#my partner prefers its other name Orange Eye

[nohiketoosmall]

Ranking Plush Cobras 🐍

Part 1: ranking plush anacondas 🐍

"Cobra" is a little vaguer than anaconda, because "cobras" include a specific genus and the common names of a variety of snake species. As such, I'll give them more leeway in terms of color accuracy, but I think the shape of the hood will make or break these snake plushes.

Cobra Stuffed Animal by Wild Republic

Length: 54 in

11/10. I chose cobras after I found this guy because I love him, so much. Her cute little face. Their perfect little hood. They look like they're smiling. I can't see the back, but I think this is a creative interpretation of a monocled cobra, which can be striped. The spectacled cobra also has similar front-hood ornamentation, usually seem more "freckled" than "striped". I think this could pass for a creative interpretation of both. Unlike most snake plushies, the proportion of the head is much more accurate and in my opinion, cuter. Wild Republic really redeemed themselves from last time.

Cobra Snake Plush by Top Toy

1.5m

4/10, this guy certainly has the look of maybe a king cobra, and that chunky head shape so many retailers seem to use for snakes actually fits the cobra. But if I want a plush of a deadly snake I would prefer it have the :< expression of a cobra and the big, charming eyes. Also, king cobras should have round pupils.

Cobra Pillow Snake by Unknown (via whiteblackstore)

2.1m

8/10 This is one of the longer cobra plushes, and he has an excellent shape, very huggable, soft, and does look like he'd work as a pillow although I couldn't confirm whether there is wire in her body. I'll note that even the product photo seems to have a manufacturing defect in one eye. This cobra was found on several websites, but I couldn't find the manu. The cape cobra can be orange, so even that works!

Plush Cobra by Haihuiyuan (?) (via aliexpress)

Length unknown

10/10 considering the size and simplicity I actually really like these ones. They all look a little angry but extremely cute, which is what I want in a cobra stuffie. Not angry as in vicious but angry like you just walked in on them at a bad moment and they turned around in surprise. Again, the cobras have heads the same size as their body, which I think is great. There are no blue cobras (I think) but I will accept this inaccuracy for the sake of cuteness.

Cobra snake plush by iharttoys

1+ m

2/10. My partner described these as "muppet like" and I actually added a point of that because thats a cute concept, but I hate these. I despise cartoon animals with this much white in their eyes, but other than that I think the hood just looks awful, like terrible finds, and the scales look too fish-y because they're big. I wish more plushies had open mouths, though, but I would definitely put fangs in them if I did an open mouth.

Cobra Stuffed Animal by WildRepublic (2)

12in* *standing up, longer uncoiled.

6/10 This small cobra is like the platonic ideal of cobra plushes. Its fairly accurate in color, fairly accurate in shape, and uses simple patterns effectively. Its like an 8/10 for accuracy, but it just doesn't charm me as much as some of the others I've seen.

Realistic stuffed cobra by Aurora (via stuffedsafari on pinterest)

13in* *may be standing up, couldnt find confirmation, looks to be longer uncoiled

9/10 another excellent cobra plush. This is more perfect than I ever could have imagined. The material used looks to be textured with different textures on top and bottom. My only complaint with the toy is the hood should be connected a little lower to match the shape of the head. My other complaint is that I can't actually find this anywhere for sale- I think it was sold out but still appeared on the pinterest page for the online store.

Foilkins Cobra by WildRepublic (3)

54in

7/10 I really like the vibe of this guy. Definitely a more flashy variety, not really trying to be realistic with its gimmick of having shiny scales, but it has a cute shape. Could use a bigger hood, maybe. Adorable though.

Cuddlekins cobra by Wildrepublic (4 or 2b?)

12in* *probably longer uncoiled, unclear

7/10 I have no idea if this is real. This snake is present on the wildrepublic amazon page and I could find no other pictures of it. Here is the saga of what I found about it:

One US reviewer posted a photo (2022) of what they purchased and it was clearly the cobra reviewed in WR 2, which does not have the fancier materials. The WR website has the WR 2 snake as being $23 but the amazon listing lists WR 4 as $55. In fact, a UK reviewer on Amazon from 2023 posted that the snake was not shiny and in the photo it looks the same as WR 2. I do hope people aren't buying for $55 from amazon when it is only $22 on their website- assuming everyone is getting WR 2 instead of the above picture. I did check and confirm the prices for plushes are normally the same on amazon and their website. I also went ahead and reported this to amazon, although I have no idea whether they take action on things like this.

Stuffed cobra from Sunny Toy (via stuffedark)

62in

8/10 Now THIS is what I'm looking for when I see a snake with an open mouth. This guy is discontinued so I couldn't find many details but he appears to be a puppet. I love his little fangs and delightful expression. Definitely a shape > pattern and color design, but it works.

Stuffed cobra from Fiesta Toy (via stuffedark)

49in

10/10 I think this snake has excellent vibes and could be my friend. no notes.

Wild Eyes king cobra by Animal Planet

38in (?)

1/10 I despise this snake. Its so ugly. why would you do this to me.

In conclusion

There are way more cobras than anacondas, and I would say they're generally more charming. I think the hood makes the cobra plushes instantly recognizable, but it also seems to be the only thing that will convince designers to make a snake plushes head a reasonable size compared to its body. Most of the hoods do tend to be a bit fin-ish and the nicer ones have the hood taper down the body.

Cobras dont always have their hood up- they do so as a threat display- so I've been ruminating on the techniques one could use to make a fold-out hood without ruining the plushness of the toy. I have not been able to think up a good solution.

#reptiblr #snakes #wildlife #cobras #king cobra #indian cobra #stuffed animals #plushies #plush ratings

[aquilathefighter]

Fluffbruary 20: Lounge

Another late one! Find all my @fluffbruary ficlets on AO3 here!

Fandom: The Sandman (2022)

Relationship: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling

Dream is led by hand down the stairs into a dim room. A jazz lounge. The air is laden with cigarette smoke and the rich tones of whiskey and gin. Low tables decorate the area, some groups already seated and chatting before the main event. The women are dressed in shimmering silk gowns, gilded with beads that catch the dim light and scandalously show off their calves. The men are equally stunning in suits of all colors, catching flashes of pinstripes and checkered vests.

But Hob, Hob he could stare at all night. His chocolate wool suit brings out the warmth of his skin, his eyes, his hair. The man practically glows reflecting all the light in the room in his amber eyes. Dream’s eyes trail down his body, noticing the slim fit of his trousers, finding it difficult to tear his eyes away. Hob squeezes his hand.

“C’mon, love. Can’t just stare at my bum all night! The show’s about to start and I still haven’t been to the bar!” Hob teases.

Dream lets him drag him toward the bar. He prefers to consume beverages in the Dreaming; Dreamstuff doesn’t have any of the strange flavors and textures that Waking food and drink do. He lets Hob order them drinks, knowing without a doubt he’ll make him try some cocktail on account of being “period accurate.” They watch the bartender shake their drinks, tossing the shaker up in the air, then pours them out into two glasses. Hob snatches them up and points his chin toward a table.

“Let’s sit over there, then I can tell you all about the drink I picked out for us.”

Dream pulls out a chair for Hob, not to be out-gentlemanned tonight. Then he seats himself next to Hob, scooting the chair as close as possible. Hob slides the bright orange drink toward him and leans in to make sure Dream hears him as the band begins to warm up.

“Take a sip, love,” he whispers in Dream’s ear. “It’s got gin, orange juice, absinthe, and grenadine. I’m sure you’ll love it, what with your sweet tooth.”

Dream smirks and tries the drink. It is good, the juniper from the gin mixing with the tart citrus making him feel more alert. He hums in approval.

Lips still brushing his ear, Hob whispers, “Good, right? It’s called a monkey gland.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Hob chuckles, “A monkey gland! Some guy thought grafting them on to people would give them long life or something. So they named a drink after that, for some reason.” He shrugs. “Still tastes good.”

He takes a sip of his own drink, finding Dream’s hand under the table and giving it a squeeze.

“Now, you ready for some bloody good music? Might even get you to dance tonight if I’m good,” he winks, knowing how much it drives Dream crazy.

The bandleader counts out a measure, then the room explodes in brass, wood, and string. The rhythm section is non-stop, a train chugging its way till the end of the line. The clarinet howls it's response.

Hob starts to sway back and forth, squeezing Dream’s hand on the off-beats. He glances at Dream, grinning. Dream gives him a small smile back as the first solo begins. The trombonist wails, jumping from first position to sixth and back, keeping time with his whole body.

By the time the second soloist stands, Hob is pushing his chair back and pulling Dream to stand up. The trumpet blares, the mute making it sound even brighter as he hits the notes one after one. The syncopation makes his heart beat faster as they step onto the dancefloor.

Dream turns to face him, placing a hand on his shoulder and the other out expectantly.

“Really!? You’ll dance with me?” Hob asks as he takes hold of Dream’s waist and pulls him close. The dances of this time were so scandalous compared to just a few decades earlier. The Victorian age was so rigid and it felt like they didn’t even dance to have fun! But the foxtrot and Charleston, those were about getting up close and personal with your dance partner, having a good time.

Hob laces his fingers through Dream’s and takes the first step. The clarinet is honking and wailing as they step to the beat, back and forth, Dream spinning at Hob’s indication perfectly. Hob is lost as he watches his love in motion. He can’t peel his eyes away from Dream.

As the song ends, Dream pulls Hob even closer. They’re pressed together from shoulder to thigh, Hob panting although he does not need to breathe in the Dreaming. Dream drags his hand from Hob’s shoulder, up the length of his neck, to caress the back of his head. His fingers brush the short strands, delighting in the texture. Hob gazes up at him, grinning. Looking at him like a man who has been lost at sea looks at the land for the first time in years. Absolute awe and devotion make their home in Hob’s honeyed eyes.

Dream has to lean in for a kiss in that moment. The way Hob’s sweat makes his skin shine and the pulsing of his lungs against Dream’s body are irresistible. As their lips touch, Hob groans; his hands tighten around Dream’s middle like he could absorb him into his body. Dream kisses him harder, even as the next song starts up and dancers move around them. Hob flicks his tongue across his bottom lip, nipping as he continues to press himself to Dream. He opens his mouth in response, Hob’s tongue immediately breaching the gap to taste Dream in his element. He tastes different in the Dreaming, like something more. Sweet and longing like the last berry of summer, of wintergreen tea saved for the fall, of first frosts and snowmelt. Hob can’t get enough, licking Dream’s mouth and wrapping their tongues around each other.

Hob eventually pulls back, resting their foreheads together.

“Thank you for indulging me, my love. Can’t wait to see where you take me next.”

“It was my pleasure, Hob Gadling. Dare I say I shall take you dancing again.”

Dream presses one last longing kiss to Hob’s lips as he feels him start to slip from the Dreaming. He will be there to hold them in their bed, to kiss again and again before Hob must get up for work.

#fluffbruary #aquila writes #dreamling #hob x dream #dream x hob #guy who is so normal about the 1920s and jazz

[atoasttotheendoftheworld]

Facts (unasked for) and headcanons (of little value and highly questionable) about my future story "My brother is an only child" (it is uncertain whether it will ever see HTML format and consequent publication, but I need to get rid of it a little)

Sakumo and Dai knew each other long before their respective children were born, yet it was a superficial acquaintance that became more close just several years later

there never existed a Maito Clan, all of Dai's relatives were simple villagers, not particularly chakra talented and thus unfit for a ninja's life; Dai became the first to express interest in it

there was a Clan branch of the Inuzuka Clan, the Inuiwa Clan, which, despite a high level of sensorial ability, was mainly employed in ninken training. Distinctive features were the gray fang-shaped paints below their eyes and their preference for wolf packs rather than dogs. Rouna and few others were children of the last of the Inuiwa Clan

Sakumo was born and raised in Konoha, although none of his family were from the Land of Fire; they came from the Land of Iron, specifically the area known as the Iron Mountains (on the border between the Land of Lakes, the Land of Sound, and the Land of Fire)

technically, both Gai and Kakashi still have some, albeit few, distant relatives, though neither of them is aware of it, and the degree of parentage is so meager that it doesn't actually matter at all

unlike Kakashi, Gai always knew who his mother was; indeed, the memory of her has been passed down from Dai's stories, as well as from the distinctive color scheme of green-red-orange in their outfits

Kakashi's mother was widely known throughout Konoha, yet despite the still existence of people who could remember her, no one ever uttered a word as a result of an incident that saw Sakumo implode into a rare tantrum that led many to swear never to mention his beloved partner ever again

everything related to the Hatake Clan, its origins, history, techniques and abilities, as well as any personal lifetime memories, was stored and concealed by Sakumo into intricately sealed boxes that Kakashi found only several years after his father's death; yet he never opened

Gai has a whole collection of photographs of his family but, unlike those of his father, or himself as a child and teenager, few have seen the ones portraying his mother

Kakashi is, through paternal heritage, partially from the Land of Iron. Gai is, by maternal heritage, partially from the Land of Earth. However, only Gai is aware of his mixed ancestry

there are only two people left, Tsunade and Aburame Shigeru, who knew, albeit marginally, Gai's mother

Tsunade and Aburame Shigeru are also the only ones with vivid memories of Uchiha Dakini, Obito's grandmother as well as one of the last survivors of the time of the first two great shinobi wars

Obito was, as a matter of fact, great-grandson of Madara, while Sasuke is great-great-grandson of Izuna

since countless data and reports have been lost years ago much history regarding the Uchiha Clan is still as unclear and confusing as uncertain is whether or not other Uchiha actually still live outside Konoha's borders

on the contrary the actual lineage of the Senju Clan and the Uzumaki Clan has been widely verified to have been reduced to a few people, namely Tsunade is the last of the Senju Clan, while Naruto and Karin are the only two descendants of the Uzumaki Clan

the kinship between Naruto and Tsunade is quite remote and would be 4th grade great-great aunt, while the kinship with Karin and Nagato is 3rd cousin, instead Karin and Nagato were 2nd cousins

although it is not known, practically to anyone, Jiraiya was 3rd cousin to Kakashi and was 2nd cousin with Sakumo

Gai never knew his relatives on maternal side due to the latter's choice, who always rejected to meet him

ironically Jiraiya, throughout his long travels in distant Lands, never learned of his origins, instead he found the Clan of which Orochimaru is an unaware descendant, yet he never had the opportunity to tell them

Tenten and Rock Lee were both orphaned at just a year old; both children of civilians, they have no memory about the tragedy that led to their parents' deaths

the appellative Rock is neither a Clan nor a surname, but rather a name by which the orphanage workers began to address Lee and, over time, became an inherent part of the name itself until it became a whole

similarly, Tenten's name was, originally, just Ten, but throughout her childhood days it was so numerous the occasions when the orphanage workers had to call her or shout it out loud to search for her that, eventually, Ten turned into Tenten and it ended up becoming her official name

unofficially, Tenten, Rock Lee, and Neji share the same surname. Officially, Tenten has no surname, Lee is assumed to be Rock's surname, and Neji is considered a Hyūga

Sakura is the only one on her team who has no relatives, neither immediate nor ancestor, who has ever been a ninja. Her entire family has always been all civilians, making her de facto the one astounding exception

Aburame Shino regards himself as a widower and is unknown, even to his teammates, as to why, when he must or is required, he defines himself as such

no biographical information is available, or disclosed, about the Kazekage's future bride-to-be, whose only certain facts involve her provenance from outside the borders of the Land of Wind

thirty, of men with political power or economic prestige, offered their daughters or sisters as brides, and ten, of Daimyō or Kings from distant Lands, proposed arranged marriages upon offering their daughters or sisters to the Hokage; for a total of forty offers, all rejected or ignored to the utmost concern (as well as objection) of the Congress of Elders of Konoha

Naruto was compelled to pursue specific studies in preparation of his future role as Hokage; among the tutors of such courses figures an Aburame Shujin who claims to have met him when he was too young to be able to remember

all over the Lands there have been whispers and rumors regarding alleged descendants of Uchiha Madara ever since the war ended. Some Lands have engaged in intensive investigations, including the Land of Fire

some corpses of war dead were never found, including that of Hyūga Neji, whose funeral was forcibly held with an empty coffin

Orochimaru disappeared from Konoha for a year, the reasons have never been explained

#this stuff has been crowding my mind for months #sorry fellas #feedback appreciated #a lot actually #fic wip #wip #oc wip #fanfiction wip #naruto fanfiction #naruto series #naruto oc #naruto characters #naruto #naruto uzumaki #naruto universe #hatake kakashi #maito dai #maito gai #kakagai #naruto headcanons #my headcanons #shino aburame #rock lee #tenten #neji hyūga #tsunade #jiraiya #madara uchiha #sasuke uchiha #obito uchiha

[korby-time]

Nihai masterpost!

Nihai (pronounced knee-high) is my Kirby oc. She is her own species, which I haven’t named.

She wears a cloak with a hood, wields a spear, and has no facial features but a mouth.

She is blind, but can hear and smell despite having no visible ears or nose.

her spear is strapped to her back with a leather strap that is held on with tough Velcro, so that in times of need she can rip it off her back without damaging it.

Her personality is cheerful and talkative. She loves her friends, and hanging out with them.

Her hands are not attached to her body, but she can control them up to an arm’s length away. (Not three feet as it says in the image- she’s only 20 inches / 51 cm tall). When they are not visible, they are in her pockets.

As for colors, her body and legs are bright green. Her face is black, while her mouth glows white. Her spear is brown with a grey tip, and its strap is light brown. The bottom of her cloak is pink with orange mixed in, while the top is orange with pink mixed in.

Nihai identifies as female. While her species does not reproduce sexually and thus does not have sexes, once she was taught about the concept of the gender binary she immediately decided upon female.

Because her species does not sexually reproduce, they have no need for romantic or sexual partners. As a result, she is aro/ace.

Nihai is left-handed, but she fights right-handed so that she can do other things while fighting and because her teacher was right-handed.

She has a Southern accent because she mostly learned to talk from King Dedede, who let her hang around the castle.

She can do photosynthesis (hence being green) but she prefers eating

She's technically over hundreds of years old, but she doesn't act it because she only started learning common language and culture a few years ago.

She's quite intelligent, but was never formally educated. She cannot read or write, mostly due to being blind.

When in an unfamiliar area, she'll take the spear off her back, flip it upside down, and use it to probe out the area.

Her concept came about from thinking about that type of game protagonist with eyes and no mouth and a cloak and a simple body. I thought, what if it had just a mouth instead of just eyes? And from there, Nihai came to be.

I'll end with a few more doodles of her.

[skeleton-brainrot]

Haiiii!!

My name's Wolfe and i'm a fag and i have several fictional husbands. Mostly variations of Sans and Papyrus undertale, but also some mha characters.

I'm a literal dog, 4 legs fluffy tail no thumbs (very hard to type btw), and like to be referred to as such. It/its pronouns preferred, he/him also acceptable.

🔞This is an 18+ account. I'm a grown man, i hornypost about my husbands, minors should not view my posts.🔞

I'm also high 99% of the time 👍

Info about my husbands and i under the cut.

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

About me!

Name: Wolfe

Age: 19

Gender: dog

Sexuality: fag

Description:

A literal dog. Some sort of coyote-looking mutt with green emo furry hair and skeleton arm-warmers, often seen in cringe stylish anime merch.

—————————

| Stats |

| STR : • • |

| INT : • • • |

| WIS : • • |

| CHA : • • • |

| STA : • |

| EXP*: • • • • |

—————————

(*EXP refers to relationship and life experience)

Usually okay with sharing f/os but can get possessive!

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

About my husbands!

Red

Name: Sans/Fell/Red

Character: UnderFell! Sans

Source: Undertale AU / Underfell

Age: 34-ish

Gender: a guy

Sexuality: bi

Description:

Short red and handsome, my beloved Fell Sans. Featuring the gorgeous red turtleneck + gold spiked red leather collar + big puffy black coat with fur rimmed hood + oversized basketball shorts + red hightop converse look and other on-brand outfits featured in my imagination, a cracked skull, red eyelights, singular golden tooth, the classic. A chainsmoker with an affinity for mustard and a love-hate incestually-toned relationship with his brother, his outward appearance and first impression can be that of a depressed passive-aggressive bastard whose main sense of comedy is self deprecating jokes; but once you get to know him you find his dumb idiot soft side. And the trauma. All the trauma. Surprisingly good for cuddles despite being bones, ecto is fun ;3

—————————

| Stats |

| STR : • • • • • |

| INT : • • • • |

| WIS : • • • |

| CHA : • • |

| EXP*: • • • |

—————————

(*EXP refers to relationship and life experience)

KATSUKI

Name: Katsuki

Character: Katsuki Bakugo

Source: My Hero Academia

Age: 17

Gender: A Man

Sexuality: gay

Looks:

Everyone's favourite fluffy angry blonde, the man the myth the legend, Katsuki Bakugo himself! Fluffy pale blonde hair, piercing red eyes, killer bod and beautiful smile, my favourite prettyboy. Harsh temperament, short fuse, full of spark, explosive personality. Often spotted in his school uniform and more casual looks such as my favourite black tanktop grey sweats combo. Late nights spent cuddling under blankets with good movies and better snacks are the best with him <3

—————————

| Stats |

| STR : • • • • |

| INT : • • • • |

| WIS : • • |

| CHA : • • |

| EXP*: • • |

—————————

(*EXP refers to relationship and life experience)

Swap

Name: Papyrus/Swap/Stretch/Honey

Age: 28

Gender: just a lil guy

Sexuality: *shrugs*

Looks:

Tall, lazy, always stoned, and with a horrible fashion sense, my dear comedian husband. My beloved, often seen in his baggy orange hoodie and various colours of cargo shorts ranging from a dark-ish beige to navy green, can also be spotted in t-shirts. Still with cargo shorts. They're all he ever wears. Always able to make me laugh and bound to light up any room he's in, and the world's best sesh buddy. We bake brownies together.

—————————

| Stats |

| STR : • • • • • |

| INT : • • • • |

| WIS : • • • |

| CHA : • • • |

| EXP*: • • • •

—————————

(*EXP refers to relationship and life experience)

Lesser partners: swapfell papyrus, fell papyrus, classic sans, dabi, shinso, shigiraki, hawks

#selfship #self ship #proship selfship #proship #proship safe #fictional other #romantic f/o #f/o #undertale selfship #mha selfship

[mxchellesworld]

Discuss!

