#thinking about those plotting points you suggested :3

[nnight-dances]

ADORABLY, YOURS.

pairings: yoon jeonghan x fem!reader, feat. choi seungcheol tropes: love triangle, friends to lovers (jeonghan x you), strangers to friends to fwb to friends (seungcheol x you), kinda slowburn, one-sided love (or is it?), pining, slight age gap (2-3 years) etc. genres: fluff, angst, jealousy, sexual content (no explicit smut content but references to it) with vulgar language, cafe!au, non-idol!au, college!au. word count: 12k (I am sorry about this.) what to expect:  You’ve liked Jeonghan since you met him through your best friend, Wonwoo. But little by little every day you’re convinced he knows you like him and his non-action can only mean your feelings are not mutual. Then, you run into Seungcheol, a childhood best friend of Jeonghan’s, who instantly develops a soft spot for you. The resulting love triangle that wreaks havoc on your emotions might as well end being the answer to your problems. Bittersweet like coffee but decisive as a caffeine rush, this is the story of how you beat all odds to be with Yoon Jeonghan.  warnings slash author’s note: I warn you beforehand: the logistics of this love triangle are a bit morally ambiguous, i.e. I can’t tell if I used Seungcheol purely as a plot-point or not. I probably did. But in my defense, I think all love triangles are inherently a little bit evil and cruel. Anyway, I really hope you enjoy this admittedly self-indulgent mammoth of a fic. I had a headache the whole three days I was writing it. I love Jeonghan and I promise there will be a make-up fic for Seungcheol, because I’m biased but not corrupt. As always, this isn't proofread but I will get to that in the next few days! All right, that’s all. Love you, friends and foes!

It’s one of those days. You can’t help yawn after yawn and no amount of caffeine is washing the throbbing in your head away. To make things worse, you’ve managed to sleep with a spine posture worse than even your worst days which means your back hurts from standing at the register all day. But the day is far from over as a glance at the clock informs you; your cafe shift has a good three hours remaining. 

And whenever you’re hoping to take a break on the uncomfortable chair propped in a corner near the register, the door to the cafe will jingle with the presence of a new customer. At least your co-worker for the day, Joshua, is also a friend so you can talk his ear off about the various ways in which you might escape the prison of existence.

Just as you’re going into detail about how you wouldn’t mind dissipating into air, the glass door swings open and in comes a tall man clad in a suit, the heels of his dress shoes clanking against the floor of the coffee shop. You reign in the surprised look that threatens to overtake your face – because goddamn, the man is gorgeous – as you greet him, “Good morning! Welcome to Moon Coffee!” 

“Good afternoon to you, too,” the man corrects you with a dimpled smile. You wince at your mistake and nod, “Right, sorry about that. What can I get started for you?” You force a smile that you hope is friendly enough onto your face, gesturing to the large menu boards above you, “Please, take your time.” 

As the man busies his eyes with the plentiful options displayed on the boards, you busy yourself with questioning what a fancy ass man like him was doing at the campus coffee shop. His hair was long, brown ends curling around his neck and as he ran a hand through it, deep in thought, you could essentially smell how rich he was. 

“The hazelnut mocha sounds like it’s good but also really sweet,” he comments, looking at you for a second opinion. 

“Right, it’s one of our best-sellers! And it is on the sweeter side because of the chocolate in it, but you could balance it out with a double-shot?” you suggest and then, “Otherwise, our classic mochas are not as sweet.” 

The man nods with a slight smile, “Hmm, I like the sound of the first option. I’ll have that, please.” 

“Is that an iced hazelnut mocha with a double-shot for you?” you ask with a smile. When he nods, you punch in his order, “Can I get a name for the drink?”

“Seungcheol.”

“All right, thank you very much. That’ll take just a few minutes. You’re welcome to take a seat and wait.” He nods as he walks to one of the tables next to the window.

Joshua’s already getting to work with Seungcheol’s drink and you take a moment to rest your back against the counter, throwing a glance or two at the new (and gorgeous) face in town. But thankfully for this rich stranger, today is the day you don’t have the energy to go down a rabbit hole trying to find an explanation for his presence. Instead you wave him a good day as he leaves with a satisfied smile on his face and an iced mocha in his hand. 

Maybe this job wasn’t so bad after all. 

A week later has you eating your words. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that Thursday afternoons are the busiest times of your shift at Moon Coffee. Most students were either rushing to down caffeine to finish some daunting assignment due at the end of the week or otherwise, others would be early in celebrating the fast-approaching weekend. The first kind you can deal with: they’re easy to relate to and they don’t really care if your customer service is the bare minimum from how tired you are. 

But the second kind? You wish you could be granted with some kind of powers that would take away any more weekends from the rest of their lives. If the way they strolled in grinning and took their time with the menu didn’t have you fuming, their inane but obnoxious questions about your life would have you at the edge of your temper every week. You were only thankful you didn’t have to work the Friday crowds or you’d actually be declared a public threat. 

But today, unfortunately for you, Jeonghan’s decided to make a visit to the cafe and if the fact that he’s not even a student anymore wasn’t enough, he was celebrating his birthday week. Which meant he was even worse than in exhibiting his usual infuriating customer behavior. But annoying customer or not, Jeonghan was also the guy you’ve harbored feelings for since two years ago now. 

So when he strolls up to the counter with Seungcheol, the polite rich man from last week, by his side, you have more than one reason to stare at them dumbfounded. 

“Oh, hey, it’s you!” Seungcheol starts, eyes trailing to the name on your tag, “Y/N!”

Jeonghan shoots you a confused look and then elbows Seunghceol, “Don’t even pretend that you know her. I totally caught you looking at her name tag. Have a little shame, Cheol.”

You clear your throat, “Um, good afternoon and welcome to Moon Coffee! What can I get started for you?” You punctuate the question with a smile that you hope screams please order fast and get out of here! 

But Jeonghan evidently has long missed the memo when he pokes Seungcheol again, “You know sometimes I come here just so I can see Y/N smiling. She never smiles off the clock. It’s truly devastating.” 

Seungcheol looks amused, “Is that so? I mean, fair enough. With a smile like that, you ought to be paid to show it.”

You cough into your palm, caught off-guard but quick to conceal the shy grin that’s crept up your face. You pray that the heat in your neck doesn’t climb up to show on your face. “Will you be ordering the same as last week? Iced hazelnut mocha with a double-shot?”

Seungcheol’s face lights up a little at your recognition but Jeonghan’s quickly butting in with an affronted expression, “Oh, so you recognize this man who’s been here once, but not your close friend of a long long time? Do you even know how much money I’ve spent on the seasonal lattes here?”

You sport a sly smile, “Right, thank you for enjoying our seasonal menu of beverages. We hope you continue to love the upcoming drinks. Feel free to leave any feedback or suggestions here!” You hand him a brand-new index card and gesture at a drop-box next to your monitor.

Seungcheol cackles at the defeated look on Jeonghan’s face and grins as he says, “You know what, I think I’ll get the same mocha again, Y/N. It did wonders for my mood.” You find yourself grinning almost immediately, tapping in his order with a hum. 

“And for you?” 

“...”

You know Jeonghan’s scheming something but you can’t afford to let him play out whatever sick mind games he’s planned out at your workplace so you’re quick to appease him, “If I might, I suggest you go for the salted caramel brownie latte. It’s perfect for this weather and it tastes suspiciously like birthday cake.” 

Jeonghan can’t help a smile at your words, rolling his eyes a little, “Fine. That does sound tempting. I’ll have one of those, but only if I get a personalized note from you wishing me a very very happy birthday.” 

You contain a scoff, “Of course.” You nod, “Thankfully for the line behind you, I already have your names down. Please step aside while we prepare your drinks. Thank you.” 

– 

“She’s hilarious,” chuckles Seungcheol, bumping shoulders with Jeonghan as they settle into his car. “Didn’t think I would witness Yoon Jeonghan’s downfall in a random college cafe.”

Jeonghan scoffs, “I think you’re too happy about this. Plus, my downfall started a long time ago when I stopped cheating in board games.” He takes a sip of his latte, “Fuck, this does taste like cake. What the fuck?”

Despite his words, Jeonghan smiles when he sees the note you promised him:

jeonghan – happy birthday week, u weird old man! please invite me to ur birthday party so i can give u the best gift of ur life and maybe also stick ur head in cake :) lots of love, y/n. 

“She’s in her senior year, you said?”

Jeonghan looks up with a nod, “Yeah, I met her through Wonwoo, back when we shared a class in college. And then when I graduated and settled here, I’d invite them to get-togethers because I know how miserable the nightlife on this campus is.” 

“Wow, look at you, such an admirable role model,” Seungcheol jokes, “And Wonwoo? Was he the glasses guy who you FaceTimed this morning? He seemed… cool, I guess.”

Jeonghan shrugs with a shoulder, “He’s a piece of work, alright. But that explains why he and Y/N are inseparable. Anyway, you’ll meet the rest of the crew later tonight. Thursday night is board game night.” 

‘Board Game Night’ was a very, very loose term for the weekly gathering at Jeonghan’s place – it was a mix of Jeonghan’s friends, namely Dokyeom and Woozi, from work doing karaoke, his tired college friends (aka your friend group) lounging around on their phones, and maybe a group of two to three actually playing board games. 

Tonight is slightly different, though, because the alcohol that Jeonghan otherwise wisely guards most weeks has made its presence known to everyone, the fancy bar table propped in a corner of his living room finally finding meaning. 

You make it to his place, around thirty minutes past the usual starting time, exhausted from another soul-sucking shift at your job. You’d planned to sit on Jeonghan’s couch and binge-watch some mindless TV show but you’re thrown off when a reddened Seungcheol answers the door. 

“Y/N! You’re late,” he exclaims. His speech is normal, thankfully but as you step in to take in the rest of the people, you look back at Seungcheol, eyes doubtful. 

“I did not know my night was going to involve babysitting a bunch of drunk old men,” you mutter, not quite meaning for Seungcheol to catch your words. But he does and chuckles, hand at your elbow as he steers you to the bar. 

“C’mon, you don’t have to babysit anyone. I’ve got it under control. Now, let me pour you a drink. What can I get for you?” 

You watch the tall man with a skeptical smile, a little flustered because he’s standing close enough that you can feel him hard bicep against you and a little bit amused because well, this was new. It’d been a while since you’d been flustered around a man other than Yoon Jeonghan. 

“Oh, so you’re making me a drink now?” you ask, “How did you even convince Jeonghan to let out the alcohol? You must have some special powers over him for this to happen.” 

Before Seungcheol can supply a reason, Jeonghan appears behind the bar counter, smirking, “Ha! You think I’d let this coward dictate my actions? Nope, this was completely my decision. I couldn’t let the week of my birthday be dry! That’d be such a shame.” 

“You’re funny, Han,” you mumble, turning to him with a quirked brow, “How many drinks are you down?” 

He waves your concern away, “Shut up. I’m older than you, I don’t need you fussing after me. Now, get yourself a drink before I get mad.”

You raise your hands in surrender, “Sure, wouldn’t want the birthday boy to be made at me.”

“So what will it be? Do you want a beer? Or maybe a good old rum and coke?” Seungcheol offers, eyes already searching for the ingredients. 

You narrow your eyes at him, “I think I’ll have a Scotch and Soda, please.” 

A few hours later finds you sprawled on Jeonghan’s couch, nevermind the alcohol in your system and the ruckus your friends were creating. You had engaged with their antics for an hour: playing stupid drinking games (only to get drunker by the minute because you suck at games) and retiring early. 

Jun starts to complain when you announce that you’re giving up, mainly because he’d be the next target of the crowd, but Jeonghan firmly leads you to the couch. 

“You okay?” he asks you, warm fingers steadying you by the neck. Your world spins as he becomes the focus, ironically enough. You nod as you welcome the soft couch underneath your unsteady body, “Hmm. I’m just bummed out that you didn’t help me out by cheating.” 

He laughs and the sound unsettles you with its vibrations. “I told you I don’t cheat anymore, silly. Also, I’m pretty sure you’d have lost even if I did pull out some master cheating moves.” You gasp, weakly pushing him away, “Whatever, man, I don’t need your attitude.” 

If Jeonghan’s started to genuinely get worried about you, it only gets worse when you cough into your elbow, groaning as you pull away. His hands find your neck again. You hate his touch because you lean into it so naturally, your eyes following him just like he wants. You hate the warm feeling you feel when he feels your forehead with a concerned frown. You hate how you’re practically burning at his touch because he’s a breath away and your fingers twitch in your lap from wanting to touch his hair. 

But soft like the strands that tickle your ear, Jeonghan whispers, “God, you’re burning up. Maybe you did drink too much. Fuck, let me bring you some water and then, let’s get you to sleep.”

You protest his lamely sensible plan of action but he isn’t listening as he departs, leaving you feeling cold. You wrap your arms around yourself to compensate, trying to keep an eye on Jeonghan when another tall figure encroaches your field of vision.

“Y/N?” Seungcheol calls out and for a moment, you’re unresponsive, eyes fixated on something beyond him but then you perk up in recognition, pouting as you beckon him to the couch. 

“You–!” you point at him with a squint, head working hard to recall his name, “Um, um, Cheol?” 

Seungcheol smiles at the nickname, taking a seat next to you, leaving some space but extending an arm behind you because of how you’re dangerously swinging. “Right, that is me. How are you feeling? Not too nauseous I hope?”

You shake your head, “”M fine. But tell that to Han because that weasel’s trying to make me sober up and sleep.” You breathe out a little angrily and then when the world swims around you, you lean your head against the back of the couch– that is currently occupied by Seuncheol’s arm. 

He jumps a little at the unexpected contact but steadies himself when he sees your closed eyes, your skin hot against his forearm. “Now, why would he do that? You literally just got drunk,” he tells you, trying to keep you engaged in the conversation, lest you should pass out. 

“Right?” you exclaim, opening your eyes, head still against his arm, “It’s like he’s never had fun in his life. For how much he likes to tease people, he sure is a killjoy.” 

“Ha, I’m surprised you know him so well, honestly. People usually just take him at face value and think he’s a devilish troublemaker. But god knows how mature Jeonghan is. It makes me mad sometimes.”

You giggle and Seungcheol’s stomach swims at how he can feel the sweet sound in his veins, like literally. “You get me, dude. How long have you known him?”

“Um, like, nearly ten years now? I don’t know, I kinda lost count at some point.” 

“Wow, that’s a long time. I’ve known him for like two years?” you hum. “Yeah, he told me.” 

You quirk a brow at that, lifting your head up in amusement. “You two been talking about me? What did he say? That I’m Wonwoo’s evil twin?” 

“Hmm, yeah, something along the lines of that.” 

Jeonghan’s back by your side, suddenly, his strong grip straightening you up and holding up a glass of water. His expression is stoic as hell for a board game night and you don’t know if you feel scolded or cared for. It’s always hard to tell with him. 

You stare at him blankly, not drinking the water like he wants you to. Instead you turn to Seungcheol, “I don’t want to.” 

Your plea is unreasonable, you and Seungcheol both know, and he can practically feel Jeonghan’s glare when you ask Seungcheol, “Cheol, can you tell him I’m not dying? I don’t need to be babied.” 

“Yeah, you do,” Jeonghan says, touching the cold glass against your skin. You jump a little with a soft unfair! and Seungcheol sighs, “Hannie, let her be. I don’t think she wants to go to sleep yet.” 

“Thank you! At least someone has ears ‘round here!” 

Jeonghan shoots his best friend an unreadable look, still firm, “Well, she needs to drink water either way. Unless someone wants the worst hangover of their life the next morning.” This time, his unoccupied hand finds the back of your head, settling into the stray strands of your hair there. “Please, just drink this.”

You find yourself giving in, lips opening up to the glass and you swallow a few gulps of water, the cold liquid soothing your insides. Before you know it, the glass is empty. He holds it up in front of you, “See? That felt nice, didn’t it?”

There it is, again. The playful glint in his eye and the sly tone of his voice. You ignore the burning tips of your ears and give him a half-nod, throwing yourself against the couch again with a relieved sigh. “Thanks, old man! What would I do without you?” 

Jeonghan rolls his eyes as he stands up, “Ever so grateful, Y/N.”

“Y’know, Cheol and I were in the middle of a very mind-opening discussion about you.”

“Me?” his interest is piqued and he glances at Seungcheol, who he jostles lightly, “What’ve you been, shit-talking me?” 

Seungcheol laughs as he throws the man off, “Wouldn’t you like to know? Anyway, if you want to go back to your game, I have a lot of anecdotes to share with Y/N. It’s our bonding time.”

And bond, you do. You spend the rest of the night talking to Seungcheol on Jeonghan’s couch, the owner of the place long forgotten as you go on to talk about everything else: college experiences, Seungcheol’s job (“So how rich are you exactly?” you grill him), and life interests. 

“I can’t believe you like college so much! I hated it a lot back in my time.” 

You snort, “You sound really old for someone who graduated two years ago. But I mean, each to their own. I prefer the comfort of the bubble here, you know. No real responsibility most of the time and you’re allowed to make some mistakes now and then. The real world? That’s like hell. I don’t think I’m ever going to feel like an adequate adult ever. Like, tax fraud is real, you know? And I never know which law I’m going to break? Don’t even get me started about the living situation.” 

Seungcheol laughs throughout your troubled rant, “No, I get it. But don’t you feel excited about the independence you get to have? The freedom? And plus, if you get lucky with your job, working is actually very fulfilling.”

“Ugh,” you throw your head against the back of the couch again, “I don’t think I’ll ever feel fulfilled. Like ever. I feel too immature to be anything but a college student.”

He frowns on hearing that, confused because he’d never imagined of spending a whole night talking his heart out to a college student. But it happened because it was you, with your quick-witted responses and thoughtful questions. So, he’s fast to counter, “That’s not true–”

But his defense is cut short when Wonwoo approaches you, tapping at your shoulder with a smile. “Hey, you wanna head back?” You look up and are shocked to find the living room nearly emptied of its earlier occupants. When did everyone leave? “C’mon, I’ll walk you to your room. It’s getting late,” Wonwoo continues. 

“Oh, damn, I didn’t even realize,” Seungcheol mutters, looking down at the watch on his wrist. “You guys sure you want to head back this late? You could just crash here. I would offer to drive but I drank.” 

Wonwoo’s eyes trail to you, leaving the decision up to you. You mull it over, “I don’t know if Han’s gonna want a bunch of wasted kids at his place?” 

As if you’d summoned him, Jeonghan appears beside Seungcheol with a yawn, “What’s this about me? Why’re you guys still up? Come on, let me show you to the empty rooms and please go to sleep before I have to use force.” 

Wonwoo laughs, “He didn’t even leave us a choice,” and you watch as Jeonghan turns around, expecting you to follow him. 

“Jeon Wonwoo,” you turn to your best friend, “Please tell me you don’t still try to suffocate other people in their sleep?” 

The boy contains a grin, “I don’t know. It depends on how annoying the person I’m with is.”

“You’re sleeping on the floor, asshole.” 

– 

Seungcheol has a problem. 

He likes to think of himself as a reasonable adult, with the ability to make logical choices and admitting to his flaws here and there. But had he been reasonable enough, he wouldn’t be this hung up over someone he met  twice over the course of two weeks. It’s ridiculous: the way his heartbeat’s racing when you tread down to breakfast the morning after the board game night turned bonding time. 

He’s smiling his way through an excited “good morning!” before he can collect himself. You look tired, albeit a little bit lesser than usual, and your hair’s down in something of a mess. Seungcheol vaguely recognizes the faded gray tee you’re wearing, probably a donation of Jeonghan’s. “Morning,” you mumble to the breakfast table, everyone present now that you’re here.

Wonwoo snickers, “You look like shit, dude.” You glare at him as you’re reaching out for a fork, “Thanks, Wonwoo, I see that you’re as sweet as ever.” 

Jeonghan lightly slaps Wonwoo’s arm, “Be nice to her. Who knows what a hungover Y/N might do?”

You turn to Jeonghan, finally eating the piece of watermelon that you’d been reaching for, “I’m flattered you’re concerned but I’ll have you know I’m not hungover.” 

“That’s impressive,” Seungcheol chimes in and you smile at him, “See, I can’t believe this man I met last week understands me better than my best friend and my other friend.” 

“Your other friend? That’s what I am to you???” Jeonghan gasps, hand clutching his chest dramatically and Seungcheol laughs louder than he ought to, but he can barely help it, he’s all giddy. All it took was a half-compliment from you. 

So yeah, easy to say, Seungcheol has a problem and it has something to do with the way you lean into him when you ask him to pass a slice of toast. 

Luckily for Seungcheol, you also have a problem, and it occurs when you declare you need to head back, hoping that they’d let you go alone but Jeonghan’s standing up instantly with a nod. You have a problem with the way he’s unbothered with his behavior, easily saying, “I’ll walk you,” as if your best friend of years wasn’t sitting right there. 

You look to Wonwoo, hoping he’d feel the heat of your expression but he simply stretches his limbs out with a groan, “Think I’ll go take a nap before I leave.”

“Don’t you have a class at 12?” you nudge him subtly, trying to ignore Jeonghan as he stands at the table, fingers tapping at the chair that he’s behind. 

“Eh, I’m ahead of the syllabus in the class and attendance is a joke.”

You sigh in defeat and meet Jeonghan’s eyes as he lifts his lips into a smile. 

And the smile only leaves his lips once you’ve stepped out, clad in your clothes from last night again, groaning when the morning sunlight hits your eyes. “Ugh is right,” he mumbles beside you as he starts walking. 

