly what she did), Harry looks like he’s been up all night (he’s been playing COD). He’s not wearing a shirt and has a pair of sweats slung low on his hips, showing off a chiseled abdomen that acts as a canvas for a multitude of pretty tattoos. Y/n finds herself staring at the swallows that lie under his collarbones, the butterfly painted above his stomach, and the ferns lining a yummy pair of v-lines that point downwards… she swallows thickly and forces herself to look away. 

“Um,” she covers her mouth as she yawns, hiding her cold fingers with the sleeves of her hoodie, “Maddie needed me to drive her home.” She blinks sleepily, and can’t even bring herself to be embarrassed that she looks so dead.

“It’s 2 in the morning,” he scoffs. “Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

She blinks sleepily again. “I was.” 

Harry rolls his eyes. If it were him, he would not have gotten up and driven all the way over here. Someone else’s problems are not enough to get him out of bed. But, this girl… she’s too nice. 

He leaves her at the door and goes to Blake’s room, pounding on the door rudely. “Hey!” he yells, irritation evident in his tone, “your roommate’s here.” 

He hears a bit of shuffling, before Maddie stumbles out of Blake’s room, makeup askew and clothing only half on. She giggles up at Harry and apologizes playfully, but he just glares at her. Her eyes are glazed over and the whites of her eyes bloodshot, very obviously high if the way she couldn’t walk straight wasn’t enough of an indication. 

He feels bad for the stupid girl who drove all the way over here in the middle of the night because her roommate wanted to get high.

Maddie trips over her own feet and falls into y/n, who uses all of her strength to keep her roommate upright and walks her slowly down to the car. “Are you feeling okay?” Harry hears her ask quietly. He scoffs to himself.

He doesn’t get it. How the fuck has this girl not lost her shit? Her irresponsible roommate woke her up at 2 am and made her drive all the way to some stranger’s house, and yet she still manages to be so… gentle. So kind, to someone who barely even deserves it. So caring, to someone who seems to care so little. 

As y/n helps Maddie get into the car, she looks back up to the apartment and sees Harry watching them from the doorstep. They make eye contact for a few seconds, his eyebrows furrowed as he leans against the doorframe. His gaze makes her heart stutter, a chill running down her spine. He looks… upset. Almost like he’s mad at her.

It makes her frown. She wants to say something to him, apologize for ruining his night… but then Maddie sticks her head out of the car and vomits. 

Harry shakes his head and turns away. 

That girl is too nice for her own good. 

+++

“Hey.” Blake pokes his head into Harry’s room, where Harry’s busy playing a round on his computer, “Do you mind if Maddie and her friend come over?”

“Don’t care,” Harry mumbles, uninterested, not looking away from his game. 

“Sick,” he turns around to go back into his own room, but stops when Harry suddenly pauses his game and calls out to him.

“Who’s the friend?” Harry asks, turning around. 

“Y/n,” Blake answers. Harry stares at him, his brows furrowed. The name doesn’t ring a bell. “Her roommate.” 

“That quiet girl?” Harry clarifies.

“Yeah, that one.” 

Oh. So her name was y/n. 

Good to know. 

+++

It’s dark out when Harry finally turns off his game, sliding his headset off and stretching his back. He lets out a long groan as he feels his spine crack, a delicious feeling after being hunched over his controller for three hours straight. 

Standing up, he scratches at his stomach lazily, throwing his headset onto his chair. His arms feel a bit sore, having been to the gym earlier that day, and his hair is still wet from when he showered. He puts on a sweatshirt, finding his apartment too cold to be roaming around shirtless, and heads to the kitchen to find something to eat. 

He stops in his tracks when he finds y/n sitting in his living room all alone. 

She’s got a book in her hands, a thick, worn-out novel that looks older than herself. She’s sitting comfortably on their couch with her legs tucked underneath her butt, so engulfed in whatever she’s reading that she doesn’t even realize that she’s not alone anymore. 

It’s the first time he’s ever seen her outside of her sleep attire. She’s wearing a pair of loose, comfy looking corduroy pants, and a tight top that cuts off just below her ribs. Her chest rises and falls steadily, eyes skimming across the pages of her book so quickly that he wonders if she’s actually absorbing any of the words or not. She chews on her lip as she reads, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. 

When Harry finally speaks, it makes her jump in her place. “Where are Blake and Maddie?”

Her book nearly falls out of her hands as she whips her head around. When she sees it’s him, she relaxes. “Oh. Um,”  she sits upright, closing her book, “They’re in his room.”

He nods slowly, squinting his eyes. There’s no nice way to ask his next question, so he just spits it out bluntly. “Why’d you come over if you’re just sitting out here while they hook up?” 

She tucks her hair behind her ear nervously, feeling a little shy under his intimidating gaze. “Maddie was my ride to campus today. And she wanted to stop by here before we went home.” She shrugs quietly, “So I kinda had no choice.”

He huffs. Of course. 

Y/n says that Maddie’s nice, but Harry really doesn’t like her. How weird is it to drag your friend somewhere just to have them sit alone while you go hook up with someone? 

“How long have you guys been here?” he asks.

“Like, an hour.”

“So you’ve been sitting around doing nothing for an hour?”

She pouts. “I had my book.”

He blinks. She just sat here reading for an hour, while her roommate abandoned her to go hookup with Blake… and she’s okay with it? 

She is too nice for her own good. 

“Do y’want some pizza?” he asks, already opening the freezer.

Normally, y/n would say no. She’s kind of an unwelcome guest and she doesn’t want to be a burden on Harry. But… she hasn’t had anything since breakfast. And Maddie still hasn’t come out. She’s kind of starving.

“What kind?” she asks politely.

“Umm… cheese or pepperoni.” 

“I don’t like pepperoni,” she confesses shyly. “But also I could just pick it off if you want pepperoni. Whatever you want.” 

He rolls his eyes, shoving the pepperoni pizza back into the freezer. He wants to scream at her to stop being so nice! Stop being so considerate and just say what you want!

He puts it in the oven to bake, setting a timer for 15 minutes, then takes a moment to contemplate his next move. He could either go back into his room, where he could lie in bed and nap until the pizza was ready… or he could stay in here and sit awkwardly on the couch so that y/n wouldn’t be all alone. 

99% of him wants to just go back into his room where he can be grumpy and alone in peace… but then he looks over at y/n, who’s sitting on the couch all by herself. She looks so uncomfortable and out of place, tracing her thumb over the raised up font on the hardcover in her hands.

The 1% of him that feels bad for her wins. He sits down next to her on the couch. 

He nods his head towards the worn out book, which looks thicker than anything he’s ever read. “Are you reading the fuckin’ bible?” 

“No,” she shakes her head, laughing to herself quietly. She runs her fingers over the grooves of the title, a feeling so familiar that it comforts her when she’s feeling so out of place. “It’s Wuthering Heights.” 

He furrows his brow. “Never heard of it.” 

“It’s good,” she says. “Kinda dense, but I’ve already read it a few times. It’s one of my favorites.” 

He nods again, tapping his fingers on his thighs as silence overtakes the apartment once more. He looks around the living room, trying to find something else to say. 

Y/n’s heart pitter patters in her chest nervously. She can’t help but feel a bit nervous around Harry. She’s pretty shy in general, and Harry’s stoic demeanor certainly doesn’t help her relax. Her voice is quiet as she asks, “Um… what’s your major?” A feeble attempt on her end at a conversation. 

“Math.” 

“Just math?” she parrots.

“Mhm,” he cracks his knuckles. “Pure math.” 

She huffs out a quiet breath, a pout on her lips. “I’m in a math class right now.” Her fingers pick at a piece of fuzz that’s stuck on the couch. “Calc 1. It’s really hard.”

“Mm, yeah.” Harry hums, “Took that during my first year.” 

She looks at him with wide eyes, “Did you pass?” 

He holds back a smile. It’s amusing, how earnestly she’s asking him – a math major – if he passed Calculus 1. That class was generally easy for him, mostly just beginner stuff compared to the math he does now that he’s in his third year. But he doesn’t say that. “Yeah, I did,” he says simply, not wanting to make her feel bad.

She nods, looking back down at her book. “I’m kinda scared. Our first midterm was really hard.” 

He hums sympathetically. Even though it was easy for him, he knows that calc class is infamously hard for others – especially for those who aren’t math inclined like himself. “How about you? What’s your major?” 

His legs are spread apart so that he takes up nearly half the couch, whereas y/n sits curled up on the other corner, trying to take up as little space as possible. “Bio,” she readjusts herself so that she’s sitting crisscrossed, her book still clutched to her chest protectively. “With a concentration in ecology.” 

Ew. He hates biology. Actually… he hates everything except math. Math is easy for him. 

The oven beeps. A rush of relief fills his chest, finally free from this awkward conversation, and he eagerly abandons y/n on the couch to get the pizza out. He’s hungry, starving, and doesn’t bother with a plate or anything before grabbing a slice and shoving it in his mouth. 

“Come have some,” he mumbles, mouth full.

She timidly walks over to the kitchen counter that he’s standing at, wiping her sweaty hands on her pants, and takes a slice as well. Blowing on it, she takes a much smaller bite than Harry did since it’s still so hot. She doesn’t know how he managed to already finish a whole slice. 

Now that they can focus on eating their food, there’s no need for any more small talk. They eat comfortably in silence, only acknowledging each other when y/n asks for a napkin. He nods towards one of the drawers, asking her to grab him one too, and then they’re back to eating in silence. 

Blake and Maddie burst out of his room a few minutes later.

“Harry made dinner!” exclaims Blake, coming over and reaching for a slice of pizza. 

Harry yanks the tray out of his reach. “Get your own pizza,” he mumbles, putting the pizza back down in front of y/n. He looks at her, and nods his head towards the pizza, inviting her to take another slice. 

Maddie stops her before she can reach for a second slice. “Ready to go?” she asks. 

Y/n nods, wiping her hands on a napkin. “Thanks for the pizza,” she whispers to Harry, quiet enough so that only he hears. 

“Yeah,” is all he says. He barely looks at her, too busy scarfing down his third (maybe fourth) slice. 

She grabs her stuff and follows Maddie out of the boys apartment. 

+++

“Hey!” Maddie pushes her way through the stuffed apartment, reaching her hand out towards y/n. “Listen, I’m gonna go home with Blake.”

“W-What?” Y/n’s head is foggy, her brain a little clouded from the few drinks that she’s had. Y/n doesn’t normally drink, so the little bit of alcohol in her system has had its intended effect and gone a bit further as well – her cheeks are warm, and she feels the world sway a little bit as she looks up at Maddie with a pout. “But– but what about me?”

Normally, y/n stays home whenever Maddie wants to go out and party. She prefers the comfort of her own bed and hates the anxiety she feels when she’s drunk and wobbly and surrounded by a bunch of strangers. But Maddie had assured her that they’d be together all night, that she’d take care of her if she got drunk, and that she’d drive them home whenever y/n wanted to leave.

She’s broken all three of those promises. 

When they got to the party, Maddie abandoned her as soon as she saw Blake across the room. Luckily, y/n saw some of her own friends that she was able to hang out with, some girls from her ecology class who gave her a yummy strawberry smirnoff. They talked and laughed and y/n was having a good time, slowly but surely getting a little bit tipsy. The drink was so yummy, and Maddie wasn’t there to keep an eye on her, so she didn’t realize that she’d gone a bit over her tolerance. 

She’s a bit tipsier than she’d like to be in a public setting, surrounded with people she doesn’t know, and it’s too dark outside for her to get home safely on her own. And now… Maddie wants to abandon her? For Blake? 

“Don’t worry!” Maddie exclaims, completely disregarding the worry flickering in y/n’s glazed eyes. “I’ll order you an uber home!” 

Y/n bites her lip nervously. An uber? At this time of night, when she’s all drunk and stumbling around like a sad little baby deer?

“Um… can’t you take me home before you go with Blake?” 

Maddie rolls her eyes, “come on, really? I’ll pay for the uber. It'll be fine.” 

Y/n’s heart beats loudly in her chest, “I-I’m scared of going by myself, Maddie. I think I had too much to drink, I don’t feel safe.”

Her roommate purses her lips in a firm line, as if she’s annoyed. She looks around the apartment, tapping her foot impatiently, then she lights up with an idea. “Stay here,” she tells y/n. 

“Harry!” Maddie calls out, making her way back to the other side of the apartment. “Hey, Harry!” 