Spencer Reid x Reader

Synopsis; Where the team discusses the question ‘do you kiss after head’, you find out Spencer has too little experience to answer the question so you help him out

Warnings; smut, oral (male receiving), sub!spencer, praise, slight degradation 

a/n; LMAO im so sorry for disappearing again life has been actually kicking my ass but anyways lately i’ve been thinking about subby early season spence so here we go,, hope you enjoy!

***

Another Friday night and the team was out bar crawling after an easy case. But this time all members were there as it reached 11pm which was rare. Usually Hotch and JJ would have been home by 10:30 and Spencer wouldn’t have been there at all. But there was something light in the air which had all parties concerned sitting packed in a booth, laughing after each sip of their drinks. 

Since it wasn’t your first rodeo together you knew how the night went. It started off with Rossi offering to buy the first few rounds, always whiskey but he made an exception for Penelope. Then again who would deny her anything. 

Once the drinks were flowing and lips got a little loose, the questions would start popping in at the top of your heads. However these were not your run of the mill, ‘hows so and so doing?’ ‘done your taxes yet?’ oh no. The name of the game was discuss where you would all think of a question which would help you dig just a tiny bit deeper into your coworkers sex lives. 

Maybe if you were all sober then you’d avoid thinking of each other in such positions, pun intended, yet in this state your prying minds were open and your stomachs were ready to grow abs from bending over in laughter. 

You raised the margarita glass up clinking it with a fork to get the tables attention. Everyone including Aaron had a smile on their face, ready to hear the intrusive question for the night. 

“Ok my fellow profilers, doctor, and tech genius,” you added pointing at Spencer then Pen, “Do you kiss your partner after they give you head? Discuss!” you finished in your most formal voice. 

Right as you took a swig of your drink the mixed responses of yes and no filled your small space. 

“Why wouldn’t you? You guys especially, if someones willingly trying to swallow then you damn well owe them a kiss,” Emily finished earning nods and ‘exactly’s from JJ, Pen, and yourself. 

“Ok but thats weird. I just can’t explain it but its a no go for me,” Morgan finished. This only gained him a scoff and raised voices, “Hotch man help me out here,” he said looking over to the man hiding his smirk behind the amber liquid. 

“I have to agree with the ladies here Derek,” he said curtly. 

The girls yelped and hooted at Hotch for siding with them while Morgan sat with his arms crossed being the singular person left out as even Rossi agreed. Meanwhile you noticed the presence next to you had shrunk back and wasn’t too active in the conversation. 

“So Spence do you kiss your partner after they,” you trailed off shaking your fist by your cheek and poking your tongue in the side. 

He coughed as he instantly sat up quicker. Even under the dim lights of the bar you could still see the blush creeping up from his neck to his ears and the slightest tint on his cheeks. 

“Oh I uh- I never-” he said looking anywhere but your eyes. 

“You don’t kiss them?” you said raising your brows. 

“No! I-i mean yes. I would I think b-but I haven’t had the chance to actually partake in such.. activities,” he finished finally taking a look into your eyes. 

You could tell he was waiting for you to laugh in his face for being so inexperienced but you felt far from it. If anything you wished you could be the one to show him things. 

That sweet boy had you wrapped around his finger and he didn’t even know it. Maybe it was his naivety considering how exceptionally smart he was. Or maybe it was the cute sweater vests he wore and now he nervously tucked his hair behind his ears. All you knew was that you wanted Spencer Reid and tonight was your night to make it happen. 

You hummed taking in the information, “Well that’s not a bad thing Spence. Everything takes time,” you said putting your hand on his arm for comfort and giving him a smile. 

Going to turn back to face the table you almost didn’t hear Spencer go to speak again, “Do you?” 

Got him.

“Why don’t you find out pretty boy,” you said with a wink as you downed the rest of your marg. In the corner of your eye you could see Spencer shifting in his seat, subtly moving his bag to cover the slowly growing tent in his slacks. 

As the night went by you couldn’t help but really give him a show. You had popped open a button or two on the long sleeve you had on, since it was getting stuffy in the booth. Though when you leaned forward and jutted your chest out, the soft inhale of a breath from the man next to you was just serving as motivation to get bolder. 

For the last hour you called it quits on the alcohol and drank a few glasses of water before you drove home. Spencer had been uncharacteristically quiet ever since your little interactions. 

The team had all gotten up to say their goodbyes. Rossi going by and giving everyone a kiss on each cheek. Derek having to quite literally rangle Penelope from talking to passing by groups on their way out. Then there were two. 

You turned to the side where Spencer was nursing on his coke, “Hey pretty boy, it’s late, let me give you a ride home,” you said grabbing your belongings. 

“Y-yeah ok. Thanks Y/n,” he said getting up. You’d noticed how he still had the burnt orange bag over his crotch. He couldn’t still be hard could he? Well you’d love to find out. 

As gentlemanly as he was, Spencer opened the door for you to exit the building first. The whip of fresh night air cooling on your exposed chest and legs under your skirt. 

You unlocked your car and stepped in, Spencer waiting to hear the little beep signaling his side was open. As he sat down you heard him let out a little whimper. Your head shot over to look at him, you could tell from the flush on his cheeks he didn’t mean to let the noise out. 

Holding in your chuckle you started the ignition and pulled out of the lot, “Can I put on some music?” 

“Yeah I don’t mind,” he said looking over at you with his lips in a line. If it was anyone else, they’d probably think he was uncomfortable but you loved his tiny awkward smiles. 

The ride to his apartment was mostly silent besides a rare quip from Spencer about paper work or fact about an older building you had passed by. It fascinated you to no end hearing him talk. Spencer was a hand speaker, meaning he always used his hands waving them around and making gestures. The pale digits had you captivated. Probably a driving hazard but you couldn’t help but let your mind wander. 

You pulled up into one of the visitor spots and put the car in park. You looked over to see Spencer almost contemplating something. You’d seen the look on his face before when he was looking over puzzles. 

“Somethin on your mind Doc?” you said with a small smile. As cute as he looked when he was nervous, you’d never want him to feel uncomfortable around you. 

“Would you-,” he cleared his throat, “Wo- Would you maybe want to c-come inside?” 

“Of course Spence I’d love to,” you finished with a reassuring nod. 

As he led you upstairs you were giddy with anticipation. So what if nothing happened. He was your friend first and you were glad he was letting you into his personal space. Even if you wanted nothing more than to have him writhi-

“Y/n?” 

The door closing snapped you out of your thoughts. You didn’t even realize you were in his living room. The dark green walls and shelves bursting with books put a grin on your face, “Sorry Doc, just caught up in my thoughts. What did you say hun?” 

His brows practically raised to his hairline from hearing the pet name. While he was used to the names coming from Garcia they took a whole different light coming from your lips. 

“I was asking if you wanted water or something,” he said fiddling with the keys in his hands. Eyes darting everywhere but your face so you wouldn’t be able to see the flush rising on his cheeks. 

“No I’m fine thanks for asking though,” you said taking a seat on the worn leather couch. 

You reached for the tv remote making a face at Spencer to ask for permission. He nodded and you settled back turning on an old sitcom that played late at night. 

As the episode ended you both sat in silence. Again you didn’t mind but you could practically hear the cogs moving in Spencer’s brain. 

You were about to speak when he cut you off before you could even get a word out, “What did you mean by ‘why don’t you find out’.”

Gaining confidence you moved closer to where he was on the couch, slow enough for him to stop you in case he wanted to back out. 

“Well you have options pretty boy,” you said moving a leg to straddle him. Your hands instinctively going to his brown locks. You could’ve sworn you heard a little moan leave his chapped lips. Noted. 

“W-what are the options,” lust blown eyes looked up to yours. 

“One, you can put that mouth to good use on me,” you said trailing your finger over his bottom lip, “and let me cum over that pretty face.” 

His eyes shut hearing your words and you weren’t having it, “Nuh uh eyes on me honey,” instantly they were back on yours. 

“Or number two. I can suck you off and let you cum down my throat, but,” you paused making sure to roll your hips on his growing length, “ you have to give me a nice big smooch after.” 

The hands on your hips pulled you closer as he bucked his hips into you as you finished the sentence. It was clear which option was preferred. 

You moved to slide down in between his legs. You let your hands trail down his clothed thighs, causing him to jump. 

“Tsk such a needy boy,” you said mockingly, “Am I not going fast enough baby?”

“Please Y/n,” he all but whimpered. It was like music to your ears. 

Your hands went to his belt, looking up in his eyes for a final sign of permission. Once he nodded you quickly undid it and he lifted his hips to help get his pants down. You palmed him over his boxers, feeling the wet patch where he was already leaking pre cum. 

“Is this all for me Spence? Does the thought of my lips around you make you this hard,” you said taking him out of the striped confines. 

“Oh god please just,” he cut himself off. You could see his hands curling fists besides his legs. 

“Please what baby? I can’t give you anything unless you ask.” Your hands continued their task of leisurely stroking his length. 

“Fuck please put your mouth on me,” he rushed out, hips bucking to prove his point. 

The answer was good enough for you so you wasted no time in leaning forward and taking him in your mouth. Both of you let out content sighs as you tried to take him further. 

You looked up to see him with his head leaned back, eyes scrunched closes in pleasure. 

You pulled off with a pop, letting your hand work him over. “Better keep those pretty eyes on me before I decide you can’t finish.”

He looked down with a flash of worry, that was quickly replaced by a loud moan as you spit down on his cock before taking him in your mouth again. 

For a germaphobe, Spencer loved how nasty it was. He was thanking god or whatever higher being there was for giving him his eidetic memory because the sight below him was something he’d never wanna forget. 

Your eyes were teary and you had spit dribbling down your chin but he wanted nothing more than to give you more than just a kiss after you finished. Or well after he finishes. 

You could tell he was close by the way he was throbbing on your tongue. Again taking him out of your mouth you used both hands to jerk him off. 

“You’re doing such a good job baby. So good for me. You wanna cum in my mouth pretty boy?”

“God Y/n I’m so close please please please,” he whimpered out. 

“Cum for me baby, be my good boy Spence,”  you said before taking him down your throat. He was big, not girthy but long and it was a struggle but you’d be damned if you didn’t try to take him all. 

Hollowing your cheeks you bobbed your head quickly, egging on his release further. His hands finally found a place in the back of your head. Pushing you down further as he came. 

“F-fuck Y/n I’m gonna”

His moans and whines were a symphony of sounds you’d have on repeat in your head forever. 

You swallowed the salty release but before you could even wipe your lips you were being pulled up by Spencer placing his lips on yours. You moaned into the kiss, his hands gripped the sides of your face not wanting to let you go. 

The need for air made you both pull back. You looked at one another, chests heaving and looking like you ran a marathon. 

Then a sad look came across his face. 

“Spencer what’s wrong?” 

“You didn’t get any pleasure,” he said looking like a hurt puppy. Oh your sweet boy. 

“It’s ok baby, I can take care of myself,” you tried to shrug off.

He was quick to push you back on the couch, taking the spot you were previously in. His warm lips trailing down your exposed thighs. 

“I wanna do it, but only if you kiss me after.” 

#spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #Spencer Reid fic #mgg fanfiction #mgg smut #mgg x reader #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #criminal minds smut #sub!spencer #chellewrites

[masochisticdevotion]

Ryōgi x reader headcanons

( I wasn’t quite sure what this request wanted since it was really vague so I sort of had fun with it, my condolences to the requester who had to wait this long life happened )

You’ve been a friend of Shikadai’s for a very long time, your vibes just matched each other well weather you were exactly alike or complete opposites it didn’t matter

You two were often seen attached to the hip, weather it was training together or looking the clouds unless ether of you needed alone time even then most of the time you two preferred each other’s company rather than anything else

So when Shikadai told you he was bored and wanted to play Shogi in the park, you went with him, while not being the best at shogi you were getting better, plus you had gotten better at strategy since you’ve known Shikadai

You two chose to sit by the fountain to play while he told you about the shogi strategy he had been struggling to learn and his new shogi partner

You didn’t know much about him as it is with Shikadai’s friends all you really knew was his name - Ryōgi - and that he was good at shogi

You two played a few rounds of Shogi when an unfamiliar voice called out from behind you - Shikadai waved at the unseen person

You turned around to see who it was and was met with an unfamiliar yet pretty face, with pretty red hair and dark eyes - they must be Ryōgi

Shikadai greeted him and introduced him to you, as you thought this person was indeed Ryōgai

“It’s nice to meet you” he smiled, “Shikidai’s told me a lot about you”

“Nothing too bad I hope” you smirked looking over at your friend who was off in his own world setting up the shogi board

“Oh you have nothing to worry about, he thinks very high of you” Ryōgi smiled again, you wondered where he was from, as he definitely wasn’t from konoha or you would’ve seen him before

“That’s good to know” you side eyed your friend who seemed to be complete zoned out at this point

“He’s told me a few things about you” you lied not wanting to look rude to someone who probably doesn’t know Shikadai that well yet “though clearly he left out some important details”

Ryōgi looked confused, raising an eyebrow “And those are?”

You couldn’t help but smile as you turned to look at him “shogi strategy number one, never reveal your weakness’s to your opponent”

“Well now I’m even more curious” Ryōgi sat down next to you as you opened you mouth to speak you were interrupted by Shikadai who seemed to have snapped back in reality (oop there goes gravity)

“Are you two done flirting and can we finally play a game or are you going to let me third wheel longer?”

You threw a pebble at him “no actually were not” before you rolled your eyes “you guys have the first round I don’t need to get my butt kicked right away”

You watched them play their game for a while, just enjoying the show

You honestly didn’t realise how the sun was going down and its golden rays started to cast down onto the fountain

Its warm orange colour illuminated Ryōgi’s red hair making him look like he was glowing

He really was nice to look at

If Ryōgi was a yandere I think he would definitely have attachment issues

Due to what happened to his parents he doesnt like the idea of letting people go she hes really clingy

Hes really easily jealous - even with Shikadai he doesnt like people stealing your attention away from him

First he likes to steal things from you - he often says he found it somewhere so you begin to trust him and go to him when somethings missing or wrong

He doesn’t like people being near you guys in general, he just wants it to be him and you

He wants to steal you gifts but he worries you’ll be arrested for stealing so instead he just steals money and buys it for you

He falls into obsession easy, but love takes longer, he’ll follow you to see where you go, see your interests and try to bond with you

He’s just so clingy he loves hugs he just always wants to hold you - he loves pyshical touch

Hes just so scared you’ll leave him, he loves you so much and he doesn’t want to lose you - he’d sooner die

Hes just so sweet all he wants is to see you smile - he’s so considerate he’ll walk past a flower shop and go “oh those are (y/n)’s favourite I should get her some” or he’ll past a bookstore and see your favourite book and get excited to read it with you

He likes to play games with you - shogi, cards whatever, with you he’s not really competitive he just likes to have fun and feel normal with you

All he wants is someone to be there for him and never leave

#boruto imagines #boruto x reader #boruto #boruto headcanons #boruto ryogi #x reader #headcanons #fanfiction #yandere x reader #anime #imagines #manga #yandere imagines #yandere boruto #yandere ryogi

[kachuuyaa]

— ELYSIAN’S FUGITIVES.

06072021 ; g.i oneshot , gn!reader , bsd!reader

genre ; angsty fluff ig i dunno???

includes ; WISP!CHUUYA MAKES HIS APPEARANCE :D mentions of death, gore, gods, chuuya being cute (He Squeaks!) chuuya and reader meant to be REAL, literally just a first meeting between aether n you Italics is Japanese

synopsis ; The punishment from the gods is to be sent to Elysian, then banished into a never-ending cycle of paranoia.

author's notes ; U FINALLY MEET AETHER. wisp!chuuya is the best thing I have ever written ever I was mentally squealing because oh my oiguoidsp[';][][21P]2;\.,sdmNXK

You couldn’t count the days you have roamed Teyvat, it has been too long since then. For 60 years (it was 60 years, wasn’t it? You don’t remember anymore), you have not crossed any country’s border, only listening to their seemingly endless musings. You have never been out in the sea, tensity and uneasiness forming in the pit of your stomach whenever so. However, being isolated from the land the gods rule upon, has earned you a title. Your name is being whispered as a warning or a legend like a scripture formed with the wind. Some were afraid of you, while some respected you. It was pathetic, really, how desperate these people were compared to those in Yokohama. There was no point in dwelling in the past, now, was there? Despite receiving unwanted attention by passersby, you paid no attention to those who whispered your name like a mantra, spouting vile, vulgar assumptions about you. You realized-- quickly-- that they only think for themselves, not for the benefit of others. Wouldn’t that be the source of their demise? Well, you don’t linger on trivial topics for too long, it’s only fair for you to care only about yourself in a world you don’t belong in (you know you belong here now, yet you felt as if Elysian was better than this place they call home).

You have heard of the outlander who caught the wind, saving a foreign nation he seemed to have been in once, only, and you have let the news flow from one ear to another. Who were you to care? No one should catch your attention in a world full of insatiable people. Each step made the grass crunch, making your way to the foot of Dragonspine. Chuuya followed suit, and he settled himself on your head. You figured out that he could shapeshift, probably his punishment as well, yet so far, he has only shifted into a bird and a wisp. His wisp form wasn’t as elegant as you may think, a small, hooded figure encased in smoke-colored clothing, resembling the coat he used to wear. On top, there was a small black X-shaped symbol in the middle of his chest. Around his small form were orange particles, that remind you vividly of Chuuya's ability. A little hat, one you were familiar with, was situated on top of his small head. It was the hat he was wearing during his time as a mafioso, you deduced as such. The tiny creature lets out small squeaks of content, nuzzling itself on your head; seems like he thought it was a good pillow. A chuckle of amusement escapes your lips, turning your head around to watch the scenery in front of you. Dragonspine was one of your favorite places to visit during your free time, snow piling on top of another, making the white mountain as beautiful as it is. However, you do not venture into Dragonspine, not wanting to risk your life for creatures who seem to always take your time.

As much as you hate to admit it, you have most likely killed more hilichurls than you ever killed back in Yokohama. The songs of relentless, snow-covered winds never fail to make your unease and worry falter, even for a moment. The glacial scenery of the mountain attracted your attention, especially your first visit here. A few snowflakes settled themselves on your face, melting due to the heat emitting from your body. If you had the chance, should you tell your friends about the scenery, they would love it too, wouldn't they? You know they would, however, how would you know so? They’re gone, and so is your attachment to anything but Chuuya. “Do you like the scenery, Chuchu?” soft taps on your head were his response, indicating that he was displeased with the nickname you gave him. He agreed nonetheless, sitting on the palm of your hand. He squirmed, looking for a more comfortable position, and stilled after a while.

Memories of the past have always plagued your mind, reminding you that you were alone, again. Despite the copious memories you have stored away, none will bring you back to the place you have regarded as your home. For once, you have felt safe, all the while knowing death follows you wherever you go. Death was the dark, hollow cloak you wore while walking the path of dread in your past life, hands coated with the blood of another, and your eyes held the burden you were forced to carry until the day you died. The amount of blood was enough to shatter the dreams children told you to believe in, you were holding on the thinnest thread, one soaked with blood, your blood, reminding you how much you have suffered and how you made others weak, on their knees, while keeping a straight face as you watch the life draining from their faces. You have learned that life was unfair, gods turning a blind eye to the generation you were put in, leading the people to be self-reliant, causing resentment and disrespect to be aimed at those who call themselves “gods”.

Did they even exist? You have heard, and read, tell of what the gods and goddesses have done to provide, to give, and to sacrifice. Did they give up? Were they satisfied with what they have gotten? Has their insatiable lust for approval and desire to fulfill their selfish, carnal desires quenched? Did they only long for what they have desired, using their power to prove themselves better among the world of mortals? Were they not the selfless, kind gods described in the books of old? Nevertheless, you had no respect for the divine. You only had yourself to depend on since the start. You controlled your own death, knowing that when you died, it was time. You could have stopped yourself from fading, though, but you were tired, you let it happen. And though you know that your death will be remembered, not in the history books, but in the Port Mafia, you will be forever remembered.

59 years have passed. There is no time to dwell in the past, all you have is the memories you swear to protect. Your fight with immortality has been futile, leaving you to bask in your own presence for 59 years. That is until Chuuya finally found you. And you? You found him. It wasn’t expected for you to know who he was, a mere spirit cursed by gods above to wander a world he was unfamiliar with. He was stripped of Arahabaki, leaving him with only his outermost ability, “For The Tainted Sorrow”. He didn’t mind, as well, Arahabaki resides within him, giving him a sense of dread, and leaving him with his identity that he can’t seem to solve. Arahabaki has forever stained him as blood stained your hands, giving him scars that will never leave him. In that life, and in the next. He had you, sweet, malevolent, outstanding you. Though he never voiced it out, he felt, well, complete, to say the least. And while feeling detached from not being completely human has affected him far too much, you were there to make him feel-- what did you make him feel, really? He can’t decipher his own feelings as his own identity. In all the years he has roamed this world as an insignificant wisp of the wind, he found himself tangled in another adventure with the “most insufferable partner aside from Dazai”.

Your footsteps were carried by the wind, walking to the City of Mondstadt, again, Chuuya on your shoulder, scanning the area for any enemies or the like. You were currently looking for food, choosing to shop in Mondstadt instead of catching wildlife. Each step has your coat moving from one side to another, boots making the grass crunch in every step. “Ne, Chuuya, do you want to buy pancakes from Mond?” you whispered, voice soft, only for Chuuya to hear. Said wisp only nods its small head, his little hood moving ever so slightly while he nods. Deciding that it would be best for him to rest, you put him in your breast pocket, his little head poking just a bit. Chuuya softly squeaked, nuzzling on the fabric, and opted to rest despite his unsaid protests. But before you could set foot onto the City Of Freedom, a high-pitched voice prevented you from doing so. “Hey!” they said, you whipped your head to the direction you heard it from, spotting a seemingly young-looking traveler, and a floating pixie-- wait.