You catch up to him, hands stuffed down your pockets, and he asks, “You have class?”

“Not really. But I do have an upcoming paper I want to finish over the weekend so I don’t perish next week.”

Jeonghan chuckles as he glances at you, “Wow, you’re still this hard-working, huh? I thought your lifestyle would’ve worn you out by now.”

“You’re one to talk about detrimental lifestyles, Han,” you scoff, “Just because you hang out with us once a week doesn’t mean we don’t know you’re overworking yourself for the rest of it.”

He’s silent for a beat and then he exhales, “Huh. I don’t know. Feels like I have the other kids fooled. It’s always you, with your smart little head and truth bombs.”

You laugh, hitting his side with your shoulder, “I’m serious, Han. Take it slow, won’t you? You’re going to end up burning yourself out to death by the time you’re 30. And then whos’ going to host board game nights?”

Jeonghan laughs and he turns to look at you, walking pace slowing down as he trains his eyes on you. You raise your brows in confusion, a slight smile playing on your lips as you try to guess what he’s thinking this time. 

“You and Cheol have been getting along really well, huh?” 

You’re thrown off guard, not having imagined this to be his next words. You shrug. “Yeah, he’s really easy to talk to, especially given his… I don’t know, social status?”

“Social status?” 

You cough in embarrassment over your words. What were you saying? “Don’t know. It’s just nice to meet someone whose hopes and dreams aren’t being crushed by student debt.”

Jeonghan’s silent again and now it’s your turn to frown because you’re wondering if you said the wrong thing. God, does he think you’re creepy for liking his childhood friend? Fucking hell. 

“I’m glad,” he says but you can sense a strain in his voice, “I was worried he’d get bored to death when he came to visit me.” 

“Ah, well. How long is he around?”

“He took a month off, I think? But he’s got it easy with his flexible hours, so really, it’s up to him when to leave.”

You nod a little, “Cool.” You exhale in relief, a little bit reassured now that Jeonghan was back to talking like his usual self. You’ve finally reached the steps to your dorm by the time the conversation fades away and he waves at you, “Better be on time tomorrow for my party. And don’t forget to bring the best gift of my life.”

You groan when he quotes your note on his coffee from a day ago, shrugging as you turn around to run up to your room and melt into your pillow. But you’ve made it to two steps up when he calls out for you again. You swerve around to face him with a questioning glance.

“Y/N, remember you can come to this old man if you ever need anything, okay? I’m here for you, always.” 

??????????

– 

Okay, let’s rewind a little. 

You’ve known Jeonghan for two years now, enough time to fall for him. You argue it was inevitable because all your life, you’d only been disappointed in your love interests, who would either ghost you in the talking stage itself or break up a few months into the relationship. One time it was because you were too busy with your studies and the third and final time because well, you were apparently too aloof. Not loving enough.

Which is why when Jeonghan came into the picture, you found yourself changing ever so slightly. Not to say you weren’t still a little bit wary of people and took your time opening up, but you met a lot of friends through him and he taught you that trust and attention goes a long way in relationships. If only you could apply this newfound knowledge to new relationships. 

You’d tried: Wonwoo had set you up with a friend from class, Mingyu, and while you’d been able to sit through the first date, by the end of the night, it was clear that both of you were more interested in sex. Which was fine. But then there was the guy who was a regular at your cafe who had given you his number and you’d ended up wondering why you were with him in the bathroom, staring at a text from Jeonghan. 

So you were down pretty bad for him. And as Wonwoo had voiced multiple times before, the next move to make was to actually tell the man that you’d been suffering in your feelings for him. But every time the topic came around, you had only one answer prepared: he already knows. Or so you’re convinced. 

You had good reason to think so. Once, the group of you had been playing an online game that involved picking red flags for other people’s ideal types and when it was time for others to pick some for you, all hell had broken loose. “I bet she likes bad guys who are emotionally unavailable,” Jun had said, quick to drag the flag that said emotional constipation on it. You had defended yourself quickly, “UH? No thanks, men with no emotional intelligence are a hard pass for me. I don’t want to feed into some idiot’s Oedipus complex just because I’m the mom friend.” 

“The mom friend?” Wonwoo had questioned, “Please, Y/N, if anything, you’re the dead friend with a severe case of RBF. Jeonghan’s the mom friend.” 

Jeonghan’s shrug had been followed by a hysterical Joshua going, “Wouldn’t that mean Y/N’s ideal type is Jeonghan? I mean, it makes a lot of sense, he’s mature and emotionally intelligent.”

You’d choked over your next words, cheeks burning, “No, that’s stupid. Don’t be weird.” 

Yeah, very weak defense. 

When Wonwoo brought up the fact that you’d refuted Joshua’s claims and that probably led Jeonghan to believe you weren’t into him, you simply told him to remind himself of what happened next. Dokyeom had laughed, “But you definitely go for older men? I can’t imagine any guy in college being too smart like that.”

You’d agreed in the end, his logic being pretty solid. You had also noticed the way Jeonghan excused himself to the kitchen with a lame excuse about bringing more snacks when there was an array of unopened chips still lying around. 

“Okay, so that’s one example, from like two months ago,” Wonwoo argues as you roll around in bed to avoid his glare, “Do you really think he remembers that incident so well?”

“Two months ago was not that long ago. And it wasn’t just this once. I’m a mess around Jeonghan.” 

“You’re a mess period,” Wonwoo casually declares and when you sit up with an unhinged jaw, he laughs, “No offense.”

“Whatever. I hate you. And I hate Jeonghan. I should just skip his birthday party or I’m just gonna make things worse for myself.”

“Right. And what about the Lego set you spent half your life savings on?”

You pause, heart skipping a beat when you remember the gift sitting on your desk, wrapped securely and the purchase of which you could only justify with the words: Yoon Jeonghan. 

“God, I must be insane. Why did I even buy that for him? He’s gonna think I’m genuinely weird. Does he even want gifts? He’s turning 25 for god’s sake.”

Wonwoo doesn’t respond so you can hear yourself and eventually, you do. Jeonghan himself had told you to be on time to his party with the gift alongside. You’re going to cry. 

“You really think I should tell him?” you ask quietly.

Your best friend nods eagerly, patting your arm through the mess of your bedsheets, “Please. It’s high time. I promise you won’t regret it.”

“Weird promise to make, but fine. I’ll do it.” 

–

The weight of your promise settles into your veins when you’ve arrived at Jeonghan’s place, self-consciously straightening out non-existent wrinkles in your dress when he comes over to greet you and Wonwoo. It doesn’t leave when he grins at you, wider than usual, and it definitely only gets worse when he accepts your gift with a low whisper that he’ll be sure to open yours first. 

You’re thankful for Seungcheol when he shows up next to you, dimples out as he compliments you in your dress and you return it with a shy smile. Half because you need a distraction and more because Seungcheol’s presence is calming, you follow him to the bar. 

“How’s your night going so far?”

“It could be better,” you mumble, eyes searching for Jeonghan and settling when he doesn’t seem to be anywhere close, “A little bit nervous.”

“Nervous?” he asks you, sliding you a drink and you smile as you take a sip: Scotch and Soda. 

“Hmm, it’s nothing honestly. A lot of work piling up as we speak,” you joke. Seungcheol’s frown melts away, “Ah, of course. Senior year must be crazy.”

The night picks it pace up thereon, with your nerves finding some peace in the buzz from alcohol and your cheeks only hurting the longer you talk to Seungcheol.There’s some dancing of course, here and there, but you find yourself avoiding Jeonghan actively, retracting from the floor whenever he’s close. 

It helps that Seungcheol stays close so that you have an excuse to appear occupied and somewhere along in the night, you tell the man with a smile, “You’re really charming, you know, Cheol?”

He breaks out into that giggle of his, “You think so? I haven’t even pulled out all the stops yet?”

“Really?” you find yourself stepping closer, encouraged by how quickly his hands are at your waist, “What haven’t you done yet?” 

A breathy hum leaves his lips at your provoking and you’re close enough to brush lips against Seungcheol when suddenly, you’re being pulled away. For a moment, you let out an annoyed groan, certain that the iron hold on your bicep is Wonwoo being stubborn again. So when you tilt your head and catch sight of Jeonghan’s black hair falling into his eyes, a glare in place, all words leave your system. 

You’re aware he’s dragging you away and also that Seungcheol’s following, reaching for your hand with words leaving his mouth, but you can’t make anything out. The blood’s in your ears and your heart is in your throat. You can feel Jeonghan saying something at Seungcheol, who glances at you in doubt, and leaves. 

By the time you've calmed down, you find yourself in Jeonghan’s room, door half closed. 

“Jeonghan?” you question a little weakly as he finally lets go of your arm and sits on the bed, his head in his hands. Is he okay? you wonder, standing helplessly near the door. You call out his name again, “Han? Are you okay?”

You step closer to him but stop when he looks up, startled by the lack of humor in his expression. “What were you doing back there?” 

“Um, talking to Cheol.” 

“Talking?” 

“Are you annoyed at me, right now? Or jealous? I can’t tell.” 

Jeonghan goes silent again, gaze dropping to his feet. You’re feeling annoyed by the minute. 

“You’re acting like an idiot, Y/N. You don’t know Seungcheol. And you’re drunk.”

There it was: that strict tone of his, that always left you feeling conflicted and hurt. Today you actually tell him about it, “I’m not a kid, Jeonghan, I know what I’m doing.” 

He looks up at you when you say that, eyes wide. “I never said that. I’m just saying that you should be more careful.”

“I am being careful,” you retort, a hostile edge to your voice, “I don’t know why you do this.”

“I thought you liked me.”

The words stun you into silence and your ears ring as you freeze. Your eyes don’t leave Jeonghan’s form though, watching him, waiting for him to disappear into nothingness as if this was just a dream. How you wish it was. 

But Jeonghan’s on his feet when he notices the horrified look on his face and it’s only when he starts to come closer that you reach for the door. 

“No, Y/N, please let’s talk about it–” he grabs hold of you and you feel your vision go blurry with tears, your back hitting the wall when Jeonghan shuts the door behind you. 

“I knew it,” you mumble out through tears, “You knew about my feelings?” 

Jeonghan’s eyes find yours in the dim lighting of his bedroom and you shiver when his hand tightens around your wrist, “I’ve known for a while. But then you went around flirting with Cheol like it was nobody’s business and I…” he trails off, “I was jealous. And confused.”

You force yourself to breathe out, heart going wild in your chest because of course, Jeonghan’s not addressing the elephant in the room. “Well, I was going to confess to you today and get it out of the way. But there’s no need anymore, I guess?” You cringe at the way you can hear the quiver in your own voice, “Just let me go now?”

“Why?” he asks, “You haven’t even asked me if I like you back?”

You scoff, “God, Jeonghan, you make it sound like we’re in high school or something, all this ‘liking’ talk.” You try to sound stable, only to be contradicted by the tears that leave your eyes, “And I figured you didn’t return my feelings. Or you would’ve done something about it.”

There’s a pause then. A shift. Jeonghan’s grip on you loosens ever so lightly and you fear you’ve understood him too well. For once, you wish you weren’t right. 

“You’re right,” Jeonghan breathes out as if on cue, but his grip is still unyielding to your dismay, “Well, I thought I didn’t like you. I mean, you’re really pretty and funny and being around doesn’t tire me out like it does with others, but… I just liked you as a friend.”

Your heart’s shriveling up at his words with uncertainty because he might be talking about your love for him being one-sided but it is also in the past tense… right? 

“What are you trying to say, Jeonghan?”

He flinches, “Um, I’m sorry. I just– I’m so confused about my feelings, right now. God, I thought I was more mature than this.” 

You can’t help the disdainful laugh that leaves your lips as you push him away, brushing your tears away with the back of your hand. “Look, Jeonghan, I’m sorry I don’t have the time to sit down and help you untangle your feelings… about me. It really hurts to hear you go on about this, honestly. I think I’m just going to leave. Happy birthday, I hope you like your gift.”

–

The night outside is much more welcoming to you now, your shoulders more relaxed than ever now that your stupid crush on Jeonghan’s out in the open for him. You hadn’t expected it to go down like this but well, at least you were right about him already knowing, you know? 

Lighter than before, the drinks you’d chugged before to gather courage catch up to you in the moment when you nearly run into a pole on the street. You would have run into it if Seungcheol hadn’t swerved you out the way with a, “Look out!”

“Fuck,” you mumble when you’re steady on your feet, Seungcheol’s hand firm around yours, “Sorry. I was in my head.”

“I know you were but you gotta watch where you’re going, kid,” he scolds, “I don’t want to have to carry your unconscious body to your room.”

You roll your eyes, “What is it with everyone and calling me a kid tonight? So much for keeping up a track record for being reliable and responsible.”

“It’s not that you’re not those things, Y/N,” Seungcheol says, hand still on yours reassuringly, “It’s just that sometimes you’re… dense. And maybe even something of an idiot.”

“Ah! Excuse me!” you protest, “I am not an idiot. Say that to my grades.”

“An idiot as in someone who doesn’t see what’s right in front of them.”

That shuts you for good, then, and you stop walking with a sigh. “I don’t even know about that, anymore.”

Seungcheol watches as you slow down, tears behind your eyes and his heart hurts for you, thanks to his problem. When he’d found you storming out of Jeonghan’s room with fists wiping your tears away, he’d wrapped an arm around you immediately, listening as you quietly told him you needed to leave. He’d offered to walk you home and you’d watched him for a moment before nodding. 

“Why are you doing this, Cheol? Shouldn’t you be back there, comforting Jeonghan?”

“See, there it is. The idiot side of you.”

You go silent again, looking down at the hand that was clutched in his a few moments ago. 

“...you like me?”

“Bingo. Plus, I don’t think Jeonghan wants to hear from me tonight. Not after I almost kissed you in front of him.”

You let out a surprised sound, hand flying to your mouth when you recall the near-kiss, ears turning impossibly pink under the streetlights. “Fuck, I forgot that happened. I’m sorry? Or you’re welcome?”

“Nah, I can’t thank you till we actually seal the deal,” Seungcheol teases, stepping closer to you and dramatically ducking his head as if going in for a kiss. You push his shoulder away, “Fuck you, Seungcheol.” 

“I mean, sure, if you want to!”

“Ugh!” you start walking with a pout on your face, “I hate the guts of the men in this place!”

“That’s not what your face said thirty minutes ago at the bar!”

“Go away, Cheol, or I’m reporting you to the campus authorities.”

“Aww, you called me Cheol even when we’re fighting. Aren’t you the sweetest?”

– 

When Monday rolls around, you think you’ve got a good hold on your head this time, especially after a few grueling hours at your shift at the cafe. That is until you spot Jeonghan walking in, hair tied back in a half-ponytail and hands crossed across his white cardigan. The sight of him sends you into a frenzy and you debate your options as being between: ducking behind the counter and switching positions with Joshua, or otherwise, manning up and facing the aftermath of your actions. 

You glance at Joshua’s back, his hands busy cleaning the espresso equipment and before you have a minute to ask him to switch, Jeonghan’s at the counter (where’s a line of customers when you need it?), calling you out. “Hey, Y/N, do you think we could talk for a minute?”

You look at him blankly, not expecting him to take the direct route after everything. But you malfunction a little and cut his advances off, “Welcome to Moon Coffee! What can I get started for you?” you ask loudly and then add in a softer voice, “Conversation with me is not on the menu.” 

“Hm?” Jeonghan looks devastated at your cold response but his eyes search the menu board frantically anyway, “Uh, I guess I could get just an iced americano, then, please?” 

You note that down with a half-smile, and almost go on to ask for a name for the order but decide against it, not wanting to stretch your pettiness limit for the day. “Alright, thank you for your order! Please feel free to take a seat while you wait.” 

You relax when he nods with a hesitant smile and takes a seat, close to the window but close enough to the counter to hear his name being called out. You feel the pit in your stomach burn a little at how deflated his shoulders are and you wonder if you ought to drop the act; you’d been into the man for two years now. Right?

But before you can pursue this heart-wrenching line of thought, you’re distracted by the sound of the door opening and– great, it’s Seungcheol. By the surprised look he shoots Jeonghan’s sat figure, they hadn’t planned this… ambush, but you reign in your usual cordiality anyway as Seungcheol approaches you. 

“Hey there, morning. How’ve you been?” 

What did you have to do to have one customer who came in here for coffee?

“Good afternoon,” you correct him, pleased at the reversal of your first meeting with Seungcheol, who chuckles a little. “Welcome, what can we get you today?” 

He pauses, casting a glance to Jeonghan over his shoulder, whose attention is on this interaction, legs crossed and brows furrowed. “I’m sorry, didn’t know he was in here. I just wanted to check up on you.”

“What are you apologizing for?” The question slips before you can remember to be professional and also, a little bit quieter because almost certain that Jeonghan’s heard you by the way he averts his eyes. “Um, I mean, sorry. I can recommend you a drink for the day or do you want to get your usual?”

Seungcheol mulls it over, “Hm, I’m fine with anything you choose for me.”

You pause before punching in the order for a hazelnut mocha, without a double-shot this time. He can deal with the sweetness for a day, you reckon. You glance at Joshua who’s still cleaning up before getting started on the orders because well, it’s a slow day. Or it’s supposed to be.

As you thank Seungcheol for his order and he’s about to step aside to wait, you add in a quick, “And next time, if you want to check up on me, do it when I’m not working.” He does nothing to hide the grin of acknowledgment that takes over his face, a sight that only darkens the storm known as Yoon Jeonghan brewing in the cafe.

You walk over to Joshua, “Dude! Hurry up, we have customers waiting.”

He turns to you slowly, wiping his hands off ever so slowly, even the smile on his face slow. “Don’t worry, it’s just Jeonghan. We know these guys. We can take our time.”

You narrow your eyes at him, wondering if Jeonghan put him up to this act, but don’t question it because even that would be admitting defeat. “Whatever. I’ll make the drinks if you’re going to be annoying. Where’s the syrup for the mocha again?”

Joshua slaps the hand that you’re using to reach for the syrup with a firm, “Uh-uh! Hands off, young lady. That hazelnut mocha is all mine to make. You can work on the iced americano if you really want to help out.”

You groan, throwing your hands up, “So you were slowing things down on purpose, you little bitch.”

“Hello? Please be mindful of the language you use around here. I can report you–”

“Yes, yes, of course, I will just shut up and make that americano so I don’t have to listen to your voice again.” 

A  few minutes later, you’re scribbling Jeonghan’s name onto the cup, proud with the quick work you’ve made of the drink and also thankful nobody was coming in right now. “Han–” you stop yourself just as the nickname slips your tongue, flinching when you remember you’re supposed to be acting stuck up right now.

You turn, hoping that Jeonghan hadn’t heard you but nevermind that because he’s at your side, quicker than he ought to be really (any other scenario, he would be declaring all kinds of knee problems), that sly grin plastered on his face. 

“Hi there,” he greets you, “Called for me, did you?”

“...I did. An iced americano for Jeonghan.” You try hard to make your sentences brief but Jeonghan’s chuckling as he takes the drink from you– using both his hands so that you’re brushing against his. Classic middle school boy behavior. 

If anything, this ordeal was making you question if the man was as mature as you’d believed. Either way, he thanks you with a smile and leaves promptly, leaving a very affronted Seungcheol in his wake. “Hey, I thought you said you were gonna wait for me!” he calls out after Jeonghan, who doesn’t respond as he slides out. 

“A hazelnut mocha for Seung…Cheol?”

You glare at Joshua who frowns at the name as that was the first he’d heard of it, and the guy just shrugs as he puts the drink down. “Sorry about that. Joshua’s feeling rebellious this afternoon,” you tell a frowny Seungcheol (you are a minute away from admitting how cute he is when he’s upset), “Anyway, here’s your drink, Seungcheol. Have a good day!”

“Cheol!” you call out when you spot the brown head of hair outside the cafe when your shift ends. He’d texted you a while after he’d walked off with his drink in hand, pouting because you insisted on calling him Seungcheol. 

meet me after your shift? his text reads. 

do u even know when my shift ends dude 

no and thats why im asking u. when does your shift end?

… u are insufferable. 

insufferable enough to fall 4 u i guess 

when are u going to stop holding your feelings for me over my head?

when you do something about them.

meet me at 6 outside the cafe. 

Yeah, so you wouldn’t say you’re being your wisest self right now. To begin with, you should probably seek out Jeonghan and find closure of some sort. But something tells you to wait on him, wait till he’s ready to seek you out (no, coming up to you during your work shift did not count). Instead, you choose to pursue the… spark that you have with Seungcheol, his feelings for you aside. The night after Jeonghan’s party he’d made it clear that he didn’t really want anything serious, just to get to know you more while you were still around.

A little fooling around never hurt anyone, right? 

So when Seungcheol whines out, “Oh, so I’m back to being Cheol now, huh?” you finally let out the laugh that you’d held back at work at his antics. 

“Nobody ever told me you were such a pouty baby,” you tell him, eyes shameless trained on his pink lips. 

“I don’t pout for anyone, baby,” Seungcheol shoots back, hand on your back as he leads you somewhere. You look at him in question. “What? We’re getting dinner.”

“I was not aware,” you reply, “But all right. Let’s do it.”

Dinner is comfortable. Which is more than you ask for on a date these days. 

“Your dates have really been that bad, huh?” Seungcheol asks you. You shake your head, fork scraping some tiramisu onto it, “You can’t even imagine it, Cheol, it’s hell out there. I’m lucky if the guy pays for the dinner so I don’t have to work an extra shift to make up for it.”