He’s sitting on a couch, next to a pretty girl in a tight black dress who has her legs splayed across his lap comfortably. There’s a furrow in his brow that makes him look pissed off, but his hand rests very comfortably on this girl's thigh and he makes no objections as she plays with the collar of his shirt. His head whips over to Maddie as she tramples her way over to him.

“What is it?” he snaps, voice closed off and irritated. 

“Can you drive y/n home?” 

He blinks. “Huh?” 

“Can you drive y/n home??” she says again, frustrated.

“Why?” 

“Cause I’m going over to your apartment with Blake and she needs a ride home.” 

He stares at Maddie unbelievingly, and peers over at y/n, who’s sitting all alone on the other side of the apartment. Her lips are pouted sadly, staring down at the floor with a far off look in her eyes. 

“Why can’t you take her home?” he grumbles, looking up at Maddie with a glare in his eye.

She huffs, impatiently stomping her foot. “Cause I’m going home with Blake right now! Come on Harry, it’s not that far! Please?” 

He shakes his head. “Fuckin’ unbelieveable,” he mutters under his breath, pushing the girl off of him as he stands up. 

“Thank you,” she sighs, dragging him behind her. “Y/n,” Maddie says, stopping in front of her. “Harry’s gonna drive you home.” 

She looks up, eyes wide and round. “H-Harry?”

“Yes,” she says harshly, “you guys are friends, aren’t you?”

“Um…” y/n doesn’t know what to say. She wouldn’t necessarily consider them friends just because they shared a pizza. 

Her night out with Maddie was meant to be fun, but right now, she just feels abandoned and kinda scared. And Harry doesn’t seem too happy about this either, which makes her feel even worse.

“Lets go,” he snaps, jaw clenching tightly as he swings his car keys around his index finger. She flinches at his tone and digs her nails into her palms nervously. 

She’s trapped. It’s either Harry takes her home, or she takes an uber all by herself. And she’s too scared to get home alone right now. 

With a final look towards Maddie, who stares back at her dismissively and shoos her towards Harry, she stands up shakily and follows Harry out of the crowded apartment. 

The air outside is much colder than the apartment, goosebumps immediately rising on y/n’s skin and making her shiver. Harry doesn’t acknowledge the way she stumbles over her feet, walking ahead of her briskly. She’s forced to keep herself composed, wrapping her arms around herself to keep warm and nearly jogging to keep up with Harry’s long strides. 

He unlocks his car doors and gets into the driver’s seat. Y/n opens the passenger’s side door for herself and takes a seat, buckling herself in quietly.

Turning on the car, he notices the way her arms are tightly crossed in front of her chest. He turns up the heat, and pulls out of the parking lot. 

They play no music and say nothing, driving in silence.

“Sorry you have to drive me home,” she says faintly after a few minutes. 

His turn signal blinks softly. “Can’t believe your roommate just left you,” he mutters irritatedly. 

She says nothing in response. She stares out the window, a lump in her throat as the drive past the streets of college houses and apartments. The red light they stop at and the name of the streets go blurry from the tears gathering at her waterline. She sniffles softly.

Harry whips his head to her. “Why are you crying?”

Her lower lip wobbles as the first tear falls from her lashes. She wipes it away quickly. “I don’t know,” is all she says with a watery voice.

He stares at her befuddled, brows furrowed and eyes a piercing green, but she refuses to meet his gaze. She just looks outside the window in a melancholy haze, lost in thought, eyes unfocused as tears drip down her face silently. 

He sighs deeply and taps his fingers against the steering wheel, praying for the red light to turn green so that he can get this girl home as soon as possible. 

+++

When they arrive at her place, he sits in his car and watches as she stumbles up the steps of her apartment. She mumbled out a soft thank you through her tears and managed to climb out of his car smoothly, but the way she wobbles on her feet makes Harry worry that he shouldn’t leave until he’s sure she got in.

She stands in front of her door for a solid two minutes, trying to find her keys, and Harry taps his fingers against his thigh impatiently. When she finally finds them, she struggles to fit the key in the lock, hands shaky and her vision still blurred from the tears. Aaaand then she drops them. 

Harry sighs and puts the car in park. By the time she’s picked the keys back up, Harry’s already gotten out of his car and reached the top step. He takes the keys from her and easily unlocks her door. “In,” he mutters, ushering her into her apartment impatiently. 

He follows her into her bathroom and turns the light on for her. Their eyes meet in the mirror as he asks, “can you get yourself ready for bed?”

She nods, looking down at the ground sheepishly as he leaves her to take off her makeup and brush her teeth. She opts to skip her skincare routine and doesn’t even bother with putting her jewelry back in her jewelry box, simply just leaving her earrings on her bathroom counter to deal with tomorrow. 

Harry’s probably gone back down to his car by now, she thinks. It’s so embarrassing, how he had to drive her home and guide her into her bathroom. He seemed annoyed with her. He probably thought she was so messy – an annoying, overdramatic girl who started crying in his car for no reason. 

More tears bubble in her tears as the hot wave of embarrassment washes over her. She was such a mess, of course she’s never been in a relationship. Nobody would want to date someone like her. 

She takes off her clothes and whips off her bra, sniffling to herself sadly. Slipping on her favorite sweatshirt, a huge pink one that goes down to her mid thighs and covers her hands, she uses the sleeves to wipe away the excess tears in her eyes. She stumbles over herself a bit and bangs her foot against her dresser as she reaches for a pair of sleep shorts and it only makes her want to cry even harder. Drunk y/n is extra emotional, and every little thing is sending over the edge. 

As she’s stepping into her pair of sleep shorts, her bedroom door opens, Harry walking in with a glass of water in one hand and a pill bottle in the other. She trips over herself as she tries to pull her clothes on as soon as possible, but it just makes her lose balance and stumble to the side. His eyes widen and he turns around quickly, muttering a quick fuck to himself. 

“Sorry,” he mutters. “Are you decent?”

Y/n regains her composure, cheeks burning as she pulls her shorts over her hips. This night could not be going any worse. “Yeah,” she says quietly. She hopes it’s dark enough in the room so that he doesn’t see her flaming cheeks and puffy eyes. 

He turns around and hands her the water, which she immediately starts chugging down. She didn’t realize how thirsty she’d been until she’d seen the glass in Harry’s large, tattooed hand. 

“Slow down,” he grunts. He pops open the pill bottle and takes out one Advil for her. “Take this.” 

She grabs the pill from him obediently and swallows it down with the rest of her water. Then she looks up at him, as if waiting for his next instructions. 

“Bed,” he says, nodding his head towards her daisy printed sheets. She goes to climb in but trips over her shoe that she’d messily discarded on the floor. Harry grabs her waist before she can fall to the floor though. 

“Jesus,” he murmurs. This was like the seventh time she’s almost fallen over tonight. Is she always this clumsy or was it the drinks? 

He grabs her hand and physically guides her into her bed, making sure she lays down properly and lifting the sheets for her to climb under. Grabbing her ankle, he literally has to guide her under the blanket, then lets the duvet fall over her gracefully. 

“All good?” he asks, once she’s tucked nicely into her bed, teeth brushed and medicine taken so that she wouldn’t wake up feeling gross tomorrow. 

She looks up at him, eyes no longer tear filled but still clearly sad. “Yeah..” she says quietly, however her eyes flicker around her room as if she’s searching for something. 

He furrows his brows, and glances in the direction her eyes have landed. A stuffed bunny lies on the floor next to the shoe that she tripped over. He bends over and picks it up, handing it to her questioningly. She takes the bunny and snuggles it into her neck, eyes fluttering as if she can finally relax. “Thanks,” she whispers. 

Harry nods curtly and heads for the door. When he turns around one final, y/n is watching him with sleepy eyes. “Bye, Harry,” she squeaks out. 

He stares at her for a second. “Bye.” Then he closes the door behind himself.

+++

Y/n wakes up with a pounding headache and an upset tummy.

That was mortifying. 

She’s never gonna be able to face Harry again. He was so annoyed with her, she just knows it! The way she dragged him away from that party, cried in his car, and tripped over herself like a stupid goat with clanky legs… oh, he probably thinks she’s the worst! 

She wishes she had more control over her emotions, that she could’ve held in the tears until she was alone in her bed… but she just felt so miserable last night. She had wanted to start crying literally when Maddie first yelled at her at the party, but she tried to stay strong. Kept herself together so that she at least didn’t start crying in the middle of a party.

But then… getting in the car with Harry. God. The deafening silence, the irritation radiating off of him… it made her feel terrible. She felt like a nuisance, like an annoyance and a burden. 

And she completely humiliated herself in front of Harry! The cute guy that she maybe sort of had started to have a tiny little crush on, simply because he was cute and mildly nice to her and she has a habit of romanticizing small interactions.  

There was no chance he’d ever want to be in a room with her after this. He probably wants nothing to do with her. 

She stumbles out of her bed and plants her feet on the ground, her head spinning a little bit as she squints her eyes. Her little stuffed bunny has fallen onto the floor again, and she picks it up and places it onto the bed next to herself. She remembers how Harry had picked the bunny up and given it to her before she fell asleep last night, like she was some little kid that he was stuck babysitting. 

Ugh. She’s never going to talk to him again. 

+++

Harry stands outside of his lecture hall, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed angrily. His eyebrows are furrowed in classic Grumpy Harry fashion and his lips are pursed in a disgruntled frown. 

He’s annoyed. 

He stares at y/n, who’s sitting on a bench not too far away. Her tote bag sits on the floor next to her feet and there’s a book in her hand, her finger in between the pages as a temporary bookmark to not lose the page she’s on. 

There’s something about her that just… annoys him so much. He can’t quite explain it.

The way her cheeks dimple as she smiles up at the guy talking to her, tucking her hair behind her ear gently when it falls into her face… it makes his jaw clench angrily as he watches her from a distance. She’s so nice. Too nice. 

She laughs at something the guy she’s talking to says and it makes his stomach feel sour. He doesn’t like it.

Blake’s hand snaps in front of Harry’s face. “Bro. Stop staring.” 

Harry forces his eyes to look away, brows still furrowed grumpily. “Wasn’t staring,” he mumbles, pushing himself off the wall and going into the lecture hall. 

“You were,” he responds, following closely behind. “She’s really nice… I dunno why you hate her.”

“Who says I hate her?” Harry scoffs. “I never talk to her.” Especially as of late, she’s quiet as a mouse around him. He was over at her apartment to pick Blake up the other day and she’d only said a quiet “hi” before scurrying back into her room, like a scared little bunny in the presence of a snake or something. 

“Well… I mean, you could be nicer.”

Harry furrows his brows. “What do you mean?”

Blake hesitates. “Like… I dunno. Maddie says you made her cry.” 

“Huh?” He thinks back to that night… “How was that my fault?” All he’d done was driven her home and tucked her into bed? She just started crying on her own!

“She’s just kind of sensitive,” says Blake. “I know you probably weren’t trying to mean, but you’re definitely not sunshine and rainbows. You’re scary, did y’know that?”

Harry rolls his eyes. Everyone seems to have this preconceived notion that Harry's this huge dick who never smiles… and though it’s true that he rarely smiles in the presence of strangers, he’s not an asshole! He just doesn’t feel like wasting his energy in pretending to like people he doesn’t actually like. Or smile when it’s much more comfortable to furrow his brows and pout grumpily. 

And he finds that usually his grumpy demeanor works in his favor – people stay out of his way, and he gets to avoid the headache that comes with interacting with people. But now this girl… this sunshine girl who always has her nose in a little book and always says please and thank you and is nice to everyone and stumbles over herself like a little puppy who's learning how to walk… she’s gone on and made him feel bad about it. 

How annoying is that? To have the nicest person on the planet think you’re scary?  

“I wasn’t trying to make her cry,” he mutters, irritated. “I didn’t even say anything to her.”

“Well maybe that’s the problem. Like… just try. I think you’ll like her.”

He doesn’t think so. She’s too nice. They probably wouldn’t get along. 

+++

There are three things y/n does a lot.

The first is studying. Her grades come first, always. She’ll be at the library for hours at a time, snuggled up in a booth with an iced coffee and her color coded notes, studying until she can barely keep her eyes open. It’s unhealthy, and she really should take breaks more often… but she just gets really nervous about her grades! 

She’s used to being at the top of her class, and has always been a straight A student.  But recently, she’s been struggling. She’s doing fine in her chemistry class, and absolutely thriving in biology. But calculus… calculus is her worst enemy.