Isn’t he the honorary knight? You thought to yourself, unconsciously cupping the pocket Chuuya resides in, feeling him squirm when he came in contact with your gloved palm. Instead of giving them a response, you simply stared at them, eyes glimmering with amusement. “Hi.” a simple, short greeting. Although you would prefer to ask the traveler some questions, that wouldn’t be necessary. You were able to decipher every detail easily, too easily, in fact. Aether, however, wasn’t fazed. He was well aware of how they described you, and how notorious you were due to appearance. Scoffing at the assumptions, he looked forward to meeting you. Perhaps he will look forward to his endeavors with you by his side, no? A star sent from Elysian would only brighten the mortal world, cursed with divine power and lonesome memories.

However, you did not know that a simple greeting exchanged on your first day of the meeting would bloom into something much more.

Ah, it seems that the show is starting once again, a different chapter, a different genre.

2021 © kachuuyaa. all rights reserved. do not steal and claim my work as your own.

#mai-fics?! #mai-drabbles?! #bsd!reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact fics #genshin impact fluff #genshin fluff #genshin fics #diluc x reader #aether x reader #kaeya x reader #xiao x reader #dainsleif x reader #zhongli x reader #albedo x reader #kazuha x reader #childe x reader #venti x reader #genshin impact imagines #genshin imagines #genshin impact drabbles #genshin drabbles #genshin impact headcanons #HSJAKDAJ #auahwha ahuauwha WOOO #yes yes DANCES breakdances aiwooogag

[archetypal-archivist]

Tommyinnit and Hermitcraft- Heartstone P.2

So, a little while back I wrote piece titled Tommyinnit and Hermitcraft- Heartstone (linked here) which was inspired by the works of @petrichormeraki and @redorich, who popularized the AU of Tommyinnit from the Dream SMP getting dropped into Hermitcraft somehow and summarily getting adopted by the entire server. I, in my infinite wisdom, decided “yes, but also angst” and spat out a solid 1500+ words with a cliffhanger at the end because it was getting ridiculous and I had yet more to write. This is another 1500+ words of continuation. 

-----

It's not easy, knowing things. Joe knows more things than most, and oh, how it eats at him sometimes. He jokes with Cleo that between the two of them and their dogs, they are perhaps the leading experts on being chewed on, but she never laughs at that joke. He can't help but wonder why, his thoughts drifting as he lies still and silent in her arms, curled up together on his bed in the winery. Her orange hair tickles his nose as he moves to bury his face in her shoulder a bit more, her cool breath ghosting over the sticky tear tracks that still line his cheeks. All the things that remain unsaid lie between them, but their silent agreement binds them together tighter still. And indeed silence is the name of the game, however much he wishes it wasn't necessary- everything will work out in due time, he knows. But oh, how it aches that he can't say anything more on the matter, not even to her.

"Cleo?" The zombie woman makes a soft inquiring noise, politely ignoring how his voice cracks on the syllables. "Are we doing the right thing?" Her grip tightens again, almost crushingly so, and Joe goes limp at the implied rebuke. Be it right or wrong, his silence must be ensured- he knows so much that if he said anything, it'd all come pouring out. A real modern-day Cassandra, verbal fountain and harbinger of doom in one. No, best to stay cryptic when he can and silent when he can't- and if even his silence fails, Cleo is there, sword in hand, ready to keep him quiet.

He should not take comfort from that. But here, wrapped up in his best friend's embrace, utterly at her mercy and all the safer for it... He does anyway.

-----

Joe and Cleo aren't in a romantic relationship, but it would not be amiss to call them platonic life partners in this universe. Joe has been seeing things for as long as he can remember, the exact mechanics are strange and baffling at best, and if he tries to actually do any Science to figure out how this stuff works, the magic changes to spite him. It's led to a lot of unfortunate visions of peanut butter and how the server generally tends to misuse the stuff (Etho sometimes using it instead of slime in a sticky piston is a milder example), so after enough peanut visions to make him allergic on principle, Joe tends to just let the visions come as they may. The only hard-coded bit that comes with them is that anyone living who hears his prophecies won't believe them and will have something bad happen to them as a result. Cleo, being a zombie, is a special exception to the rule. She's only alive in the most technical of senses, so while bad things still happen to her if she hears Joe speak about his experiences, she at least will believe him.

Which is why she is so determined to not know more about whatever is going on with Tommy. When Joe had rushed in a month ago, tears streaming down his cheeks and glasses barely hanging onto his face, she had merely put down the book she had been reading and had opened her arms wide to him. Convincing him that she would not betray his trust or break his heart had been hard, but she had known it was worth it. How can it be anything but, when Joe had looked at her then as if she was the most precious being on the planet and had immediately thrown himself into her arms, bursting out into troubled tears? He offered to tell her the full story, eyes wet and longing, and her long-dead heart ached at the trust he is giving her- but she is far too selfish to give that up. So she had turned him down, smile on her lips.

Even when he whispered, voice hoarse, that they wouldn't be seeing Tommy for a while. Even when he shuddered and shook in her arms, fragile as glass in her grip. Even when he begged her to ask, just ask, please, it's too much... She did not ask. If she asked, he would tell her, and then she would be hurt and his heart would break because it would be his words that had hurt her. She would not, cannot, will never inflict that upon him, or let him inflict that upon anyone else. (Of all the heads in her collection, the one she has most of is Joe's.)

She simply asks him if there will be a satisfying ending, and when he says yes, she asks no more. Everything will be okay, in the end. So long as there is that much, so long as she has Joe in her arms and the comfortable silence stretches out between them, then she will be content.

(At the foot of their bed, deep in Joe's winery where the barking is muffled and the light cannot touch them, there lies a chest of heads. Inside it, nestled among the many faces of the dead, rests an old iron sword bearing the name Hush. It's blade is rusty from disuse, but if Cleo ever decides that she isn't satisfied, well. There are ways of dealing with that.)

(Things will be okay. She'll make sure of it.)

-----

Philza was no stranger to death. A veteran of a hardcore world, where even the very earth was out to kill him, he had seen his fair share of deaths and had dealt out even more. Usually just to the local mobs and wildlife, but there was still the occasional player dropped into his world by the cruel hands of the Void as a sort of "apology" for leaving him alone, bereft of his sons. As if some random strangers could ever fill the Void in his heart.

Most of them had wandered off upon seeing him, more interested in escape than any companionship he could offer them, and he'd inevitably see their death messages in the otherwise silent chat a few days later. Others would approach him, some curious, some desperate for kindness- he gave them none, was often intentionally cruel just to drive them away. He had the Void in his heart and the Void had him, and he ached and ached for what he could not have. Anything less would be a pale imitation, a mockery of the love he was desperate to return to. He tried not to think about how those kind strangers would also come to meet their ends, often more messily than those that had decided to leave him be to begin with.

Then there were the rare few with... less than gentle intentions. (Blood for the Blood gods, no matter the universe.)

Theirs were the deaths he regretted the least, but the blood still gave him nightmares. For all that he loved his sons, he never understood their love for glory, be it found in conquering other nations or the sticky ooze of a dying foe. Maybe that's why he had spent so much of his time with his elder sons when he returned, the Void finally releasing him from his hardcore prison. Just a father's attempt at understanding, even if it left his youngest at loose ends.

But the problem with loose ends, he had come to find, is that the world had a way of setting them to rights- either by tying them back into the grand narrative, or by cutting them out entirely. For months after Dream had come to him, apology on his lips and charred shoe in hand, he had believed that Tommy's fate had been the latter. He had  mourned his son as if such was the case, weeping openly at the news for the first time in years. (He wasn't the only one, though- Technoblade was an only child now and he was not taking it well.) It was only when Tubbo came to him with his compass to ask about its ever-spinning needle that he felt a spark of hope, for a compass that spun was not a compass linked to a dead soul- simply a lost one. Such hope was justified when, six months later, Technoblade burst into his house with a snarl on his lips and a smile in his eyes. Tommy had returned.

And as Phil stood, back straightening and wings spread wide, hope bloomed in his chest like hanahaki, choking him with love right down to his core. Tommy had returned, despite everything.

And Philza would not let him go again.

-----

For all that Tommy might have been... gone for at least a month now on the Hermitcraft server and life has significantly slowed down for all involved, by no means has it stopped entirely. The shops are still stocked, the torches are replaced when the old ones burn out, Hermits still go out and see each other, if less often than before. Xisuma, in fact, instates a series of mandatory meetings every week or so as a way of making sure that everyone is still alive- a bit of reassurance that no one else has died in the time interim. Even the hermits who prefer to keep to themselves show up, such as Tinfoilchef, Joe, and Cleo, although the latter two remain distinctly separate from everyone else on the server during the meetings, their refusal to take a side alienating them from the rest. Grian, broken though he may be, also comes, usually in the arms of Iskall or with a vacant smile on his face depending on the state of his mental health on the given day. His presence is also alienating, as most of the hermits don't quite know what to say around him and thus will give him and Iskall a bubble of space to themselves during the meetings. Mumbo is the only one to cross the divide, standing loomingly tall at Iskall's back, as if daring anyone to say something potentially hurtful to either of his friends.

Frankly, the entire concept of weekly meetings is a bit of a mess. Xisuma stands at the front with Keralis at his back, voice and posture more and more tired with every meeting and Keralis standing just a bit closer, a silent show of support (ready if his admin ever needs some physical support too). The prognosis is usually a mix of dull stuff and hopeless stuff- lag is better than it has been in years, the Chestmonster shop is out again, Tommy still has not been... found. It's not exciting exactly, but the tension during the reporting stage is palpable as everyone waits to hear if something else has gone wrong. It's a bit like being on the front lines- horrible, drawn-out minutes of tedium as everyone holds their breath, waiting to see if another bombshell will drop but knowing that they have to be there, because some warning is infinitely better than seeing a death message in chat one day and not knowing if that person will ever make it back.

In addition to this is the tension that comes from the server being split in three- the believers, the mourners, and those too damaged or too caught up in their own narratives or too neutral to swing to one side or the other.

The meetings are where the most near-fights happen, and Xisuma is so, so tired of having to be the sane one these days. (The benefit of a helmet, he's come to find, is that no one can see you cry.)

(He doesn't take it off much anymore.)

-----

It's after one such meeting that Zedaph finds himself cooped up in his base, eyes burning with unshed tears and feet dangling out into the Void as he sits at the bottom of the hole in his base, the one that goes straight to bedrock and then even further still. The chill is a welcome distraction from his own inner turmoil, and for all that it's dangerous to be sitting so near to the edge of the world, he can't find it in himself to move away form its cold comfort. After all, Tommy can't have died permanently, right? So sitting there is perfectly safe. He has to believe that. He has to.

The meetings are tough on everyone, but sometimes Zedaph wonders if they are a bit worse for him than they are for the rest. It can't be normal that the first thing he does after every meeting is burst into panicked tears as soon as he gets back to his base, as he's certainly never felt such deep fear and relief after the meetings they had before the Incident. And yet, as soon as the iron door of his base sncks shut behind him, he drops down into the Void hole, sits at the edge, and bawls his eyes out. It's kinda funny- he's shed more tears in the last month than he has in his entire life so far. And all for a boy he had known for less than a year.

During this particular day, however, something odd happens. When he sits down for a good cry, it feels like there's the slightest of breezes coming off the Void beneath his feet, chilling him right down to his bones. It's cold, yes, but a welcome relief as he feels a bit like he's burning up from the inside out. Every moment he spends with Tango and Impulse is stifling, as with them he has to shove himself into a hateful mold he never wanted for himself. He doesn't like being angry, and being angry alongside his best friends is hardly any better. If he had it his way, he would have curled up in bed and simply slept the horror away, only waking when the nightmare was over and he could go play mini golf and Among Us with Tango, Impulse, and Tommy again. Instead, his love for his friends demands that he supports them in all their endeavors, even if their goals these days seem to run a little closer to "get them all killed" than is comfortable.

But yes. The breeze. It feels like ice on his skin and sends every nerve in his legs buzzing. It has a distinct smell to it too, like TV static, ozone, and that sensation you get after you brush your teeth and go take a big gulp of cold water. It's... odd. But vaguely comforting. And as the tears finally well up in his eyes and drip down his cheeks, as he lets himself sob for all the friends- both new and old- he's lost, he finds that it's exactly what he needs.

And if Zedaph would only listen a little closer, let himself see beyond his broken heart, perhaps he would hear the whisper on the wind, too.

Everything will be okay. I'll make sure of it.

-----

Evil X has his own troubles to deal with. He had been present when Tommy had died, if watching from the wrong side of their dimension. Lost in the Void with nothing better to do, he had often found himself watching his friend go about his day. With space and time being as screwy as they were in the Void, he could find himself taking three steps and then would be watching Tommy go from sleeping over at BDub's base to having "breakfast" with Rendog. So when Grian and Tommy had gone out End-busting that fateful day, of course he had been watching.  And that was all he could do- watch- as he saw his best friend fall to his apparent death, that little line of code that signaled "perma-death" flashing once, twice, and then glowing a deep, ominous red.

But that wasn't the end of it, even as his dull and bruised heart stuttered in his chest at the sight.

Like a redstone pulse lighting up everything around it, that red glow set off a cascading chain reaction that rippled up and down Tommy's code until it eventually trailed out to wherever his code stretched out into the Void. There, it must have severed something because before he could even call for help, his friend's code yanked inwards and away, slingshotting the whole mess into the distant darkness beyond, leaving naught but a vague impression on the inside of his eyelids behind. It was... awful. One of the scariest things he had ever seen, perhaps second only to watching his brother, stern-faced and cold, send him off to the Void once again. But for all that it hurt to see that red glow and watch in mute horror as the server he had once tried to destroy shake itself apart at the seams, there was still hope.

The code was gone, yes, but not unraveled, not destroyed. Merely... transported. Moved. Like a file being sent from one computer to another, or a player teleporting between servers. Tommy's code vanishing like that was cause for alarm, yes, but somewhere out there in the vastness of the Void, it lingered still- and it had left a faint impression of itself in its wake. That meant there was hope.

Evil X- and by proxy, his twin Xisuma- were voidwalkers, beings specifically designed to see, understand, and even modify the world's code. Were he anything else, he surely would have perished by now, his consciousness scattered across the Void as it was. And having been in exile for so long, he had gotten to be adept at seeing the seams between worlds and reading the truths of existence as the Void had intended for her children. If anyone could follow that faint trail, could get Tommy back, it would be him.

For the first time in a long time, Evil X had hope. And hope is a vicious motivator indeed.

-----

TBC :)

#fanfiction #my writing #minecraft #dream smp #hermitcraft #hermit tommy au #heartstone #i'm pretty pleased with this

[heymacy]

I love all those sentence prompts you just posted.😂 But I feel like the most appropriate one is probably:

“So why did I have to punch that guy?”

Thank you Arrow!! 💗

Ridiculous Sentence Prompts: "So why did I have to punch that guy?"

--

There were only a few things left in the world that made Mickey really, really angry.

The first was their property manager, Melanie, and her stupid-ass dog with its stupid, stupid diaper.

The second was the fact that a single can of beer cost four times more on the West Side than it did back in their old neighborhood. What special brand of bullshit were these crunchy granola hippies trying to churn out at the Wine, Etc. store, anyway?

The third thing, and probably the only one that would stick around after he adjusted to his new life above the poverty line, was any time that anyone disrespected, hurt, or even mildly annoyed his husband.

Every time they dealt with an irritating client or an overzealous new employee, Mickey would clench his teeth and fight the urge to knock them on their ass. One hit was all it would take, he knew that for certain. He'd taken down Ian's exes, family members, hell, even Ian himself on a few occasions, with a single punch to the throat.

Now, he was an adult, a business owner, a husband and partner that needed to play by society's rules if they were ever going to crawl out of the gutter completely.

The very idea made Mickey's teeth ache.

He bit his bottom lip while they sat side-by-side in their booth at the Alibi, waiting for some schmuck to meet them for an interview.

"We need to start interviewing the guys we hire, Mickey," Ian had said one night while cooking dinner. He chopped the carrots and celery on the wooden cutting board while Mickey sat slumped on the couch, nursing a beer and watching a TikTok Mandy had sent him earlier that day.

He looked up at his husband as he watched an orange and white cat chow down on kibble after his automatic feeder malfunctioned.

Mandy 🌻 (6:09pm): plz tell ian this is him in cat form

Mickey snorted at his phone, barely registering Ian's comment.

"Mick?" Ian tried again, and Mickey looked up from his phone.

"Hmm?" he replied through a mouthful of beer.

"I said we need to start interviewing the guys we hire," Ian said again, using the knife to scrape the carrots and celery off of the cutting board and into the giant pot he had boiling on the stove. Mickey wasn't sure what he was making, but it smelled amazing.

"What for? Those resumé things ain't good enough for you?" Mickey's mouth quirked up on the side as he tried to hide a smirk.

Ian rolled his eyes and used the comically oversized wooden spoon to stir his soup.

"No, Mick. So we don't have another Connor situation."

Mickey snorted. Connor was a dipshit they'd hired back in April to help with pickups, a dipshit that had cost the company almost $2,500 after he "forgot" to make the deposit with Ian and Mickey at the end of his scheduled route.

"I mean, his name's Connor. Kinda feel like you should've known what you were walkin' in to with that one."

"I'm serious," Ian said. "Interviews. We gotta do 'em." He stirred the soup vigorously, the spoon clanking against the side of the pot with every twist.

Mickey sighed deeply and rolled his eyes.

"Fine, we'll interview some new guys. But we're not doing it at a Starbucks or some shit. I'm not ready to go full West Side." He scrunched up his nose and made a face, to which Ian just chuckled.

"Glad you're on board," he teased, getting back to work on his soup, which had started to bubble.

--

Kev and Vee had moved to Louisville a month before, transferring ownership of the bar to Carl and Officer Tipping, who promised to keep everything just as it was. It gave Mickey a sense of calm knowing that even as the rest of his old neighborhood was slipping away, his adolescent stomping grounds now littered with coffee shops and yoga studios, some things remained the same.

He ran his fingers along the familiar crack in the table, a sharp sensation prodding the pads of his fingertips and helping him forget, even temporarily, what they were there to do.

Ian smacked the back of Mickey's hand gently.

"Stop it," he said, referring to the way Mickey was two seconds away from giving himself a splinter.

Mickey huffed and rolled his eyes.

"What's this guy's name again?"

Ian looked at his phone where he had an email pulled up. He glanced over the message then scrolled to the bottom.

"Derek," he said plainly.

"Derek," Mickey mocked, and Ian whacked him in the chest with the back of his hand.

"Knock it off," he said, and Mickey rolled his eyes again.

"Whatever. He's late anyway, let's just bail and go get some pizza."

"He's not late, Mickey. It's only..." he looked at his watch. "3:58. He's got three minutes until he's late."

Just then, as if summoned by Ian's voice, a tall, lanky, blond man walked through the front door of the bar and made his way towards the back corner booth where Ian and Mickey sat.

"You guys Ian and Mackie?"

Ian snorted as he tried to hide his laughter. Mickey rolled his eyes a third time, this time so hard that it was honestly impressive he didn't snap his optic nerves in the process.

"Mickey," Ian corrected politely. He nudged his husband with his elbow and the two of them climbed out of the booth to meet with their interviewee.

Ian shook his hand firmly.

"I'm Ian, and this is my husband Mickey." He smiled and turned to Mickey, who was standing with his hands in his pockets and giving Derek, all six feet two inches of him, an intense once-over. Elbowing his husband for a second time, Mickey relented, pulling his hands from his pockets and reaching out to shake Derek's hand. His giant palm was cold and clammy but also somehow uncomfortably hot. Mickey grimaced.

"Hey," he said gruffly. "Mickey."

"Derek," the other man said as they shook hands. "So you two are married?"

Ian nodded.

"Little over a year now, yeah."

Derek nodded.

"Cool, cool, cool," he said, nodding and looking around. "So this place is...interesting."

The judgmental and condescending way Derek said "interesting" wasn't new or unusual to either of them, but tall lanky blond bitches with North Side energy and a terrible fade saying "interesting" like they wanted to say "disgusting" made Mickey's blood boil.

He clenched his fist without even realizing what he was doing. Ian noticed immediately when Mickey's shoulders tensed up, stiffening in a way that reminded Ian of a startled cat, and he turned to climb back in the booth. He squeezed Mickey's arm once, twice, and dragged him down into the booth with him.

"It was a family friend's place," Ian said, nonchalant, eager to move the conversation away from the Alibi and towards their business. "So, Derek, on your resume, I see that you worked--"

Derek cut Ian off mid-sentence.

"Have they ever thought about turning this place into some sort of art installation or something? Just with the open floor plan and the exposed pipes, it's very pseudo-industrial-chic."

If they hadn't already assumed before by his distinct vocal fry and the smell of coconut hair gel, Derek's use of the term "pseudo-industrial-chic" solidified what the other two already knew: there were three gay motherfuckers in this booth.

Ian stuttered for a second, surprised by Derek's interjection and resistance to changing the subject.

"Don't think so, no." He grabbed his phone and opened up the Gmail app again. "So, anyway, your resume says you worked at--"

"You know what would be really cool in here? A movement class. I went to one in LA once that was hosted by Gwyneth Paltrow and it was liberating."

Mickey snorted and Ian elbowed him in the ribs.

"I bet it was," Ian said, unamused at Derek's refusal to talk about his work history. "So you worked at--"

"Have you guys ever been to LA? Oh my god, it's the best. So chic. I mean, I'm from Evanston originally, so basically anything is chic in comparison. I mean, not here, obviously, but you know. Other places."

Ian sighed.

"Totally," he said. "So, your work history, it says--"

"Hey, do you guys know what the best dispensary is around here? Preferably something upscale, with those iPads you can order on. I need a few new carts--"

"Dude," Mickey cut in. "Can you shut the fuck up for five seconds?"

Derek looked surprised, and Mickey could hear Ian's sharp, apprehensive inhale.

"Excuse me?" Derek said, holding his hand to his chest.

"He's been trying to ask you the same question since we sat down, and you won't shut the fuck up about chic cities and weed, so if you could just answer our questions, that would be great." He looked over at Ian, whose eyes were wide and hesitant, unsure about how things were about to unfold.

"You're very rude," Derek said to Mickey, giving him a scowl.