He laughs and you savor the sight, because hanging out with this often hadn’t meant you had become indifferent to his looks. If anything, it was the other way around. 

“Thanks for dinner,” you tell him later as he sneaks his hand into yours. You allow yourself to feel guilty for indulging him like this but then he squeezes your hand, “Anything for you, m’lady.”

Later that night, you invite him to your room. “It’s not much,” you add to the invitation, “But you know, I do happen to have some wine in my fridge that Wonwoo forgot to pick up. And my bed’s pretty cozy to watch movies in.”

Seungcheol is breathless by the time you’re in your room, not only because of the trek up the stairs but also the fact that you’d held his hand in yours the whole way up. “Wow, it sure is cold in here,” he comments as you turn the lights. It is the textbook college room, albeit a little bigger since you’re in a single. 

You cough, “Um, sorry about that. Let me turn on the heater. And you can sit on my bed…” you pause when you remember the mess you’d left on your mattress this morning, in a hurry to make it to your shift but nevertheless, insistent on putting together a fit. 

You sweep up the pile of discarded clothes from your bed and onto an already burdened chair, making a show out of it. You dust your hands off with a smile at Seungcheol who’s been watching with a hand on his hip. “Change your mind about me yet?” you question, teasingly. 

He rolls his eyes as he walks closer to you, effectively bumping you onto your bed, the new angle forcing you to look up at him. He kneels in front of you, his smile turning loving as he takes your face into his hands. “Not a chance,” and then he leans in until his warm lips are on yours, the heater whirring irrelevant now that heat’s rushing up to your temples instantly. 

You taste him and then pull away, “Mhm. Not so fast, you sly little man. I promised you wine and a movie in my bed. And I,” you say as you crouch in front of your fridge, “am a woman of my word.” You shake the cold bottle of red wine at him and he grins. 

An hour later, you’re curled around Seungcheol, glasses of wine long consumed and movie long forgotten in favor of cuddling. You stare at him and then when he smiles shyly, you finger one of his dimples, “Hey. You sure you’re not serious about me? Because I’m…” you hate the way you trail off, the very thought of Jeonghan derailing any sense of coherence you’ve ever had. 

“I know,” Seungcheol’s hand comes to your wrist, “I knew I didn’t stand a chance against Jeonghan since I saw you guys fight at the cafe that day. You look at him like he has all the answers.”

“That’s ridiculous,” you brush off, not completely refuting him. “But if you knew, why’d you stick around and… I don’t know, flirt with me?”

Seungcheol laughs into your neck, “Call it a bad habit of mine.” His hands play with your hair now,  brushing it away from your face, “I see a pretty girl and I have to charm her.”

You drop your head into his chest with a groan, “Stop! You sound so creepy. Like a predator.”

“Hey!” he protests, his chuckles vibrating through you, “You’re the one who called me charming the other day!” 

“Hmm. I guess I did.” 

His hands slowly pry you away from his chest and to his face, lips pressing against yours. You smile a little and then open up for him, shifting until you’re situated on top of him. You close your eyes, surrendering yourself to the kiss and – “Shit, you’re a good kisser.” The man underneath you moves you closer with a pleased smirk, voice smug when his lips trail down your neck, “That’s not the only thing I’m good at.” 

– 

“Sex with older men really is different, huh?” 

You gasp at Wonwoo’s vulgar words, slapping his arm mercilessly making him jump away from you. “Dude! Mind keeping it down? We’re in the library, not your mom’s house.” 

“Ha! Jokes on you, I wouldn’t be making dirty jokes in my mom’s house because Jeonghan is my mom away from home and he would really kick my ass if he heard me talk about you and Seungchel fucking–”

Another slap on the arm and Wonwoo shuts up, groaning in pain. You grimace when you notice a few heads turning your way at the commotion, and bow in apology. When they’re looking away, you glower at Wonwoo, “Seriously, man, what are you up to? Drop the horny teenager act for once so we can focus on the problem at hand.” 

“Judging from the tone of your voice, I’m guessing that you’re not talking about the problem of calculus in front of us, but rather, the problem of… life?” 

You stare at Wonwoo blankly, “I’m so glad you find this entertaining.” As you’re about to continue giving him a piece of your mind, your phone buzzes, cutting you off much to Wonwoo’s relief, who sneaks a look over your shoulder anyway.

cheol: rate last night on a scale of ‘okay’ to ‘let's meet up again tonight’?

You scoff at the audacity and Wonwoo’s already clinging onto this new piece of evidence. “Oh, so what was that about this being a one-time thing? Next thing I know you’re moving in with him when you graduate.”

You slam your phone face down, “Listen, I know you think this is a joke but it’s not. I’m not going to sleep with Cheol again because that’s obviously the right thing to do. But as for Jeonghan, well, it’s been radio silence from him all week.”

“And since when have you let Jeonghan take the lead on your relationship with him? You know he’s a working man so I’m not surprised he’s not texting you at noon on a Wednesday.”

You glare at Wonwoo, “Seungcheol is also very much a working man? I don’t see your point. And also, I don’t know when this became a competition between the two?”

“Since you confessed to one and then slept with the other?”

You exhale heavily, unable to shoot him down because he was at least a little bit correct. Instead you heave your head into your arms. “Maybe I should just fake my death and move away.”

“You’ll give up your dreams of graduation over a stupid love triangle, consisting purely of men?”

“Shit. You’re right. That’s not happening,” you look up, “Jeon Wonwoo, what would I do if you weren’t by my side bringing me to my senses? You’re the best friend I ever had.”

“Actually, your use of ‘friend’ is very offensive to me,” he complains, fisting his palm dramatically, “I consider myself one of the girls. Or even better, your guardian. Refer to me as Your Highness exclusively or I will not listen.”

You stand up with a screech of your chair, “Okay, that was the last of your reasonable thinking. I’m going to go to my shift and work until I can no longer think or pine.”

“Great plan, young one!”

“Touch grass while I’m gone and you might have hope yet.” 

– 

“Look, I really don’t think we should be doing this anymore.”

Seungcheol laughs, eyes searching your face for signs of humor. You flash him a grimace of seriousness and doom. He deflates. “I saw this coming. Should’ve known you would only ever ask me out to a fancy restaurant for dinner to break up with me.”

You flick his forehead, “Break up? Don’t call it that. It gives people the wrong idea.”

“Interesting, Y/N L/N admits to caring about whether or not people get the wrong idea about us. Very interesting,” he comments, not at all sneaky with the way his arm snakes around you, “Anyway, you want me to pay for dinner and what, drag my sorry ass back to Jeonghan’s place?” 

You stiffen at the mention of Jeonghan and then sigh, the following conversation almost inevitable given your current situation. “So speaking of Jeonghan, has he been talking?”

“Um, yeah, he sure has been opening his mouth and saying words.”

“Fuck you, I meant as in, about me? Has he said anything?”

“Not in specific. Although he did inquire if I had slept over at your place two nights ago and when I said yes, he threw a slice of half-eaten apple in my face. Since then whenever I see him, I duck.”

“That’s very funny.”

“Don’t worry, I made sure to tell him how hopelessly in love with him you are–”

“That was not needed.”

“–And how you accidentally moaned his name on my cock.” 

You glare at him, “What about those statements made you think they were okay to voice out loud, not only once but twice?” 

As Seungcheol comes up with a witty defense for his lapse in judgment, your phone buzzes next to your thigh and the name that pops up has you zoning everything out instantly. 

han: hey, can we talk? 

You look away from the screen and breathe out, “And that makes two of us dragging our sorry asses to Jeonghan’s place.” 

When you knock on his door, the last thing you expect to see is a red-eyed, very sniffly Jeonghan. Heck, you hadn’t ever even come close to imagining the heartbroken look on Jeonghan’s face, his eyes downcast when you visibly look taken aback at his state. 

“Han?” 

“Hey,” his voice is hoarse and good lord, you can’t stand this. “Let’s sit in the living room. I was going to go grab some water anyway.”

You follow him speechlessly, watching the way his hands disappear into the sleeves of the black sweatshirt that hangs loose around his frame. You keep watching when he reappears, and it’s when he sits down quietly, fingers whitening around the glass of iced water in hands that you lose it. 

“Talk to me, Han. Are you okay?” you breathe deeply to contain the multitude of concerned questions that threaten to leave your system. For one, you didn't know how to interpret the crestfallen expression he held up when he met your eyes. While someone like Wonwoo (aka a naive little kid) would argue that the only reasonable explanation for it would be that he was devastated that you’d been avoiding him the past week. But knowing what you did about him, you couldn’t let go of the possibility that he was just mourning the impending loss of a friend, i.e. you, when he breaks it to you that he doesn’t like you back. 

Jeonghan senses you’re in your head when you’ve been staring at him for a moment too long, mouth agape, so he moves closer, taking the water out of your hands and placing it next to his emptied glass. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N.”

Fuck. An apology? 

You stammer, “S-Sorry? Why?”

“I’m sorry I called you an idiot the other day. You’re the farthest thing from an idiot– and you’re definitely not a kid. I’m so sorry that I made you feel like that. I just… I’ve been thinking about us, and I realized that somewhere along the way, I became really over-protective of you. I started treating you like you were fragile or something, and I shouldn’t have.” 

“I’m listening,” you tell him, frown letting up now that he’s finally speaking up.

“And I’m sorry for being a cowardly little bitch about my feelings for you,” he mumbles, eyes dropping to your lap where your fingers play with the fabric of your shirt uneasily. He stops your fiddling, his hands coming to envelope both of yours. “I’m the idiot for thinking I could be anything other than in love with you.”

“Huh,” you exhale again, biting your lip to hold the smile that threatens to spill. 

“And finally, I’m sorry for not doing anything about it when I knew your feelings were mutual. As you know, I’m getting old and–” 

You stop any further stupidity from leaving his lips by – you guessed it – by pressing your lips against them. He lets out a surprised gasp and your smile finally turns into a giggle when his hands tighten around yours in your lap.

You pull away, only to detach your hands so you can bury them in his hair instead and Jeonghan smiles at you, his eyes crescents as they watch you lovingly and you think: the pain was worth it. 

Jeonghan’s smile widens when he feels you thumb at his skin, tenderly tracing his eye-bags. 

“You look terrible, Han, I’m sorry,” you mutter, kissing his cheeks and then his forehead. He’s already mellowing under your hold and he hums, low, “You should be. I went to hell and back when Seungcheol announced he slept with you. I mean, what were you thinking?”

You break, guiltily looking away. “That was not my smartest moment but I was also very distraught about my relationship with a certain someone who wouldn’t contact me outside of my working hours.” 

“You and your stubborn need to remain professional. Y/N, it’s a campus cafe, I don’t think anyone’s going to care if you break your act once in a while. I don’t know, if I don’t get a kiss the next time I visit you– I might just rethink this.”

You scoff in disbelief, “You’re a real pain in the ass, Jeonghan. Maybe I’ll just go back to my room and cry myself to sleep.” But as soon as you make moves to stand up, Jeonghan’s bringing you back to sit, taking the chance to pull you closer into a hug. “You will do no such thing.” 

You freeze when you feel his nose settle into your shoulder, warm breaths relaxing when your hands reclaim their place in his hair. “I love you, Y/N.”

A beat passes and with a kiss to his head, you return, “I probably love you more, old man.”

“If we’re going to date, that nickname has got to go!” 

“What? You’re the one who was complaining about your knee problems last week. It’s fine, I can add this relationship to my list of community service activities.” 

Jeonghan pulls away, standing up abruptly and jerking you upward as well. Your smile falters but then, he’s steering you to his bedroom, throwing the door shut with a grunt. You side-eye him, “What’s up–” He cuts you off, lips hot against yours.

A few minutes later, when his tongue finally lets up, he mutters, “I just remembered that you kissed Seungcheol with this mouth. I’ve gotta do everything I can to erase that memory.”

“I can’t tell if you want me to forget… or yourself.” 

“Shh, I bet he couldn’t even– Wait, why aren’t you wearing a bra? Don’t tell me you were–!”

“You sure love asking questions, old man,” you whine and before Jeonghan can question you further, you take ahold of his hand, sliding it over your stomach and down the waistband of your jeans, the space tight and hot but not as hot as the groan Jeonghan lets out when he feels you. “Holy fuck, you’re wet.”

You grin when he falls to his knees, your jeans unbuttoned and pulled down in next to no time. “There’s more where that came from,” you mumble before he’s between your thighs, ripping out  scream after scream from your throat. 

– 

Genuinely and honestly, if you’d foreseen waking up in Jeonghan’s bed, his hair a mess from last night but face comfortably snuggled in your arm– you would’ve been less mean to Wonwoo. Because it turns out that his voice (of reason? or of deviance? you would never figure it out) in your head had been right: Jeonghan did return your feelings all those times you thought he might.

He tells you all about it when you’ve collapsed later that night, replacing the curses on your lips with dampness in your eyes because of how vulnerable he is, pouring his heart out to you like this.

Propped up on an elbow, he played with your hand, “I remember when you first came over with Wonwoo. I thought I’d met myself, but younger and prettier and sillier.”

“I hate it when you combine insults with compliments so I can’t attack you.”

“I learnt that from you, silly,” he kisses your nose but continues, “But honestly, the more we talked, the more I realized how different you are from me. I mean, sure, are you tired out of your mind half the time like me? Yeah. But you were so observant and so keen on getting to know people. It’s hard to come across people who are invested in friendships for more than just small talk and someone to have meals with.”

But just as he’s getting deep on you, he adds, “Plus, you smell a whole lot better than anyone else. I’d go crazy sitting next to you, especially because you just love to throw yourself at people in laughter.” 

“Not that I’m complaining–” he stops your protests quickly, “I swear my heart would skip a beat everytime you laughed at something I said. And then the time we were talking about ideal types and you got all flustered over everyone teasing you about me? Dude, I had to run to the kitchen before I could do something rash. Like kissing you in front of everyone. Or worse, bride-style carrying you into my room so I could enjoy the adorably lovesick look on your face.” 

You groan into his pillow, “Stooop. This is just embarrassing for me. It’s not like I was trying to be obvious.”

“I know, baby,” he coos, gentle hands prying you away from the pillow, “But you know, you have the same look on your face right now.” He laughs, kissing the pout off your lips with a sweet, “For what it’s worth, I was yours for a long time. Just took a minute for me to realize it.”

You huff but smile despite it and pull him closer, “I’m glad. Now hold me to sleep or I’m gonna be sad.”

Another laugh reverberates through the two of you when he slides down, pulling the sheets closer over you, and pats your back as you settle into him with a satisfied sigh. “Sleep well, my love.” 

–

“And when I’m gone, please don’t stop eating breakfast in the morning. I know you think that it’s consequential to your life completely,” Seungcheol pauses for dramatic effect, “but it’s important. It could be the difference between living 20 less years or 50 more.”

“How scientifically true is that?” you mumble to Jeonghan under your breath, who being the devious little brat he is voices your concern, earning you a look from Seungcheol.

“Whatever, I knew my words were undervalued in this household ever since you guys started dating and refused to keep it down at night. Like, it’s not that hard, right?”

You punch Jeonghan’s arm to both keep him from telling the dick joke he’s about to say and also, to show Seungcheol that you wanted no part in this. “I told this guy to keep you in mind but that just made him mad which in turn led to… screaming. Sorry.”

Seungcheol sighs as he glances at his watch, “Okay, okay. I have to get going now so bring in whatever last-minute reconciliations you two have for me.”

Jeonghan steps forward and hugs the man, surprising both the latter and you. But you watch with a pleased smile playing on your lips, relieved that their friendship still seemed to go strong, bumps and all. When it’s your turn to hug Seungcheol, you scoff at the hesitant look he casts at your boyfriend and wrap your arms around his middle. 

“Thanks for everything, Cheol. Keep in touch. And do something about this second-lead syndrome of yours. I better catch you in a happily stable relationship of your own next time around.”

Seungcheol chuckles quietly, waiting for you to pull away to say, “If that’s an order from the main female lead, then I guess I have no choice, do I? Unless,” his eyes mischievously stray to Jeonghan who already knows what’s coming next, “the male lead fucks up and leaves a certain pretty girl single, huh?”

You don’t have time to decipher if that’s a threat wrapped up in a punchline because Jeonghan’s arm’s around your shoulder, moving you away and besides you, he says, “You’ll be waiting all your life if you wait on me to fuck this up. Bye, Cheol, I can see that your Uber just pulled up.”

“Ha! Good one. Alright, this is goodbye for now. See y’all on my feed. Or it might be better if I don’t. Anyway, bye and don’t kill anyone.”

With Seungcheol gone, you look up at Jeonghan with a smug smirk, “Oh, so you plan on sticking around with me forever? That’s a long time, you know.”

Your boyfriend chuckles, his eyes twinkling, “Please, if I had the patience to watch you hug Seungcheol right in front of my eyes, being with you forever will be a breeze in the park. So yes, I plan to stick to you forever, like superglue.” 

“Gross, you couldn’t say something romantic like candy or syrup?”

“Sorry, babe, but I was just distracted by how all mine you are that I couldn’t think of anything else.”

“Never mind, I think it’s worse when you’re all cheesy. Go back to being gross?”

“I love you. Now, come here so I can kiss every single surface of your face. And then we can go on a walk and tell everyone who told me to give up to suck it.”

You lose balance when the laughter finally escapes your mouth but thankfully, Jeonghan’s arms are around you, promising and playful when you meet his eyes. “Ugh, whatever. I love you. So I guess we can do all the weird annoying stuff you want to do for now.”

Despite your banter though, the two of you are so happy together that you’re shocked by the picture of you with Jeonghan that Wonwoo Airdrops, after your walk. You have the dopiest smile on your face and Jeonghan’s looking at you with a cheesy grin. You hate to admit it but you do look like an “old married couple” like Wonwoo’s text teases. But for once, you give in, snuggling closer to Jeonghan’s body because well, yeah, you did plan to stick to him. Like superglue. 

– 

#once again apologizing #jeonghan x reader #seungcheol x reader #seventeen x reader #seventeen imagines #seventeen fluff #seventeen angst #svt fluff #svt angst #svt x reader #yoon jeonghan #choi seungcheol #seventeen smut #jeonghan angst #seungcheol angst

[gublersg1rl]

baking with a genius :)

(Blurb)

plot: reader is baking, and spencers being a smartass and it’s PISSIN HER OFF !!!

a/n: this is my first blurb, i thought the idea was kinda cute??? is this cringe??? pls don’t unfollow,,,ik this is poorly written im not the best pls bare with me im trying

warnings: reader is a girl, a little suggestive at the end cuz why tf not, established relationship, reader is annoyed, spencers more dominant but not in a sexual way, proofread but could 100% be mistakes, errrr idkkk i think that’s it????

-♡--♡--♡--♡--♡--♡--♡--♡--♡--♡--♡--♡--♡--♡-

“Okay,” you whispered to yourself, dusting flour off your hands. “Now I need—“

“Two eggs.” Spencer’s voice interrupts.

You close your eyes tightly, so tight you see fireworks, and huff. “You don’t know that, Spencer.”

“But I do, actually. I read it.” He said pointing to the Pinterest recipe that was open on your phone.

Your eyes glance over the screen, re-reading the already forgotten recipe. “Oh,” you say letting a moment of submission surrender. “Actually I want to use 3 eggs…So you’re wrong Spencer.” The lie was poorly thought of, but you would do anything for Spencer to not win this one sided battle.

He frowns his brow, giving you a confused look. “Why would you want to use three eggs?”

“Because you don’t know what you are talking about. Maybe you’re good at—“ you pause thinking about how to phrase your annoyance. “Doctorting— or-“ your hands flail everywhere as you desperately try to describe your emotions with made up words.

That was until you felt Spencer get ahold of your wrists, “Look at me.”

You bite the corner of your bottom lip, looking to the left, trying to disobey his gently order.

“Baby.” His voice soft, yet strong.

You give in, looking up at him in those damn honey colored eyes puppy dog eyes. “What.” You reply flatly, it wasn’t a question, rather a response.

His eyes narrow, and head tilts a little, giving you a “You know what” look.

“Can you just….go in the living room for a bit…?”

“Forgetting something, love?”

You sigh, “Please…?”

“Atta girl.” He said with a smile, letting go of your wrists.

-hehe small time jump to when the preheat is done-

You had always been scared of putting stuff in the oven, it just was so easy to get burned. Those traumatic times in middle school you burned yourself with a curling iron was enough to make you cautious of getting burned again.

You stare at the oven for what feels like forever, contemplating what to do. You look over to your boyfriend who is comfortably reading a book on the couch.

“Spencer…?” You call out in a quiet, embarrassed tone.

“Yeah, baby?” He asks putting down his half read book, looking over at you.

“Can you help me put the cookies in the oven…” You mumble.

He smiled softly, “Sorry, what’d you say?” Spencer responded even though he was perfectly aware of your question.

“Spencer.” You whine, hearing that smirk painted across his face just through his voice.

“I’m kidding angel. I’ll be right there.” He says giving into your pleas.

It isn’t much longer until your boyfriend completes your difficult task in seconds.

“I’m sorry I got so annoyed with you today…”

“It’s okay,” Spencer replied pulling you into his chest, kissing the top of your head. “Don’t stress it. We all have those days.”

His fingers gently combed through your hair, as you both sat in silence enjoying the peace.

You move your chin to rest on his chest, as you look up at him. “You know…we have 20 minutes all to ourselves until the cookies finish baking,”

Spencer chuckles, “Oh really?”

“Mmhmh.”

“Well, thinking about it. I’ve got a couple ways you could apologize,” He said leaning in gently pressing a small peck into your lips.