The second thing she does a lot is reading. She’s been a bookworm for as long as she can remember. Her most frequent genre is romance (obviously!), but she’ll dabble a little bit in the popular fantasy series, maybe pick up a thriller every once in a while. And if she’s feeling sophisticated, she’ll try to read one of the classics… something philosophical, like Camus, or maybe something a little heavier, like War and Peace. But those situations are rare. She prefers her little world of romance.

The third thing that y/n does a lot… is cry. 

She’ll cry if she watches a sad movie, she’ll cry over a sad book. She cried when Finnick died in The Hunger Games, and she cried when she finished Of Mice and Men. She cries every single time she watches Pride and Prejudice (2005), sobs her eyes out when Mr. Darcy says, “You have bewitched me, body and soul, and I love- I love- I love you.”

She cries if someone yells at her, and she cries if she thinks someone doesn’t like her. She cries almost every time she’s drunk (example: when Harry drove her home), and she cries in the middle of the night when she’s feeling homesick. She cries for no reason when she’s getting close to her period… and sometimes, she cries because she’s just lonely.

Now, you might be thinking… y/n sounds super annoying. But please don’t think that! That would also probably make her cry.

She’s just a tad bit sensitive! She has so many emotions in her little heart, and she’s trying so hard to be responsible and manage life as a young adult but at the end of the day she’s just a girl!!! She’s just a girl, and she’s tired and stressed out and lonely and touch deprived, and sometimes she has a hard time keeping everything together so she just… cries.

If she could control it, she would! Do you really think she wants to be crying in the library? Of course, not! It’s embarrassing, and she’s trying really hard to keep her sniffles quiet and to suck the tears back into her eyeballs… but when she’s sad, she can’t stop the tears.

So now she’s crying in the library. And it’s all because of Issac Newton.

Why did he have to invent calculus? Like, what was even the point? Why did she, as a girl studying ecology, have to take this stupid class?

She buries her face in her arms, the tears unstoppable at this point, and just hopes that anyone walking past will think she’s napping and not crying her eyes out. 

She’d studied really hard for that last midterm. Like– she’d literally been in the library for a week straight, just doing calculus problems over and over again. She went to office hours to get help on all the questions she was stuck on, and was watching the Organic Chemistry Tutor’s videos religiously. She did so much math that she was literally having dreams about doing calculus. 

And yet, even with all of her studying, she still managed to fail the midterm. Like… she seriously failed it. As in, if she doesn’t get an A on the final, she will literally have to retake the class.

She’s so sad. She’s never gotten a grade this low, ever in her life. And she’d tried so hard!!! The morning of the midterm, she’d actually felt confident! She thought she had it in the bag!

She was so, so wrong. 

She feels stupid – not just because she failed the midterm, but because she’s literally having a breakdown about it in the library. 

This is stupid. Everything is stupid. School is stupid, Issac Newton is stupid, calculus is stupid–

“Y/n?” 

Uh oh. She tries to wipe away her tears discreetly, licking her lips and clearing her throat and desperately hoping that it’s not obvious that she’s been crying. 

When she lifts her head, she finds Harry standing in front of her. “Why’re you crying?” he asks bluntly, looking down at her with his brows furrowed.

Ok. So it is obvious.

“Um,” she sniffles, “Hi Harry.” She hopes that maybe if she pretends like everything is fine, then he won’t pry any further. 

It doesn’t work.

“Why are you crying?” he asks again. There’s not much compassion or comfort in his voice. Same old grumpy Harry, so blank and impassive. 

She shrugs her shoulders, feeling small and embarrassed. “I– it’s silly,” she stammers, looking down at her fingers. 

Harry doesn’t say anything, staring at her and waiting for her to continue. 

She swallows thickly. “I failed my midterm,” she whispers, her voice catching as a new lump grows in her throat. 

“How bad?”

One lone tear falls down her face as she shakes her head disappointedly, which she wipes away quickly. “Really bad,” she whimpers. Her cheeks burn hot as she realizes that she can’t hold back the tears any longer. She quickly averts her eyes from him, staring into her lap and hoping that he can’t see her face.

This is the second time he’s seen her cry, which is two times more than she would like. He probably thinks she’s some silly, over emotional girl… probably thinks she’s so annoying. She just wants to curl up in a ball, hide in a dark hole and cry by herself. She can’t handle Harry’s judgment on top of her shitty midterm grade.  

He stands there silently for a moment. Her lower lip has pouted out cutely and he can hear her sniffling quietly. “Was it math?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” she grumbles sadly. Stupid math. 

He hums. After another tense moment he asks, “Do you want help?”

“Help with what?” She stares down at her fingers, her tone dejected. The happy glimmer that usually sparkles in her eye is gone. 

“With math,” he clarifies. “I can help you.”

She looks up at him curiously, still pouting. “You’d help me with math?”

He nods, pulling out the chair next to her. “Let me see your midterm,” he says, nodding his head towards the packet of math problems she’d just been sobbing over. Embarrassingly, the front page is stained with a few tears, but she hands it over nonetheless. 

He scans over the first page quickly, reading the question and seeing how she answered it. “Do you know why you got this one wrong?” 

She sniffles and shrugs. She hadn’t even tried to look over the questions, too mentally exhausted to even try and understand what mistakes she’d made. 

“Look. You tried to cancel out the tan3x, which would make sense in any other case… but since it’s to the power of 4 you could really easily have used integration by parts.”

“Wish I knew that before I took the fucking midterm,” she huffs.

“Hey,” he tsks. “Learn from your mistakes so that you don’t make them again. You need to know this stuff to do integral tests later.”

She shakes her head. “I tried so hard, Harry,” she barely whispers, her voice exhausted. “Like I studied so much, and I really really tried to make it all make sense. But it’s just so hard for me.” She sniffles and wipes away more tears, taking a shaky breath and looking away from Harry. 

She doesn’t want to try anymore. She just wants to give up.

He purses his lips, brows furrowed. There’s something about seeing y/n upset that just feels so wrong. She usually brings so much… light into a room. Seeing her cry makes it seem like the entire universe has gotten a little sadder. 

“You’ve got the right idea when you’re solving these…” he tries to comfort her (though he’s never really been good at comforting people), “It’s just little things that you’re doing wrong. And it’s probably because you’ve got a shit professor who just has you copy down problems.”

“That’s literally all we do!” she whines, not even caring if she sounds like a baby. “He does the problems so fast and then I have to go home and try and figure out how he did it all by myself!” She sniffles and puts her head in her hands, more tears dropping from her eyelashes. She’s exhausted, her head starting to hurt as she exhales a shuddery breath. 

He lets her cry a little bit. “Listen,” he says gently, turning to face her. The normal furrow in his brow is gone, his gaze a little bit softer. “Next time you come over with Maddie, bring your notes and we can go over them together, okay?”

She sniffles. “Seriously?”

“Yes.” 

“Like actually?”

“Yes,” he says again exasperatedly, rolling his eyes. He stands up from the table and puts her midterm back down in front of her. “Lighten up, sunshine. One bad score is not the end of the world.” 

She feels a bit silly now that Harry’s witnessed her having another breakdown in the library. But, despite how little he said… he actually helped her calm down. This was not the end of the world. 

“Okay,” she whispers, “thanks, Harry.” 

He nods and walks away. 

Maybe he doesn’t hate her, she thinks to herself. 

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“I’m going out,” Maddie says as she walks into the kitchen, discarding her half full coffee mug on the counter as she grabs her car keys from the hook in front of the door. 

“Your mug!” y/n tuts like a mother. Maddie rolls her eyes as she pours the last of her coffee down the sink and puts the mug in the dishwasher. Y/n ignores the dramatic eye roll, knowing that Maddie’s just playing around, and asks, “Where are you going?”

“Over to Blake’s,” she responds with a wink. She’s been telling y/n about how she’s been waiting for Blake to text her all week because she doesn’t want to be the one texting first all the time… weird situation-ship stuff that y/n’s never experienced before. Seems like he finally texted her, with how excited Maddie is to be going over. 

Just as Maddie is about to step out the door, y/n remembers Harry’s offer. He’d been serious, right? He hadn’t just said that because she was crying… right? She really hopes not, because she really could use his help. She’d been up for hours last night, trying to do the homework, but ultimately giving up because she got too frustrated with herself. Maybe… maybe he’d be able to help her?

“Wait!” y/n calls out, “Um… can I come with you?”

Maddie raises an eyebrow, “Why do you want to come over to Blake’s apartment?”

Y/n turns a bit shy, “Harry… he’s, um, helping me with math.”

“Harry?” Maddie’s eyes glimmer curiously. “He’s literally such a dick. He’s helping you?”

“He’s not that bad…” y/n mumbles, remembering the ounce of kindness he’d shown to her in the library the other day. He’s just a little bit… reserved, she’s started to realize.

“Please. He literally never smiles. I dunno how you got him to talk to you, he always ignores me when I’m over.” 

(Honestly, she doesn’t blame Harry for not talking to Maddie… she sometimes ignores Maddie in her own apartment too…)

“You have two minutes to meet me in the car or I’m leaving without you!”

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With her schoolbag in hand, y/n taps lightly on Harry’s door. Blake had told her to just go in, but she feels like that’s rude, so she stands in front of his door nervously and waits patiently for him to open. 

“What?” he grunts, opening his bedroom door. “Oh.” The furrow in his brow softens the slightest bit when he sees it’s y/n. He’d thought it was Blake bugging him about something. Y/n is a much… nicer surprise. 

“Hi,” she says, chewing on the inside of her lip nervously. “I was wondering if… um, you could help me out with my calc stuff?” 

He stares at her for a second, then says, “yeah.” 

He opens the door wider and she follows him in. His room is messy, but not gross. The bed is unmade, three half full water bottles on his nightstand, and there’s a pair of sweatpants on the floor… but at least it doesn’t stink!

His computer screen is paused mid-game, and she realizes that he’d still been holding his controller when he’d opened up the door for her. He throws a jacket that had been thrown on the back of his chair onto the bed, and motions for her to sit. Then he pulls up another chair that was sitting in the corner of his room to sit next to her. 

“Let’s see it,” he says, shutting down his computer. 

“So…” she takes her laptop out of her bag, setting it down on his desk and turning it on so that she can open up her homework assignment. While it loads, she unlocks her ipad to the scratch work she’d done last night. “I was trying to do the homework last night, and I think I’m supposed to be doing integration by parts but honestly I’m not even sure how to do that… so I’m kind of lost.” 

Harry leans over her ipad and looks at the work she’d done. It’s… wrong. 

“Can I see your notes for integration by parts?” He asks, trying to figure out how she ended up with 1 as her answer when it should be a much larger, much more complicated mix of trig and integrals. She scrolls up until she lands on a page titled Chapter 7, and points to the second example on the problem. Her notes are cute, written in pink with girlish, bubbly handwriting. However, it’s clear that she’d been struggling to keep up with the lecture, some of her work completely scribbled out and replaced with messy numbers and formulas. Next to one of the big portions of scribbled out math, she's written “WHAT???” along with a sad face doodled underneath it.

Clearly she’s a bit confused. 

“Okay…” he scrolls down to a new page in her digital notebook and copies down the example problem that had confused her. “Let me show you how you do integration by parts first, and then we’ll look at the homework problem, okay?”

“M’kay,” she hums compliantly, crossing her legs and hiding her hands in her sleeves. She feels a bit… nervous. She doesn’t want Harry to think she’s stupid. But she’d rather have her ego a little bruised than fail the next midterm too. 

“So… you do integration by parts when you can’t just do normal integration… usually if there’s e^x in there or a natural log then you know that you have to do integration by parts.” 

She nods, following along quietly. 

“In this one… you have x times e^x dx… you have to break it up into two parts, U and dV. And then you take the derivative of U and find the integral of dV. And you plug that into the formula. Do you know the formula?”

She blinks at him. “Um…” she shuffles through her notes and finds it. “It’s this.” 

“Good… so what you do is you assign x to either U or dV and then e^x(dx) to the other… and then you find dU and V based off of that. Should we make x be U or dV?”

She purses her lips, “Make x=U?”

“Yes…” he nods. “Do you know why?” 

She shrugs. “I guessed.” 

His lip quirks up in the first smile y/n’s ever seen from him, a slight dimple popping up in his cheek. “S’cos we have to either find the derivative of U, or find the integral of dV. It’s way easier to use the derivative of x, cause it’s just one. If we made x equal to dV… then we’d add a fraction and a power of two to our equation and it’ll just make things ugly.”

“Oh.” She stares at his hands as he writes down what he just said in math terms, scribbling in his boyish handwriting that U=x and dU=1. “Okay.”

“So if U=x, then dV is equal to….”