Mickey snorted.

"Yeah, tell me something I don't know."

Derek's eyes narrowed and his forehead wrinkled up, agitated.

"You should be nicer to the people you want to hire." He crossed his arms over his chest like a petulant child.

Mickey laughed out loud.

"Dude, who says we wanna hire you? I'm pretty sure if you worked for us, I'd blow my brains out in the first two minutes."

Ian tried and failed miserably to conceal his laughter, covering his mouth with his hand and looking down at the table. Mickey leaned over towards his husband.

"I kinda wanna punch this guy in the mouth," he mumbled, and Ian side-eyed him from where he sat beside him.

"Please don't," he replied in a whisper before composing himself and turning back to Derek.

"Look, Derek, you seem like a nice guy, but I don't think this is gonna work out." He held out his hand to signal that the interview was over, but Derek didn't return his handshake. Instead, he pouted like a toddler that had just been scolded for bad behavior.

"Your husband's a dick," Derek said to Ian, and Mickey could literally feel Ian's body stiffen next to him.

"Hey," Mickey said, putting his hand on Ian's knee. "Forget it. Let's go get pizza."

"No," Ian said sternly, turning back to Derek. "Listen, dude, you're also kind of a dick, so why don't we just call this a wash and you can go track down your carts or whatever."

Mickey bit his lip, fighting a smile. He secretly loved when Ian got defensive, as long as it wasn't directed towards him.

"You're both dicks!" Derek said, slamming his hands down on the table. He slid out of the booth and stood up, and Mickey and Ian did the same. The three men stood there, Derek facing the husbands with a pissed-off expression.

"You should go," Ian said, pointing at the door.

Derek snorted.

"I guess I shouldn't be surprised. When the ad said South Side, I knew there was a good chance the owners were a couple of trashy, ghetto assholes. But him?" He pointed at Mickey. "He's a world-class dick."

Before Derek could say anything else, he was cut off by a fist to the jaw and dropped to the floor, unconscious.

The ambient chatter and loud clacking of billiard balls came to a halt as the regulars that sat scattered around the Alibi turned in unison to see what had happened. Once they identified the source of the loud "thud" as one of the Gallagher-Milkovich boys knocking out some blond giant, they immediately turned back to their various activities.

Just another day on the South Side.

Ian cupped his right fist in his left hand and turned to Mickey, bewildered.

"I just punched that guy, Mick," he said, genuinely surprised. "I knocked him out. Shit."

Mickey shrugged.

"He kinda deserved it."

Ian looked at Mickey with a really? sort of expression and shook his head back and forth.

"Still," he said, turning to look at Derek, sprawled out unconscious on the floor like a rag doll.

"C'mon man, it's fine. He'll come to, and when he does, we'll be long gone." He grabbed Ian's upper arm and gave him a tug, but Ian just sat back down in the booth.

"Why did I do that?" he asked, but Mickey knew he was talking only to himself. He sat down beside his husband, stepping over Derek's long ass leg on his way back to the booth.

"I mean, you kinda had to."

Ian looked over at Mickey, eyebrows raised. He stared at his husband for a moment, puzzling, before breaking into a smile.

"What?" Mickey asked, confused as to how Ian could go from having some sort of moral crisis over knocking out a hipster to grinning gleefully at his husband in a half second. Ian reached over and put his hand on Mickey's thigh. Immediately, the mood shifted. Pool cues squeaked as they were chalked up and glasses clinked on the countertops. The distinct chhh-chhh sound of a spray bottle punctured Mickey's ear drums as he looked down at his husband's hand on his thigh.

"So," Ian said, voice quieter than before. "Why did I have to punch that guy?"

Mickey smirked. He could be honest, and say the obvious reason, which was that Derek was a total douche canoe and deserved to be socked in the mouth by someone his own size. He could lie, and say it was because Derek seemed dangerous and Ian was just following his instincts, but that would have been the lie of the fucking century.

Instead, he said neither, and opted for something he knew would make Ian smile.

"Because you love me."

Ian's face broke into a full grin and he giggled, leaning over to kiss his husband once, quickly, well-aware of Mickey's hesitancy towards PDA when they were out and about on the South Side.

When he pulled back, he was smirking, and Mickey knew his cheeks were flushed. He hadn't been expecting the kiss, however brief it was, and his stomach felt a little fluttery.

"I mean, I'm not the kind of guy that just stands by and lets people talk shit about the man he loves." He grinned and Mickey rolled his eyes, remembering Ian telling him about the last words he'd said to Glittery Twink Byron the night they'd gotten engaged.

"You're a fuckin' sap, man."

"True," Ian said, standing up from the booth and stepping over Derek's leg as Mickey had done minutes before. He reached out his hand and pulled his husband from the booth. The two of them stood there momentarily, staring at Derek's lump of a body on the sticky, peanut-shell covered floor.

"Should we like, do something?" Mickey asked, kicking Derek's foot with his own boot. The man didn't move a muscle. Mickey wondered for a second if he might be dead, but the shallow rise and fall of the douche canoe's chest let him know that unfortunately, for all of humankind, the asshole was still alive.

Ian shook his head.

"Nah, he can sleep it off."

He reached down and took Mickey's hand in his own.

"C'mon," he said as he dragged them both towards the door. "Let's go get pizza."

#writing prompts #sentence prompts #ficlet #the husband energy is strong with this one #shameless

[vannyvancan]

“nice to meet you“ Roommate!Shinsou Hitoshi X F!Reader Part 1

MINORS DNI

my masterlist

Tw for : Assassin!Shinsou theme, female reader,  gun usage, slight insecurity (?), NSFW for the most part on the later chapters, drug usage, corrupt government talk, harassment

This was the worst timing of your life. It was September and you knew time is going to pass quickly to chilly December. Even though late summer's breeze made it pleasurable to go out in town to run errands, the increase of supply demand made you squeeze out what little energy you had for the office job at logistics. Barely earning your required minimum wage in the small flat that you owned, your life was miserable for your financial conditions. Then your dear neighbor friend gave you an idea.

"Put up a roommate flyers? You can definitely share expenses with someone to ease your wallet"

Its not like it was a bad idea. You had roommates in the past in your time in college, you just were afraid of the mess you'd usually come back to once your classes would end. Now that you are an adult woman with a job, it seemed almost silly. Still wearing your summer loose shirt and shorts as house-wear you were basking in what little warmth summer had to offer, you looked out of the flat window to gaze at the orange sunset while preparing your fliers, the mixture of pink and purple ombre sent your mind in a state of serenity. For a moment you had forgotten your financial worries.

If only there was a way for you to excel more at your job and earn more, you've tried to, but the corrupt system only allowed privileged people on the spot.

The thought sent you back to reality and you grimaced, sighing and turning your head back to the paper you reread the information on it.

„Looking for a roommate at Address XXX, phone number and e-mail contact info...“

It was really neat even, you made a cutout for each number and email paper so that people can pluck it and consider it. You sent out fliers and continued on with your day.

The moment you sent out fliers around your workspace, around your building and in the most populated places in the town, the realization settled in that you'd be sharing expenses with some total stranger, you didn't have any friends that needed help, almost everyone that you knew off was either married and living with their partner or busy helping their parents and therefore still living with them. You had asked your closest friend, Uraraka if she needed it as a temporary stay before she moved out of country, but her plans caught her working on the other side of the city and was too far away from you. She probably had a similar situation like you so you felt bad.

You only hoped that the person that would knock on the door and be your roommate would not end up harassing you, make a mess more than you usually make yourself, or like your pessimistic parents would say, kill you.

Within two days, you get a call early morning, startling you awake.

Flying out of bed to pluck your phone out from charger you coughed out your morning voice and looked at the unknown number on the screen, swiping the green phone you answered.  You were curious on the sort of person you'd have this conversation with. Maybe you were a bit naive, because on one hand you were anxious, but you sure were also exited to have a person in this soulless flat.

"Hey... Is this the right number for a roommate flier?"

You've never heard a voice such like his. Spending your almost entire life in that neighborhood you've grown accustomed to voices such like your local sweet lady at supermarket, the friend from work had much more boring voices. But this guy seemed to have come from the outside. Perhaps Uraraka knew of him? You could ask, but doubtful.

Maybe he came to work temporarily? Your mind raced with questions as the mysterious, low voice left you speechless and it took you some time until he asked again

"Hello? Is anyone there?"

"Oh- y-yes I'm sorry!"

„My name is Shinsou Hitoshi, I was wondering if we could discuss about it further and meet up somewhere? Preferably an hour from now, at... Midoriya's Lounge Cafe? Sounds good?“

God, his voice sent your legs wobbling and it was only 7:05 AM on Saturday. He obviously had energy to do it now and you were barely awake, about to pass out by the mere vibrations from the speaker.

„Sure! Thank you for considering my place. Let's meet up there.“

Waking up fully you dressed up, plastered some make up on and stormed out, you also made sure to hide whatever leftover clothing from your living room in your bedroom to hide any nasty appearance if he decides to come here.

The stroll was short, the cafe he proposed was a 20 minute walk from your place, you weren’t sure if it was a coincidence that he chose this place or if he was considerate for choosing a place close by, but you were grateful for it.

8 AM and the cafe was rather busy at Saturday morning, good thing was that there was a lot of free space between tables, you'd usually pick this place to have a peace of mind when it was afternoon lunch break and you weren’t much hungry.

Now entering, the door made a small 'ding' from the doorbell, marking your entrance, your eyes scanned the area to find anyone who would be remotely looking at your direction. You didn't know how Shinsou looked like, but he could of easily tracked on the contact info how you looked like.

You made an eye contact with an individual staring at you, were his purple eyes staring back at you the whole time? The gaze sent the hairs on your back of your neck stand out. He was intimidatingly dangerous, it was apparent. His arms seemed to have enough strength to crush both of your wrists with just his one hand, his tall figure managed to find comfort in the armchair, knee poked a bit on the side and you could only guess how tall he truly was judging by his sitting position. The only coloured thing he wore was the purple strap adorning his black pants and t-shirt. The strap also matched his eyes and wild hair. It sure was in unusual colour, but you didn't question it since the owner of the said lounge was green haired.

He slowly tapped a finger on the table two times while looking at you.

'So this is Mr. Shinsou?' You questioned yourself, it was only logical, to whoever else he might invite to come sit beside him? Gulping a lump in your throat, you approached him, setting a bag on the other chair you noticed a sports bag was beside him. Was this all of his luggage? He didn't seem to have much if he was ready to move in right now, maybe he was only a temporary stay? Maybe he just came out from a gym.

Of course, it was 8 AM. And the man now sitting across you seemed to be the type to buff himself a lot, you held in your breath again once your gaze set on his exposed forearms and how tight his black shirt hugged his figure. It took you good amount of time to introduce yourself to him, but he seemed to be patient enough to let you get comfortable.

„Hello! You must be the one for the flier, my name is Y/N. It's a pleasure to make acquaintance.“

„Nice to meet you. I ordered us coffee if you don't mind?“ He smiled lightly

„Oh I don't mind, I love coffee in here, I'm a regular.“

After a short greeting, you two had a small talk on his and your state of living, you were sure he was going to be a semi-distant person, judging by his work schedule that makes it almost impossible to meet him throughout the day and night, you were kind of worried, but didn't judge much since it was his job of choice, he never said what he did though.

„Well you could say I'm a night owl. I go where I'm asked, taking calls left and right. Don't worry, I earn enough for your rent.“ He crossed his legs and laid back on the armchair, letting his arms rest on each side of it. You didn't say it but you were especially enjoying the view.

You were quiet careful when it came to relationships, ever since you had your heart broken in hopes of finding one, it made you feel insecure if you'd ever find a soulmate. This man made it seem like he was a big fish to catch, and you were out of his league so you quickly established it before any further thoughts entered in your mind.

„Great! So you want to come to my place now to look around before deciding? There's a guest room where you can leave your stuff.“

The indigo haired man nodded, after you had drank your morning coffee, you both payed for it and left, he took his sport bag and you eyed him curiously. You barely know him and now you know now he is going to come and live with you. Its not like you had much of a choice... you had to save on something, you were starving, and he came by quickly to come and live with you. As exciting as it is to have an attractive individual come and live with you, it also terrified you.

The walk back to your place was quiet, occasional questions slipped out from your mouth. Asking about his food preference and anything he didn't like to make his stay more comfortable. He seemed pretty open about anything.

„Is that all of the luggage you are taking with you or are you going to come back with more?“

„No, this is all.“ He responded, short and concise. „I'm a man of simple needs.“

God he should stop talking, or more like you should stop asking questions like a curious kitten, his voice made you jump on the phone but it was a stuggle to be with him in lounge to hear him talk as well. Once arriving, you struggled to find a door key for a second and you opened it to reveal a simple flat.

„Here we are.“ You looked at him and let him enter first.

You weren’t going to let your guard down still, if he was going to do something behind your back you at least wanted to have a little bit of chance to escape. His foot stepped inside, softly stepping on the plush carpet with his dark shoes he inspected the area almost innocently. You sighed in relief and entered after him, closing the door behind you.

„On the right is a door to the guest room.“ You said as you took off your jacket and tossed the key to the stand. „There's a bathroom in here and my room in on the left. If you ever need me just knock on the door alright?“

„You doubt that I don't have manners? Careful you might lose a roommate now.“

He turned sideways and grinned at you. There was something about this individual that's going to be a handful for you, nevertheless of how little you are going to see him throughout the day. After the short tour, he signed a contract of living with you. As you suspected, he was going to be a temporary stay in the city, he promised to be out of your neck in six months, after that, he was going out. He gave you the first pay and shortly after that he was phone called by someone on his end.

'Busy bee, isn’t he?' You thought to yourself as you watched him leave, shrugging the thought away you glanced curiously at his bag in the room that he left.

'It's not polite to look at other people's things.' You hummed and closed the door to now Shinsou's room. Feeling the unease fading away now, you decided to not worry yourself about other people's things as you had too much of your own.

Dialing the phone now yourself you sent a message to your friend.

[Today] 'Hey, Uraraka? Want to go out someday? I have so much to talk about! <3 '

#bnha shinso hitoshi #shinsou hitoshi x reader #shinsou hitoshi #shinso hitoshi #shinso hitoshi x reader #bnha shinsou #shinso x reader #shinso #bnha reader insert #mha shinsou #mha shinso x reader #god wtf so many tags

[aceofspadegrass]

What? What’s that I see? Is it- is it another heist fic??!? :O

Heisting Yet Again

Characters: Aguni Morizono, Hatter, Niragi Suguru, Last Boss, Chishiya Shuntaro, @a-simp-20 , @niragis-right-hand-rabbit , and your local bread pentagon, Me

Genre: Crack. We're fucking heisting again.

2.3k words

Well what do you know! There is :0!!! Looks like we're at it again guys, causing havoc to Hatter and having fun while we're doing it!

And look, there's even a guest joining us! How fancy! What have we stolen today folks? Well, guess you'll have to find out!

Hatter thought they were gone for good after they stole his precious couch. It was peaceful at the Beach, as peaceful as it could get anyways, and the days were going by swimmingly. He even got a new couch to replace his old couch, which soon became just as loved as his previous couch. He still hadn’t forgotten the robbery, of course, and if he ever saw those three ever again he’d give them a stern talking to before he set the militants loose on their asses. They were traitors after all, and everyone knew what he did to traitors.

If they were smart, they’d stay out of the way of the Beach’s wrath. Hatter was sure they’d try to evade him and anyone with the bracelet that noted them as members, but there was only so much of them compared to the hundreds of people under his beck and call that could bring them kicking and screaming back to his land. Why come back to the place they had forsaken except to die, after all.

But alas, he was sorely mistaken in that thought, as he wakes up in bed to light humming, and rather itchy wrists. He tugs his hand closer to his core without making a sound, the coarse and familiar feel of rope around his wrist telling him all he needed. For good measure he tries to pull his legs, but his ankles seemed to be under the same type of bounds.

The humming continues on, undeterred, as if they knew Hatter was unable to do anything. He turns his head, and in the darkness of the room he can make out a vague silhouette trodding around his room without a care in the world, and the song was somewhat recognizable, but nothing Hatter could name.

Keeping his cool, he whistles to catch their attention, the person yelping and whipping around. That earns a chuckle out of him, followed by an annoyed whine by the other.

“ That was mean, you know! You scared me!” They whined, Hatter still chuckling.

“ Aww, but it was necessary! So! Do tell, dear, what are you doing in my room, hm? I’m in quite a predicament here-“ He tugs again at the coarse rope that bounded his arm to the bed, “ And while I don’t mind whatever comes to be in bed between me and my partner, I don’t believe I’ve ever met you~ Or have I? I’m sure you look lovely in the light.” He purrs in an inquisitive manner. The person just stays still, and from what limited light Hatter had, they were actually fidgeting a little, as if willing to walk out and leave him there.

He had to tread lightly. Whoever this was, they couldn’t be here for a rousing game of Bed Twister, seeing as he was still dressed and there was not a single inch of mood lighting. Scandalous to just do it without even a little festivities and scenery slapped in, with only ropes to keep him company.

“ Well, actually that’s just so I don’t, like…. die. Anyways, it was nice talking to you, but I have things to do!” The person approaches, and Hatter tries to get a glimpse of their face, of anything recognizable. He only gasps as they get closer and the only thing he picks up is a closed unslutty version of his kimono and an obviously printed picture of… wait is that his face? Was his rope tying captor wearing his iconic face and kimono? In his room?

“ Oh, is that what I think it is? I dare say, I wasn’t aware you liked me that much that you’d imitate me~ I’m flattered~” The person actually snorts at that, and pats his entire face with their unnaturally cold hand, fingers splayed and in short bursts, Hatter not expecting it and jerking his head away with a laugh. “ Oh my, what did you do earlier to make them that cold-” “ Exist! Anyways, here you go!” They chirp, and there’s a faint quack noise as something is plopped on his chest and they walk away, Hatter watching them go with a pout.

“ I do think you’re forgetting something, what are you to do about my rather…… prone position?~ You can not simply leave me like this!” “ Uuuhhhhh…….. get that cool steak-looking guy to help! Okay bye, have fun!” They call out to him before opening the door and starting to leave, Hatter getting only the barest glimpse of the back of their head.

Only, this also lets him get a glimpse of whatever was placed on him, and once he saw the tiny goose on his chest coming up to his face, honking softly, he can only lay there bound like a prisoner as it comes closer with murder in its eyes before the light was snatched like his couch.

" Oh sweet toma- AH IT'S GOT MY NOSE-"

Morning comes, and Aguni comes in to Hatter’s face being used as a nest, the goose happily settled over his eyes. Aguni pauses for a second, confused, the goose napping.

“ Uhh…. should I come back later-“ “ Oh, Aguni, a little help here? I have been ravaged like no other!” Hatter calls out the moment he hears Aguni, the man coming over and looking down at his friend, Hatter’s wrists still tied to the corners. He quickly gets to work untying them, Hatter shooting up the moment he was free, the goose honking as it was launched off Hatter’s face and left to fall down onto his lap. Hatter pushes it off of him, not at all caring at the moment of its safety in favour of his own, taking off the covers and untying his poor ankles free. Aguni watches from the side of the bed with folded arms, Hatter getting up and rubbing his sore wrists with a frown.

“ Oh, you wouldn’t believe the horror last night!” “ Did another one set you up?” Hatter shakes his head, and wanders around the room and making sure everything was still in place. “ Even worse! I woke up to such a position, and without something there to keep warm in bed, and yet someone was here with me! Imitating my looks, but without the sexy factor, can you believe the horror? Oh, woe! I didn’t think it was possible!” Hatter held the back of his hand to his forehead, dramatically dipping back as if to faint. He remains on his feet, and smiles a little when Aguni puts a supporting hand on his back to help him back to a normal stand, Hatter looking at him with a now serious glint. “ I do believe they’re back, Aguni.”

Aguni cocks an eyebrow, face staying stoic. “ The ones that stole your couch?” “ That’s the one! I’m sure of it! After all, why else would they come in here and take the time to assure I could not apprehend them myself? They’re here to steal something.” Hatter grabs Aguni’s shoulders, staring deep into his eyes as his face falls into a crazed smile. “ Death to traitors, after all. We need to find them before they get away.” Aguni nods slowly, and Hatter lets go, pushing Aguni away as he marches out of his room with a totally not unhinged giggle. Aguni rolls his eyes and follows after, Hatter marching his way down and knocking on all of the executive’s doors to wake them up. There was no time to waste after all!

It takes a while, but eventually everyone is up, sitting or standing where they preferred, Hatter briefing all of them on the situation at hand. Niragi looked rather annoyed, leaning back in his seat and combing what hairs he didn’t managed to pull up into his bun out of his face.

“ Why the fuck would they come back? That’s a fucking death wish if I’ve ever seen one.” Niragi groans. “ It’s fucking too early for this." “ Well, who’s to say they haven’t already left? Didn’t you say that this….. imposter of yours entered your room possibly hours before? It would be stupid to stay this long.” Chishiya says with that all knowing tone in his voice, Hatter nodding.

“ Yes, but there’s a chance they haven’t! They must’ve been scouting out what to take next before the actual heist!” Hatter rebukes, and gives Chishiya a warning glance when Chishiya looks unconvinced.

“ So you need us to patrol the entire Beach for them, got it. Let’s go, time’s wasting.” Aguni gets up, looking at Niragi and Last Boss, Niragi getting up with a grunt and grabbing his gun. The three of them leave, and Hatter soon shoos the rest of them out to help search the entire Beach again for the three musketeers and see if anything looked out of place.

Hours pass, and yet when they regroup, nobody could offer anything of use. Ann even questioned if they were even there to take anything, but Hatter had a hunch, he just felt it in his bones. So they separate once more, Hatter making sure to comb every single place in his domain. How dare they, really, coming back here to try their luck once more.

The sound of what at first sounded like gunshots catches his attention, but he dismisses it at first, believing the militants were just doing something. Then when he hears it again followed by terrified yells, he looks up towards the source, only to see a rather giant grey dinosaur with an orange beak.

“ Hah….?” Hatter comes over to take a close look, and the dinosaur was in fact not a dinosaur, but might as well be one, the bird looking at Hatter’s direction and fluffing up its wings. Hatter stares at the massive grey mass of feather and the tiny crown that seemed to be held by a thin string around its head, the bird raising its head and making that gun-like sound again.