“Yeah me too,” you whisper back leaning in for another kiss.

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #fanfic #spencer reid x y/n #y/n x spencer reid #reader x spencer reid #Matthew gray gubler #matthew gray gubler fanfic #criminal minds fanfic #fan fiction #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine

[errihaienx]

HQ CAPTAINS : when someone tries to flirt with them ♡

(pre-timeskip , aged up characters)

quick disclaimer: these scenarios don't affect the original plot of the series. any information or events that contradict the original plot are purely fictional. (i do not own any of the characters)

warning: could be suggestive (Terushima's) and some inappropriate/cuss words

ꜰᴇᴀᴛᴜʀɪɴɢ: ʙᴏᴋᴜᴛᴏ, ᴜꜱʜɪᴊɪᴍᴀ, ᴋᴜʀᴏᴏ, ᴏɪᴋᴀᴡᴀ, ᴋɪᴛᴀ, ᴅᴀɪᴄʜɪ, & ᴛᴇʀᴜꜱʜɪᴍᴀ (ɪɴ ᴏʀᴅᴇʀ) ꜱɪᴛᴜᴀᴛɪᴏɴ: ʜᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴀᴄᴛ ᴡʜᴇɴ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴏɴᴇ ᴛʀɪᴇꜱ ᴛᴏ ꜰʟɪʀᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇᴍ

Doesn't really notice that someone is trying to flirt with him, or to be blunt he doesn't care. 

But he will unknowingly embarrass the girl

"Eh? Why are you clinging your hands– Oh! Y/n is always like that to me omfg she's so cute."

Your name can be heard all the time, so the bitches won't stand a chance. Every person he sees and interacts with fails to grab his entire attention since all he can think about is his woman.

If a girl comes up to him he'll think of: "Woah that hairstyle doesn't look good on this girl, OMG DID I JUST IMAGINED MY BABY WITH THAT HAIR?! SHE'S SO DAMN FINE IM GOING NUTS" he'll be smiling and the girl might think that it was because of her :/

NO. JUST NO.

But okay, if someone will approach him he will walk out. But of course, if it's an important matter he will respond. And his response will be very dry

"I do not give my number so easily for Y/n's peace of mind, I shall take my leave."

Then he'll march his way to you, giving you a little smile acting like he didn't broke someone's heart just a minute ago.

He's a cute flirt only to you though

So girls be throwing themselves at him, but he doesn't give a fuck.

If someone will talk to him especially when it's a girl, openly showing their attraction towards him, he will converse with them and if they'd confess or ask him if he's available he will politely reject them.

"You always look hot Kuroo-san..."

"Thanks"

"How about we meet–"

"I am already deeply in love with someone. please excuse me."

He then turns around smirking, he's thinking of bragging it to you. He just wanna see your annoyed jealous face, he assures you that you're the only one for him. 

Oh please the guy literally have fans

His supporters actually knows about his relationships, like every girl's name that he dated has their name and 'stats' on his fans' memos. The fans also concluded that his typical dating period with someone is 2-3 months.

He's very alluring, and he's also welcoming and so people think it's okay for them to flirt with him. 

You had a couple of arguments with him about this matter. And because he doesn't want that, he will try his best to avoid them.

"Oikawa-san! My birthday is coming could you go out with me?"

"Ohoho, Happy birthday! But I don't want to sleep outside so.......I won't. You can have Iwa-chan right here-"

*/got punched by hajime

Despite of being straightforward, blunt, and gives off idgaf-with-your-feelings vibes he's still popular with girls

Even if the girl isn't done talking he'll leave immediately

He will simply tell them that he's in a relationship already, but that doesn't solve the situation. It ignites the girlies' desire to have him even more. He then eventually thought of a way on how he'll get rid of those kind of situations by involving one of the twins.

"You can ask me to be your date when Atsumu finally decided to leave volleyball alone."

"B-but Kita-san isn't that i-impossible?"

"That's the point."

The man is fine as  fuck so the girlies love him

He will politely turn down them, you know. Your man is good 😌✨✨

"You are the karasuno's Captain, right? Oh my! The whole team's hot but of course the captain is way more-"

"Ah, no... Please spare me."

Some even visit his afternoon club practices just to interact with him, taking advantage of the fact that you are not in the same school as him.

This mf is a chick magnet

He has a habit of sticking out his tongue, and that's where his piercing prevails and with that girls flock around him. 

He kinda likes the attention but of course, he's only yours. you two had arguments about this too but with terushima's personality you just gave up and told him that as long as the girls respect his boundaries as someone's man it is fine for you. 

"OhmYgOsh tOnGuE pIerCiNg!?!? I bEt tHaT pIerCinG cOulD dO sO mUcH~ iT's  sO cOoL!"

"I know right!?! I can make Y/n scream with just this!"

"Lucky Y/n!"

"No no no no! I'm the lucky one, heck I love her so much!!"

#hq #hq captains #hq fluff #haikyuu #haikyuu captains #haikyuu x reader #bokuto #bokuto fluff #kita #daichi #kuroo #ushijima #terushima #oikawa #kita x reader #bokuto x reader #kita fluff #ushijima x reader #ushijima fluff #terushima x reader #terushima fluff #daichi x reader #daichi fluff #kuroo fluff #kuroo x reader #oikawa fluff #oikawa x reader #i love them #i simp for them

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Blind Offer 3

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon, manipulation, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: After a leak causes you to evacuate your apartment, your landlord offers a vacant unit that’s too good to be true. (short!plus!reader)

Character: Steve Rogers, additional characters to come

Note: I've been feeling a bit off lately so thank you all for distracting me. This is one of my Corrupt-A-Wish requests but I won’t reveal which one right away because it’ll be part of the plot!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you like I love turning intended one shots into series. Take care. 💖

After closing, you’re due for an opening shift. The abrupt shift in your schedule leaves you little off-time but right on the other side, you have a much needed day off. You’re relieved not to be left to think too much in the unfamiliar house and hopeful that by the time your time off comes, your apartment will be ready for your return.

That morning, you’re running on coffee and the promise of the cinnamon bun you bought on your way in. You work through the price changes in the digital imaging section. The cameras are the biggest pain as you have to unlock the cases to replace the old tags.

You get to the Sony section and end up on your knees, fighting the glass door as it rolls off the track. The podcast buzzing in your ear fades as your frustration gets the best of you. You lean back, your shoulder brushing against an unexpected presence behind you.

You wince and pop your earbud out, craning to look over your shoulder at the man browsing cameras past you. His eyes meet yours with a twinkle as he points to the case, “you know much about these?”

You shake your head, “sorry.”

The corners of his eyes crinkle as he smirks, the expression made devious by the trim of dark blond across his lip. He squats down beside you, “nah? I was looking for a starter camera but I need something with strong range.”

You nod and force a smile, “um, well, these are pretty basic, I think. They don’t have any extra lenses,” you look around, searching for one of the DI salesmen, “I could find someone–”

“I’m asking for your help, honeybun,” he coos, “what’s the zoom on these things?”

You feel heat speck on your forehead and cheeks. You’re not the best with customers. It’s easy enough if they know what they’re looking for but you’re useless with telling them what they need. You turn back and grab one of the small boxes. You turn it over and read the specs.

“Uh… 30x zoom…” you say, “I guess that’s pretty good.”

“Hmm,” he clicks his tongue, “I’m looking for something stronger. Stronger’s always better, isn’t it, sugarpie?”

His strange pet names put you off. Some old ladies will call you hon and some old men will call you young lady, but he’s a lot younger and not as endearing. You put the camera back and look along the row.

“Yeah, I think maybe you need to look at the bigger cameras,” you point over the case, “they’re along that wall–”

“You like it bigger?” He intones with a snicker, “you a size queen?”

You recoil, taken aback by his suggestion. Ew. You shake your head and turn back to the case, “sorry, sir, I don’t know anything about cameras. I’ll see if I can get a salesman over here.” You grab the wire of your headset and hit the button, “can I get someone over to DI?”

You let go of the button as the earpiece crackles. The man doesn’t move, “you know, I don’t mind a little extra. Especially in the trunk.”

You ignore him as you peel away the fresh stickers and press them to the front of the shelves. The heat of his lingering figure has you unable to get your fingernail under the corner of a label. You want to run and hide in the warehouse. You’re just too nervous to tell him to go away, Gwen would write you up.

“Hey,” Jamie appears from the other end of the aisle, “looking for a camera, sir?”

The man behind you doesn’t stand right away. When he does, he reaches close to you, gripping the top of the case to push himself up to his feet. You turn and mouth a thank you to Jamie as he gives a long look at the man behind you.

“Sure am,” the customer brushes by you closely. You watch the back of his head, shaved close around the sides, the top pieces longer and slicked back neatly. He walks with a certain lean to his step, his shoulders squared, his gait confident but casual. He gives you the ick.

You focus on your sheet of price changes. He’s not your problem anymore. You just hope you can through that section before he finds what he’s looking for. You somehow suspect he’s in no hurry to leave.

🖤

You get back to the townhouse just after five. It’s later than you usually get in but you’re just happy to be done. You haven’t been able to shake that feeling that’s followed you all day. Ever since that man approached you in the store, you’ve felt as if you’re being watched.

You walk the block and a half from the nearest stop and turn onto the quiet street of newly built townhouses. Despite the sighting of a neighbour, it still feels derelict. You check the number beside the door as you head up the walk to the doorstep. As you do, you hear a whistle.

You stop and turn back as you hear footsteps approaching. It’s only then you notice the white van parked along the far curb. A man runs over in a blue uniform with a box under his thick arm. Burly and broad, you almost cower as he waves and approaches.

“You live here?” he asks as his eyes flick up to the iron numbers mounted besides the door, “number four?”

“Um, I’m… crashing here, yeah,” you swallow, “it’s actually not my place–”

“I got a package,” he shifts the parcel and reads the label. 

You can just see his features beneath the shadow of his cap brim, long lashes, square jaw, a touch of stubble and a thick mustache across his lip. You hate that those are making a comeback. You shiver as it reminds you of the man in the store, but this man has darker hair, a curl poking out from his hate.

“For Steve Rogers?”

“Yeah, erm, that’s my landlord. This is his place,” you point over your shoulder with the thumb.

“Right, well, it doesn’t need a signature, so if you could pass it off to him.”

“I don’t know–”

“I don’t really feel like driving back out here tomorrow. This isn’t my route,” he says tersely.

You snap your mouth shut. Wow, okay. You shrug and reach out to take the box.

“Sure, I can get it to him. Sorry.”

“Thanks,” he hands it over and looks back and forth down the street, “quiet neighbourhood, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess… just finished development so–”

“Fancy places. Expensive,” he continues on, “your landlord must really like you.”

You frown and hug the package, “uh, he’s nice. Anyway, I’m sure you got other deliveries to make.”

He scoffs as you turn away. You’re succinctly aware of him as you move your body to block the code as you punch it in. 

“Too good for the delivery boy,” he mutters darkly, “have a good day, miss fancy pants.”

“Have a good day,” you squeak and push your way into the townhouse, spinning to shut the door.

You twist the latch as you lean on the door. You slowly lean over and peek past the curtain. The delivery man smirks at the barrier between you before turning and strolling back the way he came. You shudder and turn to put the box down. You really thought for a moment he might try to follow you inside.

You shake out your nerves. It’s just been a really weird day. Well, few days.

You pull out your phone and text Steve to let him know he got a package. You put your cell on the counter as you enter the kitchen. You planned on ordering food to celebrate your coming day off but it’s too much trouble dealing with another stranger.

You go through the fridge and cupboards and settle on the bag of hand rolled tortellini with the jar of alfredo. You’re no expert chef but you can follow instructions. It’s a quick enough dinner. You eat it at the table against the wall, a video playing on your phone. 

A notification pops up at the top of the screen, Steve saying thanks. You don’t bother replying but another flips up in quick succession. ‘How is everything?’

You finish your pasta before you reply. You rinse your dishes and leave them in the rack. You take the phone upstairs, typing as you climb.

‘Doing fine. Everything’s well. Thanks for checking in.’

Easy and to the point. You don’t want to have some stunted text chat with your landlord, you don’t even want to talk to your friends, you’ve been dying all week to try the bathtub.

You turn on the faucet and the water spills out, steam quickly rising as you adjust the temperature. You go to the counter and search your pouch for your body scrub. You pause as you find it empty. Weird.

You look around. Your toothbrush is in the cup and your toothpaste and mouthwash on the small shelf that holds it. Where is everything else? You check the drawer, your face creams and cleanser are all there. Even your deodorant and body lotion. 

You peek at the tub and see your jar of scrub already sitting on the sharp edge brim. You don’t remember putting all that away. Why would you? You’re not going to be here forever. You don’t know, you were so tired that morning, you can’t even remember brewing your coffee.

You blow out the tension. Stop worrying. It’s fine. It’s little things that you’re overthinking. As usual. 

You undress and leave your clothes on the counter. You approach the tub and lower yourself down with a sigh. Oh yeah, this is living. The tub is nice and big, you don’t feel crammed in like your own place. You better enjoy it while it lasts.

🖤

The bedroom becomes a haven in the large house. You go downstairs in search of snacks, planning to veg out a bit before you inevitably fall asleep watching Youtube commentary videos. You find some trail mix with M&Ms mixed in it but are disappointed to discover a dearth of carbonated beverages in the fridge. You opt for the tropical twist juice in the sleek glass bottle.

You retreat with your meagre haul and create a nest in the bed. You grab your phone and flip past the several notifications waiting on the home screen. You scroll through Youtube until you land on something suitably dramatic. You pull down the taskbar and flick away several notifs.

Steve’s message is the last. It kinda creeps you out but the time stamp assures you it’s merely a coincidence. ‘I bought some snacks. Hope you found them. Wasn’t sure what you liked.’

You resist clicking on the bubble and swipe it away with the rest. You don’t want to leave him on read and you don’t think he’d appreciate your response. Granola and coconut water aren’t much of a snack.

You shimmy down under the covers and prop up your phone on the bedside table. You lean into the pillow and lazily munch, Your mind wanders away from the petty online drama. Work, your apartment, several strange encounters… hopefully life calms down soon. You mind your business, you don’t need the trouble. You prefer to be a witness, not an active participant.

You drain the last of the juice as the mix of almonds, peanuts, and cranberries leaves your mouth dry. You get up to brush your teeth as you listen through the open door to the edited clips from TikTok. As you come back to bed, you feel the day catch up to you.

You yawn and shut off the light. Ugh, you’re so suddenly tired. It’s not unusual to be wiped after clopening but damn, you’ve never felt this heavy. You pull the blanket up to your chin and your phone screen blurs in your eyes. You let the low drone ease you down to sleep.

It’s as if no time passes at all. No dreams, no awareness, just a thick void that makes your head hurt. You wake with a start.

Your phone gleams from beside you but Youtube is no longer open. The light is on, blaring in your vision as you sit up. Jeez, you must be totally zonked. You probably got up to go pee and don’t even remember.

You reach for your phone and check the time. It’s just after midnight. An hour or two since you passed out. The blanket falls away from your shoulders and you look down at the cold wash across your chest. The straps of your tank top droop down your arms as the fabric is wrinkled below your tits as they hang out. 

You fix your top, it’s not unusual. You’ve woken up more times than you count with your shirt all twisted. It’s why you never had roommates. You shove the blanket further down, your shorts are askew as well, caught in the crease of thigh and pelvis. You fish around to tug the loose opening free and find it damp. Ugh, you’re sweating from your little cocoon of body warmth.

You push yourself towards the edge and pause. You feel oddly sensitive, almost raw. You rise and stretch, reaching down to check yourself. You’re wet. Like really wet. You must’ve had some wild dreams but you can’t remember any of them. 

You take your cell to the bathroom with you and relieve yourself. You pull up your cycle tracking app. Ah, first day of ovulation. Horny time.

You come back to the bedroom and burrow back under the blankets. As you wiggle down, you feel something roll against you. You put your phone beside your pillow and snake your hand around to grab the tiny cylinder. You raise the small bullet vibrator and frown. Wasn’t that in your beauty bag?

You place it on the night table and take your phone. Well, you seem to be pretty absent-minded lately. First your toiletries, now this. You’ll have to do a sweep of the house tomorrow and make sure you have everything together. You won’t be there much longer.

Still, you’re unsettled by the momentary lapse in consciousness, but your lingering grogginess keeps you from panicking. You’ll just put on another video. It should distract you enough to calm you down.

#steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve roger #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #au #series #blind offers #mcu #marvel #avengers #captain america #multifandom

[dashielldeveron]

soulmate trope | aizawa, part one.

Aizawa's route of soulmate trope.

Part one bc tumblr formatting weird. Part two here.

Warnings: BTS mention. Reader is explicitly a kissless virgin to make Aizawa feel Worse. Part one: reader gets a mild hand injury. Threat of dub-con. Claustrophobia. Sexual content, with virgin-y themes. Part two: alcohol consumption (not by reader). Sexual content, with virgin-y themes. Fem reader.

Remember that U.A., for the purposes of this fic, is a university. Lore dropped carries over to previous and subsequent chapters.

~38k overall. ~20k for part one.

You didn’t have a soulmate, and that was just how you liked it.

Because instead of being hooked to one of your weird-ass classmates, you were free to continue to harbour your crush for your weird-ass homeroom teacher, and you nurtured your crush like a stray kitten brought out of the rain. A creature comfort, really, this affection for Aizawa Shouta—a creature no one knew you kept hidden in the back laundry room and sneaked scraps.

You’re not stupid. The man has to stay your homeroom teacher for the rest of the year, until graduation. Besides, you did have a sneaky little goal with your crush, though it will probably never come to fruition. It’s not an immediate plan in which you corner him after class to beg for sexual extra credit, no, but it’s a long, onerous, masochistic plot of delayed gratification: sometime down the road after graduation, you’ll casually run into him on a patrol, casually suggest you two share a drink to catch up, and then casually I-miss-you-terribly-sensei-you-deserve-to-sleep-more-oh-wow-your-hands-are-really-big-what-if-I-place-them-right-between-my-legs your way into his heart.

For now, the most you can do is be the best student you can. Yes, Yaoyorozu is most likely always going to beat you in chemistry and some maths, since her quirk relies on her knowledge of those subjects, but you’re positively gruntled and satisfied with your place at the top for humanities, along with trading top spots in other subjects with the same three or four people.

But mostly, you tried to be 1) resourceful and 2) not annoying, because Aizawa dealt with a lot of teacher bullshit, probably.

So, while you knew about stories in which students would seduce their teachers by favours (sexual or not), lingering innuendo, or flashing lacy underwear from their seats, you weren’t going to do that shit. 1) How dumb, 2) how embarrassing, and 3) you didn’t want your (hopefully future!) relationship founded on cliches for student/teacher relationships. How a relationship starts shouldn’t have to be a secret, either, or be something to be ashamed of.

(Because you could just picture your family’s faces at Christmas if you said something like, “Hey, this is my boyfriend, Aizawa; he used to be my teacher, and we started dating after I sucked him off under his desk while he was giving a lesson.”

Although, admittedly, there’s probably no good way to introduce a former teacher as your boyfriend.)

You figured, for now, it was enough to stand out in a quiet way, never outright begging for his attention, yet somehow landing in situations in which you got it. You liked to think that Aizawa appreciated that you read when you finished your classwork early instead of talking to your friends (guiltily activating your cringey not-like-other-girls complex that you tried to suppress), along with being attentive in class in general, and you landed an unexpected advantage in Midnight.

Since your first year’s sports festival, you’ve been her sidekick. Well, first you were her intern, and then you signed on the next school year. It was mostly academic work instead of hero work at this point in her career, but you found you liked it and her. You tagged along to record events and complete evals and rubrics, and running her errands allowed you into the staff room, where Aizawa was often curled up in his office chair or on the couch. And hopefully, Aizawa heard good things about you from Midnight.

Midnight’s current project when not teaching or on active missions was rehabbing female villains. She was easy to trust. They tended to let down their guards around her, eventually, and it fascinated you the way the system treated male and female villains differently—

“Hey,” whispered Mina, hunching forward in her desk to tap you on the shoulder, “You got back from Sakura Grove Rehab with Midnight really late last night. Did something happen with Tainted Love?”

You shot a look towards the front of the classroom, where Aizawa was gripping the podium intensely in an effort to stay standing, and once you garnered he wasn’t paying attention to you (big sigh), you turned slightly in your seat to whisper back. “False alarm,” you said, shaking your head, “She used her emergency buzzer because she heard that BTS released a music video, and she wanted to see it.”

Grinning, Mina nodded. “Normal BTS fan stuff. Is a member her soulmate, or something?”

“Don’t you think she’d be dead by now if she were? Ito said—sorry, Tainted Love said that they’re all simply very easy on the eyes and that she’s a connoisseur of human beauty. But her ass is in trouble right now, because the staff’s pissed they had to break out the emergency procedures for that.”

“I don’t know,” said Mina, fiddling with her earring, “I think that’s completely fair. It’s, uh—girlboss, gaslight, get-to-see-BTS.”

You snorted, covering your nose with the back of your hand. “That’s the wrong order, and you know it—”

“Since you have the energy to talk during a lesson—” Aizawa called towards you, his voice sharp, and your head snapped towards the front of the classroom. “—then I expect you’ll be capable of a higher calibre of effort and example for the class in your stealth presentation today.”

“Absolutely,” you said, recovering and folding your hands on your desk, “I’m ready when everyone else is.”