“e^x?” she answers. 

“Good,” he says gently. “And what is V?”

She stays silent for a moment, searching the paper as if it’ll give her an answer. He senses her confusion and helps her out, saying, “IF V is the integral of dV, and dV is e^x…” 

“Well Isn’t the integral of e^x still e^x?” Her voice is unconfident, looking up at Harry with wide, round eyes.

“You’re right,” he says encouragingly, a soft smile on his face. “Stop doubting yourself so much.”

A reciprocating smile spreads on her face, feeling a little more confident with Harry’s praise. 

“All you do now is put your numbers into the formula. Can you do it?”

He hands the pen over to her, their fingers brushing. Her hair falls in front of her face as she leans over the page to write down her answer, and Harry watches softly as she tucks it back behind her ear. He notices how long and delicate her eyelashes are as he stares at her side profile.

“Is that right?” she asks quietly, trying hard to be confident but still so nervous that she’s done it wrong.

He tears his eyes away from her face. “Almost,” he says, leaning forward. Their arms brush against each other, the space that they initially had set between their chairs having shrunk as they worked on the problem together. She can feel his breath as he quietly murmurs next to her ear, “You just need to add +C at the end.” 

She furrows her eyebrows and turns her head towards him, and feels her heart stutter as she realizes how close their faces actually are. “What does the +C mean?”

“It’s just like… it’s supposed to represent any constants that we couldn’t find. Because when you take the derivative of a constant it just ends up being zero, so when you’re given an integral and doing the anti-differential process… you don’t know if there was actually a constant there or what it was. So the +C is just representing any constant value that could’ve been in the answer, even though you don’t know what the number is.”

She blinks at him. “Um… okay. I’ll just pretend like that made sense.”

He chuckles, the first time she’s probably ever heard him laugh. “It’s honestly not that important to get it. Just remember to add +C every time you take an integral.”

“Got it…” she says, adding the +C. 

“Think you can do the next one on your own?” 

+++

“Harry,” y/n pouts. “It says I’m wrong but I dunno why.” 

He pauses his game and slides out of his seat, going over to y/n. She’d relocated to his bed after they did a couple more problems together and felt confident enough to do the rest by herself. His chest brushing against her back softly as he leans over her shoulder, going over her work. “What’s the integral of sin(x)?”

“Cos(x),” she says confidently.

“Not quite…”

She sits there for a second, brows furrowed. “Oh!” she adds a negative in front of the cos(x).

“There you go,” he grins down at her. 

She lays down on his bed, her hair splaying out behind her as she throws her ipad on his bed, relieved. “Harry. You’re a genius.” 

He laughs, a quiet huff of air that passes out of his nose with an amused smile on his face. “So it makes sense?”

“I think you should be teaching our class. You’re so good. Thank you for helping me.”

He hums, giving her a satisfied smirk, and goes back to his game while she finishes her homework. It's a strange setup, sitting in his bed and doing her homework while he plays, but she doesn’t mind it. 

In fact, it’s kind of nice.

Harry’s kind of nice.

She kind of likes Harry.

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hope u guys loved it!!!!!! part 2 is up on my patreon already, and will come to tumblr next saturday (july 29) pleeeeaaaase lmk what u rhink and give her a rb and a comment i love u guys so so much!!!

sunshine - part 2 (already posted on patreon!) : In which Harry's a little bit nicer, and y/n is very excited to possibly, hopefully, maybe be kissed.

sunshine masterlist

[auspicioustidings]

Based on this. You are in Finland full of self-loathing and the 141 needs a fat wife if they want to win some beer.

You aren't exactly on holiday in Finland. It should be your honeymoon but since you caught your groom balls deep in your maid of honour you instead have used it as an escape from the country. You just cannot be around the people you love right now, can't have them all look at you with all that pity. Even worse is that some of them probably don't even blame him. Your former best friend is a size 8, perfect hourglass figure. Your former partner is trim and decently fit. They look like they belong together more than you and him ever did.

You hate yourself. You hate looking in the mirror. You hate how clothes fit you. You deserved it you think.

"Not a chance MacTavish, that's my wife!"

"Away and biel yer heid, I saw her first!"

"Actually I saw her first!"

"I outrank all of you muppets so I think you'll find that is my wife!"

It's a racket in the little cafe but you don't pay much mind, still just staring out the window and wondering if you could ever deserve anything. One of the servers comes to take your empty cup and grins at you, telling you in her heavy accent that she would personally go for the one with the mask since he's the biggest. You don't understand when you look around and there are a lot of locals smiling happily over at you while four Greek Gods of men are having a scuffle, moving slowly in your direction. More people chip in, arguing about who you should pick, some lamenting that they would claim you themselves if they thought they could.

One big man does try, basically some Viking God, but he's playfully (you hope it's playful) spear tackled by the man with the mohawk before he laughs and backs off.

When Gaz with warmed cheeks and excitement in his eyes gets to you while Soap is busy with the viking and Ghost and Price are wrestling one another he asks if you'd do him the honour of being his wife. You nearly choke, but he explains that the wife carrying competition is today. You look around, bewildered, ask him why he wouldn't pick any of the other women in here given that they are all gorgeous slim things.

"Fuck all use to us, need a nice soft bird with lots of fat" says the man in the mask.

Price scowls and whacks his lieutenant upside the head because he sees how you look a second away from crying.

"You're gorgeous sweetheart, he didn't mean anything by it. The prize is the wife's weight in beer though, so he's right about a little lady not being much use."

You don't know what to say. You don't know if this is mortifying or not given that everyone around you seems to not be looking at you with sneers or laughing at you, but instead looking with soft smiles that convey fondness. They think this is adorable.

"Dinnae listen tae their nice soft birds and sweethearts! I'll be a better husband bonnie. I'm shorter aye bit look at the power in these legs, naw going tae drop ye. And I'll split that beer 50/50!"

And then they're arguing. The four of them are arguing and trying to put forward a case to you about why they would be the best husband. When it starts to get raunchy, you fluster and stop them. But fluster is something. It's not self loathing. It's been weeks since you felt anything but self loathing. So even though you are sure everyone can feel the heat rolling off of you in waves at how bashful you are under so much attention from such attractive men, you pick one (the others are devastated but vow that you're only a wife for the competition, that after they should get another shot at convincing you that they're the best option).

And they do. Even though the man you picked doesn't win (gets DQ'd actually since you are heavy and he decided that you were getting over that damn finish line so the four of them took turns) they take you out for drinks after. You think you feel humiliated that they couldn't carry you a long distance, but you don't have time to sit with the feeling because they drown it out with how warm and giddy they make you feel.

They insist that they will compete next year, so you have 365 days to pick a husband. When you make a quiet comment about how you'll lose weight by then so they can carry you the whole way, they nearly riot as they assure you that they would be a shit pick for husband if they didn't spent the year getting stronger so they can carry you just how you are. Plus they'll not be losing any beer thank you very much.

By the time the next wife carrying competition rolls around you are a different person. You're wearing clothes that fit instead of trying to hide your body. You laugh and flirt back with the barista instead of assuming they are making fun of you by flirting. And you don't care if your husband makes it over the finish line, just that you have fun and laugh and joke about the attempt. Of course it's not entirely certain who that husband is yet, got to keep them on their toes after all.

[confessedlyfannish]

DP x DC Writing Prompt #9

"Are you sure about this?" J'onn asks, reading the discontent amongst the Kents. Clark and Lois each have a hand on their teenage son's shoulders, who several weeks prior was aged ten years old.

"We're sure," Clark says. He is not, nor is his wife. But his son is, who lays his hand on his mother's and squeezes. It is that surety that J'onn honors as he delves into the young (but not as young as he should be) man's mind.

The memories are hard to find but not gone, hidden behind what Jon can only see manifested as a glowing green wall. When he raises a tentative hand, the shield sparks green, but does no harm. Pushing through is like wading through the consistency of jello, which he finds an overall unpleasant experience. But he is unharmed as he passes through.

Before J'onn can sort through the memories he is all but sucked into the one at the forefront, where a Jon most similar in visage to the one recently returned perches on the edge of a building. Beside him lies a burger, partially unwrapped though uneaten, and a small soda.

As the memory builds out a sun sets on a small suburban town, and a muscled thigh knocks into Jon's, an older man with a shock of white hair and eyes the same light and color as the shield formed around these memories appearing. He's tall even sitting, likely about as tall as Superman, and looks to be in his thirties. A full body suit comprised of black and silver accents stretches across broad shoulders, a stylized D on his chest. He knocks his thigh into Jon's again.

"You said I couldn't go back," Jon says quietly.

"I lied," the man says lightly.

"You're lying now," Jon says, glaring at him. "I can hear your heart."

"Nice try, kiddo, I don't have a heart in this form," the man says, reaching a hand out, presumably to ruffle his hair. Jon dodges.

"I know you're lying. You would've told me. You would've helped me get home."

"Jon--"

"You're protecting Clockwork, aren't you?" Jon demands, eyes beginning to burn red. "That old coot decided it wasn't enough to play with you, he had to play with me too."

The man slaps a hand over Jon's eyes. "Breathe, like we practiced," he instructs firmly. Steam rises from where his palm meets Jon's eyes, but if it hurts he shows no indication. "In, 2, 3. Out, 2, 3."

Jon whimpers but heaves a breath, and the burst of red light dies down from between the man's fingers. His hand moves down to Jon's shoulder.

"I can't pretend to understand Clockwork's decisions," the man says, as tears begin to pool in Jon's eyes. "Frankly, I don't want to. I suspect they are hard decisions to make, sometimes."

"I don't get why you defend him," Jon says. "Dumbledore acting bastard."

"Language," the man says, lightly bopping him on the head. J'onn notes the boy actually winces, as if the blow hurts.

"I am upset with him, I hope you know that," the man continues. "But at the end of the day I'm also grateful. Because I got to meet you." He hooks an arm around Jon's shoulders, pulling him in. "And now you'll get to see your family again. And Sally, Arnold, and Damian!"

Jon sniffles, rubbing roughly at his face. He leans into the man's bicep. A trusted adult figure, then. One he's described his life to. A life, J'onn is sad to note, he appears to have lived for the past six years, as opposed to a sudden shift in appearance. Jon's next question all but confirm it: "Can I really go back? It's been so long. They'll be all grown up."

"Hey, of course you can," the man says, rubbing his shoulder. "I'm sure they've missed you so much. They'll be so happy to see you again."

Jon starts to smile. "I'm going home."

"You're going home!" The man laughs, shaking him.

"I can finally eat some decent barbecue again!"

"Hey!" the man protests, "The smoker blew up one time!"

Jon continues, beginning to get excited. "And Ma will make her jalapeño cornbread! I never could get it right, I can't wait for you to try it!"

J'onn notes the older man's smile fading, eyes growing sad.

"And Damian will definitely want to spar and oh, oh! With you on our side we can totally prank Batman! I bet Alfred will even help! And Mom gives the best hugs, Pops comes really close but Mom will be really excited to meet you, everyone will."

"Jon," The man says.

"I knew you'd be worried about it, but they'll want to meet you," Jon says, clocking his expression. "They'll be grateful. You, you helped me. You kept me safe and taught me how to be Superman. They'll love you, I promise."

"Jon, I can't go with you," the man says gently.

"I'm not saying you stay, but you can visit! I'm sure the Justice League can figure out a way to maintain a portal, they're super used to all that multiverse stuff. Once they have the coordinates, you can stop by whenever!"

"I can't go through the portal, Jon," the man says. "To other worlds, I'm a god. And gods can't interfere. The only reason I can continue to live here is because this is the world of my origin."

Jon gapes at him. "But--but,"

"You're going to see your Mom and Dad again," the man says. "And your brother, and grandparents."

"I can come here, then," Jon says desperately, pushing his way out of the man's arms. The man is already shaking his head. "I can!"

"You can't."

"Why, because Clockwork says so? He's a liar!"

"Because multiverse travel is never a good idea. If you got trapped here again--"

"I wouldn't,"

"You belong with your family,"

"You're my family!" Jon cries. The man freezes. "You, and Sam, and Jazz, and Tucker and Val and Ellie and Pops and Mads, you're all my family! I can't just leave you, I won't!"

"Oh kiddo," The man says, eyes wet. "I love you too. We all do."

"So I'll stay," Jon says decisively. "For all we know my world is a wasteland. Gramps wasn't exactly right in the head when I left. It's better to stay here."

J'onn notes a green vine unwinding from a nearby trellis. It slides down the eave towards the pair.

"You don't mean that," the man is saying.