“ Oh, well then hello to you too- Where did you come from-“ Hatter takes another step closer, and the bird just bows its head with a head shake and then wanders off, Hatter watching it go. People around it were catering away, staring at the beast of a bird and giving it distance.

“ Strange bird….” Hatter mutters, watching it wander away. Something in his gut begged him to follow, and Hatter was a man of will, so he starts to follow this creature wherever it was heading.

It was good that he did, as he sees a very familiar trio of people, one of which was still wearing his face and kimono. The other two were wearing normal clothes, one in a different robe and petting the giant bird with a fond smile while the other was more modestly in simple street wear and a head covering. “ Hey! There you are!” Hatter calls out, and they all look in his direction.

“ Oh hewwo!” The one wearing his face waves to him, the other two waving as well. “ Don’t worry, we’re just gonna…… RUN! Go go go!” They gesture away from Hatter in three rapid hand motions. They’re all running away as fast as they could, and Hatter was not about to let them get away, chasing after them as fast as he could. With how he generally appeared, he looked like he wouldn’t have much stamina, but they have also never taken him to bed on a good day.

And today was gonna be a fucking beautiful day.

The three were still within Beach territory and therefore still had people to deal with, even if they had congregated in a less populated area, and Hatter pretty much knew the layout like the back of his hand. They ran through the space, Hatter having to move this way and that to keep them within sight. That bird was actually following them rather obediently, seeming content, Hatter internally thanking the bird for leading him to their little meetup spot.

Niragi and Last Boss appear around the corner just as they were coming up, Niragi laughing and raising his gun, fully intent on shooting them down. Even Last Boss got ready to attack, grabbing ahold of his sword.

“ Oh hi there you two!” The woman that was petting the bird earlier greets. The third of their little squad immediately just separates from the group to avoid Niragi and Last Boss altogether, the remaining two still running head on towards them.

“ Hah! You think that’s gonna stop me? I’m gonna shoot you right-“ He doesn’t get to finish as the girl leaps up and grabs his head to pull it closer, giving him a kiss right there on his cheek and slipping past the crispy raisin cake.

“ Bye you sexy giraffe! Stay sexy!” She calls out as she runs off, the second somehow slipping past the two militants along with the bird.

“ Remember to practice safety procedures you two! Don’t let your ankles get eaten!” The other yells, Hatter rushing past them as they stood there stunned by the act that just occurred.

Hatter was intent on catching them, and yet they seemingly had too much energy and nothing in their hands. Perhaps it was something small, like all the bathroom mints, or maybe even a hidden pistol underneath their clothes. Either way he had to stop them and put an end to them.

They make it out to where the cars where, and Hatter finally sees just what they stole:

“ Hey! That’s my wine cabinet!” Hatter yells, absolutely appalled by this egregious crime, the poor cabinet strapped onto a new car like it was nothing more than a box of wood as the three infiltrators climb in, the bird joining in the backseat. The one wearing the head covering peeks out with a smile. “ Oh, that’s not all! We also took all of your instant pancake mixes I hope you don’t mind!”

“ Excuse me, I do mind, thank you very little!”

The driver, now the woman that had kissed Niragi’s cheek like no big deal, pokes her head out and waves.

“ Oh well! See you later! This was fun!” She shouts before the engine rumbles to life and they peel away with his cabinet.

“ Oh you three……!” Hatter stares as they drive away with their second successful heist, shaking his head in disbelief and thinly veiling anger in his smile. “ You three are in for it now!~”

#aib #alice in borderland #aib fanfic #alice in borderland fanfic #hatter #takeru danma #morizono aguni #niragi suguru #last boss #takatora samura #chishiya shuntaro #you would think we'd be caught by now but this is also the laws of fiction so we're apparently great heisters #hatter not being able to catch us part two #yes of course I let you kiss niragi the chance was RIGHT THERE! #we're 100% on his hitlist in this version of the Beach #apparently I have several versions for the same Beach: one where we're criminals and one where we're not :D #then again the one where we're not also includes a giraffe with a man's head on it soooooo- #it's all just a combined ball of weaved yarn the universe is funky like that #in reality I would probably die the moment I start running- #yes I'm the one wearing Hatter's face it's just how it is #ask

[sorcerersofnyc]

The Last Thing Left (Zemo x F!Reader) 7/9

If it wasn’t so painfully ironic (and hilarious to watch,) Helmut would find the relationship between Sam and James a little sad.

Ghosts weren’t enough to hold two people together.

While they wait for Torres to locate Donya Madani, Zemo brings Sam and Bucky to the home he once shared with you.

You reunite and he reflects upon his relationship with you (his wife's friend and his friend's wife) and your journey from being people with mutual friends to partners.

Part Seven: Zemo keeps his promise

Angst, various mentions of death & mourning, Zemo's wife's name is Heike because of comics.  I use Serbian Cyrillic as a stand-in for Sokovian. The reader likes waffles (this is a non-negotiable fact).

Note: Main Character is neutral in most regards, but the story was written with my own cultural background in mind. (In other words, I won't say what she looks like but I envision her as being black.)

First Chapter | Previous

***

You looked beautiful that night, beautiful in a way he never quite noticed before.

As Helmut held your hand to guide you from the seat of the car, feelings of guilt, and fear, and hope, and longing all swirled around his abdomen. And when you smiled at him, your eyes deep and pooling with emotions he wasn’t really ready to confront yet, electricity sizzled in the air.

You stepped inside with a word.

“That was really fun,” you said, breaking the silence as you toed off your shoes. “We’ll have to go again next time.”

“I’d rather not return there,” He replied, pulling his dark coat from his shoulders. "I much prefer the classics.”

Helmut knew those were fighting words, words that would keep you in his company for just a moment longer.

“You need to be more open-minded,” You scolded him, a playful challenge in your voice. He accepted it with ease.

“I’m open to plenty of new possibilities, I assure you.”

“Are you?”

“Indeed.”

There was something more to your banter that evening, something that spoke of many new possibilities.

*

He received a message from Oeznik one day, a reminder to check on one of the other estates.

He didn't really want to go — he finally narrowed down the identity of the Winter Soldier's handler and it would only be a matter of time before he found his hiding place — but he needed to investigate some financial discrepancies and make an effort to preserve his family's legacy.

So he invited you to accompany him and together you traveled to Italy, to a massive building miles away from any city. The building itself was ugly, a horrific mix of Romanesque and Rococo architecture, but the surrounding land was a lovely stretch of woodland and soft plains.

“How many estates do you own, exactly?” You asked, gazing out the window of the car as it entered through the gates.

“Only a few,” he shrugged. “You know about the 1908 Revolution, don’t you? When Sokovia’s nobility was forced to give up their land claims? My family lost claim to our Barony but my third Great Grandfather invested assets outside of Sokovia as a safeguard to his wealth." It’s a story he was told many times. It was meant to be a point of pride for the Zemo family, but all he came to realize was how paranoia drove a wedge between his family and the nation they claimed to serve.

For generations, his family held influential government positions and made the rules for others to follow while placing their money, and their trust, elsewhere. "Though this particular estate was passed down through my Mother's side of the family. As you can see they had a...interesting sense of design, much like you."

When the car stopped in front of the estate, a lovely older woman with a long nose and round face escorted you to the Sun Room.

The large windows offered an impressive view of the gardens and expanse of the woods beyond them.

“Hey,” you turned, calling for his attention as he dipped his fingers in a basin of soapy water. “What’s that over there?” Beyond the trees were tall lights, LED panels stuck to the side.

“A racetrack,” he answered as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Oh. Doesn’t it get loud?”

“No, why would it?”

“Because of all the people? And the cars?"

“No, no, you misunderstand, my friend. The track is mine.”

"Huh?" You snapped your head back at him.

“I like cars,” Helmut shrugged, “remind me again to show you the collection in Berlin.”

“The collection in Berlin?” You raised both your brows. It wasn’t your first time hearing about it, but you must have forgotten. “Is there anything you don’t have?”

“Beach-side property?” He suggested, a sly smile on his face.

“Oh, no! Whatever will you do without one, Baron?” You rolled your eyes exaggeratedly.

“I suppose I’ll have to buy one quickly. Where would you like to visit next?”

A maid wheeled in a cart before you had the chance to reply. She nodded toward him politely but looked at you as though she were confused. She had the skittish look of someone who had something to say, but remained silent as she began to set the table.

"Leave it," Helmut told her with a raised hand. She paused again.

“Baron?”

“Leave it,” He repeated, much lower this time. The maid lowered her head before retreating, leaving the room with a puzzled look on her face.

You shot him a concerned glance.

“You ok?”

“Of course,” he told you, “have a seat.” He

set the table instead.

Helmut wasn’t particularly angry. Rather, he felt annoyed. He didn’t appreciate the look the maid gave you, as if you didn’t belong there.

He could certainly understand the confusion.

News of Heike and Carl’s demise spread throughout his network of employees, even the ones he himself never checked in on (he counted on Oeznik to do that for him.) So when he arrived with you as his company, they must have assumed he already moved on.

You took a seat at his request and allowed him to pile food upon your plate.

“If you’d like to go for a ride,” He began, returning to your prior conversation, “I can have someone prepare the track for us. I have a collection here as well, though it isn't large.”

"I thought you said you had to work." You met his gaze.

"I can spare time." He said, because at that moment, as the sun poured into the windows and framed your face like a halo, he’d do anything for you.

*

The delectable smell of sun-dried tomatoes, garlic, olives, and warm buttered bread wafted through the air as Helmut told of the time he spent here as a child. He had many stories of running through the gilded halls, playing with decorative swords, and badgering Oeznik with questions about his supposed history as a soldier and spy.

You spent a long time talking. He eyed the bottles that lined the shelf on the wall but ignored them for the sake of keeping sharp senses.

And when your lunch settled, he escorted you outside.

A car needed to be called to reach the garage through the thick patch of trees that surrounded it.

The garage was another monstrosity, a wide cement structure that resembled a bunker, but it served its purpose well. It was warm, and the fluorescent lights gleamed off the paint of his sports cars, vintage and modern alike.

Someone, his mother, he believes, had a viewing lounge built behind a thick glass wall. Sheets covered the couches and chairs, but he knew it to be a comfortable place.

“Take your pick,” he offered you, gesturing to the cars all parked in a line.

After a few moments of wide-eyed gaping, you settled on a Bugatti in electric blue. Helmut approved of your good taste.

Like a gentleman, he opened the passenger door for you. He grabbed a pair of gloves from the glove compartment as you marveled at the soft leather and strapped yourself inside.

He smiled and, unlike a gentleman, lied when he told you, ‘I won't go too fast.’

He sped up quickly.

"Slow down!" You demanded, bracing yourself as he neared the car's top speed.

“Don’t worry,” he assured you, arrogance heavy in his voice, “I’m an excellent driver.”

The track wasn't perfectly symmetrical, in fact, it was quite abstract with its curved roads and the long lanes flanked by trees.

You eased up little by little and by the time of your third go around the racetrack, your eyes were wide with unfettered joy.

“See? What did I say?” He offered you a smug smile when he turned into the garage once again. You might have laughed at the look of disappointment on your face when he didn’t go around a fourth time. "Would you like to go around again?" He adjusted the fit of his gloves nonchalantly.

"Yeah, let’s do it again!" You nodded.

"The same car or a different one?"

"Do you have one that's faster?"

"Do you truly have to ask, Драга? Of course I have one faster."

Your excitement was infectious. He nearly forgot what it was like to truly let go and lose himself in the fun of the day. Instead of working or plotting or even thinking of those things, he showed off each of his favorite cars—the red Porsche, the orange McLaren, the silver Lamborghini—and took you for a ride in each of them.

And then, you asked about his darling—perhaps not his; it was produced and acquired nearly a decade before his birth, but he adored it all the same— the silvery-blue Jaguar E-Type Roadster.

There was no particular reason why he adored it, (‘aside from the fact that it was beautiful, he thought. Like any man of his means and interest, Helmut admired beautiful things.

He watched you admire the sleek, rounded design.

“What about this one?” He imagined, for a moment, sitting with you inside the convertible, your legs stretched before you, your hair pushed back by the wind, your form, and your laughter the only thing in focus as the world blurred by.

“This one isn’t for driving.” He decided quickly, because the road might not have held his focus and driving wouldn’t have been what he wanted to do. “And the clouds are coming through.”

It was meant to rain that evening and, true to his words, clouds gathered and grayed the sky.

When it got dark, he turned on the bright lights that framed the road and took you out one last time.

"I'd let you drive one if you wanted," he told you, before adding, "on the straight road," rather quickly.

"We can do it again tomorrow? You won't be too busy?"

Your smile was free of worry, free of doubt or hesitation; it was beautiful. He's glad he didn't take you out in the Jaguar.

"We can do whatever you want, Драга."

"I just want to spend more time with you, it doesn't matter what we're doing."

*

After dinner, Helmut escorted you to your bedroom.

You bid him goodnight and disappeared behind the ornate door.

Helmut retired to the library, not quite ready for bed. It was a large room with tall shelves stuffed with books of many shapes and sizes. He spent nearly an hour perusing the shelves until stumbling across a worn copy of Il Principe, The Prince. He was well familiar with the text. He was tempted to pick it up, to slide into a chair near the window, and read to the soothing sound of rain outside the window. He flipped through the pages with idle interest and wondered what you thought of Machiavelli. ‘You certainly wouldn’t agree with his philosophies,’ he thought. He considered bringing you the book, anyway.

But then he sighed. He spent the entire day ignoring his responsibilities in favor of spending time with you.

But just as he moved to slide the book into place, he heard soft footsteps moving toward him. The person approaching was used to going unnoticed.

“Oeznik,” Helmut greeted when the man reached the edge of his periphery

“Good evening, Sir.” Oeznik greeted, bowing his head respectfully. “Did you enjoy your day out on the tracks?”

“I did,” Helmut answered truthfully, the book still in hand. “Were you able to speak with the staff today?”

“Yes, I believe I’ve found the source of the discrepancy.”

“Thank you, Old Friend. I’ll take care of the rest.” He slid the book back in place and planned to leave, but Oeznik watched him carefully as if he was considering something.

“Was there anything else?”

“Forgive me Sir; I was just thinking. The rain will clear soon, so you should enjoy the new day.”

Helmut raised a brow. Helmut’s known Oeznik for far too long to think that his seemingly innocuous comment had anything to do with the weather.

“You think I should spend another day without working?” Spend another day with you.

“Time off is good for your health, Sir. I’ll handle what needs to be done.” Oeznik stood with his back straight, his eyes focused and clear. He trusted Oeznik with many things, but he wouldn’t leave his mission to anyone else.

“Regarding the staff?” Helmut asked, leading him toward the conversation he wanted to have. But Oeznik was old and stubborn. He’s known Helmut since he was a child and knew each of his games.

“Whatever else needs to be done.” Was his stern reply.

“I appreciate your offer but I’m fine.” Oeznik didn’t answer, he simply hummed. And that hum, that simple sound of dismissal, annoyed him. “You think I’m not?”

“You are. And it’s been a long time since I’ve seen you this way, sir.” It was Helmut’s turn to hum now, to demise what he knew Oeznik wanted to say.

It’s been a long time since he’s seen him happy.

“Perhaps you should take a stroll out in the garden,” He says suddenly, turning to leave as he does. “It’s still nice for this time of year. Goodnight, Sir.”

“Goodnight.” Oeznik exits the library and disappears from view. Helmut presses his lips into a thin line and returns to his room and go to sleep—but not before taking Machiavelli down from the shelf and calling for a glass of whiskey.

*

“Would you like a tour of the estate?” Helmut offered after breakfast—he needed to inspect everything anyway. You agreed.

So he offered you his arm and took you through the gilded halls, recounting the building's long but turbulent history.

"I'm surprised you don't have a horse or something," you joked, looking over the southern balcony and into the grounds below.

"Would you like a horse?"

"Find me a unicorn and I’ll buy it myself.”

After the tour, you put on your jackets, and Helmut took you through the garden path. The warm weather plants weren't thriving, but it was beautiful nonetheless.

"This is nice," you sighed as you sat together on a bench. "I'm glad you invited me here, it's like a vacation."

"As am I," he answered, and the truth in his words surprised him.

Helmut was happy you were there, sitting beside him on a bench on a wild winter day in Italy. It was simple, but Helmut something inside him stirred and his heart swelled with affection for you.

You stayed like that for a while, relaxing beneath the shelter of winter flowers.

But then a chilly wind blew., you pressed a little closer, and he turned your way.

Your eyes met briefly.

“Are you cold?” He covered your hand with his own, warming them between the soft leather of his gloves. You met his gaze again and then your eyes fell lower, over his nose, his mouth, his neck, down his chest, and to the place where his hand held yours.

“Thank you.”

“Of course.”

You released a shuddering sigh and then, with newfound confidence, gazed into his eyes again.

"Helmut," you said, voice just above a whisper.

"Hm?"

“Is this ok?” It was an open-ended question, one that could have meant anything and everything all at once. But somehow he knew exactly what you wanted to say.

“Maybe,” was his honest reply.

And then, as if pulled by some magnetic force, you both leaned forward as if the answer could be found in the space between your lips.

Neither of you made it very far before and he pulled away, turning his gaze toward the garden path.

You both looked away, the silence that settled between you louder than any words either of you could say.

"I just wanted to thank you…” You said softly. “I know you were supposed to be working today. It must be hard to have so much to manage. With...Dominik,” You said his name with some measure of difficulty, “There’s just money in the bank he left, a few stocks that manage themselves but you...it must be hard to be a Baron." You rambled nervously.

"... I'm glad to spend this time with you." He confessed.

There was little else he'd rather do.

*

Neither of you acknowledged what happened—or rather what failed to happen—and how it left you wanting, aching for something that couldn’t be said.

So instead you smiled politely, exchanged the usual pleasantries, and went about the rest of the day.

You were right; he had work to take care of. There were contracts to renew, work orders to approve, and papers to file.

So while you got cozy with a lovely charcuterie, he acquired an entire bottle of whiskey and set to work.

*

That night he thought about what happened in the garden, what might have happened had he not pulled away.

He let himself imagine the sweet press of your lips against his own, the hesitant glance you might have shared before taking the plunge and moving into deeper kisses and maybe something more.

The very thought made him yearn for you—and he certainly wouldn’t find an answer to that in a decanter.

Helmut sat up in his bed and glanced at the wall. You were there, just on the other side, and he wondered if you felt the same, if you felt the same need for him as he felt for you. But before he had the chance to rise, to knock upon your door and take you in his arms, he received a message on his phone.

Oeznik, true to his word, had done some work. He uncovered a piece of important information, something about the UN meeting setting a date for late March.

There was to be a vote on legislation meant to limit the power of the Avengers.

He was out of time, he realized, dread bubbling up to the pit of his stomach.

He had to leave.

*

You ate breakfast together the next morning and once again went your separate ways.

“Come find me when you’re done working, ok?” You said, looking as though you had something important to say. He ignored your expression and nodded, taking the last bite of food on his plate.

Helmut took his time to survey each of the rooms, talk to the staff, and confirm that everything was in its proper place.

Next came the troublesome part, the part where he needed to plan for you. He needed to make arrangements to ensure your wellbeing and prepare you for a future he couldn’t be a part of, no matter how much he longed to be.

The work was tedious, and though he cursed himself for failing to have done so months prior, Helmut persisted. He spent the entire day tucked away in his office, talking to various lawyers and financial advisors.

Unfortunately, their ‘advice’ was all but useless.

He poured a drink.

Within a few hours, Helmut learned it wouldn't be wise to give you his entire estate under the contingency of his death, imprisonment, or other incapacitation. There was very little that obligated you to uphold the ‘Zemo Legacy.’ Though Helmut knew they only cared about lining their own pockets.

At first, he didn’t care. But then he realized how the act of giving you his fortune would place you under public scrutiny.

The last thing he wanted was to cause you trouble, for rumors about mistresses or infidelity to fly. Marriage was completely out of the question, but a partnership... a partnership would work.

He had the paperwork faxed to him right away and had someone draw up an addition, something stating that you, by right, would inherit his assets and estate. Later he'd assemble a team of trustworthy people to assist you and ask Oeznik to guide you through everything.

He paid a fortune in expedition fees, but it was worth it in the end.

The only thing you had to do was sign.

*

By the time he found you, it was dusk. You were in one of the sitting rooms, a mug in hand as you caught up on some American show he never quite saw the appeal of. The main character was charming and savvy but the romantic subplots were repetitive and tiring.

“I’ve concluded all my business here,” Helmut told you, lingering near the door. “We can return home as soon as you like... unless you’d prefer to stay.” Helmut didn’t mind the idea of leaving you in there, in that estate.

It was large, remote, and fully staffed. You'd want for nothing living there.

“It’s been fun, but I should get back to my work soon.” You gave him a noncommittal shrug, placing down your mug down on a coster.

“I can have your supplies sent here,” He offered.

“Vacations have to end sometimes, Helmut,” you teased. “At least they do for us normal people, maybe not so much for Barons.”

He pressed his lips together in a tight smile.

“It doesn’t have to,” he insisted.

“Do you want to move?” You paused the show you were watching and sent him a wary gaze.

“Would you?”

“Well... I never thought about it. I mean...it’s been fun but I don’t think I’d want to live here. We’re miles away from... everything.” You gestured toward the window, out to vast stretches of land that seemed to go on forever. “It’s been nice to have people wait on me hand and foot but if we moved, I’d miss my friends—And I’d rather live somewhere less... remote.” You decided.

We.

Your choice of words wasn’t lost on him—your plan for the future included him. You expected him to be in your life. ‘As a friend?’ He wondered, ‘Or something different?’ Helmut opened his mouth to speak but shut it again just as quickly. He couldn’t bring himself to ask.

“I see then. I'll return you home whenever you’re ready.”

“Return me home? Is there something going on?” You ask, shifting out of the blanket you were wrapped in. You looked confused, afraid of what he might say and what it would mean for the future you hoped to have together.

“Something came up, Драга, I’ll be leaving again.” He confessed, falling back to half-truths.