Aizawa gave a dismissive wave and allowed the class to leave the four minutes early to change and head towards ground beta. You’d already triple-checked that all of your support gear was ready, because it was your day in the rotation to serve as a combat example to the rest of your peers. Your focus for the past month had been on stealth, so you were presenting on your findings—presenting through whatever challenge was posed to you at the hands of one of the faculty.

 Giddy, you headed towards ground beta much more quickly than your friends, who were still getting dressed. Since you’d be presenting on stealth, you had a good idea of which teacher you’d be facing.

Aizawa was waiting at the entrance, himself clad in full gear. You shot him a cheerful wave, which he lazily returned, and you retreated to one of the benches nearby and opened the book you’d brought along.

(You don’t want to aggravate him, and what’s more, if you talk to him before your challenge, you’re going to be thinking about your conversation during it. Aizawa will be more impressed with your performance if you don’t fuck it up due to daydreaming about his cock.)

Making yourself comfortable, you lay down on the bench, holding the book above you to block out the sun.

Aizawa pushed his goggles back into his hair. “You have a book,” he said (asked?) flatly as he trailed towards you.

“You have a sleeping bag,” you said, jerking your head towards the yellow bundle wadded up by the door, “We must both be relaxed about this presentation.”

Crossing his arms, Aizawa carefully leant against the door and squinted down at you. “Do you not see me as a threat?”

You tore your gaze away from your book to look up at him, tilting your head backwards to smile into his scowl. “Should I?”

Kirishima and Tokoyami burst in and broke up the conversation before it turned into something that got you off for weeks.

Once the rest of the class clambered towards ground beta, Aizawa cleared his throat and addressed the class about the challenge; he spoke with his back to you (and a couple of others), since most of the class clumped in one spot.

“Sero’s melee close-combat presentation yesterday will be a tough act to follow, but today is our first presentation on stealth. Bakugou, Aoyama—your stealth presentations won’t be following the same format, but take inspiration from it.” Aizawa stowed his hands in the deep pockets of his jumpsuit and shifted his weight forward slightly, his broad shoulders lost under his capture weapon. “Hagakure and Tokoyami, I specifically want your critique of your peer’s performance today. Be ready to give her advice. I will be the faculty member she is up against, and—” Frowning, Aizawa cut himself off, did a quick head count, and spun in your direction, his hair whipping at the movement.

Seeing you reading over on the bench (which you were still doing in what was hopefully a sexy devil-may-care, fuck-the-police way), Aizawa pinched the bridge of his nose before spreading his palm over both of his eyes, heaving a sigh, and dragging his hand down his face. He then held it out in from of him and curled his fingers to beckon you closer. “C’mon; I know you said you weren’t threatened, but now you’re pushing it.”

You were sunshine; you were ease, and you were pushing it, for some reason. But you were feeling it, so you cheerfully trotted up to Aizawa, in front of whom you halted expectantly and bounced on the balls of your feet, hands holding your book behind your back as you waited for further instruction.

He cleared his throat and snapped, holding out his hand farther to confiscate your book. You shunted it towards him, and when Aizawa took it, your fingers grazed his—your pinkie and ring fingers just barely brushing against his thumb.

And.

And it’s a rickety, staticky, lightning-type thing, this wave of thunder that rushes through you, branching from where you touched him—a two-second, core-shaking rumble that only you can feel.And there’s an electric jolt.

Vibrant pink blossomed from the points of contact, staining the skin like watery ink.

Two seconds. Two seconds compressing what must be years and years of salient moments yet to come, and they—they all had him, Aizawa, in flashes of memories (?) integrating him more and more into your life. And you knew, in that shock and subsequent ooze, how it felt to be pulled into his arms and held like you’re something precious—wrapping around you while he’s half-asleep and acting on instinct, hunching and curling over your back to shield you from a backdrop of  a battlefield—the feeling of you two lying together bare. You heard the crack of his voice in the morning as he nuzzled closer to you in bed, the rumbling vibration when he growled against your skin. Felt a ghost of his fingers digging into your hips as you arched beneath him (rocking, writhing), sucking a small spot on your neck, kissing down your shoulders, your back. A shiver as he trailed his hand down the inside of your thigh. A prolonged kiss to your collarbone. The passage of thunder left your body sore, like live-or-death level adrenaline had just faded. For a moment, your knees were in danger of buckling.

Aizawa must have seen—felt—the same phantom sensations, because once a noise from the class snapped him out of it, he grimaced, tucking your book and the pink-marked hand under his opposite arm.

Ducking your head to stare at your shoes, you took a step back, overheated and too aware that the class was watching.

“Recovery Girl’s office,” Aizawa said, his voice rasping, “Now.”

You bolted.

***

You slumped in the sky-blue plastic chair in the patient area of Recovery Girl’s office, unable to shake the sensation of his arms around you. You shuddered and hunkered over, a wave of misery washing over you as the last vestiges of his warmth (?) faded. Fucking figures that the only time in your life you’ve ever been in someone’s arms is in a goddamn vision and not reality.

On the other hand.

The pads of the two fingers that touched Aizawa were blemished with the same bright pink as that dust you’d inhaled the day Tainted Love’s team had invaded, and the colour wouldn’t rub off on your hero costume when you tried. An evil sort of smile spread across your face.

You jolted in your seat when the door slammed open, the knob banging into the wall, and Aizawa stormed in, shoving one of two clipboards into your lap.

“Quirk incident form,” he spat, a plastic chair scraping against the tile as he yanked it next to (but not too closely to) yours.

You slid the pen out from underneath the clip. “This says it’s a soulmate registry form.”

Aizawa glanced up at you, already a few strokes into writing his name in the first blank. “Tainted Love’s team had utilised her quirk enough before attacking U.A. that a specific form had to be made. Nevertheless,” he said, finishing the kanji for sho with so much pressure that the paper ripped slightly, “it’s a subset of the Quirk Incident Registrar.”

Huh. You supposed you should’ve known about the paperwork, since you’re working with her, but then, you’re dealing with personal rehabilitation, not the bureaucratical aftermath.

Following his lead, you quietly began to fill out your form. Basic stuff, really: name, home address, current address (dorms), quirk, soulmate’s name and quirk…

“How would you describe our inciting soulmate incident? Are you only putting first physical contact, or are you mentioning something about the, uh,” you said, leaning over to see his paper, but he flipped his clipboard up against his chest to hide it from view.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Aizawa, finally looking you in the eye. His tight grip on his pen didn’t dilute the saturation of the pink on his thumb. “And we’re not going to talk about it. You’re not going to tell anyone about this, and I’m not going to tell anyone.”

Oh, he’s repressed repressed. “Not even my mother?”

He shook his head. “Nothing important happened today, and nothing’s going to happen.”

“That’s a shame,” you said, moving onto the next section of the form, “I was already picking out China patterns.”

He flipped his clipboard out enough to continue writing. “Don’t even joke.”

“Hey, it says I need your phone number.”

“Leave that part blank. I’ll fill it out once before turning both of them in.”

That little sneak. “Wow. You really are intent on having nothing to do with me,” you said, sighing, which he echoed.

“Listen,” said Aizawa, running his hand back through his hair to sweep it out of his face, “if you genuinely require an explanation, you don’t deserve to be in school at U.A.”

You crossed your arms. “Try me, sensei.”

Aizawa winced, scrunching his eyes shut. “Don’t call me that. Listen. What I’m about to say does not apply only to me but to teachers in general. No one wants to fu—pursue a romantic relationship with a student because we are tired. Teaching is our job. No one wants to take work home when you don’t have to. You want to have a life outside teaching, and in addition to that, I have hero work.”

“There are lots of books and stuff about teacher-student relationships,” you said.

“Written by deranged maniacs who haven’t been teachers. Sometimes, it’s difficult to see your students as people, let alone the horrific romantic par—God.” Aizawa pinched the bridge of his nose again, his fingers moving the press into his eyes, almost like he wanted to gouge them out. “The only reason a student may be brought up in conversation in a non-school setting would be if that student did something particularly moronic that day. At the end of the individual day, teachers are tired of their students and want to slip back into being an individual instead of an educator.”

You pursed your lips. “I have yet to hear that you personally are tired of specifically me.”

“Let me attempt another approach,” said Aizawa, hunching over to rest his elbows on his knees, steepling his fingers together, “As your teacher, I would have an unfair power over you in a relationship.”

“Hell, yeah, you would,” you said, grinning.

Aizawa turned his head away, pressing his mouth into his shoulder. “I’m not going to engage with you if you keep making comments like that.”

You nodded even though he couldn’t see you, aware you were getting yourself in deeper shit the more you opened your mouth. “I wouldn’t want you to propose in Recovery Girl’s office, anyway.”

It took him a moment, while you waited by scribbling a doodle of your cat onto the bottom margin of your form, but Aizawa genuinely let out a hiss as he snapped towards you, his teeth gritted as his eyes flashed scarlet, hair flying upwards in an instant.

“You can’t make those sorts of quips around anyone else—at all. Nothing is going to—” He seemed to notice that you’d shrunken in your seat, away from him, your hands held up while you let the clipboard fall to the ground, and he released his quirk, mildly startled that he’d activated it on impulse. He settled back into his own cold, plastic chair and sank his chin into his capture weapon.

“I’m sorry,” you said, quiet and subdued, “Joking about stuff is how I handle it.”

“No,” he said evenly, stooping to pick up your clipboard and pen, “I knew that already. That’s how you show you understand the material in class discussions. I should’ve taken that into account.”

He held out the clipboard, pinching it by the edge. You won’t touch each other, this way.

You took it and clicked your pen, scanning down the document to where you left off. “There’s this checkbox I wanted to ask you about.”

“What checkbox—oh,” Aizawa said, his voice faltering.

Near the bottom. A single, small line and box, for the weight it held: do you want this form to double as your marriage registration?

You crossed your legs to prop one ankle over your knee and tilted your clipboard away from his line of vision. You checked it before he even answered.

“Yeah,” you said, proceeding to shade in the entire box, “Do you—”

His scowl cut you off. “Leave that blank, too.”

“Of course,” you said, drawing a couple of hearts around the inked-in box before moving on.

You finished filling it out before he did, and when he set his pen aside, he pushed on his knees to stand with a soft grunt, taking your clipboard underneath his without caring to glance over it.

“All right. The rest of class has been joined the training session that All Might was monitoring for Class B, and given the circumstances—” His eyes fell to your stained fingers. “—you’ll have to make up your stealth presentation at a later date with a different faculty member. I’ll have someone else grade your work from now on, so you won’t have to worry about my grading you more harshly because of this.”

Aizawa waited for you to nod, and after, he took a step towards the door. He ducked his head for a moment before turning back to you, saying your name under his breath. “I’m serious when I say that you can neither tell anyone about our soulmate bond nor do anything about it.”

Swallowing, you slowly stood up from your seat. “I don’t know how well I can do that, Aizawa-sensei, but I can promise that I’ll do my best not to trouble you. I haven’t been troubling you for the past three years, have I?”

“Not exactly.” Aizawa narrowed his eyes, his shoulders tensing enough that his mouth disappeared underneath his capture weapon. “Why do you ask?”

Okay. You can do this. You’re fine. You’re normal about it. You held up your hands, as if gesturing that he should brace himself. “Because that’s, uh, how long I’ve—” Been in love with you—no! Stop that. “—had feelings for you.”

Grimacing, Aizawa pinched the bridge of his nose. He’s done that more in the past hour than you’ve seen in the past semester. “Holy shit.”

“Please don’t—please don’t feel any fucking pressure whatsoever,” you said quickly, trying to backtrack, “I’ve been dealing with this by myself for so long that I’m good at it, so please don’t, uh. I mean, I—I live in my head; I live in my books and stories, so it’s fine and good and tolerable that I’ve never been in a relationship or kissed or anything; I’m used to it, so you don’t have to worry; I’ve been handling this by—”

Aizawa exhaled very carefully, his chest heaving in a controlled way as he dug his fist into his eye, rubbing it. “Are you telling me you’re a virgin?”

“Ah, ha. Ha,” you said, scratching the back of your neck, “Sorry if that’s too much information; that wasn’t the point—”

“You’re transferring to Class B,” said Aizawa, and he spun on his heel and sped out of Recovery Girl’s office.

Huffing, you seized the clipboards and ran after him. “Wait up,” you said, shoving the door to the stairs open after he nearly closed it on your face, “I was just trying to let you know I am open to a relationship if you want it, but I’m more than fine—” Liar, spat the voice in your head as you scrambled down the staircase after him, your footsteps reverberating against the grey-cinderblocked walls. “—if you don’t want anything to happen, but if you—”

Aizawa turned sharply to glare in your direction as you caught up to him, and when you skibbled to a stop on the same stair, he said under his breath, “Quiet.” His gaze followed how your hair fluttered with each of his harsh syllables, so he took another stair down to distance you. “Anyone on the stairs could hear you,” he said, resigned.

He crossed his arms, and you slanted the clipboards away from your chest for him to take them.

“You really didn’t know I’ve liked you?” you asked as he took them, “All this time?”

“It’s never crossed my mind,” he said, and he continued down the stairs at fast pace but one you could keep up with, “Like I said, students are a different category of person once you’re a teacher.”

Biting your lip, you followed closely enough to keep your voice down. “You never knew. That’s comforting,” you said, and after a few more stairs, you grinned. “Could that count as my stealth presentation?”

***

You would think that more was supposed to happen, now that you’re soulmates. More conversation, at least. Perhaps a conversation.

Instead, a lingering, bruising feeling branded your chest, as if you’d been kicked the night before, and often a stifling, smothering pressure weighed down on your shoulders until you could be in the same room as Aizawa again. Sometimes, it felt like steel marbles were playing pinball in your chest, the aches where they hit gnawing and settling into your bones.

(Your cat, your chocolate-point baby Dango, has been upset with the hours you’ve been sleeping away the pain instead of playing with her. Luckily, Kouda has been borrowing her some afternoons. You don’t know what he does with her, but you do appreciate very much being able to tell Dango, via Kouda, that you love her very much.

Kouda also has the advantage of being subtle when you lend him your cat, because cats aren’t allowed in the dorms. You’ve been secretly caring for Dango for over a year now, so it’s as if you, Kouda, and Shinsou, who brought Dango catnip treats, were partners in crime.)

In class, Aizawa interacted with you as little as possible, usually asking Present Mic to grade your assignments in his stead. He didn’t act any different towards you from the perspective of the rest of the class, you supposed, except you made fewer jokes and he fewer retorts. Instead, you kept your head down, reading or working on your Sakura Grove data for Midnight, and you were skimming by.

But sometimes you’d be doing Midnight’s paperwork after finishing an assignment early, hunched over your desk, when your skin prickles and the emptiness in your chest wavers for a moment, and you’d look towards Aizawa—either slumping over his desk with his chin on his palm or almost concealed inside his sleeping bag behind the podium—eyes half-lidded and boring into you.

When you look away, it’s as if he’s the one kicking you in the chest.

***

The Saturday after a particularly painful school day for you (aside from your fucking up in a combat exercise, Aizawa had been going down the line of those who’d participated to give individual feedback, and he skipped over you without hesitation), you’d planned to spend all day huddled underneath layers and layers of covers and throw blankets in bed as yet another snowstorm swept across Mustafu, but you jerked awake, completely fucking frigid, before the sun had truly risen. You blindly fumbled over the edge of the bed for any or all of your six billion blankets and felt none of them, and, making a miserable whimper as you cracked open an eye, you peered over the side of the bed.

No blankets on floor.

No…no little bedside rug.

Jesus, did you somehow kick your bed away from the wall during the night? Wait, where’s all the shit you have all over your walls this isn’t your room.

Something was pressed against your back.

Your life was over. You’re totally getting expelled from U.A. for sneaking into your teacher’s room. It’s got to be his—holding your breath, you slowly peeked over your shoulder before snapping back towards the bare wall. A flash of that yellow sleeping bag, even in bed—it’s Aizawa’s room, all right, and his back was pressed against yours, with only your sleepshirt and his sleeping bag keeping your skin from touching (unless he’s wearing a shirt, which, in that case, get sluttier, Aizawa).

In the case that somehow appearing in his bed overnight made him detest you, you elected to slither out of his living space without his ever knowing. You wouldn’t have any answers for him, even if he caught you, really, at least not this early in the morning.

In the vexingly slow process of getting out of bed without waking him up, you had the time to look around, not that there was that much to see; it was all greyish and sparse and didn’t really feel like a home at all or that he spent much time here, with the most significant pieces in his bedroom being the shoddily painted radiator (in heaven, everything is fine) and a desk with both a PC and a propped-up tablet on it, with some papers spread in front of them. But the layout of his flat appeared to mirror another part of the dormitory, so you bet the door to leave his area entirely was through the next room, and you’d be home-free.

What caught your attention, though, was a well-loved cat tower, with one of the dangling mice for the cat to bat at torn off the string and resting on the middle level. Aizawa must have a cat. Funny, since that’s illegal in the dorms. As you finally slinked off the bed entirely, you resolved to locate the cat to kiss its little forehead before slipping out of his room entirely. Cat detours are allowed.

Walking out of his bedroom, you first were hit by the pungent scent of brewing coffee and then by a cold wave of defeat. Across the kitchen counter, Aizawa’s back was towards you while he fossicked through different brands of sugar packets.

You could’ve punted that empty sleeping bag out the window.

You took one step towards the exit before he spoke, his voice gravelly from sleep: “Do you want to offer me an explanation before I write you up?”

Fucking stealth heroes. “I don’t have one,” you said, shoulders falling slack while trudging into his kitchenette—with an ulterior motive of seeing more of his place before being removed permanently. “I’m—I don’t know how I got here. You didn’t—?”

“Of course not,” said Aizawa, ripping open two differently branded packets and upturning them into his coffee. He turned to face you as he took the first sip, and you wished you could say that his eyes drank you in hungrily, or whatever, but you supposed that you have to get sluttier, too: you were just as completely and unalluringly covered as he was in his Purple Revolution sweatshirt and pants. “You don’t have any ideas from working at Sakura Grove?”

“Uh, no,” you said, “I’m not encouraged to talk to I—Tainted Love. It’s more like bringing her food and filling out paperwork for her craft requests. I am very much the middleman. I can—”

“Don’t.” Aizawa held out his free hand. “I’ll ask Nemuri.”

Nemuri. You’ve known, you supposed, that he was on a given-name basis with Midnight. You resolved to get him to call you by your first name, too. And then the thought came that you might be ruining something romantic between them? Based on every interaction you’ve had with either of them, you had no indication of romance, but Aizawa had said that teachers aim to have very private lives. Yikes. You elected to slough it off for now, because introducing feeling jealous of your mentor whom you admired very much would only complicate the situation more. You could linger on jealousy once you figured out what the hell was happening.

“Right,” you said, pulling at a hangnail, “What if this happens again?”

“We’ll put a stop to it. Simple as that.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “We’ll be able to prevent this once we have more information. Until then, just handle it maturely and without fuss.”

“And here I was hoping we could cuddle,” you said, heaving a huge, fake sigh as Aizawa narrowed his eyes, and you pushed yourself up to sit on the counter, swinging your legs. “This is the part where you offer me coffee.”

“Get out of my apartment.”

“C’mon, Aizawa. Or I’ll spread that you have an illegal cat in the dorms.”

Aizawa hesitated just as he brought the lip of his mug to his mouth. “I don’t have a cat,” he said before taking another drink.

“Come off of it; I saw the cat tower.”

“I don’t have—”

You nearly jumped out of your skin when something prodded your thigh; a lanky, tuxedo-patterned cat had sneaked up to headbutt you before you could notice, and it climbed onto your lap to loaf. It’d be nice if your own cat were this friendly.

“You need to be more aware of your surroundings,” grumbled Aizawa as he poured your coffee.

You flipped over the cat’s tag, the light catching on the rose-gold heart. “You named your cat Konpeito?”

“Eri named it.” Aizawa set the mug next to you instead of giving it to you directly—stubborn bastard, not wanting to touch you again. “Don’t make a scene when you return the mug.”

“You’re kicking me out before I even start drinking?” You tentatively gripped the handle and maneuvered the cat off your lap.

“You keep asking these questions that have obvious answers.” He gave a dismissive wave. “Don’t make too much noise on the way out; Eri’s in the next dorm over, and I don’t want you to wake her.”

***

You woke up in Aizawa’s bed again less than a week later. You’d had a dream that you’d been freezing, and the reason had been, once again, you were, since apparently Aizawa depended on his sleeping bag instead of blankets. You allowed yourself a moment of savouring the sensation of his back against yours (for real, this time, since the sleeping bag was snoring) before slipping out.

The third time, you left him a note to tell him to get a damn blanket, or else you’ll bring one of your own to keep there.

You idly took notes in Present Mic’s class, words coming slowly on paper while he prattled on. How come it was always you who was showing up in his bed? How come you always went to Aizawa, and he never came to you?

Your eyes flicked up to what Present Mic was writing on the board in skewed, thin handwriting. Had Aizawa told him the specifics? Present Mic had to know something, since he was grading your work, but Mic was also Aizawa’s friend—a luxury you didn’t have in this soulmate situation. Midnight would also be a strategic person to tell, from Aizawa’s perspective, but she hadn’t given any hint she was aware.