"I'm sixteen. I can make my own decisions. I'm staying."

The man cups Jon's face. "Your parents did not have a choice in losing you. I'm willing to bet they're devastated. Because I'd be devastated, losing a kid as great as you."

"Maybe they're not even there," Jon says, but the words are half-hearted, and it clearly hurts him to say them.

"I know I seem like a pushover, but if I thought Clockwork was sending you back to anything less than your loving family, I'd destroy him first. And he knows that. They're going to be there, I promise."

"I don't want to go," Jon says. Behind him, the vine rises from the eave of its own will, poised like a cobra enchanted by a snark charmer.

"I know," the man says, eyes drifting to the vine. "I'm so sorry, Jon."

"For what?" Jon asks, as the vine attaches itself to the nape of his neck. His eyes roll back as he collapses into the man's arms. The man hugs him tighter than is strictly necessary.

J'onn expects the memory to now end, alongside Jon's consciousness. To his curiosity, it does not.

"For what it's worth," a young woman spits bitterly, vines supporting her weight as she slips over the side of the roof. "I still think this is horrible." Her eyes are red and miserable.

"Seriously, team punching Dumbledore in the face," A young black man says, appearing in the air supported by a woman almost identical in appearance to the man holding Jon, down to the suit colors. They land on the rooftop.

"Are you sure about this," the dark haired woman with powers over plants asks. "Because to be honest, Danny, I'm five seconds away from punching you in the face."

"Jazz won't speak to you for months," the girl, likely his sister, points out.

"Make it a year," the man says, crossing his arms.

The man, Danny, ignores them all. He cards a hand through Jon's hair. "He'll retain the experience, but not the memories?"

"Yes, he'll be a perfect little superhero, just as you taught him," the woman says, vines twisting agitatedly around her, wrapping around her thigh, wrists and neck almost punishingly.

"Sam," the man says. "He needs to go home. All of you know that."

"He doesn't have to forget us to do so!" the sister bursts, eyes flashing green.

"Remembering would be a torment," Danny says. "He'll know he was loved. That's enough."

"Danny," the plant woman says, sitting beside them both. She puts a gentle hand on his, both on Jon's back. "This is just a different torment."

"And if someone finds out?" Danny asks. He has been patient amidst their scorn, but now a tiny edge ekes into his voice. "A god's child, unprotected? Threatened? He would never stop looking for a way back, and being vocal about it could get him killed."

The others are silent.

"He'll be home. He'll be happy," Danny says. More powerful than a prayer. A directive. He raises his head past the child slumbering in his lap, past them all, face hardening, and says to J'onn: "And you will say nothing."

J'onn takes a step back, fear so thick he could choke on it flooding his very being. Thismanwillkillhim, thismanwillkillhim.

This man will reach through dimensions and kill him.

"Now, get the fuck out of my kid's head," Danny snarls. J'onn is pushed back with enough force he enters his own mind in a vicious whirl that leaves him physically on the floor, gasping.

"I'm sorry," he says as Superman rushes to lift him, and he's not sure who he's apologizing to. Green eyes will pierce his dreams. Vines will crush his throat in his nightmares, screaming silence, silence.

You will say nothing.

"I'm sorry," J'onn says, politely pushing Clark's hands away as he rises. He's already beginning to calm, because he understands. Those are consequences he will not face. He will do as directed. He looks at Jon Kent, bewildered but unharmed, clutching his mother's hand.

J'onn reaches down and dusts at his pants. "I'm sorry," he says evenly, ready to spin his tale. Perhaps the Kents will continue to seek their answers. Perhaps not. He will stay out of it either way. He has been warned.

You were loved by gods. And to keep you safe, they would quiet us all.

Part Two

[inbarfink]

Ace Attorney Lawyers Ranked By Their Abilities in Physical Combat

Winston Payne: I’m pretty sure the average Tumblr user could kill Winston Payne with their bare hands.

Sebastian DeBeste: Look, the only reason why this wimp ranks higher than Payne is because he is so sopping wet pathetic that there is a significant chance that his opponent will just start feeling bad about kicking his ass and punch themself in the face instead.

Klavier Gavin: While Klavier is a physically fit young man who is known to keep his cool in extreme situations, he is also a giant law-abiding nerd who has never thrown a punch at anything that isn’t an inanimate wall. It probably wouldn’t be that hard to shove this guy into a locker.

Miles Edgeworth: Look, Miles is an even bigger locker-worthy nerd than Klavier. Anytime anyone, friend or foe, suggests a violent solution he just gets freaked out and begs for them to follow procedures. And no AA Lawyer is more easily thrown off his rhythm and startled than he is. He might have some bulk under the magenta and frills (or at least some impressive leg muscles from climbing 12 flights of stairs every day for like seven years), but he has no idea or will to actually use them in a fight. However, he did try and stare down a man who was aiming a gun at his back that one time and managed to keep his cool throughout all of this.

So like, he’d probably talk a big game and try and intimidate his opponent into not engaging - but if that won’t work he will get his ass thoroughly whooped. And then he’d try to sue them, which is what his threats were about all along.

Apollo Justice: Actually a considerable step up in power-levels from the previous ones. Apollo might be smol, but he is Done With Your Shit and this gives him Strength. Not to mention that one time he successfully tanked an explosion. His famous Chords of Steel can also serve as a tactic to confuse or weaken his enemies.

Kristoph Gavin: Although he is primarily known for his schemes and poisoning, he did kill a man with a single blow to the forehead with a bottle, showing he does have some decent upper-body-strength to use in a fight. And being known as ‘the Coolest Defense in the West’ means he can keep his calm even during hectic combat. But he’s also very pretentious and his constant pontifications might just be the perfect opportunity for someone to smash his face in.

Blaise Debeste: Okay, look, is Blaise a scary tall man who successfully stabbed a woman to death with a candelabra and constantly carries around a deceptively-powerful lighter and has like, implied, motorcycle gang background? Yes. But also I think anyone who encounters Blaise Debeste face-to-face is overcome with such bloodlust rage that it might give them an edge in the battle against him.

Mia Fey: Mia ranks fairly high on the Battle Scale considering the one time she was faced with a violent altercation she just tried to escape and it… didn’t end well.

However, in the two times we get to play as her it’s also clear that she wants to Punch. All of the Things. While Apollo is fueled by being Done With Your Shit, Mia has righteous anger - so I think in a situation where she is actually prepared to do battle she would be able to throw a few decent punches. Also assuming we are talking about Mia while she was still alive, there’s also her Spirit Channeling powers to account for. While we’ve never seen them on screen, Maya told us they are “first rate” and I believe her. Maybe she could channel the spirit of a great warrior to try and get an edge in combat?

Manfred Von Karma: While he also has the same Bloodlust-Inducing-Factor as Blaise, and he does seem less physically fit even though they’re about the same age - I feel like his cane could do more serious damage than Blaise’s lighter. And he has that dangerous fucking Stun Gun on him to easily neutralize opponents. Plus, he did tank that one gunshot he got in the shoulder. Manfred’s opponents might have Rage on their side, but also you cannot underestimate the power of his sheer Spite.

Godot: On one hand, Godot has shown an ability to keep his cool in very dangerous situations. He can smash a coffee cup with his bare hands and barely react, showing that he’s decently strong and resilient to pain. And he is yet another proud (?) member of the exclusive “Lawyers With a Body Count Club”. And while stabbing a waifish, 155cm college student (and part time-poisoner) in the back isn’t exactly the most epic demonstration of battle prowess in the history of Anime Lawyers - he did it (and moved the body and doctored the crime scene and prosecuted in court) while tanking a knife slash in his face, showing his pain-resilience once again, as well as general tenacity that would also be useful in battle. Also, he can summon an infinite amount of hot coffee mugs at will, which must make for a decent improvised long-ranged attack.

On the other hand, his health is also heavily implied to be deteriorating and that he’s basically dying over the course of the final case… possibly due to all of that physical exhaustion. If a fight goes longer than just a single backstab, I feel like these health complications are gonna harm Godot’s performance.

Phoenix Wright: Okay, so this is actually the hardest one to place. I keep flip-flopping on where to put him, especially compared to Mia, and Apollo. Because unlike most other lawyers currently ranked below him, he is a disaster when it comes to being on the offensive; Phoenix Wright is a total wimp who has never returned a punch in his life. However, he is also almost supernaturally durable, unbelievably lucky and deceptively strong. If a solid iron door, a raging freezing river and a speeding car didn’t manage to take him down, what chance does a fellow human, even a more combat-capable one, have???

Calisto Yew: She’s not even a real-lawyer! She’s a Secret Spy who successfully pretended to be a Lawyer for years! She’s got a gun, she’s got a knife, she's got crossbow bolt as hair decorations, she probably has some combat training from her time in Interpol… While she’s clearly more specialized for espionage and infiltration, and not as physically strong as Lang, she’s still got an impressive advantage over most of the regular people who went to Law School. In fact, her skill with barefaced lies and manipulation might also be a skill she could use in a fight to catch her opponent off-guard.

Nahyuta Sahdmadhi: Nahyuta is, in fact, one of the few AA Lawyers to canonically participate in what I would unambiguously call a ‘fight’ (rather than a ‘murder’), when he single-handedly disarmed and apprehended a Defiant Dragon rebel in the sorta-canon ‘Spirit of Justice’ Prologue video.

Like, that rebel guy probably isn't the world's greatest warrior, but the Defiant Dragons have been around for enough time to give their members at least some basic self-defense/combat skills… more so than the average lawyer on this list at minimum. And Nahyuta very easily crab-stomped him. Showing that he has strong nerves, some amazing reflexes and the martial art skills to knock a man unconscious with a single blow. Not to mention the seemingly supernatural skills with his prayer beads, which he already uses as a sort of ‘weapon’ in court. Also that... thing he did to Apollo's bracelet that one time.

Nahyuta might be just straight-up Magic, that's pretty OP.

Franziska von Karma: Look, Franziska might not have official martial-arts, guns, or Literal Magic Powers - but what she does have is sheer determination and force or personality. Franziska von Karma has been intimidating grown men since she was a 149 cm tall 13 years old with a riding crop (I mean, one of those men was Miles, but still…..). She had once whipped Phoenix Wright into unconsciousness in a temper tantrum, and like I already mentioned that taking him down is quite a feat. She is also very resilient - while the shot to her shoulders was designed not to kill her, being up back on her feet doing investigation stuff a day after is still very impressive! Her whip might not be as dangerous as a sword or a gun, but she will not relent until she defeats you.

Simon Blackquill: Let me just give it to you straight, Simon Blackquill is 1.88 meter tall, he owns a katana and a trained attack-hawk (giving him both short range and far range advantage), he can break solid metal chains with his bare hands, he can cut your hair halfway across the room with a feather. Not to mention how he could probably use the whole psychological manipulation in battle to intimidate or goad his enemy. There’s not even a lot of funny or interesting points to bring up, he is literally an action movie character who just happens to also be a lawyer.

Athena Cykes: Athena Cykes is the strongest lawyer. One day, she’ll be stronger than whales. I believe in her.

[voxisdaddy]

Collection of Pleasure

Hazbin Hotel NSFW Headcanons…

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Pairings: Alastor | Lucifer | Vox | Valentino | Velvette | Charlie | Vaggie | Cherri Bomb | Rosie | Carmilla | Adam | Lute | Emily | Saint Peter

C/TW: 18+, NSFW, MDNI, reader written as fem, cussing, various kinks, collection of a few subs x dom!reader, mainly the ladies are domming/topping lol, not proofread, some are bad im sorry, carmilla has two though bc its carmilla

In which in at least one NSFW headcanon for each character...

My personal NSFW headcanon for several Hazbin Hotel characters. This includes some of the main cast, the Vee’s, the angels, and some of the other characters ♥︎

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Alastor likes being the predator chasing his prey during his rut...

Sex with Alastor is pretty rare, happens occasionally but usually it's for special occasions like an anniversary. His ruts however? His favourite thing to do (aside from you) is have you run around the forest in his room while he hunts for you in his demon form. He can very easily catch you but he likes to let it play out before he pounces on you for like, two weeks. Goodluck lol

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Lucifer is an insatiable beast...

When he started crying and was quivering so bad one night, you thought that enough was enough and climbed off of him only for his hips to desperately follow you, thrusting into nothing. Despite his tears from the overstimulation you've given him for several rounds by then, he looked at you with teary eyes and begged you to not stop. A safe word was set in place because of that, so you made sure when to stop when he genuinely wanted you to stop. But despite how teary eyed he gets or how much he begs, he never uses it.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Vox likes to watch himself...