“Oh.” Though your voice was a soft whisper, your disappointment hardened that simple phrase, turned it into something piercing.

“I hoped you’d consider staying here while I was away,” He continued, “but if not I’ll hire a housekeeper, someone to keep you company—”

“Where are you going?” You pressed.

“To take care of business.” Had he met your gaze then, Helmut might have broken completely.

“When will you be back?” You pressed again, a deep scowl coming across your face.

“I don’t know.” He replied softly, and silence enveloped the room.“I thought we moved past this, Helmut. Why are you keeping secrets from me?” He didn’t have an answer.

“I have no intention of receding my promise to you. You’ll be taken care of-”

“Are you coming back?” You cut him off.

Helmut could feel your gaze burning through him. And when enough time passed, he turned to face you with a heavy heart.

“I don’t know,” he finally replied. He hated himself at that moment, more than he had in a long time. Because you didn’t look angry, you didn’t even look sad, you looked as though you’d just been betrayed.

“I’m sorry,” he offered, but you weren’t interested in apologies.

The breath you released was ragged as you struggled to hold back your confusion and outrage.

“Is...is this about what happened in the garden?”

“No,” He said quickly, closing the distance between you. Helmut stood an arm's length from the couch, hoping you would understand. But you turned your gaze away.

Kneeling, Helmut cupped your face between your hands, forcing you to turn his way once again. “This isn’t about you. This is about my work. I have enemies-”

“Helmut,” you cut him off, placing your hand upon his chest, your tone softer now, pleading. “Please don’t run off again. Please don’t leave me. I'm sorry about what happened, I’m sorry I tried to kiss you-”

"Don't apologize." You offered him far more than he deserved: happiness, stability, love—a good life. But as he stared at you, gazed up into your beautiful eyes, he knew that a happy future would never come to be.

Because if he kissed you, he would never want to stop. He would stay, and he would be happy by your side. But happiness in a world without Carl, without Heike, without his Father or his friend...it was far too much to bear. He wasn’t strong enough to bear it. He would always be a broken man. And you deserved something better, something more than the shattered heart he could provide.

“I hope one day you can forgive me.” He whispered, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “But I must fulfill my promise.”

And he left.

He didn’t answer your calls or your texts—he didn’t even open them. There was no need. When he used his phone, it was to listen to his voicemail, to hear Heike's voice.

Because what he needed was conviction, an anchor to his grief. He needed to remember what he lost, not what he chose to leave behind.

***

Helmut rises from bed and prepares for the day ahead; He cleans, shaves, and dresses before heading to the kitchen to brew a pot of coffee.

There’s a subtle connection between love and cooking, one that Helmut feels as he sets about quartering one cup of strawberries and combining them with sugar and water over heat. After all, he wouldn’t make syrup for just anybody (Sam and James will have to accept whatever bottled variety of syrup you kept in the pantry.)

He then rolls up the sleeves and sets to work, mixing flour, eggs, milk, and sugar into the base of a waffle batter and pours it into the heated cask of your beloved waffle iron.

He pours a cup of coffee into a mug and takes a drink.

As the delicate aromas fill the air, he hears a quiet conversation between Sam and James grow louder as the two approach the kitchen.

“Gentleman,” Helmut greets, not bothering to turn around and meet their collective gaze. He opens the waffle iron and shuts it once more because they weren’t finished yet. He decided to give the test batch to James.

“Zemo,” Sam says first, “They found Madani—dead. She died in Riga, a city near the Baltic Sea. We have to get moving.”

Helmut quieted for just a moment. He underestimated the severity of Madani's condition, overestimated the time he had to share with you.

“I see,” he speaks, finally turning toward the two.

Sam appears to be well-rested, but James... James looks about the same as always, tired and tense. “Riga, you say? I have a place we can go.”

“Any more surprises we should know about?” Sam asks, nodding his head toward the stairs, to the room where you still slept.

“Nothing of the sort. I’ll have the plane prepared and we can be off by noon.”

Helmut wanted to spend more time with you, but it seems he was out of time once again.

#zemo #helmut zemo #baron zemo #mcu zemo #zemo x reader #baron zemo x reader #throughout the story I have little references to other characters Daniel played #this particular one has two

[bakughostly]

hi👉👈 would you be open to sharing some tidbits of your new fics? your current ones live in my head rent-free

this is literally so sweet of you to ask!!! i am more than willing to share!! i've been moving so writing has been going slower and these aren't as polished as i'd like them to be, but here are tidbits from two of the fics in progress! (they're also like super different types of stories, so the first tidbit is big literary fiction/the reader also gets character development, the second is more true-to-form fic writing. sorry for the tonal whiplash lmao)

tw for character death (the character is not specified) and super vague descriptions of the cremation process!!

it's the living that's hard

He shows up three minutes before the time you’d agreed on this morning, his illegally-parked Toyota Yaris gleaming black like snakeskin. When you slide into the car, the heating system’s airflow engulfs you. Your skin still feels too cold.

Moments with Bakugou have always had a sort of weight to them—an almost stifling blanketed silence. In his car, watching the smooth way his hands slide over the old Toyota’s steering wheel, the silence feels different. You’ve only ever interacted with him in office settings, group gatherings—never an enclosed space where you’re sure he can hear each and every one of the deep breaths currently keeping you grounded.

You met him at a hero gala years ago, when your partner was just starting out, when the long nights of training turned into longer nights of patrol shifts and meetings and press events. You’d always been hero-adjacent—analytics may sound like a boring job, but it’s the safest way to make good money in Musutafu, especially if you’re a UA grad—so you understood, to an extent. You saw the work it took to become a good, well-recognized hero from the numbers end of things: ratios of assists to captures, public perception and approval, agency statistics and their impact on hero ratings.

Bakugou took the spot of number ten hero at the age of twenty-one. He knows, better than you and your partner, what it means to work yourself to the bone. He wasn’t anyone you would have sought out by yourself, that you would have struck up a friendship with, especially when he was at his worst.

But that night was a rare good one for him. He smiled, just once, when his new title was announced, pride etched into the hard planes of his face. You decided he couldn’t be as bad as everyone else you’d met from UA had made him out to be.

You were wrong, of course, but even in his lowest moments you remember that smile--that single moment in which he’d allowed himself to be proud, to relish in the accomplishments he worked so hard to achieve.

Nothing in the past week has been familiar. Everything is dismantled, upheaved, broken—the cracked glass in the picture frame on the side table next to your bed, the ache in your sides that gets worse every time you're alone, the quicks of your nails that have been bitten unevenly down to nothing.

Everything is painful to touch. There’s an ache in your fingers you can’t quite dislodge.

You couldn’t bring yourself to be there when your partner was placed into the cremation chamber, limbs arranged careful and proper. It’s something you’ve thought about since you got the call this morning, a bored front desk person telling you that it was time to come to the crematorium and complete the death rites.

It was Bakugou that you asked to drive you there, to help you with the kotsuage, to pass the bones of your lover between mismatched pairs of wooden chopsticks.

Before you leave the car, he reaches out—almost touches you. Pulls back before his fingers can graze your wrist. “I can tell them we’ll do it another time.”

You shake your head, chest tight. There’s a tall black pine next to the crematorium, just offset behind it, and it reaches over the curved, gray-shingle roof to the cold sky. The needles blend and clear, your face is hot and cold, your hands are numb and not. It feels like you’re going to die if you don’t get out of this car right now. You dig bitten-down finger quicks into your palms and force yourself to ache.

“I don’t give a shit if they called today,” he says, voice made more gruff by the cold that snakes into the idled car. “If you’re not ready, they’ll wait.”

“It wouldn’t be respectful,” you tell him. Not to the crematorium—to your partner. You don’t want them to wait longer than they already have.

You return to the familiar quiet as you step out into the mid-morning frost, as you enter the cramped building and follow the crematorium director to the table of ashes, as you pick out snowdrop bone from the soot-black remains. Phalange and vertebra, metacarpal and jaw. The collagen framework of the body you once called home.

They’re interred in a simple brass urn because they prefer—(preferred, you correct)—minimal over intricate.

Their family shrine is close. Without asking, Bakugou knows to drive you there. To let your partner be with their ancestors for a little while before they’re buried, traditional, like their family would have wanted. You burn incense—patchouli, their favorite—and allow them to rest with their kindred spirits. A sweet reunion amongst so much bitter.

He drops you off afterwards, pulling up to the sidewalk in front of your apartment building’s front door. You slip out of his car along with the interior’s heated air, and you can see his breath when he says your name, frosted and curling into the windshield.

He looks conflicted. Not sure what to say. He’s not the type to apologize—and you appreciate that. All you’ve heard for days is sorry, sorry, sorry, variations on a theme. You’re sick of it. If he apologizes now for all that you’ve lost, you think you might actually break down on the sidewalk. Kneel on the concrete until all of its peaks and valleys are carved into the shape of your shins.

“I know you’re gonna try to handle all this yourself,” he tells you eventually. “But don’t be a dumbass. If you need something, call me.”

“I will,” you tell him. It’s the truth. “Thank you.”

He nods, a lurched motion, as if he’s not quite sure how to react to anything you do. There’s no buffer between you now that your partner isn’t there to soften interactions like taking punches. You have to look at each other when you speak because there’s no one else to look at. Every word, every motion, is a direct and unavoidable blow.

“Yeah,” he responds, eyes on the massive pothole next to his car, on the street corner’s tilted lamp, on anything except the person his words are meant for. “Just don’t mention it.”

An expression, but one he means literally. If you weren’t a mess, it might have been Tell anyone about this and you’re fucking dead. It might have been I’m doing this for them, not for you. You wonder where he draws the line between pity and obligation.

And you’re not going to mention it. You know that this is more than he does for most people. For anyone, really. All of this—the quiet rides, the silent but present support, the way his chopsticks steadied yours when your hands started shaking so badly that you nearly dropped a starlight-soft piece of bone—is nothing you would ask of him. Expect of him.

That doesn’t mean you don’t wish he would stay, if only to numb the sharp edge of your apartment’s unfitting silence.

new mexico piece that doesn't have a name yet

The sky is a burnt orange above the desert when you get there, the lamps down the street above the gas station clicking on as the day continues to darken. There’s a door to the inside office of the garage on the left side of the building, but the two large, vertically sliding doors on the right are open, revealing the main shop.

A large speaker towards the back of the shop is blasting nineties hip-hop, a smooth, bassy beat overlaid by enunciated, intricate verses that adhere to the music’s tempo easy as breathing. It’s the kind of music you’d expect to hear in a mechanic’s shop, but for some reason, not the kind of music you expected Bakugou to listen to. The dark-clothes-red-eyes-and-edgy-undercut vibe screams metalhead. So do the blatant anger issues.

There are two cars other than yours on the floor, and you see him bent over the engine of a cherry-red Corvette with its hood popped. The car looks like it was made forty years ago even though it shines like it just rolled out of the factory.

But what’s more distracting than the car is Bakugou’s wide back, completely bare, the muscles shifting with each movement of whatever tool he’s using, a fast clicking noise filling the air. You still think he’s a dick, but there’s no denying that his body is impressive, all hard angles and toned lines and a shoulder-to-waist ratio that some models would probably kill for.

You only let yourself watch for a second more—maybe two or three—before you clear your throat. And then, when he doesn’t seem to hear you, you say, “Uh, hey. I’m back.”

He turns, grabbing a grey-tinged rag from the edge of the Corvette’s hood and wiping his hands on it, his fingers stained soot-black. When he’s fully facing you, your eyes catch on a long line of grease running up his obliques, drawing your gaze down the length of his torso to the waistband of his dark jeans.

Fuck. He’s got to put in work to look like this. There must be absolutely nothing else to do in Musutafu except work out and fix cars, and the man in front of you is living proof of that.

“Eyes up, extra.”

Your face heats because he’s caught you blatantly checking him out, and you rapidly look away from him and towards your car. “Just noticing how dirty you are. Not a great way to greet customers.”

“Comes with the job,” he says, unimpressed. “Customers are gonna have to deal with it. You want to know what’s wrong with your car, or did you just come here to be a fucking creep and stare?”

You’ve never met someone that purposefully tries to piss off other people as much as Bakugou, and you don’t want to meet anyone like him again after this. “Keep your ego in check. I’m here for my car.”

“It’s just like I thought. Rotor’s fucked beyond repair. Your brakes are shot on your other front wheel from picking up the slack when you drove into town.” He lets out a short, frustrated sigh. “Gonna have to replace the entire wheel along with the tire because you warped it so bad.”

“That sounds expensive.”

He looks at you like you’ve just said the dumbest thing he’s ever heard. “That’s what happens when you do reckless shit like this. You’re lucky you didn’t bend the whole axle. You’d be looking at way more.”

Your palms are sweating. Maybe it really wasn’t worth it to drive to the gas station in the rain. Maybe you should’ve stayed in the void and waited for morning. Waited until you could walk into town cold and exhausted, abandoning the paintings that cost more than your entire net worth. “Just give me an estimate.”

He gives you a number about a grand and a half more than what you have in savings. “And that’s not including labor.”

You nod, keeping your breathing even. You don’t want to react in front of him. Or at all.

Despite that, you feel your throat start to tighten, your lungs seizing in your chest. There’s no way you can afford to fix this, and if there’s that much to fix it’ll probably take longer than a few days, and this means you’re going to have to call Chisaki and tell him that you’re going to take longer and you’re positive that this is going to get you on his bad side, and Shinsou is so fucking close to getting that promotion instead of you, and now, because you were a fucking idiot and drove out on a dangerous desert highway in the middle of the fucking night, your entire career might be ruined and what were you thinking? You could have just waited and avoided all of this, but you’re so impatient that you wanted to get the drive out of the way and now you’re going to blow all of your savings on this and maybe even lose your job, and you feel so fucking worthless.

“Shit, are you—why are you crying?”

You put a hand to your face and feel just a few tears that you hadn’t even realized were there. A panic response. Your face is hot and cold and stinging. You still can’t calm your breathing and you think you’re going to have a full-on anxiety attack, so you close your eyes for a moment and ground yourself, digging your nails into your palms to feel something other than the buzzing sensation of worry and stress and fear. You can’t believe this is happening in front of another person—you feel like a child.

Bakugou looks uncomfortable, but his brows draw in something that would look like concern on a kinder face but really only serves to make him look more frustrated. He walks over and stands in front of you, awkward, like he wants to help but doesn’t know how. He smells like sweat and grease and under that, weirdly enough, something sweet like caramel. “We can work something out if you’re gonna take it that bad. Just—stop looking like that.”

Jaw clenched, you wipe the few tears away with your sleeve and shake your head. Steady your breathing. Keep your eyes trained on one of his dirty hi-tops, counting the lines of stitching on the nose of the shoe, until you feel like you can look him in the eye again. “I have a lot riding on being able to get to Taos.”

“Taos?” He narrows his eyes, frowning a little. “The fuck do you need to go there for? It’s barely bigger than Musutafu.”

“I just need to get there as soon as possible or my boss is going to be pissed.” You think of the way you’ve seen Chisaki yell at interns that got his coffee order wrong. This is much bigger than a coffee order, and you also have much more responsibility than an intern. You clench your teeth again, trying to choke down the fresh wave of anxiety the builds in your throat. Facing Chisaki is going to be worse than anything. He’s going to kill you. Or fire you. You’d almost prefer the former.

Bakugou sighs, looking between you and the car. He runs a tired hand through his hair, and even though it sounds like the last thing he would ever want to do, he says, “Let me get you a beer.”

Twenty minutes later, you’re sitting behind the garage in a Tommy Bahama beach chair with a San Miguel in your hand, the cold bottle a balm against the fading heat of day. Bakugou is in a matching chair next to you, sipping on his own drink, and you sit together, A Tribe Called Quest playing in the garage behind you and filling the silence.

The shop floor of the garage has those large vertical doors on either side, so you can see through it, past the still and quiet cars, out onto the highway. Civilization, or something like it, across the street in those rows of two-story buildings. On this side of the shop, you can see where the edge of a few residential blocks of Musutafu meet the desert, and further than that, where the desert melts into forest. The trees closest to the edge are withered, shrunken things, probably stunted by a lack of water and the unobstructed sunlight, and you’re brutally reminded of how cruel the earth can be.

You’ve always been a little scared of the desert. It can be beautiful, sometimes, but most of the time it’s frightening. Lurking. Like a beast on the edge of your peripherals, always watching and waiting. You could walk out into this wasteland and never be found. Your bones could sink into the ground and rest there, untouched and sand-bleached, forever.

“Why’d you move out here?” you ask, even though Bakugou has been consistently refusing to acknowledge your presence after he made sure you were situated with your chair and your beer.

He shrugs. “Dunno.”

“You’re a great conversationalist.”

“Maybe I don’t want to have a conversation.” He sips his beer and you watch a bead of condensation trail down his arm. He put on a shirt before joining you out here, thank fucking god, but he’s still dirty from working on the cars in his shop and it’s almost entrancing to you—not the dirtiness, but how it came about. The obvious effort he puts into something he’s good at.

You wonder how old he is. If he owns the shop or if he just works here. There’s a lot of things you want to ask him, but he’s the least friendly man in Musutafu, so your chances of getting those questions answered are pretty fucking slim. “Okay, how about this? Question for a question. You ask me something and I’ll answer totally honest as long as you do the same.”

He glances at you, just for a second, red eyes made darker by the lack of sun. The night has settled comfortably on the horizon now, and everything about Bakugou has become a little more intimidating. He seems bigger in the darkness. His shadows are elongated in the most terrible ways. “Why the fuck would I want to know anything about you?”

Yeah. That’s what you should’ve expected. “Never mind.” You take a long swig of your beer. It tastes like sand, but that might be the desert burning itself into every single one of your senses. Just to take a final dig at him, you say, “Bet you’d have nothing interesting to tell me anyway.”

You’re going to finish your beer and leave. You’re not sure why you stayed this long—maybe it was the fact that his offer of a drink seemed like a kindness he doesn’t often show. You don’t think he’s kind by nature, but he at least didn’t laugh at you when you cried a little earlier. He has a heart, even if it’s small and shriveled and almost completely devoid of empathy.

Just as you’re downing the dregs of the San Miguel, he says, “Fine. Tell me what’s in Taos.”

#bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #mha x reader #HOPEFULLY soon i will be posting the living is hard #we are just having a Busy Time over here #i hope these fragments tide u over lmao sorry they are not super polished #fics

[moved-to-void-kissed]

Too Late to be Saved

Document link: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1GF_jZevunsCA5QKPWXfaVO_OO61ZaAtxkzPdoJNJHUM/edit?usp=sharing

When Aqua and Aria reach the Dark Margin at the edge of the realm of darkness, they meet Ansem the Wise, who is quickly sought by Ansem, Seeker of Darkness. Aria angrily confronts the fellow Heartless, but finds herself unable to get back to the End of Sea before Riku and King Mickey arrive. (2351 words) Replaces the KH3 cutscene “An Unexpected Encounter” and changes some story events so that “Too Late” and “Braving the Darkness” no longer occur.

My first new piece of selfship writing on this blog, and oh boy is it a big one! I had a lot of fun writing this, so hopefully it makes for a good read, haha ^-^

Tag list: @softskiesahead | @dragonsmooch | @thatslikesometaldude | @lilacslovers | @insomniaships | @candyforthebrain | @goldenworldsabound | @setzale

A transcript of the document is under the readmore! Reblogs of this post would be greatly appreciated, since I was really happy with how this turned out, but they’re not required by any means~

“What is this place..?”

The blue-haired woman slowly walked forwards, marvelling at the sight before her. The endless dark caverns that she had wandered for so long had opened out to a clouded grey beach, lit by what appeared to be a glowing white moon above the horizon. The hard stone underfoot was giving way to soft sand of the same ash-like colour, as waves of murky water gently grazed the shore. It was an eerily tranquil place by the standards of all she had witnessed before, something her companion was quick to notice.

“There are no Heartless here.” she said. “I almost feel as though I shouldn’t be here, either. Aqua.. I think this might be the edge of the realm.”

“So, we’ve made it to the end?” replied Aqua, now making her way towards the shoreline.

“Yes, it would appear so. Whatever lies beyond this shore.. It seems less like part of the darkness, and more like something between dark and light. Something that doesn’t belong to either force..”

As her partner spoke, Aqua became aware that her voice was growing fainter. When she turned around, she saw that she had made far less progress towards the water, standing awkwardly some distance away with her wings curled around her body. She looked nervous, and unsure what to expect, yet the catlike ears poking straight up through her messy blonde hair showed that she was still as alert as ever, constantly listening for danger even in the silence of the new place they had stumbled across.

“Aria, it’s okay! We can keep going, if you’d prefer that. You look tense, and I don’t want you to be unsettled.”  A worried expression flitted across Aqua’s face as she reached out to hold Aria’s hand - the sudden movement made her flinch in surprise, but she quickly and visibly relaxed as Aqua drew closer. When the two were standing together again, Aqua gently closed both of her hands over Aria’s, unfazed by the patches of open darkness that ran along them, and smiled as she looked down at her partner.

“Thank you..” she mumbled quietly. “I’m alright, I just- don’t know what to expect here.”

It was then that, behind the Keyblade Master, Aria spotted a hooded figure sitting some distance away, hidden by a black coat but appearing to gaze out over the barely-moving water. Though she still let Aqua hold her right hand, she slowly shifted to free her left and moved to stand at Aqua’s side in one fluid movement. Then she extended her left arm and a mass of dark energy enveloped the space beside her, dissipating quickly to reveal a jagged dark red Keyblade.

“Identify yourself!”

Her shout echoed across the shore, leading the figure to turn its head and slowly stand up. As it started to walk across the sand, it removed its hood to reveal an older-looking man with piercing orange eyes and wispy light blond hair. He looked tired, and his face bore the wrinkled lines of worry as he observed the two Keyblade wielders.

“Please, stay your weapon. I mean you no harm.”

Aria wasn’t overly convinced, but she could see that the man did not have the strength to be a threat, so she lowered her Keyblade. Aqua was curious to find out more, taking a step forward.

“Who are you? How did you end up in this place?”