You drew a heart in the margins, and then you gave it legs. You made it walk off the page and onto the desk, colouring it in by crosshatching. If only you could get up and leave. Class without Aizawa dragged nowadays; where did he spend his time during school on break? Probably huddled in his sleeping bag in a slant of sunlight like a damn cat, maybe out on the grounds where he couldn’t be found. Or maybe he fucked off to a gym closet where the mats were; they’d be cosier than sleeping directly on the floor. And you could cosy up next to him, pressed up against each other in that snug—

You slammed into a wall of solid muscle, papers flying and tea spilling over the tile to seep into the rug in the teachers’ lounge, and you sprawled on your knees in the midst of it in your haste to get the fuck off of Aizawa before he could say anything, hissing as you tentatively raised your hand from the wet, broken cup. Despite the slivers of pottery in your palm, you one-handedly fumbled for the papers that had been dropped—third year evals, now crimped and tinted a yellow-green.

Aizawa took the papers, tapped the bottom to align them, and gave them a firm shake to flick off excess tea, and when you started to sweep the broken cup into your hands, he stopped you.

“Go to the faculty bathroom,” he said, pointing to the connecting lavatory, “I’ll be there in a minute with a first-aid kit.”

You had a moment to yourself in the clean, warmly-lit bathroom, so you pushed yourself up on the green marble by the farthest sink and crossed your legs, ensuring your shoes didn’t dirty anything. The pain’s setting in, but you won’t cry, not in front of him, and you’re crying, but just a bit, right? Fuck.

At the sound of the door, you hastily wiped your nose with your sleeve and did your best to look stoic, like pottery in your hand happened every day. But your eyes were too watery to even see the tweezers as he dug them out of the kit.

Standing in front of the sink, Aizawa clicked the tweezers twice (carcinisation, baby!) and held out his other hand.

You looked at it. “What do you want me to do with that?”

He said your name through a sort of scoff, which would’ve been way hotter if it had been your given name and also in bed. “Just give me your hand.”

Tears ran down your face in an overflow. “You wanna touch me?” you asked, sniffing.

“Fucking hell,” Aizawa said under his breath, “At least I know you’re all right if you’re still joking.” He shifted his jaw, scanning your palm. “If you’d rather have it at an uncomfortable angle over the sink—”

“No! No, I wanna—I wanna touch you,” you said, and you lifted your shaky, injured hand for Aizawa to hold steady. The instant his fingers cradled the back of your hand, everything fell into place: touching him was like breathing in cool, crisp air on a clear night or the smoky kindling of a fire that never goes out, like feeling sunshine on bare shoulders on a spring day with freshly cut grass, like walking into your childhood home’s kitchen when someone’s baked chocolate-chip cookies, like breathing in, like breathing, and—

You lifted your hand just a hair from his hand.

You have a stopped-up nose.

You glanced at Aizawa, whose lips were parted, his chest visibly heaving underneath his baggy jumpsuit. “Did you…?”

He ran his tongue over his lower lip. “I need to get the pottery out of your hand as soon as possible.”

Bracing yourself, you rested your hand in his again, and that irresistible warmth swept over you again. He’s got to be feeling it, too, so why isn’t he reacting? You’re embarrassing yourself, so why can’t he?

“Were you trying to teleport to me earlier?” he asked (distracting you from the sensation of each shard being plucked from your skin), head bent over the sink and your hand.

“No, I never—I don’t intend anything. But now that we’ve seen it, we at least know it’s not a gradual thing. Instantaneous and painless. Well,” you said, nodding towards your hand.

“Nor, I see, is it limited to my bed,” he said, shifting over when you uncrossed your legs, “What were you doing before the jump?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary. I was in class.” You dangled your legs off the side to get closer to him (for medical purposes of course), and wow, Aizawa smelled incredible—probably; your stuffy nose wasn’t doing you any favours—what the hell kind of soap did he use?

 “Were you thinking of anything in particular? The bond?”

That’s got to be pine, and there’s something earthy mixed in. You really needed to blow your nose (Can you even name earthy scents? [Dirt?] You’re not up-to-date with masculine scents; you’ll have to find his deodorant next time you wake up in his room). “I was—” You cut yourself off with a hiss as he pulled the largest shard out. “I’m fine. It’s not that bad, really. Keep going. I don’t really remember the specifics of what I was thinking about, but I—” You cut yourself off again, this time with heavy realisation. “Goddammit. I was feeling the acute loneliness hollow out my chest again, and I was wanting to—be near you. Which explains why I’ve been teleporting to you instead of you coming to me.”

“It explains nothing,” said Aizawa, and he set the tweezers next to the shards on the edge of the sink and flipped on the faucet, guiding your hand under the water and reaching for the gauze.

“Yes, it does,” you said, openly wiping your nose on the back of your sleeve, because fuck it, this man didn’t care about you, so be gross around him. “If the teleporting is triggered by intense longing to be close to the other person, then it makes total sense that I’d be the only one teleporting, since I’m the only one who has feelings.”

“It explains nothing,” he said again, drying off your hand, “It’s only a possible contributing factor to the teleportation. Maybe it has to do with location, or timing, or action. It’s highly improbable that this physical action was caused by thought alone.” Aizawa ripped off a long strip of gauze and began to wrap it around your palm. “Don’t feel like this is a weakness on your part. I’ll probably teleport to you before the month is out.”

You let your fingers relax, your pinkie falling enough to graze his own hands as he bandaged yours. The more skin-to-skin contact you had, the more serene you felt—or maybe it was the injury adrenaline wearing off. Either way, you might fall asleep on the bathroom counter. “My bed isn’t big enough for two people.”

“That’s okay,” said Aizawa, and he slowed at the final wrap-around, holding it in place until he found the metal clips in the first aid box. “I’ve gotten very used to sleeping in odd places.”

When he stepped away to pack up the kit, you fucking whimpered on impulse at the loss of physical contact, and he froze, stuck in the motion of clicking the box shut.

“Sorry,” you said, sniffing.

His jaw tensing, Aizawa shook his head. “You should go to bed early tonight. Don’t overexert yourself.”

***

Yeah, except it’s Friday, and Jirou has been arranging this girls’ night for two weeks now.

Apparently, the karaoke bar you’re going to overheats really easily, since it’s in a refurbished building that used to be something-or-other; you’re not really listening to the explanation but were more concerned with having to wear summer clothes while it’s snowing out. The past two weeks have been strategic outfit layering plans from the lot of you, most of which have devolved into being silly and impractical (ranging from “I’ll just take off my skin and hang around in my bones when we get there” to “I will walk out of this dorm in a sleeping bag over my underwear” [the latter reminding you of Aizawa, in a pleasing, warm thought that you had to keep to yourself]).

Either way. Twisting over your shoulder, you strained to tuck in your bra so that it wouldn’t show from a mostly backless spaghetti-strap that you ended up borrowing from Uraraka, and once it was kind of hidden, you stuck your tongue into your cheek. It didn’t really sit right with you to be going out in this shit in this icy weather. You’d be a lot warmer and probably a lot more content if you peeled off these Best Jeanist jean shorts (from the Moulded to Your Ass line, unofficially titled) and crawled into your pyjamas and bed.

In the corner of your eye, your bed beckoned, with all of its blankets and stuffed animals (for when you just need to hold a little guy). What if you ditched the outing and—no. Stop that. You’ll be warm soon enough.

But with an abrupt lurch towards your bed, you found yourself spluttering into the scalding spray of a showerhead, water dribbling into your mouth between gasps and sloshing down your body. Blindly, you took a step backwards out of the cascade, but a flattened palm on the bare skin of your back stopped you before you could move farther.

“Don’t.”

The water still gushed and flowed over you, eyes scrunched tight and heart pounding. The hand on your back maximised the space between the two of you, but with the pathetic size of the shower stall, his body heat still seeped into your skin, complemented by rising steam. There’s a quiet grunt when he knocked against the frosted glass door; his shoulders must be wide enough for that to happen frequently (you swallow against a dry throat, because the man could hold all of you). If he wanted to, Aizawa, the way he has you now, could press his lips to the crown of your head, keeping his mouth there as his eyes flutter shut.

Instead, Aizawa was reaching up to tilt the showerhead away, giving you a good face-full of his bicep, and your eyes followed its movement (his jumpsuit did an excellent job of concealing a fucking powerfully built form), straining as he twisted the showerhead and relaxing as it fell back into place at his side—

“Eyes up,” said Aizawa, using his first two fingers to guide your chin back to face your front, where they lingered for a moment to tap against your jaw to ensure you’d stay there.

(With the shock of getting wet and the heat of his hand flat against your back [still there, still flooding you with an intoxicating headiness], you’d been entirely too overwhelmed to even consider catching a glimpse of his dick.)

“Aizawa-sensei—”

“Cut that out,” he said, huffing, “You’re doing this on purpose.”

For once, you’re out of the loop. But since you’re in his shower, you could take a moment to locate his soap to put a name to what he smells like and perhaps get a look at his cock along the way. Only his washcloth hung over the faucet in front of you, so you moved to turn slightly as you spoke, ducking your head to scan for shampoo bottles: “Earlier today you were saying it wasn’t my—”

Hissing, Aizawa slid two fingers through one of your belt loops and yanked, jerking you backwards into his hips for an instant before establishing that space between you again—pulling you by the belt loop blocked your view of his cock, and his hand on your back kept you from touching him in any meaningful way. But he was still as close as he could be without touching you otherwise, his breath as searing as the steam as he grumbled into your ear: “Bad girl.”

The water splashing at your feet wasn’t so hot anymore.

Aizawa tugged at your belt loop again (for a moment, when a swish of cool air washed down your ass, you worried that he’d look) and kept you in front of himself as he turned sideways to face the shower door, which he (fuck!) lifted his hand from your back to prod open.

Light flushed into the stall, and he scoffed. “I knew it,” Aizawa said, bitterness creeping into his voice, and he unlooped his finger from your belt loop to tap the fabric firmly, nudging you forward.

“Knew what?” you asked, spinning on your heel the moment you were out of the shower, water flying, and Aizawa ducked behind the frosted glass with a defeated expression. “Right,” you said, grabbing the thick towel on the toilet and tossing it to him.

“Check your fingertips.”

Tearing your gaze from his frosted-glass impression of wrapping the towel around his waist, you held up your hands. “They look fine. My bandages are soaked, though, so I’ll have to redo—oh, okay, fuck. My soulmark is gone.” You’re not going to cry in front of him, and definitely not twice in one day, because that’d be—

“Sensei,” you said, choking up and curling your shaky fingers into an even shakier fist, “Sensei, my soulmark is—I don’t want my soulmark to be gone, fucking, I—” On accident, you slammed your elbow into the glass door when you were trying to—please get closer (so goddammit, if your eyes water, it’s from hitting your funny bone). “I don’t want my soulmark to disappear; I adore you and want—”

“It hasn’t disappeared,” Aizawa said softly as he stepped out of the shower, gripping his towel in addition to the firm knot, and he pointed behind you towards the mirror.

While Aizawa eased down onto the closed toilet to towel-dry his hair, you took the four, wet steps to the sink and wiped off the clouded steam. No difference in your reflection.

When you shot a baffled look towards Aizawa, he gently raised his eyebrows and his finger to twirl it once. So, you turned around to look over your shoulder at your back, where his pink handprint put all body glitter to shame in how well it reflected the overhead light and in how quickly it was spreading (ink leaking outside of the handprint in watery bursts before slowing, never detracting from the shape of his hand, though the ink seemed to rise more than fall, especially near his middle and ring fingers between your shoulder blades).

He was holding up his newly pink palm, wiggling his fingers in your direction.

You returned to him (really to stand on the bathmat, since you’re drenching his floor) and raised your hand to touch him, first glancing at him for his approval. Aizawa looked at your hand and back at you, and after he wetted his lips, he nodded and got back to towel-drying his hair.

You hesitated. Is this really so nonchalant, so trivial to him? It’s everything to you.

You dropped your hand to your side, mouth twitching. “What shampoo do you fucking use.”

“Hm?” He didn’t even look at you.

“You smell fucking good all the time. What’s. What scent is your soap,” you were saying, in the same, flat tone you’d use to argue with your landlord about finally fixing your leaky roof after two years.

Aizawa squeezed water out of the last of his hair and spoke in that infuriatingly gravelly, just-woke-up voice of his. “It’s sandalwood.”

Sandalwood. That’s earthy, you guessed. “Then where’s the pine come from?”

“That would be the aftershave,” he said, folding the hair towel in half twice and setting it aside, “You were going to touch me, but now you’re upset. Care to explain?”

You plucked at your wet shirt before crossing your arms over it. “Does this matter to you? The soulmate thing.”

“You matter to me,” he said, standing with a quiet grunt, “Let’s get you reasonably dry before going back to your dorm.”

“Oh, shut up with that teacher bullshit,” you said, following him to a cabinet, “You care about me through the lens of a student, because everyone in this fucking dorm is your—fuck, I’m. You’re insufferable.”

“I can’t lend you clothes, but I should have enough large towels to keep you warm.” Aizawa reached for the top shelf, with beach towels. “However, I recommend against going out tonight with the rest of your friends.” He handed you a new-looking, blue-pineappled towel.

You angrily wrapped it around you, pissed that you instantly felt better. “Oh, is it because you’ve gotten me wet—” Aizawa draped another towel around your shoulders, tucking it in a little to secure it. “—and going out into this fucking ass iceberg weather would get me sick—” Another towel, this one with Present Mic’s radio show logo on it. “—and then I’d have to miss one of your precious days of class—”

“Is that what you want me to say?” He arranged two more towels around you at once, tying the outermost one in a knot. “Or are you waiting to hear that I want you to hide away while you bear my mark?” He tugged your drapery down a smidge so that you could use your arms a bit—at the least, use your key to your room. “When in reality,” he said, taking a step backward and appraising his handiwork, “I want you to be comfortable and content. And I don’t think you’d be either if you went out after this, even if you got ready again.”

Goddammit.

“And you’ve had a long day with strange revelations. You have a new injury. Going to bed for the night will facilitate healing. Your body will have more time to process the day.”

Groaning, you said, “Fuck you for being right.”

“Thanks.”

Since you hadn’t touched him earlier, you took the opportunity to clonk your forehead against his chest (dense muscle was evidently comfy). The soulmark warmth blossomed throughout your body from the spot, and you took your time to appreciate it, taking a couple of unhurried breaths against his skin, dry save for some stray running droplets.

Aizawa sighed, the planes of his chest rising and falling under your close and thirsty scrutiny. “This counts, y’know. As staying up late.” If you hadn’t seen him put his hand on your arm, you wouldn’t’ve known, due to the thickness of the towels. “I told you to go to bed.”

You blearily looked up at him. “Take me there, then.”

After a moment, Aizawa said, “I have to feed my cat,” and he opened the bathroom door to escape. Before he left, he spun back around, and you would’ve sworn he was fighting a smile, if you hadn’t known how he felt about you.

“But first,” he said, “let me fix that forehead situation of yours.”

***

Picking up the folders from the office mailbox, you flipped out the flag for read/empty and trailed back to the office space that you and Midnight shared at Sakura Grove, idly waving to some co-workers as you flipped through the files. Pushing the door open with your foot, you dropped the folders onto Midnight’s desk and hurried over to lift the shaking electric kettle from the heat, since Midnight was too absorbed into her patient evaluation at which she was typing away.

You poured the boiling water the round teabag, watched it rise to the top of Midnight’s teacup, and bit back a cry—you clutched the chilled windowsill to stay standing, struck by an overwhelming dizziness that blacked out the edges of your vision and crept to darken it entirely; a bowling ball has just hit your chest and dropped to your toes, the ache reverberating through your veins as you caved and doubled over, nausea settling into your gut.

Through the dots clouding your vision, you barely make out Midnight stretching her arms over her head.

These attacks have been happening more and more. If Aizawa can have a friend in the know, so can you.

“Kayama-sensei,” you managed to croak, but she didn’t hear you.

You tried again, and she turned, her expression drooping when she saw you. “Is the tea that bad?”

Eventually, Midnight helped you into your seat across from hers with your own cup of tea, the pain draining away in the process of vague explanation.

“So, you genuinely think you’re starting to die because your soulmate won’t acknowledge you romantically. Easy solution in sight,” she said, picking her teacup up by her fingertips to breathe in the steam, “Just pick out some nice lingerie—you can use my sponsor discount for Wacoal—and arch your back when you lie in his bed for him to find. I can give you some tips on how to suck—”

“Kayama-sensei,” you said, your vision finally back to normal, “You do not understand how much I can’t do that.”

Her tongue flicked into her cup, testing the heat. “I’ll bite. Why not?”

“My soulmate is, um.” You frowned into your tea. “I’ve liked my soulmate for a long, long time. Before the soulmate stuff existed.”

Midnight ran her tongue over her lips, the corners quirking upwards. “So? All the more reason to make your feelings known and emphasised, now that you have an excuse for a legitimate relationship. Since he already knows about how you feel, you should keep trying to seduce him. All men crack eventually.”

“He won’t accept a lousy attempt at seduction, because—aside from I have no clue how to do that, I don’t—he’s, uh…” You trailed off, took a swig of tea instead of finishing, and ended up choking a bit at the heat.

“Yes? What’s the juicy detail you’re reluctant to share? Is he married? Is he a public figure? Is he too much older or younger than you?”

Narrowing your eyes, you asked, “Do you already know? Are you just making me say it?”

Tight-lipped, Midnight made a loose, dismissive gesture and moved to get back to her patient file.

“Fine. Fine! If anyone can help me with this, it’s you, because it’s—goddamn,” you said, deflating and sinking down into your seat, “It’s fucking Aizawa-sensei, okay? My soulmate is my stupid homeroom teacher.”

“Congratulations,” said Midnight, saving the document and shutting down the computer, “You have earned the right to call me by my given name for being so honest.” She spun in her chair to give you her full attention. “So. Shouta.”

“Did you know already? Were you just—”

“I had my suspicions but no concrete evidence,” she said, holding up her hand, “Just some observations from watching you for the past three years.” Tilting her head, she adjusted her glasses before lifting her cup to her mouth again. “Now, the reason why you can’t just seduce him is crystal clear now. I submit that you could start going to bed in skimpier clothes in the event you teleport to his apartment again, but that’s only the tip of the iceberg. Shouta’s got a steel will. He’s not going to violate that student-teacher professional relationship.”

“I know,” you said, slumping so far down in your seat that your ass was falling off of it, your chin touching your chest, “but if I’m in pain from not being with him, he probably is, too. And if he won’t acknowledge me romantically, I wanna know if there’s something I can do to alleviate the pain that we’re both feeling. He shouldn’t be distracted from his work because of it.”

“That’s exactly what I want to hear.” Midnight jabbed a finger in your direction. “Starting today, you’re promoted. You’re going to be Tainted Love’s primary monitor.”

“What?” You shot up in your seat. “But I haven’t—I haven’t even had a proper conversation with her before—”

“But she’s used to having you around,” Midnight said evenly, opening her top desk drawer, “To her, you’re in a position of authority but not a threat. You’ve seen how she likes to talk, anyway, and you’re in a perfect position to find out more schematics of how her quirk works on the individual level.” Midnight smiled and handed you Ito’s folder. “Plus, she can’t do anything more to you, right? You’ve already got a hell of a soulmate.”

“Okay,” you said, hesitantly taking her file to clutch it to your chest, “So, you just want me to talk to her? Try to solve my problems?”

“Yeah. And anything you find out about her quirk that she hasn’t shared so far—because she hasn’t exactly shared much past the first interrogation—is welcome intelligence. Record anything new. Keep Ito happy. You’ll be golden. I know you’re more than capable.”

“Funny,” you said, flipping through the file and joining Midnight as she stood, “This feels planned. Got anything else motivating you?”

“Besides a perverse desire to see my friend and my sidekick get together?” Midnight grabbed her whip from the hook on the side of her desk. “I was going to assign you this, anyway. Ito isn’t a threat anymore, and I need to focus on preparing for Serendipity’s arrival next week from St. Philomena’s. Even the airline we finally convinced to transport her has backed out, so I’m scrambling to bribe another.”

That had slipped your mind—Serendipity was being transferred to Sakura Grove for rehabilitation, mostly because no one else wanted to house the most potently dangerous female villain in the Americas. “Understandable,” you said, holding open the door for Midnight to follow closely behind, “When do I start?”

***

Fifteen minutes later, you were setting a tray with tea and powdered thumbprint-cookies in front of Ito at her desk in her room. She raised a sharp, white eyebrow at how the dishes clattered at your shaky handling, but she nodded in thanks and turned back to her book. You guessed you were lingering awkwardly by the door a bit too obviously, so she rolled her eyes and set her book upside-down on the desk.

“You’re my new handler, right?” she asked, scratching under her eye.

“That’s me,” you said, hands folded tightly in front of you, “Midnight says you cleared stage five, so you’re safe to be delegated off to me. I have your stage six schedule printed out—”

“But why are you still here? Everyone usually leaves as soon as possible.”

“I’m the only staff member immune to your quirk,” you said, sliding her schedule out of her file.

“Immune.” Ito grinned and crossed her legs. “That’s interesting. How do you know that?”

Well, Midnight said to be honest in order to get honesty from Ito. You sucked in through your teeth. “I’m only immune because you’ve already given me a soulmate. I was the, uh, student you landed on when you attacked U.A.”

Scrunching up her face, Ito scanned you from head to foot, and when she finally stopped at your chest, she nodded. “Ah. I remember you. You’ve got good tits, kiddo,” she said, reaching for her tea, “Be proud of ‘em. You allowed to tell me how it’s going?”

You glanced behind you at the door, pretending to be considering the trouble of talking to her, and when you prodded it shut with your foot, Ito’s grin stretched all the way across her face, her teeth cutting into her lower lip.

“I’ve been desperate to talk to you,” you said, dragging the extra chair closer to hers, “My soulmate is being a little bitch.”