"Oh you mean like in front of a mirror?" NO. Well yes but actually he loves getting it on with you in his office because all his monitors will showcase how well you're either riding his dick or fucking his ass with a strap. A few monitors will display his weeping face though thanks to you. He thinks it's humiliating and will try and change them to literally anything else but he can't exactly focus on anything when he's so lost in pleasure. So his weeping face and him getting railed it is. It's like he's your own porn star. This porn star whimpers "mommy" too so have fun with that.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Valentino is capable of getting fucked dumb...

I know it might be hard to believe with him, but it is possible and it's why he's so obsessed with you. He's very experienced in sex, obviously; doming, subbing, top, bottom, doesn't matter. It's all good. The way you can somehow fuck him so good and bring him to so much overstimulation that all he can do babble incoherently? Mans is down bad for you and grows more romantically attached to you than he thinks. Often times the night after a particularly passionate and heated session, he heads to the studio with a slight limp in his step. The first time people saw him limping like that paired with his surprisingly decent mood that day, they knew; oh you're fucking good.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Velvette is a pillow princess...

I 100% see her as a dom, and she very well can dom, but she's selfish and wants all the pleasure with minimal work. With the way she acted, especially when it comes to teasing you, it really through you in a loop when you got to bed that evening. Okay so you're topping-no big deal. The real surprise was when you found out she didn't wanna do anything to help you get off. Oh well. Sitting on her face and using a vibrator against her clit is motivational enough for her to pleasure you too.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Charlie has a little bit of an exhibitionist kink...

a little bit. Kind of? Okay but you know the large window in her room we see her by in episode 1? Has rode your strap and/or fucked you with a strap right in front of that baby. Granted it's pretty high so not like anyone can easily look in anyways but it's still just not private enough that it does something to her. If she's ever potentially really ticked off sometimes she'll eat pussy aggressively while you're pressed, bare tits and all, against the glass.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Vaggie likes titi's...

Whether your big breasted or sporting itty bitties, her hands immediately go to fondle them during heated make out sessions. She's kinda shy in the bedroom so don't take her boldness to grope your chest as her being dominant-she just can't help herself from groping you. Sometimes after sex she'll kiss your chest. Depending on where she kisses and if she'd biting or not, it may lead to another round.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Cherri Bomb is the only person who can rival Lucifer over…

Eating pussy. Whether your sitting on her face or her head is buried between your plush thighs, my girl loves to eat. And she eats like her life depends on it. Even when you think she may need a breather and try to move she’s very quick in pulling you back and keeps you there firmly, often smirking when you’re overstimulated and squirming.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Rosie loves thighs...

Call her old fashioned (cuz she is) but seeing your exposed thighs just does something to her. I mean how scandalous! She spends a majority of her time in Cannibal Town which is trapped in the 1910's. Everyone is dressed in only the most stylish and modest clothing from that time period. So if you ever come strutting about, publicly or privately, in a little something that exposes more of your figure and especially your thighs, expect to have dozens of hickeys decorating your inner thighs by the next day.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Carmilla always says she has no favourite sex position but she does...

it's 69. She prefers to be at bottom since it makes it easier for her to finger you while simultaneously assaulting your clit with her tongue. And of course while you're down there she likes to keep you trapped with her thighs. Because i mean look at them thighs!!! MMHHMMM!!! I see her leaning more towards dom so like, if you're able to focus on eating her out without getting distracted as little as possible then she'll reward you good.

I have two for Carmilla that I desperately want to share so here's my second one; she loves having you keep her strap warm while she does paperwork. Just you sittin pretty on her big plastic dick, occasionally gripping your thigh when you squirm too much. Will play with your clit if you're being needy-try not to squirm too much though or else you ain't getting anything once she'd done her work for the day.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Adam secretly cherishes your more intimate sex...

As much as a dick (master) this guy is, he definitely has his vulnerable side. During some make up sex after an argument and temporary separation that could have very easily lead to your guys break up, he found himself unusually emotional as he was balls deep in ya. He didn't cry, as if he'd allow himself to do that especially at a time like sex, but he felt it. The pull at his heart strings, the relief that washed over him that you two were still together, the way your lips uttered his name like a prayer., It was a surprise to him and one he'll never forget.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Lute cums surprisingly fast via fingering...

You found this out when opting to use your fingers to do the job over the dildo, strap, and vibrator. She already knew she came fast via fingering but didn't want anyone to know that-she came almost embarrassingly fast and it sometimes felt like it wouldn't stop. This hit her ego a little bit considering that she's stubborn as all hell but she could barely defend herself when she kept cumming around your fingers. Safe to say you had quite a lot to lap up that night.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Emily gets wet easily...

is it really that surprising? You found this out when you were kissing at her neck and reached down to her uplifted dress and felt that slick wet feeling between her legs. She was very flustered and even more when you teased her for getting this wet over a few neck kisses-there was only one hickey (so far).

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Saint Peter has a thing for light bondage...

Nothing hard obviously but his wrists being bound together or to the bed via rope or handcuffs gets him going. It puts him in a position where he's completely at your mercy. Blindfolding him is on the table as well-his other senses are heightened as fuck making him react more enthusiastically to your touches and whispers. Even though he's into it it's also a double edges sword cuz this guy needs to touch you and not even being allowed to look at you either has him whining.

This has been in my drafts for weeks lol some of these aren't to my personal standards but I was really running out ideas that were both fitting to the character and weren't too basic/a repeat of another's. I didn't wanna exclude some people from my original roster so I toughed it out lol

sometimes my posts get shadowbanned for literally no reason and at random so it would mean the world if you reblogged this thank you <3 no pressure tho!

[prone-to-fleeting-obsessions]

Dating Veritas Ratio hc's

Out of all the hsr men, I'd imagine he'd be the most irritated figuring out he has a crush

A crush? A stupid little manifestation of his irrational emotions???

He'll stew over it a while, picking it apart like the most complex of equations, his stoic expression not wavering

So what if he's around you often? So what if he unconsciously seeks you out, it doesn't mean anything...

He'll hammer that narrative over and over until it becomes truth, or as close to truth as his mind will allow

You'll act like a married couple, though

He'll scold you without any real irritation, eyes narrowing as he pulls you closer to just fix the problem himself

A leaf in your hair? Your sleeve unrolled? Coffee stain on your shirt?

Honestly, how could you be such a careless mess...

Wait, no. No don't go, you're his careless mess—

It'll become a new normal to just have him occasionally once over your appearance, looking for things he can fix and doing so without a word

He also takes it upon himself to make you a healthier and more rounded person

No you're not eating garbage calories for the third meal in a row, yes you are drinking a full glass of water as he reads you excerpts from his book on how quantum chemistry applies to theoretical engineering under Nous's 63rd law of imaginary quantum information science, and there will be a quiz after so pay attention

If asked about why he's often seen by your side, he'll usually answer with a glare and an insult, commenting on the lack of even borderline decent conversationalists around

You're probably not really going to get an actual confession out of him, because that would force him to admit defeat to those annoyingly persistent feelings that just won't leave him be

If you take the initiative of backing him into a corner, you get to watch him flounder a bit, an expression of agitation and a growing warmth throughout his whole body as he skirts the topic with overly complex excuses

He's a big fan of doing different things in the same space, talking isn't necessary

Occasionally, when he remembers you're still there, he'll glance up from his book to see how you're faring, before getting back into it

He has a bit of a staring problem, in a way

It's just that he's so up in his head often, usually easily loosing sight of his surroundings, and you just happen to be the most pleasing thing to keep his eyes on

He'll look away when he notices you staring back, but it's not long before you feel his eyes trained on you again, as if studying every little movement as he works out equations in his head

Of course he does need alone time, usually spent reading in the bath

But that period seems to be getting shorter and shorter as his focus is constantly broken by unconditionally looking around to find you while deep in thought

He will absolutely use you as a blank canvas to throw ideas and thoughts on if he can't work through something in his head

By explaining it to you in mind numbing detail, he'll usually run headfirst into the solution, and it's a treat to watch his eyes widen ever so slightly as he pauses, immediately thanking you curtly before moving straight to writing

Your sense of curiosity is his favorite trait, the one he wants to nurture and encourage you to feed

He's not expecting you to be as smart as him, that would be an impossible expectation, but he will not allow you to give in to ignorance, to get in the habit of complacency, as it is the enemy of growth

He's an intimidating figure to most, both from his status and sharp tongue, so it's not uncommon for low-level scientists with something to prove to seek you out

Sometimes to get information on him, sometimes to test your intelligence, as if trying to prove themselves better than the company the great Dr. Ratio chooses to keep

He's quick to nip that in the bud, though

His crossed arm stoic faced glare would scare away anyone who isn't keen on being picked apart verbally

He'll claim it's all to avoid tainting you with their idiocracy, and that you really shouldn't keep such company

Tries to use selfish logical excuses constantly to get things he wants from you

"I've already chosen your hotel room for this trip, it'll be next to mine so I don't have to travel as far to compare notes in the morning."

"Honestly. You're coming with me to dinner so I won't waste my time working around your schedule later."

"No. You are absolutely not going to get a closer look at those monsters because I'm not cleaning up the mess you'll no doubt get yourself into by being so reckless."

"You're really going to waste your valuable time entertaining those IPC buffoons? They have more credits than brain cells. Stay here, lest their ignorance rub off on you."

He means well, under the insults and unapproachable demeanor

And, at a certain point, he really can't imagine the rest of his life without you close by

[kissforyouu]

strawberries and cigarettes. jjk

pairing : smoker!jk x reader

warnings : smoke sesh (DONT smoke this is js fiction) , fluff , smut , making out , fingering , thigh riding , food play , use of word "slut" , short LOL

a/n : I HHAAADDD TOOOOO GGGRAAAHH

(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

"Baby!"

You were so excited to finally be back home to your sweet handsome boyfriend. Working at a clothing store had its own disadvantages, sometimes you'd have really long shifts where you'd have to work for about 8 hours. It's tiring, really. But the store actually pays you a good decent amount, and you really weren't looking for another job at the moment.

You enter your apartment carrying your bags filled with a few snacks and your favourite fruit — strawberries.

"Jungkook?" You ask again, eyes roaming around your apartment looking for your boyfriend.

"Ah!" There he was. Your eyes lock on your boyfriend, fucking manspreading on the couch with a cigarette in between his middle and pointer finger. His back was leaned against the cushion of your couch, looking as comfortable as ever. What did catch your eye was the thin material of the shirt he was wearing, oversized but you could still see the outline of his abs and nipples. Your eyes then travel down his exposed tattooed arm resting on top of his thigh, muscles flexing. He seems to be eating ramen, making slurping noises each bite while his big doe eyes were glued onto the television - probably watching some show. You lean your body against the frame of the wall, quietly admiring your boyfriend.

He's the most handsome man you've ever laid your eyes on. So fucking beautiful and ethereal. Not a single flaw on his face. Even the little scar on his cheek, which he would like to address as a "flaw" was so beautifully carved. If that even made sense. But it did, for you.

Deciding to quit just staring at your boyfriend, you make your way towards the living room, your figure appearing right in front of him. Jungkook's focus quickly shifts to you, a big bright smile taking over his face.

Jungkook looks to the side to blow out the remaining smoke in his mouth before he puts the cig in his ashtray. He makes grabby hands at you, motioning you to get closer to give him a hug. Happily, you take a few steps towards your boyfriend and leaned down before he engulfs you in a wholesome hug with his muscular arms. He squeezes you tightly, pulling your body to him to make you fall right on top of his lap. A little chortle escapes your lips while you hug him back as well, your body being squished even more.

A couple of seconds of staying still, Jungkook decides to pull away for a moment to take a look at your face. Smiling, he holds your chin with his right hand, squishing your face together so that your lips were now duck lips. Jungkook leans in to peck your lips a few times, a hum of satisfaction leaving him right when he tastes the strawberry lip balm you always apply.

"My favourite" He hums as he releases your face to fall back onto the couch. "Also why I wear it" you mumble, getting off his lap to sit on the couch right next to him.

You wrap your hand around Jungkook's arm, leaning the side of your face onto him.

"How was work today?" He speaks, his left hand reaching to grab another cigarette out of his packet.

"It was alright, nothing much to say. I'm tired, though" your voice is low as you speak. You attentively watch Jungkook light up his cigarette before bringing it to his mouth to inhale. He pulls it away to blow out the smoke to the side, making sure you don't get anything on your face.