The man sighed wistfully, folding his hands behind his back. “My name was.. stolen by another, and I can feel this place taking its toll on my memory. I’m sorry. I know that I have only been here for a fairly short time, and that I was sent here by the destruction of the machine I created to encode Kingdom Hearts in data.”

“Before that..” He turned to look out over the water again, unwilling to meet Aqua’s gaze. “I caused a great deal of misery to many individuals, through both my recent actions and my previous research. It is clear to me now that I was deeply in the wrong about some of my original beliefs.. Now, I can only hope for a chance to atone for my deeds.”

“It’s alright.” Aria’s Keyblade had disappeared from her hand. “I can see now that your heart holds a true desire for.. repentance, or something of that nature. I’m not sure what the right word is, but.. The point is that you won’t be harmed, by either of us.”

“Yes, of course!” Aqua added. “I think you’ll be safe here, at least, since the Heartless don’t seem to come here. And, I can’t claim to know what you’ve done, but.. What’s important is that you recognise your mistakes, and that you want to make up for them.”

The man seemed relieved, and turned back to face the pair with a shadow of a smile on his face. “Thank you, both of you. I admit that I was not expecting to meet anyone else in this infernal prison. If I may ask, what are your names?”

“Oh, there’s no time for that now.”

A dark portal had opened up, and from it stepped an imposing and well-built man in a similar black coat. He had slicked-back long silver hair and similarly piercing eyes to the old man, though his were a cold golden colour. Aria’s eyes narrowed at his approach, as it was clear that he was a powerful user of darkness, though the true nuance was only visible to her.

“What- What’s going on?” Aqua asked, turning to face the man with suspicion. He ignored her for the moment, focusing only on the older man, who in turn was glaring fiercely at the intruder as he approached.

“You..”

“Master.. I must have a word with you.”

“Master?” he echoed. “So now you mock me..” The disapproval dripped from his voice like bitter venom. The interloper opened his mouth to respond, but-

“Leave.”

Aria had broken away from Aqua’s grasp and now stood defiantly before the intruder, Keyblade still in hand.

“Excuse me?” The man raised an eyebrow and sneered down at her, surprised by her actions.

“I know what you are, Ansem.” she snarled back. “I have known your power since before you even existed. A villainous Heartless with a natural human form - the one that took the title of “seeker of darkness” and is shadowed by a twisted dark figure. You think you’re so strong, but you are not the one who holds power here.”

This last statement had clearly struck a nerve, and Ansem’s expression of contempt soured into anger. “You’re certainly an astute one.. But what makes you think you could possibly face me?”

“Have your eyes gone blind as well as gold? If I can tell what you are, you can tell what I am. I have seen more than you will ever achieve, especially now that you’re afflicted with some other presence. That-” - she pointed up at his eyes - “-is Xehanort’s power, isn’t it? If you’re with him, that makes you our enemy.”

At this point, Aqua’s worried expression had returned. “Aria, be careful..”

“Aqua, get that man somewhere out of the way. I’m going to stop this before it becomes a problem.”

“You are a fool to challenge me, girl!” 

An eruption of darkness burst forth from the Heartless, and the powerful frame of the Dark Figure rose up from his shadow. Aria quickly leapt up into the air, spreading her wings to soar over Ansem’s head as he lashed out. To deflect the residual impact of his outburst, Aqua summoned a Barrier spell, then started to help the old man escape once he had turned around.

The force of that initial burst - not even a targeted attack, merely an effect driven by the might of his anger - instantly made Aria aware of the strength Ansem possessed, and she knew she would have to be careful. Her advantage was agility, as the darkness she could draw from her surroundings to aid her flight was limitless. She darted out of his reach and flew up and away from the Dark Figure’s grasp, firing shockwaves of unearthly blue energy at both it and Ansem. The monster seemed unfazed, but Ansem himself was slowed down in his pursuit of her, only to then retaliate with a barrage of violet orbs, which Aria was able to flit between. At every twist and turn, she flew further away from him, enraging him even more as he was forced to give chase.

“What is this insolence?!” Ansem yelled. “You should be obeying me!”

“Does it look like that matters?” she replied, deftly evading another blast of dark energy. “I already told you - you’re not the one who holds power here. Even if you did, Ves’ presence is enough to protect me. I don’t care what you think you deserve!”

Another flash of darkness, this time from Aria herself - she had switched her Keyblade from its dark mode to its diamond mode, now shimmering with cold blue light, and enveloped herself in a shadowy aura to strengthen herself. Still soaring on her wings, their black feathers gleaming with energy drawn from the realm, she sent a rain of insightful flames down from above, then her Keyblade became electrified and she hurled it spinning towards him.

“Maybe you meant something, once. But now you’ve let yourself be taken over by someone who’s not even strong enough to control you completely. Take it from someone who knows - all that does is weaken you!”

“Enough of this!”

Suddenly, the Dark Figure wrested itself from Ansem’s shadow and lunged forwards into the air, followed swiftly by Ansem himself, roaring and surrounding himself with a wall of intense darkness. As Aria dropped through the air to avoid his charge, a blast of ice struck him from behind. It was Aqua, channeling magic even without her Keyblade to act as a conduit. The impact threw Ansem off-course, but the Dark Figure swept around and managed to grab hold of Aria.

“Agh!”

“Let go of her!” Aqua cried, trying to fire more magic without hitting Aria. Ansem’s attention remained focused on the Keyblade Master, while the Dark Figure tightened its powerful grip as if to crush Aria entirely. She desperately writhed and struggled, holding onto the figure with her right hand and trying to slash at it with the Keyblade in her left. After a few moments, it became shrouded in a dark mist, as if dissipating, and she was able to slip from its hold when another direct hit from Aqua made Ansem stumble.

Anger still pulsed through him like a poison as he shouted at the both of them. “I will not lose to an obstinate recusant and a lost guardian with no Keyblade to protect herself!”

Clearing the space around him by emitting a shockwave of energy, Ansem started to summon a massive crest of darkness above him, reaching all the way up to the ceiling. The Dark Figure was still clawing at Aria, as if enraged at how she had stolen some of its power to escape it, but she felt confident she would be able to evade the incoming blow. She could tell that he was not at his full strength anymore, and the intricate crest was already starting to lose its shape, contorting into a misshapen orb of raw darkness.

Then she saw where Ansem was aiming.

“Don’t you dare!-”

In the instant before the orb struck her, all Aqua saw was a flurry of feathers, and then came the dark impetus. Something fell from her sash as she was knocked to the ground, and she was only aware of something- someone- Aria being launched through the air above her, sent flying further back into the dark. 

Just then, a shower of stars came soaring in from the direction of the otherworldly beach. Their light seemed to pierce through the darkness like a blade through fog, and Aqua couldn’t help but feel a surge of hope as she saw them strike the Heartless.

“Oh no you don’t!”

A familiar and determined cry from none other than King Mickey himself - the little mouse had leapt to the fray and brandished his Star Cluster Keyblade to help Aqua out. From behind him, another Keyblade wielder in plaid clothing was running towards them, carrying a sword of grey metal with ease.

Aqua recognised him immediately, even though he had grown considerably. “Riku! Mickey! Is it really you?”

“Gah..” Ansem staggered back to his feet, clearly injured from Mickey’s attack, and glared at them all in turn. “You have not won this.. You will not prevail!”

Another dark corridor opened up, then it was gone, and he was gone.

“I don’t feel good about letting him get away like that..” said Mickey. “Should we try and go after him?”

“There’s no time!” Riku exclaimed, his green eyes clouded with concern. “We need to get you out of here, Aqua, and bring Ansem the Wise with us, too. I don’t know how long the corridor I made will stay open for.”

“Wait, but-”

Mickey nodded at Riku’s words with a determined expression. “You’re right. I’m not leaving without you again, Aqua!”

All the while, Aria was desperately flying.

The light of all their hearts, and of the corridor, was blinding, especially for one so accustomed to the dark - but she kept racing forwards, using them as a guiding beacon. Sharp spikes of rock loomed down from the ceiling, as if the jaws of a monster were trying to consume her, to keep her trapped in the realm that had already held her for so long. No. She wouldn’t lose her. This would be her only chance to escape.

The lights flickered, once, twice, three times - and then it was all extinguished. Fatigue from her injuries mixed with overwhelming emotions brought Aria to the ground with a sob. She crashed to the floor just metres away from where her love had been so cruelly rescued, clinging onto what Aqua had so sadly left behind.

All she had left was a blue glass Wayfinder.

#third time's the charm.. #a call from the void #creations from the void #selfship #selfshipping #love: wayfinding waters (aqua) #selfship: survivors of the dark (aqua/aria) #self‑inserts #self‑insert: darkness' champion (aria) #kingdom hearts selfshipping #this post is okay to reblog! #I hope that's everyone who wanted to be tagged! if i've missed someone off or tagged someone who didn't want to be then please let me know

[hidden-otaku-stuff]

Knowledge and Ambition

tw: Cursing, anxiety, insecurities, bullying/gossiping

Word count: 6.75k

Genre: Fluff, mild angst

Pairing: Ravenclaw Kuroo x Slytherin Female Reader

AN: It’s September 1st, aka the first day of school at Hogwarts! I’ve been procrastinating on this fic for like a month or so, so I forced myself to finish this at 3 AM LMAO.

The sound of turned pages stuttered by scratching quills clung to the darkness as flames flickered around the room. You kept blinking, eyes drying from how long you’ve been focused. A sigh, and you slumped against the back of the chair. You had been sitting in this dark corner for the past three hours, pouring over text after text as you tried to wrap your head around the contents. Another sigh left you as you re-read what you wrote, dipping your black quill into the blue ink to make corrections. “It’s almost curfew, wrap it up.” Madam Pince poked her head around the bookshelf, peering over her spectacles at the tower of books you had surrounding you. 

You pulled a note from your bag, standing up to give it to her. “I’m sorry Madam Pince, Professor Snape gave me permission to stay here past curfew.” She gingerly took the note from you, a scowl shadowing her face as she scrutinized it for legitimacy before turning on her heel with a huff to head back to her desk. Since you were already standing, you decided to stretch your legs and go look for that last text that should help push your claims about alternative ingredient usage and the degree of change to the potion. 

Snape had always liked you as a student, especially after third year. He had caught you switching out certain roots for other herbs which still ended up with perfect potions every time. Since then, you had to be honest with your professor. You wanted to impact the Potions community, whether as someone who created a new Potion or as someone who wrote the new standard textbook. You were fortunate enough that Snape preferred Slytherins, otherwise you might not have been afforded the same opportunity that he had granted. 

You sighed, (e/c) eyes scanning the shelves. Snape had recommended a very specific one. Its maroon binding caught your attention. With fingers reaching for it, they brushed against another hand. “Sorry!” You yanked your hand back, eyes following the hand up to the person. Looming over you was a familiar sight. Quidditch Captain, Prefect, and heart-throb of the school Kuroo Tetsurou stood over you. 

“Sorry, I should have paid more attention.” Kuroo pulled the book out, offering it to you. 

You shook your head, glancing back at your table. “It’s ok, you can use it.”

His hazel eyes followed yours, “are you sure? It must be important if you need this specifically amongst all the other ones.” 

You flushed, avoiding his eyes. “It’s not that important.” 

Kuroo’s finger dragged down the maroon binding. “I was just planning on doing some light reading.” He hands it to you, clearing his throat. “What are you working on?”

You offer him a small smile. “I’m working on a research paper.”

“On what?” He looked down at the book. “I’m assuming it’s something Potions-related.”

A soft giggle left you. “Yeah, I’m conducting research on alternative ingredients use in potions and the effects of using such alternatives.” Kuroo’s eyes widened. As he opened his mouth, Madam Pince hissed another demand for silence. A loud yawn overtook your features, eyes squeezing shut. Glancing at your watch, you clicked your tongue. “It’s getting late. I’ll probably finish whatever else I can in the common room.”  Kuroo frowned, he had just been about to ask if he could study with you. “Nice to meet you, Kuroo.” You scooped your books into your arms, cramming whatever would fit into your bag before sending him a wave. The maroon book felt heavy in his hands.  

****

“Are you looking at (Name)?” 

Kuroo flushed, whipping his head to face his best friend. Kenma just continued eating, not looking at Kuroo. “No.”

“Yes he is.” Yaku slid into the seat across from Kuroo.

“No I’m not!” 

“You’re blushing.” Kai sat across from the trio, smiling pleasantly at them. Akaashi sat beside him, flipping through one of his books as he ignored them. 

“Ok, maybe just a little bit.” Kuroo angrily stabbed a potato, chewing on it as he avoided his friends’ eyes. He couldn’t stop himself from peeking over at you every few seconds though. You were seated at the Slytherin table, throwing your head back in laughter as you teased your housemates. 

“Isn’t she known as the Cold Princess?” Akaashi inquired, still not looking up.

Kuroo glanced over at Akaashi then to the rest of the group when he heard them all agreeing. “‘Cold Princess’?”

“Yeah, heard she’s like super mean to everyone outside of her house.” Yaku commented, sipping his pumpkin juice. “Even some of her house-mates are scared of her.” 

Kuroo frowned, not seeing why they thought that. “She seemed pretty nice to me.” 

“Is that why you can’t keep your eyes off of her?”

“That’s besides the point.” Kuroo scowled, elbowing Akaashi. 

“Who knew we’d find a day where Kuroo Tetsurou would be smitten with a girl.” Yaku’s eyes sparkled with humour. “Let alone the Cold Princess herself.” Yaku and Kai laughed. 

“I’m not smitten!” Kuroo insisted. “She’s just...different.” 

“Didn’t think you’d go for a Slytherin though, Kuroo,” Kai remarked, eating some eggs.

Kuroo shrugged. “Y’know I don’t care about all those house rivalries outside of the Quidditch field.” 

Kenma snorted, “yeah cause all you care about is Quidditch.”

“And my education!” Kuroo argued. 

“How’d you meet her anyways?” 

He looked up to Kai. “I met her a few weeks ago in the library.” Kuroo pushed his food around on the plate, glancing between it and you. This time, you were patting a blonde male on the head. He didn’t recognize him, figuring that it was probably someone from your year. Was that your boyfriend? Kuroo wondered to himself. 

Kai hummed. “I see her in the library often. She always sits by herself.”

“Seriously?” Yaku glanced over at you. “I never see her.”

“She sits in the corner,” Kai replied. 

As the conversation changed to their homework, Kuroo blanked out. It had been a few weeks since that chance meeting between the two of you. He’d gone into the library most days since in an effort to talk to you, but he always found you buried in your books. Kuroo hated when people interrupted him in his readings, so he would just find a table where he could observe you - in the most nonchalant and least creepy way possible - to see if he could catch you before you left. Unfortunately, he hadn’t had much luck with that. He’d accidentally immerse himself in his own work, and by the time he took a break, you were either already gone or headed out the door. Hey, he was a Ravenclaw for a reason. Once he got into his reading, he was gone to the world. With a deep sigh, he resigned himself. If you guys were meant to be friends, it’ll happen. He should worry about his own work instead of a pretty Slytherin kouhai that he had only talked to for a few minutes.

****

“Miss (L.Name).” You look up at your professor’s voice.

“Yes, Professor Snape?” 

“Come to my desk at the end of class.” 

“Yes, sir.” Snape’s robes billowed as he turned, slinking back towards his desk. You turned back to your cauldron, waiting for your potion to change to orange. Carefully, you added powdered porcupine quills until your potion turned white. Today, Snape had your class brewing the Draught of Peace since it was one of the potions that would commonly come up during O.W.Ls. You sat back, stirring slightly before letting the potion simmer. It was a difficult potion only because getting it wrong would be dangerous. The wrong mix of ingredients, being heavy-handed with the porcupine quills or powdered moonstone could lead to irreversible sleep. The bell rang just as you added the 7 drops of hellebore. You observed your potion, satisfied. It had come out perfectly. Bottling two samples in a glass flask for Snape, you quickly cleaned up your cauldron and the area around it.

“Ugh, you’re so lucky (Name)!” 

You turned to your classmate, eyebrows furrowed. “And why’s that?” 

“You’re so gifted in potions.” Nishinoya, a Gryffindor in your class, glared at his potion. You stifled a laugh. His potion had somehow turned out an ugly chartreuse color. Even the fumes looked toxic as orange smoke billowed from it.

“What the hell did you do wrong this time, Nishi?” 

He threw his hands up in exasperation. “Fuck if I knew, to be honest.” He bottled it, wincing at the repulsive smell of his potion. 

You patted his back. “Well good luck with remedial potions.”

“Can’t you help me before it gets to that?” He whined. You and Nishinoya had been partnered in the third year of potions. Though you were typically more frosty, he had weaseled his way into your heart and became a close friend. Mostly by sheer persistence on his part. After all, who would willingly want to be friends with the Cold Princess of Slytherin? 

“You know I’m busy.” You dead-panned, waving your wand over the cauldrons so that the contents disappeared. Together, you and Nishinoya walked up to Snape’s desk. By now, the majority of your classmates had left. Snape glanced at your potions, his gaze sliding over to Nishinoya’s and his face contorted in disgust.

“Another T, Mr. Nishinoya.” Nishinoya’s cheeks flushed pink, grimacing. 

“I know, Professor.” His head hung low as he shuffled towards the door. “See you later, (Name).” 

You offered the Gryffindor a wave that he didn’t see before turning back to your professor. “You asked to see me, Professor?”

Snape cleared his throat. “Yes. As you know, I rarely offer remedial classes to students.” A sneer made its way on his face. “However, Professor Dumbledore has...implored me..to be kinder this term. So, I have offered remedial classes and tutoring for struggling students this semester. As one of the more competent potioneers in my classes, I would like to request your assistance as a tutor.”

“Me?” The door opened, his next class filing in. 

“That’s what I said, Miss (L.Name). Don’t make me take that back.” Snape’s eyes flashed dangerously as he began to put the flasks from your class away. “By taking on this task, I will be able to review the work you’ve assembled so far.” He cleared his throat, “and this would be a perfect opportunity for you to practice your teaching skills.” 

Your eyes sparkled. Being able to dabble in academia seemed like a perfect opportunity for you to figure out where you wanted your future to go. “Of course Professor. Thank you for the opportunity!” Snape gave you a stiff nod. 

“Now hurry up and get to class.” With a short bow, you spun on your heel to sprint out of the room. Your next class was Charms and you were most definitely going to be late if you didn’t hurry. Just as you reached the doorway, you collided into something tall and firm. 

You yelped, stumbling back only for arms to dart around and steady you. “Oh, it’s you!” You glanced up, recognising him. “Sorry, I’m in a rush!” With a blinding smile, you patted his arms before dashing out under his arms and down the corridor. 

“Get to your seat, Mr. Kuroo.” Kuroo’s head shot up, “and get that ridiculous look off of your face.” Pink crept up Kuroo’s face as he snapped his jaw shut, slinking towards his seat.

Snape began class, writing the instructions for the Potion for Dreamless Sleep onto the chalkboard. Yaku leaned over towards his housemate nudging him playfully, “you were staring again.” Pink turned to scarlet as Kuroo whipped around, shushing him. Yaku grinned, sitting back as he rewrote the instructions onto a piece of parchment. “She’s pretty.” Kuroo grunted in response, pulling out his ingredients. “Think she’s single?”

“Why are you so interested?” Kuroo snapped, glaring at the Keeper. “I thought you were scared of the Cold Princess.” Yaku just laughed, patting his back. 

“No reason, Kuroo. No reason at all.”      

****

“You’re late, Mr. Kuroo.”

“Sorry Professor,” Kuroo dipped his head. “Quidditch practice ran late today.”

Snape turned his nose, sneering. “Excuses do not belong in this classroom.” Snape turned on his heels, robes sweeping with the motion. “Hurry up then, or I will not grant you the extra credit.” Kuroo hurries into the classroom, glancing around at the dingy dungeon. He was glad that there were only eleven students. He froze, recognizing a familiar sight. Kuroo slips into the seat beside you, muttering a greeting to which you nodded in response. “With the exception of two students, you are all here because you have failed miserably to prove your worth in my class. However, this is your opportunity to redeem yourself.” Snape glowered at each and every one of the remedial students, sending chills down their spines. “Don’t squander it.” 

With that, he turned and walked to the blackboard, writing down the recipe for the Shrinking Potion. Placing the chalk down, he sends one final glare to the students before going to his desk. You step in front of the blackboard, smirking at the students. “This is a simple potion that any third-year should be able to do. Follow these instructions, and Kuroo and I will be walking around to provide you help should you need it.” More chills ran up the students’ back at your last words. It was obvious that you weren’t keen on helping them should they need it.

Kuroo pinched his nose, looking around the room. As he walked around, a tall grey-haired fourth-year Slytherin caught his attention. “Can you please help me, Kuroo?” He begged. 

“What seems to be the problem?”

The male winced as the potion billowed up green gas. “That,” he replied lamely. 

“You added the Shrivelfig too early,” Kuroo’s eyes widened, casting a charm to dispel the gas. “You’re going to have to start all over.”

“What?! I don’t want to,” he whined. The slamming of a book caused them both to flinch, both sets of eyes darting to Snape who glared at them. “Aren’t you a Ravenclaw? Help me fix this!” 

“You literally created poison gas,” Kuroo responded, pinching his nose.

Raising his wand to vanish the potion, a hand grabbed his wrist. “Lev, what did you do this time?” You pinched your nose with one hand as you stared at the potion.

“Something about Shrivelfig,” Lev muttered, crossing his arms. “I don’t see why I need to start over though!” 

Your face softened. “Look, Lev, this potion has become dangerous. Do you want to fail this class and potentially hurt your fellow classmates?” You glanced at Kuroo who pulled his arm away and tucked his wand back into his robe pocket. “If it wasn’t for Kuroo’s quick-thinking, the fumes would have overtaken the class and we would be in some serious danger.” You patted the male’s head. “Here, I’ll stay with you and make sure you do it right, ok? That way you don’t have to stay extra long.”

Lev perked up. “Okay! Thanks, (Name).” 

You grinned, before glancing back at Kuroo. “You can help the others now, Kuroo. Thank you for your quick-thinking.”

Heat crept up his neck as he shook his head. “It was nothing,” he replied dismissively. 