“I like you better than Doc Kim already,” said Ito, and she took a noisy slurp of her tea. “Spill it.”

“I need your advice on what to do about the pain.”

“You found your soulmate already? Then you shouldn’t be feeling any,” she said, shrugging.

“No, I need you to tell me about what to do about the pain. I don’t know if he’s feeling it, but it’s fucking killing me, and he won’t do anything about the soulmate stuff because he doesn’t like me—”

“Back up.” Ito slammed her cup on the tray, spilling tea. “You’re not making any sense. Start over. Tell me about your soulmate.”

Groaning, you buried your face in your hands, leaning back in your chair until your back popped. “He’s my professor, and I’ve liked him for years. Since I met him, pretty much.”

“Hot. He got a sensei kink?” She shoved two thumbprint cookies in her mouth at once, and she nudged the plate in your direction.

“Eh,” you said, weighing your options, “It’s possible. But he doesn’t—”

“Nice. So, he says he’s not gonna do anything while you’re his student, which means he’s burning with shame and sexy, sexy doubts about how good of a man he is. Always sexy to bring a man to his moral and literal knees. Are you wearing fun things to class?”

“We have a uniform.”

“Shame,” she said, gulping down more tea, and then she cocked her head. “Unless.”

“No.”

“Spoilsport,” said Ito, gesturing towards the cookies again. This time you took one, pinching it absentmindedly in your lap. “I think I want to go on my daily walk around the courtyard. Is there room for that in my new schedule?”

You checked it. “I’ll make it work.”

Minutes later, you and Ito were bundled up and strolling the perimeter of Sakura Grove’s courtyard, full of other in-patients in team recreation in the middle and in private conversation on some of the benches.

“I’m still not with you,” Ito was saying as she stared up into the bare limbs of a sakura tree, “I don’t understand why you’re feeling the soulmate pain. It shouldn’t be affecting you, since you know and have met your soulmate.”

You huffed, breath visible. “Well, if you don’t know, then I’m lost. But if he’s not going to complain about the pain, then I suppose I’ll just have to deal with it. I like him too much to bitch about it to him, I guess.”

Ito shoved more of her long, white hair underneath her pom-pom hat. “Then it’s probably the same for him, with him liking you too much to bother you about it.”

“Nah.” You stepped into one of her footprints, the snow crunching under your weight. “He doesn’t like me, and I don’t think he ever will, since once a student, always a stu—”

Ito’s head snapped towards you, cheeks rosy from the cold. “What did you say?”

“My soulmate doesn’t like me, because—”

“You said that earlier, too,” said Ito, and she looked around for other monitors before jerking her head for you to follow her. She guided you in a casual-but-not trail away from any doors or eavesdroppers, and she said in a hushed voice, “You do know that my quirk doesn’t assign soulmates randomly, right?”

“What the hell? Say more right now,” you said, taking smaller steps to stay closer to her.

“Oh, well, that’s news for me. I figured they’d captured my team’s notes on my quirk by now. Okay, well, report this, or not,” said Ito, jabbing a finger towards you, “How much do you know about probability? Yeah, yeah, more math—yes, soulmates usually to inhale the same cloud of my quirk to be considered soulmates, but there are other factors, too. See, you were making sense until you said your soulmate doesn’t like you back.”

“Okay, I’m not following—hey, let’s walk more towards the centre; I think those two by the door are watching us.” You steered the two of you back onto the typical path but stayed close to speak quietly.

“In addition to breathing from the same cloud, two people have to have had a moment of genuine, mutual attraction between each other. Not, like, you pass someone hot on the street and think you’d suck the soul out of their dick before dissuading yourself from the impulse, because they’d clearly ruin your life, but a moment of true, lingering affection for someone that you don’t talk yourself out of. A moment worth thinking about later. Hey, Rika,” Ito said loudly as you passed another patient on the path, “Good to see you today. How’s your cult? You don’t know? Great! Healthy! See you later!” Ito and you sped-walked past her, and once Rika was out of earshot, Ito lowered her voice again. “You don’t have to know the person, but maybe a stranger shared a moment of kindness with you. Maybe an old friend laughed in a new way. It’s a moment where you’re attracted to something past the surface level in a person, even for a brief second. I don’t give out soulmates with absolutely no attraction, even if it may seem that way.”

You, fuming, kicked snow out of your path. “That bitch likes me!”

Ito nodded. “And not just for your tits.”

“Shit,” you said, pushing hair out of your face and pulling your scarf to be snugger, “Nothing I do is gonna—”

“I can help,” said Ito, glancing over her shoulders again for eavesdroppers.

You stopped in your tracks. “But why would you do that? I’m just some weirdo.”

“Because when I have employed the help I’m about to offer you, it has been very, very funny to me,” she said, “and I don’t get outside news except through fucking letters.”

You joined her on the path again. “How many times have you done this?”

Ito looked up as she bit the pad of her thumb, trudging through the snow. “You’ll be the twelfth time. It’s like a part two to my quirk, but I usually don’t come across victims again to offer this sort of thing—and people usually don’t need it. Step one: we’ll need an airtight container.”

***

Cut to that evening in your dorm room, with you hunched over a ziploc bag sealed to the brim with her quirk’s pink dust.

Door locked. Lights down. Cosy pyjamas. Already under the covers in bed.

An increased probability of cliches, Ito had said.

You flipped on the flashlight on your phone to shine through the dust, pink light scattering on the ceiling like a home-planetarium.

Inhaling her quirk for the second time would still affect you, but it wouldn’t assign you another soulmate. Rather, it would dramatically increase your chances for romance tropes to occur in your real life. Stuff that only happens in rom-coms and fanfic could start to happen to you and your soulmate.

(“Like sharing a bed when there’s only one of them,” Ito had said, swirling her finger through the leftover powdered sugar and licking it.

“We’ve already got that covered with the teleporting,” you’d said.

“Shifting is what I’ve been calling the teleports, babe.” Ito had smacked her lips. “And maybe you’ll wake up grinding on his hard-on, now. Do you know how big his dick is?” she’d asked, and then she’d clicked her tongue. “Never mind; I wanna know about his thighs.”

“I can—”

“Or maybe he’ll spill coffee on your shirt and have to pat you dry, accidentally making your shirt see-through and getting flustered at your tits. Or maybe he’ll have to pick you up in the rain, and oh, no, the weather’s too bad for you to go home, and you have to wear his clothes, and—”

You’d snorted at the thought of wearing one of his jumpsuits. He didn’t seem to have much else.)

Either way, you had your ziploc bag of soulmate trope dust, and you had a soulmate reluctant to acknowledge you—even though you knew now that he liked you, that bitch. You’d prepared accordingly, already in bed, since Ito had said you’d likely pass out again. It sat a bit unpleasantly in your stomach that you were going to rely on cliches to jumpstart your relationship with Aizawa, since you hadn’t wanted to do that in the first place with teacher-student relationship cliches. But you could avoid that the best you could, you supposed.

You lay down in bed, adjusting your hair on your pillow, and with the bag on your chest, you popped it like bubble wrap, the dust surging into your face in a rosy burst.

***

Popping it Tuesday night led to a cruelly dull Wednesday, since, as seniors, Wednesdays were off-days for the hero course to spend more time in the field. You weren’t needed at Sakura Grove, as you remotely typed up your reports and sent them their way, and since all your friends were with their mentors, the hours crawled. You puttered around online for a while, before cracking open a book whose plot couldn’t hold you. Since no one was around to witness, you plodded downstairs to the kitchen in your pyjamas, stole one of Aoyama’s green tea popsicles for an early start to lunch, and booted up the console Kaminari kept in the commons.

While the screen loaded, you plopped onto the couch, licking the last of the tea off the wooden stick. What does Aizawa do on Wednesdays now that his class is loose? He frequents a cat café; the punch-card was poking out of his wallet on his bedside table last time you shifted to his room. But there are the mundanities—grocery shopping, catching up on sleep, grading, caring for Eri. And hell, how you’d like to share those moments with him—perhaps scrunching his nose at a change of ingredients of his favourite chip, stroking the neck of his cat in a beam of sunlight, braiding Eri’s hair with ribbon at the start of a school day.

Fuuuuuck, when will Aizawa let you in?

The next moment, you’re suffocating. Pitch black softness, swaddling and falling around you, sweltering within seconds, sweat beading at your hairline. You took a desperate, gasping breath—relieved in the slim moment a slant of light puckered in front you, until the hand shoved onto your face, palm feeling for your mouth and shutting your jaw for you. Within the cocoon, the frame on either side of you tensed, and—the hand fumbled, once you’d quieted, in the crack of light to clumsily cup your cheek, patting it abruptly before rubbing the thumb over your cheekbone.

From that touch and the peace it swept over you, you knew where you’d shifted: kneeling right between Aizawa’s legs in his sleeping bag. But he’s sitting upright in a chair and needed to silence you, so where was he right now?

You settled, leaning against the hard muscle of his calf and into his palm, nosing at it to signal you knew it’s him.

“You have twenty-seven minutes to finish your tests,” called Aizawa, and for the first time, you picked up on pens clicking, paper shuffling, and chairs scuffing against polished tile. “Don’t ask me when they’ll be graded; Kuranosuke-sensei isn’t set to return until Saturday.”

Bless him.

But okay. You’ve got about half an hour stuck between his legs under this desk in front of what’s likely a bunch of younger business students.

Huh, if you only inched your chin forward on his chair, you’d be perfectly positioned to nuzzle against his cock, maybe suck it if you maneuvered your arms out of the sleeping bag’s constrictions. But, you supposed, it would be very mean to tease him in that way in front of students who haven’t built that respect for him, and you’d prefer your first blowjob to be where Aizawa could throw his head back, face flushed, groaning loudly with a gentle, guiding hand on the back of your head—hey, now’s not the time.

You didn’t want him to feel the shame of having an erection in front of who were essentially strangers. It’d…you don’t want to humiliate your soulmate. You love that idiot.

But Aizawa was shifting his hips, to your horror, the thick fabric of his jumpsuit brushing your face in the moment his hand retracted, and the sleeping bag was shuffled down past the top of your head, which grazed the underside of a desk drawer.

You rested your chin towards the edge of his chair—yes, mere inches between your face and his clothed cock, but your breath probably wasn’t even hitting it. From this angle, you and Aizawa could share that suspicious glare he shot you, so you backed up the half-inch for your chin to rest of the very brink of the chair—he closed his eyes, his shoulders losing their stiffness—and you leant your head against his thigh, just on the inside of his knee. He heaved a silent sigh, giving a subtle roll of his eyes, and minutely nodded—an act so slight that if you hadn’t been looking for it, you would’ve missed it.

Aizawa’s hand came to rest atop your head, scratching his fingers gently against your scalp. Part of it’s the soulmate bond; part of it’s being touch-starved, but his gentle scratch was so fucking soothing that a hazy, relaxed sleepiness came over you. Your head sagged, nose pressing towards the underside of his thigh, while your eyes crossed. Maybe it’s the magic of his sleeping bag, but you’re so drowsy that the scratch of his short nails almost drowned out clicking footsteps approach the desk.

Aizawa froze, his hand stilling in your hair.

“What are we supposed to do with our tests?” came the whisper of a business student.

Aizawa made a grunt and moved as if he were stretching and reaching for something on the desk. “Whatever you normally do. Is there not a routine?”

“The basket we turn papers in to is missing.” The shadow of the student’s feet grew closer to the desk.

“Not my problem. Just leave them on the corner of the desk—” A tinny clink echoed through the teacher desk when Aizawa tapped it—his thumb swiping over your forehead to calm you.

“Gotcha,” said the business student, and you thought you were in the clear before she asked, “What—what are you doing under…?”

“Oh?” Aizawa jolted the chair forward to hide you, but with the jolt came his clothed cock pressed against your face; even through the thick fabric you could tell it’s his shaft pressed against the length of your nose and corner of mouth and balls nestled against your chin and cheek. “I didn’t know I wasn’t allowed to text under my desk, the same as all of you do when you think I can’t see.” A metallic-sounding object scraped across the desktop, followed by an impulsively-large-sounding gulp.

“Your phone’s on your desk, sir,” said the business student.

His fingers now curled into your hair in a vain attempt to pull you away from his cock, but he couldn’t, with the scant room under the desk and bulk of his sleeping bag. Trying to be polite, you opted to avert your gaze from his crotch (even though it was right there), which shuddered so hard that you saw and felt it.

“It’s a common practise for pro-heroes to have secondary phones purely for work,” said Aizawa, taking another loud swallow of his drink. “You may want to invest in one.”

“Gotcha,” said the business student again, just as another shadow joined her at the desk and whispered for her to hurry up.

When they both retreated, Aizawa stealthily scooted back to gain some space in a move that looked like he was simply leaning back in his chair to drain the tea out of his cup—and you savoured the unshielded view of the tender skin of his neck, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed—and hey, that’s—Aizawa relaxed enough to glance down at you, elbow on the arm of the chair, holding in the air the teacup you gifted him to replace the one you broke (nowhere nearly as nice as the pottery one you smashed presumably was, but its deep crimson glaze had reminded you of his quirk-activated eyes).

You were strangely moved that he was using your gift so quickly after he received it, in public, and not where you were supposed to see it being used.

Your eyes darted between the cup and his eyes until he noticed, and he raised the teacup just a hair in a toast. Nodding with a tired smile, you wormed your arm around to unwind his hand from its grip in your hair, unintentionally still tight, and held his gaze as you kissed the pad of each finger, starting with his little finger, the pink flashing from each tip until you pressed your lips against his thumb.

Aizawa never looked away, but he narrowed his eyes and cocked his head. You wondered for a moment if he liked the thumbprint bisecting the centre of your lips, the rounded edge aligning with the dip in your cupid’s bow. But his expression betrayed nothing, and instead, he raised the teacup to his own mouth, his hand returning to your hair for the rest of the period.

After the last student had petered out of the classroom and Aizawa had given an uncharacteristic little wave as the last one close the door behind her, Aizawa held out a groan as he kicked away from the desk, his hands flying to adjust his lower jumpsuit and then raking his fingers back through his own hair.

“How are you holding up?”

You balked. “How am I?” You shoved at his knees so that you had room to stand, and you sat on the desk.

Aizawa pointedly nudged your legs together (you hadn’t even thought of it that way). “Nice pyjamas.”

“You’re lucky I don’t sleep naked,” you said, plucking at your shirt.

“Am I?”

Was that…was he flirting?

Your surprise must have shown on your face, because he continued. “You shouldn’t walk back to the dorms like that. I don’t have anything at the school besides a spare jumpsuit, but Hizashi should have his jacket draped on his chair in the faculty lounge.”

“How romantic,” you said, flicking the side of his teacup for the hell of it.

“I don’t have another class to sub until the period after this one,” he said, pocketing his phone and other personals on the desk before handing the teacup to you, “Let’s go.”

Present Mic was gloriously absent from the faculty lounge, so there was no one to stop Aizawa from laying his stuff on his desk and swiping the jacket off the back of Mic’s chair. You set the teacup on the cat coaster and had just barely turned his way before he was sweeping the open jacket around your shoulders. Aizawa lifted the leather while you slipped your arms inside, and he zipped you up, stopping the zipper just above the curve of your boobs. You looked down, and he flicked the zipper up at you with a smirk.

“Are we married yet?”

His hand dropped from your zipper. “I saw what you did with the registration form. You’re not funny.”

“I happen to be hilarious,” you said, “I assume to want to adjust the mark?”

Nodding, Aizawa waited for you to tilt your head up and to the side. “I am not marrying you. You’re my student.” He grazed the usual spot behind your ear with his ring finger.

“And someday I won’t be.” You shivered as the frisson of his touch rolled through you. “You’d rather have even more paperwork, bureaucratical hoops, and possibly a ceremony at a later, inevitable date than one simple checkmark on a sheet? Not very logical, sensei.”

He frowned. “Stop that.”

A beat. “No otherwise rebuttal?” you asked, grinning, “You agree, then, that we’re going to end up together? That we’ll be—”

“That’s not what I said.”

“Funny,” you said, biting the inside of your cheek, eyeing Snipe in the far corner of the room, “Then, hey. Compromise. What if we just hang out with no romantic or sexual connotations whatsoever? I wanna get to know you better. You’re cool.”

Aizawa crossed his arms and followed your gaze to Snipe, who was bent over in his seat, cleaning one of his guns. “Think about it. Would you trust a teacher who spends time outside of school with a student?”

“How’s the training with Shinsou going?”

“You are not funny.”

“And everybody knows you’re training Shinsou, and they’re fine with it. You could say you’re training me,” you said, stepping closer to him, looking him in the eyes despise his hunkering down into his scarf, “Please say you’re training me. I want to spend time with you. Hell, actually train me. You could make me strong enough that you don’t have to worry about me, or any bullshit. C’mon, Aizawa. Please.”

“That,” he said, “I can easily deny you. Now, get back to the dorms. I’d like to—”

“What? Why,” you said with a whine, “How can you say that so quickly? You didn’t even think about it.”

“Yeah?” Aizawa turned to his desk to boot up the computer. “It’s because you’re already strong enough to take care of yourself. I don’t have to worry about you in a fight,” he said, just barely crinkling his eyes, so you figured that he’s smiling beneath his capture weapon, “Keeping you from being a fool—now, that’s something I’ll have to watch for.”

You groaned. Loudly. And for way too long. “Whatever. May I sit on your lap while you grade?”

“No,” said Aizawa, not missing a beat, “Go back to the dorm.”

“You want me to check on Eri?”

“Sure. That’d be—really nice. Let me know—”

“Yeah?” Grinning, you bounced on the balls of your feet. “How am I supposed to do that? Sounds like I might need a certain phone number.”

Aizawa collapsed in his cracked, leather lounge chair and spun it towards his cubicle desk. “No need. If you don’t shift to me in the next half hour, I’ll assume everything’s fine.”

“Oh, come on. I feel like I deserve some sort of treat for not mentioning your half-chub while it was in my face earlier.”

Aizawa rubbed at his temple, his eyes strained. “I’m busy grading and don’t have time to talk.”

He was staring into a blank screen.

“Fine, you big baby. I’ll concede to you this time,” you said, and before you could lose your nerve, you leant over to kiss the top of his head.

You’d bolted for the door before he could even turn around.

***

It was supposed to be a routine field exercise.

The hero course had been split into teams, each under the leadership of a faculty member, for a field assessment as twenty percent of your grade for your final semester. As an extension of the personal study starting with the student presentations from earlier, you were in the group focusing on stealth headed by Aizawa, along with Bakugou, Aoyama, and Todoroki (who swopped into your group last minute, since Midnight declared that he needed to get away from her group working on public relations). Bummed that no other girls were in the group, you resolved to make it work by being better than the boys. Not to mention that the three included would, hopefully, be dense enough to miss the subtler interactions between Aizawa and you that betrayed something else going on.

The four of you were to know as little as possible about the assignment as possible before going in, so you all spent the week leading up to it making contingency plans (you’d been told not to go out otherwise that week, so Midnight had to do her own work, for once, at Sakura Grove), with maps of the city and subway splayed out on the floor in the common room, along with bowls of trail mix Bakugou had thrown together, claiming that Aoyama’s stuff was bullshit (though you had enjoyed it very much when you ate it in secret that morning). All you’d been told was that you’d be making an escort in secret, without the target even knowing you were there.

No contingency plan could account for this.

A thunderstorm popped up on the radar out of nowhere, delaying the plane’s arrival, and the airport radio signal had been scrambled, fed into a different language, and back again. If you’d been allowed more details during preparation, you’d have more of the story, but all you could piece together now was excruciatingly obvious: the airport’s east wing exploded and caved before the plane even hit it, and now you were trapped underground under wet, crumbly tonnes of rubble, confined to a pocket of space barely tall enough to stand in, with the only structure keeping half of an airport bathroom’s mirrored wall from collapsing and crushing you being the charred, lower third of a column from the airport courtyard.

“You can’t blow our way out,” you hissed at Bakugou, who was climbing his way up the column to prod at the ceiling, “The column’s load-bearing.”

“I know that,” Bakugou said, contorting his upper body and neck as he gawped with his mouth open at the debris above him, “I’m just seein’ if there’s any light from the surface comin’ through, or if there’s anywhere rainwater’s drippin’ in.”

Hunching with his upper back grazing the rubble ceiling at the tallest point in the collapsed space, Aizawa frantically fussed with his work phone (which he genuinely had, after all) and his radio, unable to get a signal. “Be careful with your movements,” he said, mind barely in the conversation, “You could make the debris slip, or it could get weighed down with rain and further collapse. At worst, you want it to settle. Aoyama, are you getting anything?”

Tapping the AI filter on his sparkle shades away, Aoyama tore his gaze away from his handheld device’s screen. “Alas,” he said with a quivering frown. His ankle was being wrapped by Todoroki, who had been careful to refill the place in the concrete where Aoyama’s foot had been with ice, keeping the space intact.

“It’s fine; you’re doing well. Keep an eye on the signal. We want to know if we get one.” Aizawa handed his phone to you, giving you a short nod and the same job. “Todoroki, keep that cavity frozen. Keep an eye out for similar spot about to collapse and do the same.”

“I’m assuming this isn’t part of the assignment, since you’re taking charge,” you said under your breath to Aizawa, your back to the others as you stooped to stand yourself, arms crossed, “What relevant information can you share about the assignment that might get us out of here? Who were we escorting? If we know who they have for allies, then we can start to understand how the signals are scrambled and how to walk out of this situation.”