"Aw, my pretty baby" He coos, a sly grin forming on his lips. Jungkook chuckles, peppering your face with a few more kisses. You loved that about him. He was never afraid to show his affection towards you.

"You wanna go to sleep early, then? I could set up the bed for you, hm? Wanna eat something before you sleep?" He asks, wanting you to rest. You giggle, shaking your head from side to side. "Koo, I just had one shift. It's not like I climbed a mountain or something." You lean to peck his cheek as a reward.

Jungkook scrunches his nose, "still! You said you were tired" he mumbles. How could someone be so cute.

"No, baby, it's okay" Jungkook nods as a reply, taking another inhale out of his cigarette.

A small silence of about one and a half minutes fall upon us as you watch him take inhales and blow the smoke out repeatedly.

Hmm, what if I...

"Jungkook."

He turns to look at you, humming a little as a response.

You stare at Jungkook, contemplating whether to do what you're about to do or not. Uhhh.

Your eyes shift from Jungkook's face to the cigarette in his hand as you lean forward a little to snatch it from his hand. Jungkook looks at you, one eyebrow raised in surprise. Your eyes switch in between Jungkook and his cigarette a few times before you bring the cigarette upto your lips so you could take an inhale. Jungkook watches you in shock, finding your actions unusual as you never smoke. In addition to that, you used to scold Jungkook for smoking when you two had started dating at first. But you eventually stopped, saying it's alright. But now here you were, inhaling smoke out of his cigarette.

You inhale once more, shoulders dropping down as you blow the smoke out to Jungkook's face. He gasps, surprised, very surprised at your actions.

"Baby? What are you doing?" He motions at the cigarette in your hand.

"Always wanted to do this" You sigh, taking another inhale. You groan, leaning forward to lay on Jungkook's lap as your chin was now resting on his mid thigh.

He tilts his head to the side, fingers gripping onto your hair to turn your face to the side so that you're facing him.

"What do you mean?" He questions.

"Well, you always smoke. So I just thought what it would feel like to do so, you know..." you mumble, ready to take another inhale. But before you could do so, Jungkook quickly snatches the cigarette away from you and throws it into the ashtray.

"Hey! Jungkook!" You groan, sitting up from his lap.

"Baby, I am not letting you smoke—"

"But—"

"No buts, Y/n. I've told you before, it's not the best for your health. It's true that I do it but," He groans, "I've my own reasons, yeah? You though, I'm not letting you smoke" He snapped.

You mewl, lips forming into a pout once again. You look at Jungkook, your eyes big and wide as you try your best to use your little charm against him. I mean, it always worked. Your eyes stared into his, big and wide as you laid on his lap, long lashes batting against the under area of your eyes.

Jungkook scoffs, the palm of his hand coming in contact with your cheek to leave a small harmless slap.

"Not gonna work this time, baby"

You roll your eyes in annoyance, huffing a little too.

"One time only, Koo" you plead.

He shakes his head in disapproval, looking away from you. You coo, trying your best to yet your boyfriend to let you try out a few of his cigarettes. Your eyes travel down his body, landing on his crotch area. Ah, idea! The idea instantly made a mess between your legs.

"Koo..." whimpering, you lift your body up to sit on his thigh.

"I said no, baby" his voice was deep and demanding.

You slowly lift up the end of his shorts upwards to expose more of his thigh, leaving a trail of kisses on his neck in the meantime.

"Please..." whining, your hips start to work their way on his thighs. Your pace was slow - you were taking your time - watching Jungkook's facial expressions suddenly change.

"Mm, baby, please stop—"

You cut him off with a moan, knowing exactly that that's his weak spot. He suddenly groans, listening to your angelic moans. The pleasure felt just perfect. Not too rough, but not too slow. You rubbed yourself onto his thigh, small little whimpers leaving your lips.

At first, you started this to just convince Jungkook to let you have his cigarette but as you continue to do it more, you slowly start to find yourself actually enjoying riding his thigh.

"Fuck" your back is arched, angling your clit to rub against his thigh.

It's almost like Jungkook forgot, he leans forward to grab a cigarette out of the box to light it up, then to press it against his lips to inhale some in. You watch the cigarette in his hand attentively, thinking of when to snatch it into your hand.

Jungkook eyes you up and down with a smirk, — god, that LOOK — his free hand coming to hold you by your chin. His grip on you is tight, but not too tight to leave a bruise or anything — he would never. Jungkook scoffs, hand tapping your cheek as he blows smoke out onto your face. Without being able to contain your cough in, you cough a little, but still inhaling the smoke in.

Fuck, that just made you even wetter.

"Isn't that what you wanted, slut? You want me to fucking blow smoke onto your desperate ass while you get off on my fucking thigh?" Jungkook mocks you.

Nodding your head vigorously, your moans grown louder as you fasten your pace. Jungkook brings you closer to your orgasm by bouncing his thigh up and down, sending small vibrations throughout your body.

"Fuck, Koo— your thigh..." you moan louder.

Jungkook laughs at you, clearly mockingly, as his free hand lifts you up to unhook your skirt so that it would fall down. He then takes a look at your damped panties, soaked in your arousal. You look down to see Jungkook's fingers moving your panty aside to the corner to expose your bare pussy.

"Go on" he orders, taking another inhale out of his cigarette.

You nod eagerly to his words. Fuck, this felt so good. You swear you just landed in heaven, right when your bare clit makes contact with Jungkook's bare thigh, his muscles flexing against yours. Gasping out loud, you begin to rub yourself in a circular motion, desperately hoping for a release.

Jungkook holds the sides of your head to lean in to connect your lips with his, bringing you into a heated and messy kiss. You leave out a series of soft moans in return, the sound vibrating through both of your mouths. He pulls out of your heated kiss, sighing as he inhales more of the cigarette.

He seems to enjoy this. You riding his thigh trying to release oh so desperately while he watched you attentively with a cigarette in between his fingers. He never thought they'd be in this position, but here you are.

"My good girl" He praises you. Jungkook's eyes were glued onto your pussy, covered in slick and dripping down to his thigh as well. The corner of his lip curls up in a vicious idea, his body reaching forward a little to grab onto your grocery bag from earlier. You watch what he's about to do, curiously, stopping what you were doing unconsciously.

Jungkook pulls out the strawberries you bought for yourself, taking one to put it in his mouth. He chews on it, signalling you to continue with his hands and a tilt of his head.

"Give me a good show, baby" He commanded.

You gulp, raising your hips up to continue to rub myself onto him. You felt really fucking good, but not good enough to make you cum. You needed more.

Your fingers flew to the buttons of your dress shirt, unbuttoning them one by one. You discard your shirt, letting it drop to the ground as you give your bra the same treatment. A sigh of relaxation leaves you once your breasts are spilled out and free, you immediately grope them to begin squeezing them and pleasuring them.

Jungkook watches you continue to rub and tug onto your nipples, sweet moans falling out of those pretty pink lips of yours. Your pull on your nipple only to release it back then go back to rubbing it. Your head was thrown back, tilted to the side, leaned forward — in all existing angles doing 360°s.

Raising your head up to take a glance at Jungkook, you catch him still looking at you oh so carefully, his pants rock hard and buldge very prominent while he swirled the tip of his tongue around the strawberry.

Gathering a bit of saliva in your mouth, you spit it out to your chest, letting it dribble down onto your breasts and then your nipples.

"Fuck" Jungkook curses.

You rub your spit around your nipples slowly, teasingly, eyes fixated on his tongue and the strawberry.

He groans out loud, almost as if he's giving up on a mental challenge he made for himself. Jungkook pulls you closer by your hips, thumb brushing against your lower lip to pull it down as he pushes his strawberry in your mouth.

"Suck" he commands again.

You don't object, continuing to suck onto the strawberry. Meanwhile, Jungkook's big warm hands holds your breasts tightly, bringing a wave of pleasure to both your bodies. You moan, fastening your pace on his thigh. His lips were now wrapped around your nipple, sucking slowly. He was taking his time, small caresses on your waist, fingers brushing against your thighs, your hips, squeezing your arms and tugging onto your nipples with his teeth — fuck, he was taking all the time in the world.

Jungkook was savouring your body, taking his time with you to slowly edge you to your orgasm. But all of this without a single brush against your pussy. You could feel your cunt burning, begging to be touched by his long fingers decorated with those same silver rings he always wear.

"Jungkook, touch me down here, please" you plead.

Jungkook hums, releasing your nipple with a pop sound. His hand reaches down to touch your swollen bud, a long soft moan leaving you once he adds the smallest bit of pressure on it. You wanted to be touched on your pussy, so desperately. His face gave you such a mocking, sly, cocky expression as he watched your body squirm to his touch.

Jungkook's thumb caresses your bud, swiping it up and down oh so softly. He was teasing you. Your hips automatically react to it, your arousal gushing out as you grind forward into his fingers for more friction.

Your eyes half lid, looking down to watch Jungkook's fingers teasingly rub your bud slowly. It was so hot. But you NEEDED more.

"Please–"

"Shhhh, my angel"

He was aware of how desperate and needy you were getting, so he decided to have a little mercy on you let you have what you wanted.

Jungkook fastens his pace on you, thumb rubbing your core in a motion of an "eight". You were such a moaning mess. So fucking needy so that the smallest touch was enough to make you reach your high.

You gulp down the strawberry in your mouth, almost quite literally forgetting about it. Jungkook notices that, his free hand reaching forward to grab another strawberry.

While his right hand worked on your pussy, his left hand plops the strawberry in his mouth to coat it with his saliva and taking a small bite out of it as well. He then brings it back, shooting you a smirk. You moan, already knowing what the fuck he was going to do.

Jungkook drags the strawberry across your lips, smearing the juice of the fruit all over so that your lips would turn into a little pink shade. You gulp as he drags the strawberry further down your body, under and over your tits.

"Ah! Mmm!" A gasp followed by a few moans leave you the moment he enters two of his fingers inside you at once. His thumb still remained on your bud while Jungkook started to thrust his fingers in and out of you.

"Shit, K-koo. So good...!"

You gasp, feeling the slight coldness of the fruit on your sensitive areas as he circles it on each of your nipples. Shit. Shit. Shit.

You were in pure ecstasy right now. You could never get enough of how good and mind fucking blowing his finger felt inside your cunt.

All you could did and could do was to shamelessly moan out his name while he abused your cunt and played with your tits.

"So pretty, baby. Look at you, a fucking mess on top of my thighs, hm? Beautiful baby"

His praises were everything to you.

"My beautiful girl..." he hums.

You squeeze your eyes shut to open them while you nibbled on your lower lip. Your eyes scan the box of cigarettes placed on the side, contemplating whether to grab it. I mean, both Jungkook's hands were occupied, ...right?

You lean forward to grab a cigarette out of the box, Jungkook's eyes widening at the sudden action. He should've known you'd do this somehow. You never were the type to listen to whatever he told you, anyway.

"God, baby" He eyes you while you light up the cigarette with his grey lighter decorated with heart gems all over it. (by you, of course.)

You take a inhale out of the cigarette, Jungkook's fingers gently caressing your folds again to smear your wetness around.

You blow out the smoke on Jungkook's face and watch him to groan, head arched onto the cushion of the couch once again as he inhales the smoke you blew onto him just now. He blows it out to the side, slowly bringing his fingers covered in your arousal and cum to your own lips.

You open your mouth to take his fingers in, eagerly. Jungkook thrusts his fingers in and out of your mouth, your mind immediately imagining it was his cock as you licked and sucked on the fingers - just like you'd do to his cock.

Meanwhile, your other hand reached Jungkook's lips to press the cigarette onto them for him to inhale some smoke in. Gladly, he accepts your offer to take some smoke in and then to shamelessly blow it onto your face.

So fucking hot.

Jungkook pulls out his fingers from your mouth with a bit of force, making you whine — wanting more of his fingers. God, you loved his fingers so much.

"Spit on my fingers, angel"

He encourages you to do so, motioning you with a small tilt of his head. You, feeling more than happy, spit on his fingers like an obedient little puppy just how he asked you to do so.

"Good girl"

This time, Jungkook's fingers wrap around your waist to reach down to your pussy from the back, his fingers coming in contact with your folds covered in slick while having your body locked onto his.

"Shit, Jungkook. You're so hot"

Your naked chest was now pressed against his clothed chest, the strawberry from earlier nowhere to be seen and forgotten while his other hand snatches away the cigarette from your hand.

You whine out again, this time more dragged than before — just dying for the cigarette that's now in his hand.

"Patience, angel" He hushes you calmly.