You raised an eyebrow but nodded. “Whatever you say.” You turned back to Lev, vanishing the potion. “Let’s get started then, shall we Lev?” Kuroo stood there for a few moments, watching with slight amazement as you carefully guided Lev through the procedures. You looked in your element as you sliced the caterpillars and showed the younger student the best way to peel Shrivelfig. Another student called for Kuroo’s attention, snapping him out of his stupor. As Kuroo proceeded to help the others, he couldn’t help but survey you in the corner of his eyes. Perhaps there was a softer side to the Cold Princess after all. 

****

Kuroo breathed a sigh of relief, stretching his shoulders. Due to the raging thunderstorm outside, he’d made the executive decision to cancel Quidditch classes. Exam season was coming up, and there was no reason to put his players’ health at risk if they could avoid it. Besides, they were doing pretty well this season. He walked up the stone stairs, following them to the library. As he entered, he couldn’t help the grimace that slid onto his face. It appeared that everyone thought to study today as the library was completely packed. He poked around, searching for an empty table only to find none. Kuroo sighed, contemplating whether or not he should go back to the dorms in order to study when he spotted you at your usual table. Luckily enough, nobody else had joined you at the table. 

Steeling his nerves, Kuroo began walking towards you. As he made his journey, he picked up some whispers as people threw dark looks in your direction. 

“Of course the Cold Princess would monetize an entire table.” A younger Ravenclaw scoffed.

“She threatened to hex me when I came too close,” a Hufflepuff whimpered. 

“Me too!” Another Hufflepuff whispered in response.

“She said that people ruin her concentration,” a Gryffindor sneered to his housemates.

Kuroo stopped by your table, waiting anxiously for you to acknowledge him. Your nose was firmly buried into your parchment, and after a few awkward minutes of waiting, it was obvious that you weren’t going to say anything. Clearing his throat, Kuroo said, “hi.” Internally, Kuroo was screaming. ‘Hi’? Is that really all he was going to say?

You jolted, looking up at him and blinking rapidly with weary eyes. “K-Kuroo?” You stammer, rubbing one of your eyes.

Kuroo adjusted his bag awkwardly. “Yeah.” He cleared his throat, gesturing to the other tables. “Everywhere else is full. Do you mind if I join you?”

You stare at him with sharp (e/c) eyes. Seconds dragged on, a cold sweat swept through his body and he was regretting every decision he had made since entering the library until you gave him a stiff nod. “Sure, I don’t see why not.”

Relief washed over him as he grinned. “Thank you so much, I promise I won’t be a bother.” You only gave him another stiff nod before you moved your books around to give him more space. Sliding into the chair beside you, Kuroo pulled out his Transfiguration homework.

The pair of you work in silence for an hour before you get up, stretching. Students flinched as you make your way down the shelves, burying themselves into their books or ducking behind empty aisles in order to avoid you. Just as quickly as you had gotten up, you had already plopped back into your seat. “Y’know, you’re a lot quieter than I expected,” you comment, flicking through the latest volumes you had pulled.

Kuroo glanced up, tilting his head. “What do you mean?”

Clearing your throat, your eyes met his. “I mean that for someone as popular as you are, you sure are quiet.” 

A red glow warmed his features. “I wouldn’t say that I’m popular.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Ya sure about that? Because I’m pretty sure being a Quidditch Captain, Prefect, and a top-ranking student are all qualities of popular students.” 

At your comment, he raised his eyebrows. “Didn’t know you paid so much attention to me, kitten,” he teased. 

You glowered at the nickname. “Don’t call me kitten.”

“Ok….kitten.” 

****

It became routine for you and Kuroo to meet at the library now. It was very rare that either of you missed a session. Your dark corner was brightened by his presence. Once the clock rang a certain hour, you were already moving the stacks of books to the side to make room for the rooster-head captain as he slunk in after Quidditch practice. He’d used to come directly after, only for you to yell at him to go to his dorm and shower, which would end up delaying him by twenty minutes. With that extra time, you’d sneak into the kitchen and snag some food for you both. 

Your quill scratched the parchment as you took down more notes from the text. The wooden chair besides you creaked, but your eyes remained on the book. “Hello, Kuroo.” You flipped a page, scanning the text for more information.

“Hey kitten.” The soft thump of his bag falling onto the ground had you looking up.

“You look tired,” you noted, surveying his face. Eye-bags darkened his face, not helped by the shadows of the flickering flames. “Maybe you should sleep early today.”

Kuroo shook his head. “No, I really have to finish this paper.” He pulled out his Transfiguration book.

“Do you have patrol later?” You chewed on your bottom lip, brows furrowed. Kuroo nodded glumly. “Alright, skip it.”

“I can’t just skip patrol,” Kuroo laughed, sipping at the pumpkin juice that you’d smuggle in.

“You can if someone takes it for you.” You looked back down at your books. “I’ll do your patrol for you.”

Kuroo choked, coughing. “W-what?” Madam Pince threw him a disgusted look as she hmph’d at her desk. “You can’t do that.” You shrugged, leaning forward to ruffle his hair. Kuroo let out a soft yelp. “What was that for?” 

You pulled back your hand, carefully examining the hair. “For the polyjuice potion.” A few months ago, you’d decided to try your hand at brewing polyjuice potion on a whim. You hadn’t had a chance to use it yet, so this was the perfect opportunity. 

“What?!” 

“Shh!” Madam Pince hissed, looking up over her books at you both. You folded the hair into a napkin, carefully tucking it into your robes.

Kuroo lowered his voice. “What do you mean polyjuice potion? Isn’t that against the rules?”

“Well it’s not exactly like I have a time-turner,” you rolled your eyes. “Nor am I a Metamorphmagus.”

“You don’t have to do that for me.” Kuroo surveyed you. For someone who was advertised as just another ‘big bad Slytherin’, you had such an incredibly soft side. 

You shrugged, pushing a sandwich in his direction. “Eat up.” You took a bite out of your own sandwich.

As you pulled your hand back, a warm weight dropped onto it. You swallowed, looking up. “Thank you.” His eyes sparkled. “I really appreciate you.”

Averting your eyes, your cheeks glowed. You hoped that the candle-light would hide it. “Just take care of yourself, rooster-head.” 

****

“I heard what happened.” 

You glanced up, grimacing. During potions, you had been helping Nishinoya only for his potion to explode everywhere. Snape ended up assigning him detention for the next month as well as remedial classes three times a week. You really weren’t sure how Nishinoya had fucked up his Wit-raising potion. But you’d walked away laughing, with admittedly terrible burns. You’d ended up teasing the boy saying that he needed to drink your wit-raising potion before he was allowed to speak to you again. 

“How are you doing?” Kuroo pressed. 

You let the utensils slip out of your fingers as you displayed your heavily bandaged hands up. “Miserable.” 

Kuroo’s eyes widened. “Madam Pomfrey couldn’t help?” You shook your head, frowning. There was still a residual stinging in your fingers. “Scoot over.”

“What?” 

“Only your hands are messed up, I’m sure you heard me just fine.” Kuroo waved his hands, forcing you aside. He took your seat, pulling your plate towards him.

“Kuroo, this is the Slytherin table, what the hell are you doing?” He shushed you, cutting up the meat on your plate. “Kuroo, I can take care of myself.” 

He fixed you with a hard stare, pushing the plate towards you. “Prove it then.” You glared at him, as you picked up the fork and knife. Pain coursed through your fingers but you simply bit your tongue, not wanting him to win. You focused on keeping your face blank, breathing deeper than you wanted. With sluggish movements, you sawed through the meat. Hazel eyes surveyed you, flicking between your hands and your face. 

“See?” You proclaimed, stabbing the meat and waving it in his face. He shrugged, holding his hands up.

“Whatever you say, Princess.” You glared at him, ice creeping through your heart. Eating it, you attempted to cut more meat only to drop the fork with a violent curse. It felt like someone had poured molten lava over your hands. Glaring at your fingers, you aggressively shoved the plate towards Kuroo who raised an eyebrow at you. “I thought you could do it yourself?”

“Help.” 

“I didn’t quite hear that, kitten.” 

You rolled your eyes at the pet-name. “Just help me, Kuroo.” 

“I didn’t hear the magic word,” he teased, pulling the plate towards himself.

“Please,” you muttered, tears pricking at your eyes. Kuroo paused, taking a moment to pat you on the head.

“Of course, silly. I’m always here to help you.” You offered him a small smile, before whispers from the Ravenclaw table caught your attention.

“What’s Kuroo doing with her?” 

“Doesn’t he know that she’s a cold-hearted bitch?” 

“He’s gonna get his heart broken.” 

“Bet you she’s going to curse him behind his back.” 

“Or poison him.” They snickered.

More tears welled up in your eyes. “Are you sure you want to do this?” You asked, turning your face away from him. 

The clinks of cutlery stopped. “Do what?”

“Help me.” 

A hand grasped your chin, tilting your face up. He leaned forward, warm breath humming against your ear. “Keep your chin up, Princess, your crown is falling,” he whispered before he pulled back, brushing your hair aside. Scarlet roses bloomed in your cheeks. Cold Princess echoed in your mind. Kuroo cleared his throat, turning back to the plate, hiding his own pink flush. “Besides, you saved my ass the other week. This is the least that I can do for you.” 

 You chewed on your lip. Of course. He was returning a favor. Just a favor. Nothing more, nothing less. 

**** 

“I won’t be here tomorrow.” You looked up from the Honeydukes chocolate that he had brought you, tilting your head. “I have to patrol early, so I won’t be able to make this.” He gestured to the table. Your tower of books had slowly diminished in size, only a small stack remained. In between your rolls of parchment and his own books was an abundance of candies. You’d miss the Hogsmeade trip earlier that day due to another remedial lesson with Lev. Kuroo leaned forward, wiping away a bit of chocolate from the corner of your mouth.

“Don’t do that.” You whipped your face away, hoping that the darkness would hide the crimson glow. You cleared your throat. “That’s fine. It’s not like you’re of any help, you always distract me.”

“So I guess I should take back all this candy then,” Kuroo teased, reaching for it. You snatched it up, pulling it close to your chest. Kuroo let out a disgustingly loud bark of laughter causing you to cringe. Madam Pince snarled in annoyance at you both. 

“Keep laughing like that and I’ll use a Silencing charm on you,” you threatened, tucking the chocolates away into your bag. 

Kuroo reclined in his chair, putting his hands behind his head. “You say that, but you know you like it.” 

“Keep telling yourself that if it helps you sleep at night, Kuroo.” 

The next day, you couldn’t stop fidgeting. It was...too quiet. Of course, being in a library meant that it should be quiet. But you couldn’t help but feel like something was missing. The bell chimed, and like clock-work, you began shifting your books to the side. Mid-motion, you froze, eyebrows creasing as you frowned. Why were you moving your stuff? It’s not like anyone was joining you tonight. You cursed silently. Of course you’d gotten used to him. You vaguely remembered a Muggle psychology term: mere exposure effect. The more you became familiar with something or were exposed to it, the more you’d have a preference for it. You violently slammed the books back to where they were, earning another reprimand from Madam Pince. Studying by yourself just became excruciatingly difficult.

Meanwhile, Kuroo was absent-mindedly flying down the corridors. His long legs allowed him to stride down the halls in a dozen steps or so, forcing his partner to sprint in order to keep up. “Jesus, Kuroo, what’s got you in a hurry?” Bokuto, the Hufflepuff Prefect, puffed. 

“Huh?” Kuroo paused, only to have Bokuto slam into his back. “Oh lord, I am so sorry Bokuto.” 

The Hufflepuff winced, prying himself off of Kuroo’s back, rubbing his nose. “It’s fine.” Kuroo continued down the hall, slower this time. “What’s got you all distracted?” Kuroo shrugged, opening one of the classrooms and looking around. He shut the door with a sigh, before rushing down the hall once more, the slower pace already forgotten. Bokuto scurried after him. “Or should I say, who is on your mind?” 

At this, Kuroo whirled around. “What do you mean?” 

Bokuto bellowed with laughter. “I heard that you were talking to someone, but I didn’t know it was this serious.”  

“Shut up.” The dark halls did nothing to save Kuroo as he stepped into a pool of moonlight. 

“Aw, you’re blushing!” Bokuto cackled, bending over as his rambunctious laughter echoed in the halls.

“Shut up!” 

Bokuto wiped a tear away from his eyes. “You really like this girl, don’t you?”  

Kuroo huffed, blowing his hair up. “Maybe.”

The Hufflepuff clapped a hand over his back. “I’m rooting for ya.” 

“I’ll need it,” Kuroo muttered. He pulled himself out of Bokuto’s grip. “C’mon, let’s just finish this patrol.” 

****

“Alright, I’m off.” You waved to your housemates, picking up your books as you left the Great Hall. 

“Make sure you come watch me play, sweetheart!” Atsumu shouted after you, waving eagerly. You rolled your eyes, ignoring him. You rarely ever went to Quidditch matches, let alone to support someone. That’s something you’d reserve for romantic partners, not house-mates. The few times you’d gone were because Snape offered extra points to everyone who attended. You shook your head, taking a deep breath. 

It was just any other Saturday morning and you would be headed back to your sanctuary: the library. A voice called out behind you, thundering footsteps following. You turned, stopping in the middle of the doorway. “Good morning, Kuroo.” You offered him a small smile that he returned.

“Hey (Name)!” He hugged you, pulling you into his chest; your heart pounded against your own. He’s never hugged you before. “Will you be going to the match later?” Kuroo released you and you took a few steps back. 

Holding up the book, you shook your head hoping that he didn’t see your flushed face. “No, Professor Snape gave me this book so I was going to work on it.”

“Aw that’s too bad, I was really hoping you’d come cheer for me.” Kuroo grinned before he draped a blue and bronze scarf around your neck. 

Your cheeks glowed like ripe apples, eyes wide. “Kuroo!” Your jaw dropped. 

“See you there!” With a cheeky smile, he waved running back towards his friends. 

An hour later, you found yourself walking down towards the Quidditch pitch. “Thought you didn’t go to Quidditch matches?” You crossed your arms, unamused. “And you’re wearing a Ravenclaw scarf? Talk about a traitor!” Osamu pinched your cheeks, tugging on it.

“Shut up, ‘Samu,” you scowled, shoving him away. “Are you finished yet?”

He shrugged. “Dunno why you even bothered to come.” He led you up the stands towards the Slytherin section. “Or why you’re sitting with us.”

“I’m a Slytherin!” You pouted, glaring at his back. Osamu just laughed.

“Yer still wearin’ a Ravenclaw scarf though. Don’t think I missed that display in the Great Hall.” He cackled as you slapped his back. “Didn’t know ya had a thing for the Captain.” 

You cleared your throat as you guys arrived at your destination. You greeted your house-mates, settling besides Osamu. “Why aren’t you playing, ‘Samu?” 

Osamu scowled, glaring at you. “Shaddup.” You chuckled, leaning back in your seat. Osamu was also on the team, but this year, the captain had decided to let more of the sixth and seventh years play. Atsumu was the only fifth-year on the team at the moment. You were grateful for the twins who had rapidly become your best friends since you’d started at Hogwarts. Both of them were ‘no-nonsense’ and didn’t care that you were plagued with nasty nicknames due to your ‘cold-hearted’ demeanor. 

“Ooh, look they’re starting.” As the match goes on, you can’t help but let your eyes trail the Ravenclaw captain. To say the least, you were impressed. He radiated a different energy from what he normally did during your late-night study sessions in the library. During those, he just seemed goofy and studious. But here, you could see the whole other side to him. The way he communicated with his team-mates, how happy he looked everytime one of their plays worked out, the satisfaction that seemed to completely fill him after he scored. He simply exuded a different type of confidence that you’ve never seen from him before. Your eyes widened with awe as he shuffled between the other Chasers, throwing the Quaffle to each other and thoroughly confusing the Slytherin chasers. As Kuroo scored, you couldn’t help the, “Whoooo, go Kuroo!” that escaped your lips.

Osamu jabbed you in the side, muttering, “traitor” but even that couldn’t wipe away the smile from your face. You were never interested in Quidditch, but maybe now you had a reason to be. 

The game quickly ended with Kenma snagging the Snitch out from Oikawa’s nose, leading to Atsumu flying towards the stands where you and Osamu were sitting. “Hey, ya made it sweetcheeks!” Atsumu cheered, hovering above your head in front of you. 

You cleared your throat. “Nice job out there, ‘Tsumu.” 

“I know right? I was definitely the star, wasn’t I?” He grinned. 

You pulled your cloak closer; it was getting late and cold. You desperately wanted to be back in the castle already. “If you were the real star, you would’ve won,” you shrugged. Osamu chuckled besides you as Atsumu squawked indignantly.  

“Oi, Atsumu!” Oikawa called, flying over. “C’mon, hit the showers. You can try to impress your girl later.” Oikawa patted your head, “hey there, (Name).”

“Hey Oikawa.” You offered him a small smile. “Sorry about the game. You did great out there though.”

“Thank you~!” He sang, flying lower so that he could pull you into a hug. You yelped at the sudden intrusion. “Lemme just have this moment of comfort,” he whined as you clawed at his arms in an attempt to struggle out of his grip. Defeated, you let the captain hang onto you, awkwardly patting his back. 

“You guys reek,” you muttered, looking away from the pair. “Go shower.”  

Finally escaping from the clingy twins and Oikawa, you let out a sigh of relief. You tugged your bag higher onto your shoulder as you made your way down the familiar path. Just as you were about to enter the library, a familiar voice called after you. Turning, your eyes widened. “Kuroo?” 

He slowed to a stop in front of you, winded slightly before he offered you a wide cheeky grin. “Hey there Princess!”

“What are you doing here, shouldn’t you be celebrating with your team?”

He shrugged, “I had to see my girl first.” 

Heat crawled up through your body. You cleared your throat. “Your girl?”

“Well yeah! Especially after how loudly you were cheering for me,” he teased. 

“And it’s Kuroo Tetsurou with the quaffle after a successful Sabryn steal from Miya Atsumu. He passes it to Sugawara Koushi, who passes it right back over Iwaizumi Hajime’s head. And Kuroo scores! Right through Matsukawa Issei’s finger-tips!” 

Kuroo did a loop, whooping before he soared beside Suga, giving the male a high-five. Mattsun grabbed the quaffle, putting it back into play. Kuroo smirked, darting off towards Atsumu who had the quaffle. They end up on the Ravenclaw side, with Iwaizumi attempting to score. Yaku successfully receives the ball, throwing it at Kuroo. “You’re playing better than ever today, Kuroo,” Yaku grins. “Better keep on impressing your girlfriend.” Kuroo scowled at the keeper. He hadn’t even seen you in the audience, who was to say that you were there at all?

Kuroo rolled his eyes, glancing over at Suga and Akaashi. Giving the males a curt nod, they enter the Hawkshead Attacking Formation. “Another Thimblerig Shuffle by the Ravenclaws! The Quaffle is bouncing around. Akaashi. Kuroo. Suga. Akaashi. Kuroo. And Kuroo takes the quaffle and scores once again! Slytherin does not look happy folks.” Loud cheers fill the stadium from the Ravenclaw, but as Kuroo flies back around the field, a lone cheer from the Slytherin section catches his attention. His head whips around, eyes widening at the sight. There you were, bundled up in his Ravenclaw scarf and actually cheering for him. Emotions flood his body, he hadn’t expected you to actually come or to actually wear his scarf. He couldn’t help the grin that slipped onto his face. Kuroo let out another loud whoop, before doing a heart-shaped loop in the air. A Bludger zoomed past him, drawing his attention back to the game. He’d have to deal with his emotions later. He had a game to win, and a girl to impress after all. 

You choked on air, averting your eyes. “Yeah well, you looked cool.” 

Kuroo grinned, “thanks kitten.”

You stared down at your book, fingers tracing the binding. “Anyways, your girl? I didn’t know you were serious.” 

It was his turn to avoid your eyes. “I mean! You were wearing my scarf,” he stammered. 

“You gave it to me,” you fired back, amusement flickering in your eyes as you observed him. Kuroo turns completely red at this, kicking at the stone floors awkwardly. You clear your throat, eyes softening. “Take me to Hogsmeade next weekend and we’ll talk about our relationship status then.” 

Relief floods his system as he eagerly nods. “I can make that happen.”

“Well good.” You smile, heading into the library only for Kuroo to follow you. “Again, don’t you have a party to get to?”

He shrugged, “rather spend time with you to be honest.” 

“Don’t let your team-mates hear you,” you grin as you guys make your way to your usual table. Kuroo just ruffled your hair, smiling as you both took a seat. After an hour or so of studying, you snapped your book shut. “Actually, let’s do something.”

He looked up at you, raising an eyebrow. “Like what?” 

You shrugged. “Find Hogwarts’ mysteries?”

Kuroo leaned back in his chair, a sly smile making its way onto his face. “Y’know, I hear there are some cursed chambers hidden in Hogwarts.”

“Breaking curses, treasure hunting? Sounds like my kind of date,” you smirk, packing your stuff away. Kuroo throws his head back in a boisterous laugh, only to be scolded by Madam Pince. You stood up, standing beside him before making your way out. “Y’know, you could have easily been a Slytherin,” you teased, bumping your hip into his as you held the textbooks to your chest. 

He smirked, slinging his arm over your shoulder as you both walked out of the library. “Why’s that?”

“You have more ambition than I do.” You shrugged his arm off of your shoulder. “You leave the library just as late as I do after coming here after your Quidditch practices and then heading straight to your Prefect duties. Hard-work goes hand-in-hand with ambition, Kuroo.” He plucked one of the books out of your hand. “Hey!”

“Well, Little Miss Slytherin, you could definitely have been a Ravenclaw.” Kuroo held the book over your head, flicking through the pages. “Your thirst for knowledge is never quite quenched.” 

You flush. “Well, a quest for knowledge is an ambitious one, isn’t it?”

He hummed, pulling the rest of your books out of your hands while ignoring your cries of protest. He tucks them into his right side, slipping his left hand into yours. “I guess us together makes the perfect Slytherin and Ravenclaw, doesn’t it?” Kuroo squeezed your hand, looking down at you. You grinned, giving him a light squeeze. Being together just felt right. He brought out your inner Ravenclaw, and you brought out his inner Slytherin. Knowledge and ambition went hand-in-hand, just like you and Kuroo.

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