You listen well, moaning to the feeling of Jungkook's fingers rubbing against your puffy folds, spreading your spit around.

He takes an inhale from the cigarette, blowing a bit of the smoke onto your face and the rest to the side. You moan in reaction, chin pressed onto his abs. Jungkook surprisingly brings the cigarette closer to your lips, letting you take a drag out of it.

"Mh" you hum in satisfaction, cheek now pressed against his chest while his fingers toyed with your cunt.

This felt rather relaxing and comforting. You liked this.

Jungkook places a few soothing kisses on the top of your head, enjoying this sweet moment.

You grip onto his hand to bring it down so you could take another drag from the cigarette, making Jungkook huff - rolling his eyes a little.

"Can we order chinese tonight? I'm craving that"

"Baby, I was thinking of getting pizza"

"But Jungkook, we have pizza, like, a lot of times! Let's get chinese today."

"Ah, Fine"

"How's that project at work going?"

— you and Jungkook casually slipped into conversation. This was a moment of love and comfort for you, rather than a moment of pleasure. It was true you loved having his fingers deep in your cunt, but you loved this too. It just reminds you of how easy to talk to he is, how you find comfort within his arms, how much you love him.

[mattsturnioloz]

Then I lost you.

Part 2.

Summary: Matt's career as a youtuber takes a toll on his 4 year relationship with his girlfriend, putting it on hold. Will it ever be the same again?

Pairings: Y/n x Matt Sturniolo

Warnings: angst, mentions of anxiety, unresolved angst (maybe)

A/N: (guys this is my first fic so please bear with me😭 l would love some feedback or tips though!!)

I was sitting on the couch scrolling through my phone and channel surfing, waiting for my boyfriend, Matt, to get back from filming a car video with his brothers, Chris and Nick. But over the course of the last couple of months, Matt has been distant and there was a rather uncomfortable feeling sitting in my chest. He would make up excuses as to why he couldn't hang out with me like he was filming, editing or streaming. It made me overthink. Did I do something? Does he still love- No, of course he still loves me. Right?

It was all too much and it gave me anxiety. Sure, I understand his career as a Youtuber can be a handful but I can't help but feel a bit neglected and it makes me feel guilty.. I sit there thinking for a moment, taking in the cool autumn smell that roamed through the house, listening to the patter of the soft rain drops falling onto the windows, trying to think of a way that I could get Matt to spend time with me.

I decide to cook a nice dinner for matt and I or at least attempt to, so I stand up and I head to the kitchen and decide on some ravioli which takes me about an hour but I did it.

Flashback

"What are you gonna get to eat?" | asked Matt.

"I'm not sure.. you know for a fancy restaurant, you'd think they'd have a variety of options." He says before raising his eyebrow at me, showing me the menu and we both chuckle.

"Our first date and i'm already messing up huh?" He says with a nervous chuckle.

"What?? No! you're not messing up i'm having fun." I said with a smile, reaching over the table to hold his hand and he gave me a lighthearted smile.

"Ravioli is the only decent thing they got here, think i'll go with that." He says closing the menu. "See? It's not all that bad, I just so happen to love ravioli. I think I can go for some too.” I smile.

Present

I set up the table with bowls and utensils before making my way to the bathroom and realize that look a bummy mess so l spend the rest of the time I had left before he got back to make myself look at least a little presentable. I feel an overwhelming but nice sense of excitement to spend time with him again. I change into a casual but nice outfit and decide to do a simple and natural makeup look.

I soon hear the sound of the front door opening and chattering following behind it. I make my way out of the room to greet Matt who was laughing with chris and nick.

"Hey baby! How was filming??" | say almost too enthusiastically but I was too excited to keep my cool. "It was alright." He says nonchalantly, which makes me turn my happy demeanor down a notch.

Chris goes downstairs to get ready for something and Nick goes upstairs to do the same. Leaving matt and I alone which was perfect so I take the chance.

"I made-" before I could say anything Matt interrupted me. "Hey, me nick and chris are gonna go to top golf with madi, and nate so I might be home a little late." My heart sinks and i'm flushed with dread but I don't give up so easily.

"Well I actually made dinner for us.. I was hoping we could spend a little time together since we haven't in a while." | say fiddling with my necklace getting a bit anxious.

"I'm sure it's amazing baby but I should go get ready, Save me some yeah?" He says, placing a gentle kiss on my temple before he walks towards our shared bedroom to get ready.

I sit at the table where our food is now cold and I feel a lump in my throat followed by a cold sinking feeling in my chest.

658 words.

A/N: (This is sloppy and I kind of hate it, js wanted to try this out to see what yall think. if you guys like it, i'll keep writing, if not then im never writing again and since it's my first fic I kept it short but if you guys like it, i'll make the next parts longer 🫶🏼)

Taglist: @h3arts4harry @star-yawnznn @imwetforyourmom

[theminecraftbee]

the summer before THE END...

(this fic contains @hotguycomiczine spoilers! go read it first! i'll wait!)

It’s midday. The sun is heavy and hot, bearing down against the asphalt and visibly making the air shimmer over the road. Summer in Hermitopia can be miserable, and frankly Cuteguy thinks it’s far more miserable than the bruises. The humidity makes his feathers stick together and itch in awkward ways, he’s sweaty twice over because he hadn’t had time to actually wash his costume between the last major villain attack, his recent part-time line cook job, and then this fight.

He’s in his early thirties and he’s becoming an old man, he thinks. His knees should not hurt this much, and yet here they are. Vigilantism is going to give him early arthritis.

They’ve driven off the villain. Didn’t manage to catch him, though. He wasn’t even from Hermitopia. That’s been happening more lately; people who see Hermitopia as some lawless wasteland where they can come visit, avoid drinking any water, and live out their dreams of being a comic book character, damn the consequences or collateral damage. It’s frustrating. Sometimes, deep in Cuteguy’s soul, he sort of thinks the Soup Group has a point in calling out all this bullshit.

Of course, they do all that murder about it. So. Not much better, really.

He leans against a building and tries to breathe. Normally he has a water bottle with his costume, but this guy had homemade napalm. Luckily, not real napalm! The water did work for putting out the fire! Unfortunately, it’s ninety-seven degrees and humid and Cuteguy has just done enough cardio that he’s honestly worried about the odds he passes out. 

Out on the street, Hotguy is chatting with every civilian he comes across. He’s grandstanding. He’s giving blow-by-blows. He’s acting like his sweat doesn’t stink like a mere mortal’s. He has a water bottle, and he’s taking sips of it between chats with reporters and posing for cameras. There are enough cars and civilians that Cuteguy isn’t all that worried about the TCG yet. Hotguy’s still pretty damn wanted, what with the whole possession thing that they don’t exactly have the means to prove to the public, so Cuteguy’s got to keep an eye out for them, but with this many cameras on him? The TCG isn’t about to arrest him on camera. Despite everything, he's still too charismatic; he'd still make them look too bad. 

Cuteguy wipes his forehead again. He does notice when someone starts approaching him; he might be exhausted, but he’s acting as Hotguy’s situational awareness while he’s busy playing up crowds. He can’t afford to be that exhausted, so he isn’t. That, and the woman approaching him is hardly as stealthy as the Bleeding Hart. Another thing he might have to give to the Soup Group were he willing to give them credit for anything: he’s never been able to fully stop noticing where everyone is around him. Hotguy had winced and called it “hypervigilance”. Cuteguy had said that he wasn’t any better, he just calls it a superpower. Hotguy had said it is hardly his fault his superpower promotes vigilance. Cuteguy had—

“Uh, good fight. Thanks,” says the woman.

“Oh, uh. You’re welcome,” Cuteguy says.

She’s tall and blonde. Also, she has four arms. Cuteguy should have probably noticed that first, but he didn’t, and that’s on him.

“Bit of a mess, especially in this weather. Hotter and they’d issue a heat advisory, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Cuteguy says.

He is not good at post-battle smalltalk. That’s why it’s Hotguy’s job. He’s good at causing chaos if needed, but chaos is the opening the TCG would need to get to Hotguy. Cuteguy glances in his direction. He’s posing and signing autographs still. He can’t help but sigh. They’re going to be here all day.

The four-armed lady follows his gaze.

“You know, I’d always wondered why you stick to him,” she says.

“Sorry?” Cuteguy says.

“I just mean—I watched the fight. Yeah, he’s good, but you’re decent at range too. You can get enough height to really not need perfect accuracy because you’ll be hard to hit. Wings are, uh, a pretty overpowered combat tool, really, especially when most of your enemies are on the ground. But you’re good at close range, so, uh, inside isn’t awful for you either, really.”

“I mean, you’re right, I am pretty good,” Cuteguy says, interrupting her. “I don’t really get—”

“Look at him,” the woman says. “You ran around more than him and he took the water bottle.”

Cuteguy wants to defend Hotguy for that one; it’s hardly his fault that Cuteguy dumped his water bottle on napalm like it would do anything. It did, which is convenient, but still. Not Hotguy’s call. He doesn’t quite get the chance.

“Even after everything last month, he’s still grandstanding too. Sure, he’s stopped shooting people for not being grateful enough, or holding rescues hostage for cash, but look at him. Hardly any better, is he. Sure, he says he was possessed—”

“He was,” Cuteguy snaps.

“—but like, is the guy he is now actually all that different? Just saying.”

Cuteguy stares at the man trying to get extra photo ops out of a group of passing runners. They’re topless to account for the heat, which is probably why Hotguy wants photos with them. Cuteguy can just barely hear the man asking to trade phone numbers. Is it worse or better, Cuteguy wonders, that the phone number Hotguy gives out just goes straight to Cub’s inbox? Is that catfishing or just good sense?

“He’s trying to help,” Cuteguy says.

“He’s desperate for attention,” the four-armed woman says. “You know, you’d probably be better without him. After everything that happened, your reputation would be better too. A little more in the shadows, a little less associated with his crimes.”

“He’s…”

“I just want the real reason, really,” the woman says. 

“What do you…”

“Why would you stick with him when you’re so much better?”

Hotguy waves goodbye to the runners. He takes another sip of the water bottle. Really, there’s so much that Cuteguy can say here, watching that. He could say something about how, in the terrible days when the Soup Group had first come onto the scene, Hotguy had barely left Cuteguy’s side until Cuteguy started pushing him away. He could say that Hotguy is earnest, that he really does want to save people, despite the fact he also wants attention. He could say that he knows the man behind the mask now, and he’s seen his films, and frankly getting a little recognition as Hotguy kind of makes up for not getting recognition for his decent acting talent. He could say something about playing Mario Kart on the couch, or learning to aim a bow, or fights with Doc, or secrets shared that Cuteguy wants to make sure Hotguy never has an incentive to spread. He could say something about how dangerous fighting alone is. That’s probably the more sensible thing to say, actually; Cuteguy knows exactly how dangerous fighting alone is.

What Cuteguy says is this:

“He makes me happy.”

There is a long not-quite silence as sirens and cicadas fill the summer air.

“Huh,” the woman says.

Cuteguy doesn’t say anything else.

“Well. I mean. I don’t really know how to save you from that, so I guess I’ll just leave you to it,” the woman says. “Consider if he’s really worth it.”

She leaves. Cuteguy stares after her a moment before shaking his head and going back to scanning the crowd for any known TCG elements.

“Birdie!” Hotguy crows, running over from the reporters. “We’re on the 5 PM news!”

“Really? An out-of-towner with questionable pyrotechnics made it?” 

“I got it worked out,” Hotguy says confidently. “But, uh, with that said, you look like you need some AC and a drink. I have so much Gatorade in my fridge that it isn’t even funny. All the labels are pulled off because it’s for that one football movie I did, right? And for some reason they didn’t want to give Gatorade the product placement, so they made all these sports drinks without—”

“Not in-costume, Hotguy,” Cuteguy says, but he doesn’t put any heat into it.

“—oh, you know no one’s listening, lighten up! Anyway, so the movie ended up somehow ordering far too many bottles, and you know what they say about underpaid actors and free food—or, I’m not sure it’s actually an expression, but let me tell you, I have never turned it down. And with the number of ele… electo-mites? I think? You know, all the sweat we’re sweaty about—come on Cuteguy, I don’t want you passing out on the pavement, I really didn’t mean to get caught out that long!” Hotguy says, grabbing Cuteguy’s hand to take him back to his apartment.

Miserable heat or not, Cuteguy can’t help but smile slightly.

“I don’t want to pass out either, that’s why I’m not running, Hotguy,” he says, and he lets himself be tugged along in that man’s wake once more.