Aizawa stuck his tongue in his cheek. “None of it’s relevant. Our target has been isolated for well over four years and was being processed by professionals. She wouldn’t have had any opportunity to sabotage this procedure; St. Philomena’s has kept our target from having untracked outside communication.”

An uneasy stone dropped into the pit of your stomach. “St. Philomena’s,” you said slowly, biting your lip, “That’s a women’s penitentiary.”

Aizawa opened his mouth to answer but instead inhaled a mouthful of dust as the earth shook and clattered around you. Bakugou braced the column while you and Aizawa kept the bathroom wall steady, but the mirror shattered and fell with the wall, with Todoroki grabbing you out of the way of the sink from crushing your legs, icing the concrete shards into a makeshift support for the column, enough for Bakugou to twist out from underneath it. You gasped in deep breaths of powdery concrete yet dug into wet clods of silt and grime with the heels of your boots.

The ceiling had caved in by about two feet in height, and if Aoyama hadn’t skibbled away from his spot in the corner, he’d be buried under glass and tile. You experimentally knelt and stretched towards the ceiling—good for you, for having some room to move upwards, but Aizawa could only sit, now. Every heaving breath from your friends was too close for your liking, and the stone fell from your stomach right into your gut when you noticed the steady trickle of water between the rocks and down the column, cutting a clear, ivory path through the grey dust coating it. Bakugou scooted out of the ways of its dripping, letting it instead drain in a puddle next to him.

You and Bakugou nearly jumped out of your skins at the skrrrt of Aizawa’s radio, but nothing came through except static.

“We’re okay,” said Aizawa, once Aoyama started to show signs of hyperventilation, “The static is a good sign. Even if we can’t communicate specifics, they have a location on us. They know we’re down here, and if it seems like they’re taking too long, remember that civilians are the priority. We’ll be all right.”

Claustrophobia.

Not your favourite.

But Aoyama was clearly having a worse time handling it, so it’s better to set an example for him—see how calm you are? See how much you’re not being selfish, curling into Aizawa’s arms for him to pet your hair until it’s over, keeping him all to yourself, even though it’d be really easy to pretend like it’s the size of the cavern instead of your own selfish desires that’s making you touch him. See how mature you’re being, not even touching Aizawa, even though he’s right next to you. You’re being rational about the whole thing.

Todoroki stared off, his bright eyes narrowed and brow furrowed, and he parted his lips, wetting them slightly before speaking. “You should move closer to Aoyama,” he said to Bakugou, “Someone’s hurt.”

“The hell d’you mean?” When Todoroki gestured, Bakugou followed his gaze.

The water’s white path through the dust congealed and blushed deep vermillion as it coursed down the column, falling in thick, steady plops next to Bakugou, the upsplash ticking his exposed skin with red.

“Holy shit.” Bakugou scrambled away the best he could, kicking away from the water and practically into your lap, but he shot you a sort-of apologetic look and shuffled into more of Todoroki’s personal space. “Do you think—it’s not blood,” he said, smearing it on his arm, still running a dark red even spread thinly.

Aoyama cringed. “It’s not going to—it won’t fill up the—”

“No,” Bakugou said quickly, “It’s drainin’ through the cracks. We’re fine, Aoyama.” Bakugou made a point of dragging his hard glare from Todoroki to you, as if to say that keeping Aoyama calm was essential to getting out.

You checked Aizawa’s phone again for any signal, and, sighing, you stowed it to keep from scratching the screen.

“Nothing?”

Shaking your head at Aizawa, you resisted the heavy urge to rest your forehead on his shoulder. You know what? Maybe you could. He’s right there, and if you did it in this situation, it could be read as a simply act of comfort that you could have easily shared with anyone, perhaps. The two of you could stare romantically into the dripping, red goop, talk about your lives together, about teaching your psychotic friends, about sidekicking at Sakura Grove—

“Hey, don’t touch that,” you said, jolting in your seat, to Todoroki, who stopped, wide-eyed, in his odd stretch over Bakugou’s lap before he could prod with his outstretched finger the congealed mass accumulating in the puddle, “I think I know what that is.”

Beside you, Aizawa sucked in through his teeth. “Just once, I wish your deduction skills weren’t so good.”

Without averting your gaze, you moved to elbow him in the chest, hard, but he caught your arm and held it deathly still: he only touched you by your sleeve, though, so no soulmark would bleed through. Odds were that the mark was still furtively hidden behind your ear. Frowning, you tried to wrest your arm away from him, eyes on the falling droplet heavy enough to break the surface tension of the gathered, congealed mass, making the whole thing burst upwards in a dense, ruby smoke.

“Get down, as close to the ground as you can,” you said in a rush, cut off when Aizawa shoved your head to the ground with his hand on the back of your neck, his face inches from yours and only moving closer as he made room for the others to join you, cheek smushed against a patch of intact bathroom tile.

“It’s aerosolising,” said Aizawa, eyes darting over the ceiling, where the mist was rising through cracks in the rubble, “Follow where it’s escaping; we might be able to use—”

“No, you fucker,” you hissed (Aizawa squeezed the back of your neck), “Not all of it’s going to escape. It’s going to condense into liquid again on any surface that blocks it and then drop back on us.”

“Someone tell me what the hell is going on,” spat Bakugou, voice muffled from behind you but strangely reverberating back through the curved metal of Aoyama’s armour.

“We’re only going to be safe on the ground if it doesn’t condense, which is un-fucking-likely the way the thunderstorm’s moistened and lowered atmospheric pressure,” you said, the sound of water rinsing through crannies in the rocks growing from the far side of the cavern, “Aoyama, try to breath evenly but shallowly; you don’t wanna inhale this.”

The knuckles of Bakugou’s heavy glove struck the centre of your upper back. “Dumbass. Just tell him to hyperventilate, why don’t you?”

A drop of red water fell onto Todoroki’s pale cheek, sizzling with the impact as it was absorbed into his skin, a miniature puff of smoke emitting from the spot.

After a moment of heavy silence, Aizawa shifted his jaw, his eyes dark as they focused on you. “Academic protocols are over. Time to share what you know about Serendipity’s quirk.”

You dropped your jaw, even with the grit digging into your skin and jaw. “Who’s the insane person who assigned a bunch of students to escort fucking Serendipity—”

“I am,” said Aizawa, grip on your neck tightening and eyes flaring scarlet so briefly that you would’ve missed it if you hadn’t been inches away, “Considering your high level of academic success, I thought you capable enough to complete a more difficult mission than your—”

“Someone just fuckin’ say what her quirk does!” Bakugou’s hand curled into a fist with the fabric of your hero costume taut between its fingers, his fist lay, overheated, between your shoulder blades.

You jerked your shoulder away from him, but there wasn’t any room to go, so his hand stayed on your back, putting distance between the two of you, though his knees and hips still touched the back of yours. “Okay,” you said after settling, glaring directly into Aizawa’s eyes, “Serendipity is the third most dangerous villain in the western hemisphere, evidently being transferred today to the place Midnight and I work, because fucking no one else wants to handle her. C’mon, Aizawa, is that why I wasn’t allowed at work for the past week? So I wouldn’t know? Fucking—” You tried to give a half-hearted kick to Aizawa, but his thumb curled enough around your neck to locate your pulse point, which he pressed down on in warning. “But yeah, her quirk is so volatile and dangerous because—because yes, it’s a sex pollen quirk, but it’s fast, and you can’t solve it by touching yourself, like other sex quirks we’ve seen used for villainy; you have to orgasm at someone else’s hands. And no one can figure out why your internal organs shrivel and die within four hours—”

You inhaled sharply through your teeth as two droplets sizzled into your skin in quick succession, but the squeeze on your neck told you to continue. “Or the brain damage, or—because her quirk’s been studied, but no one can tell if it requires the feed of dopamine to the body, or not getting enough oxygenated blood cells, or capillary damage, or—” Bakugou thumped your back again. “—but no one is immune to it, and it’s fucking terrifying,” you finished, scrunching your eyes shut at the sensation of more droplets searing into your skin and into those around you, each person inhaling more with each individual puff of smoke from the viscous drops.

Tongue too big for your mouth, you trailed off, eyesight blurring as you zoned out for a just a bit, but you lurched back into reality when a hot ache stung the back of your neck and swept through your body. Aizawa retracted his hand faster than a viper striking, his eyes briefly holding the same dread yours did.

Shaken, you pushed yourself up to sit, and to your horror, an enormous gush of arousal pooled between your legs—you snapped your legs shut at the sight of the wet spot on your hero costume (and worse, the dribbling into the gravel), and Aizawa saw, holding a steady, neutral expression despite your visible panic.

“Fuck, baby—”

It hadn’t come from Aizawa but Bakugou, whose hips you’d inadvertently ground against when you sat up. His large hand came to grip your waist, fingers digging in and pulling your ass back against him, and his other hand clamped over his nose and mouth as he pushed himself up. “I’ve always known you smelled good, but this is somethin’ else—”

“Absolutely not.” Aizawa yoinked you away from Bakugou and put himself between the you and the rest, cramping you into the corner with pointed rocks digging into your back, and he held up his hand, Bakugou glaring a hole into his palm, vermillion streaking down his face. “You’re drugged. She’s drugged. Even if you both say you want it, it’s not a reflection of reality.”

Bakugou clicked his tongue, but Todoroki tilted to the side to keep his tense gaze on you.

“No,” said Aizawa, using the scant room and the end of his capture weapon to snap in Todoroki’s face, “You’d be ruining the professional relationship you have. You’d be violating her. There’s no way she’d actually want you.”

Bakugou scoffed over Todoroki’s quiet how do you know that, already palming himself through his costume. “I’d rather risk it all blasting out of here than suck Icy-Hot’s dick.” His other hand crackled with the beginnings of an explosion.

“You can’t,” you said with effort, mouth and throat coated with dust as heat rose to your skin, sweat breaking out at your hairline, “If you’re not a heteromorph, Serendipity’s quirk suppresses yours. It—it overwhelms your entire system—”

“You couldn’t mention that before I got hard?” Bakugou scowled, thumb playing with his belt buckle in consideration. “I would’ve blasted us out of here earlier.”

Aizawa shook his head. “It wouldn’t’ve worked—”

Todoroki made a sort of horting noise in the back of his throat, drawing everyone’s attention, before hacking a thick glob of red mucus right onto a spot of white bathroom tile, large trails of saliva trailing from his mouth.

“Holy shit,” you said softly, your eyebrows shooting up, and Aizawa held you back before you could even move.

“Mon Dieu,” said Aoyama, and he removed his sparkle shades to see it without a red filter.

Aizawa’s radio crackled static again, but nobody moved a muscle.

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” said Aizawa, his hand still up but hardly deterring an increasingly twitchy Bakugou, who kept staring at you over Aizawa’s shoulder, “Aoyama, you’re probably going to hurt yourself and others if you stay in your armour. If you think you can handle being more vulnerable, take it off. Prop it up between the three of you and us.” The radio hissed again. “We’re going to camp out here until help arrives. Waiting is the heroic path to take sometimes,” he said in Bakugou’s direction, “If you find yourself succumbing to the quirk, that’s okay. It’s not shameful. No one is immune to it. If you can work it out among yourselves, that’s fine. No one here is going to share any details you don’t want out.” But here his voice darkened, and though you couldn’t see his face, you knew Aizawa was shooting a hard, unmerciful look towards them. “But you’re not going to hurt anyone here, and you’re especially not going to take advantage of her because she’s the only woman. To get her, you’ll have to go through me, and I do not intend to be kind.”

“Fucking hell,” said Bakugou, unbuckling his belt and sliding it off.

You were feeling a similar way, but Aizawa had you so backed into the corner that there wasn’t room to take anything off. So, instead of tearing off the increasingly abrasive and scratchy fabric of your hero uniform, you hugged your knees to your chest, thighs clenching, and bit down on your arm to keep from crying out. A choked sound still escaped you as a leather strap on your upper thigh rubbed closer to a more sensitive spot.

You couldn’t even lift a hand to fan your face—but with how heavy your limbs felt, even the promise of cool air couldn’t bring you to attempt it, and instead, you tried to find relief in the cold press of busted bathroom tile at the back of your neck—and you turned your head to feel it against your cheek, too.

Your hips rocked, knocking your legs against Aizawa’s back, and when he turned over his shoulder to spare you a glance, you jolted as far back as you could away from him. Not that you could go anyway but barely half an inch backwards. “Sorry,” you said quickly, shaking your head, “Didn’t mean to. Really. I—” Your heart flipped at his concerned face (himself looking a little red), and a sharp cramp curdled into your lower stomach. “Oh, fuck,” you said, a hand shooting to your stomach and doubling over—but your forehead grazed him before you could, and you let out a quiet yelp before jerking back into place, tears welling at the pain. “Sorry about that.”

Aizawa grimaced at your weak smile and turned back towards the others. You hadn’t even heard what they’re doing, since the blood pumping in your ears apparently deafened you to anything besides your own half-smothered sobs into your arm. 

They were growing louder at their frustration, but they were, for the most part, not directing any of it at you. Hey, is—? Over Aoyama’s armour-wall, it looked like Bakugou might have gotten his cock out to start stroking it; maybe you could get a better look—

“Hey,” said Aizawa, blocking your view when he turned over his shoulder, “Stop all that squirming.” Were you? You hadn’t even noticed. “Remember what I’ve taught you. I know you can do better.”

“Oh, don’t say professor-y things like that,” you said with a whine while, yes, squirming in place, “It goes straight to my cunt.”

 Aizawa closed his eyes for a moment, but he soon opened them and continued, unaffected. “Focus. I’m holding you to a higher calibre than your peers, because I know you can do it. What have you been taught about remaining calm in crisis? Ground yourself.”

“But I—”

“Do it.”

You huffed and tried to settle down into your body, counted, and exhaled slowly as you shut your eyes, waiting for your other sense to sharpen. Body scan—focusing on flowing energy, starting at your head, down to your toes, and back up again. But you had trouble on the return to the top of your head, since every cell in your body screamed to zoom in on the throbbing in your lower half—hard to say what’s tremoring more: you, or the walls of the cavern.

But there’s an infinitesimal sound that drowns every other maddening, oversensitive sensation: from the back of Aizawa’s throat comes a quiet, breathy whimper.

And—

“Oh, my fucking God,” you said, noticing all of the surreptitious ways Aizawa was trying to hide how affected he was: his hand clasped in a knuckle-whitening fist covering his lap, eyes watering with frustration, jaw tensed, neck and hand veins pulsating, sweating through his undershirt, and you?

Wetting your lips, you strained forward to brush his hair aside to kiss the back of his neck, and Aizawa fucking shuddered, the thing passing through his whole body. Though it hadn’t been your intention, your legs spread as you did so, parting on either side of him, and his hair flew into your face as he took in your legs surrounding him.

“Hey, no,” he said, and he pushed back on your legs, willing you to scrunch up to hug them to your chest again.

“I’m not doing anything—”

“You fucking are,” Aizawa hissed over his shoulder, “You’re being a goddamn brat.”

That shut you up immediately. Feeling slick drip out of you, you curled in on yourself, tucking your legs up to your chest like he wanted.

“That’s what I thought.” He turned back to keep guard.

His shoulders seemed wider than before.

 Maybe it’s the heady, prickling excitement swarming in your chest at the unspoken threat of a punishment turned sexual, or maybe it’s the incoming brain damage, but you rounded up every nerve not currently on fire to keep pushing your luck. “Aizawa,” you said, soft enough for only him to hear over the squelching from the far side of the cavern, “If we were alone right now, what would you do to me?”

He didn’t respond.

An easy grin stretched across your face.

“Because I know there’s got to be stuff you wanna do to me, not with me, for how I behave sometimes. But I only want your attention,” you said, feeling a bit dizzy as heat flushed all over your feverish skin, “I know you can’t give it to me, because you wanna be all noble and stuff, but—”

Another cramp had you gasping and hacking up red-tinged spit. Aizawa started to turn his head, but you told him, totally deflated, “Don’t bother. I’m sorry—” You coughed up more red mucus. “I know I’m gross; I know you can’t look at me that way; I’m sorry I’ve been—I’m sorry.”

How can he be so calm? It’s not fucking fair that he can just sit there, cross-legged and sweating, with the scent of sex permeating the smoke-hazy air, and yes, he’s hard, but that’s just the stupid fucking quirk.

You’re dripping and clenching but still so, so empty, and the tears finally overflowed as Aizawa looked over his shoulder at you again. “I’m sorry,” you said again, eyes glazing over and breathing irregularly (for all the talk about Aoyama hyperventilating, you might be the one to actually do it). “I’ll—I’ll stop bothering you; I can handle this. I’ll, uh—” You cut yourself off at another cramp, seizing up at a stray spasm, releasing your hold on your legs and yanking at the roots of your hair. “Don’t worry about me; I’ll get—get Shinsou to make me come—sorry I tried to—I’m sorry; I should’ve left you alone—”

“Stop apologising.” Aizawa twisted to brush away your tears with his thumb, the skin that vibrant pink when he pulled away. “Christ, you’re burning up.” He hand returned to your face, this time against your forehead, and he frowned—yeah, he was frowning before you were pathetically raising yourself off the ground to nuzzle into his hand, to mouth voraciously at his palm, which flushed pink with every pass of your lips, and—

“Fuck,” said Aizawa, withdrawing his hand to press the heels of his palms into his eyes. You made a questioning noise, and to answer, he let his gaze drop to where the soaked patch between your legs dribbled into the rubble. He dragged his hands down the rest of his face. “You’re drenched,” he said, rasping.

A vehement moan from the other side of the space made both of you flinch, with Aizawa making a quick check to ensure their attention wasn’t on you.

You grabbed his capture weapon, pulling him close. “Please,” you said, panting, “Please, ‘Zawa, I’m not as capable as you think I am; I’m not good; I can’t take it. Please—”

His teeth dug into his lower lip as a grumbled scoff came from the back of this throat, and he shook his head. “God, not like this. It’s not supposed to be like this.”

Another loud moan and the sounds of skin on skin from the others brought another wince from the two of you, and Aizawa squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them, he’d steeled himself, determined and set. “I can’t have you corrupting my protégé,” he said (it was a joke, right? Why isn’t he smiling?), “but I can’t offer you anything more.”

“Wha—?”

Aizawa was nudging your knees open, his eyebrows raised, and when he turned to face the others, he scooted backwards to sit between your spread legs, pinning you between the rock and his back, crowding you in, and oh, oh, my God, you should’ve been embarrassed at how wet the back of his jumpsuit got as he pushed himself back to sit right in front of your crotch, but the first, pulsing wave of relief as your clit rubbed against him washed everything else away.

Did this count? Did this count as coming at someone else’s hands? You found the problem less compelling the more you thrashed against him, grinding your clit against his back so hard that your vision blacked out at the edges, breathing in that terribly awful frustrating sexy combination of pine and sandalwood, desperately huffing it in in gasping breaths and curling your fingers into the back of his jumpsuit to bring him closer: you needed to kiss the back of his neck again, to see that pink mark on his skin.

But it’s as if he knew what you were going to do, because instead of letting you pull his hair aside, he reached back to grab your hand, and he (mercifully) allowed the grab to relax into a hold, letting you lace your fingers through his as he guided your arm around his waist (an evil part of you was disappointed that he didn’t place your hand over his cock, instead of resting your entwined hands on his leg [cute]).

And you were quiet: you didn’t moan, so the others wouldn’t know, unless they could somehow make out your laboured breathing behind the hand you cupped over your mouth. You’re grappling for pressure against your clit, but it’s your shiver when he stroked the back of your hand with his thumb that triggered your orgasm—pounding, rushing, and all at once, the throbbing of your clit taking you somewhere distant and piney, with you slowly coming back to reality by an abrupt pulsing, for some reason, in the roof of your mouth.

And the quirk had passed through you.

It counted.

But it kept you bound in a tired haze, sultry and lethargic and red, and lost in the lingering high of both the scarlet saliva you kept hacking up and that Aizawa let you grind against him until you came, you closed in on yourself and did your best to stay awake. Your brain tried to worry about Aizawa, but the quirk shushed you and forced you into a cloudy exhaustion.

You were out of it when Aizawa’s radio crackled to life, when the rescue unit exhumed your team, when the EMT on duty looked you over. You were still foggy when you were put in a passenger seat of a government vehicle, but the fog dissipated when Aizawa climbed in the driver’s seat and told you to call Midnight.

“I don’t know the number for Sakura Grove,” he said, turning on the windshield wipers, “and I need to warn Midnight that I’m asking her to help me with this quirk.”

Thunder rumbled through the sky and into your bones as he turned into downtown traffic, headlights blurring in the rain. Blankly, you wrestled his phone out of your pocket and began to dial her work number. “Okay, traitor.”

Aizawa’s expression darkened, his face glistening with sweat. “You know that I can’t—”

“So I can’t do the same for you?” you asked, putting his phone on speaker and letting it ring (cranking up the volume to hear it over the rain pelting the windows), “I can’t just, like, hold out my hand for you to grind against, or, God forbid, give you an actual fucking handjob—”

“Stop it,” he said, and he snatched his phone from you, switching off speaker, and you crossed your arms to fume, staring out into the miserably grey morning.

You smushed your forehead against the cool of the window, watching the raindrops chase each other down the glass, and you tried to focus on car horns blaring instead of the conversation regarding Aizawa’s sexual release that he and Midnight were currently having.

When he hung up, you sat up from your slouch against the window. “Is that all you need me for, then? You’ve got the number. You might as well drop me off at the next light.”

Aizawa swore under his breath. “Stop being such a—” He cut himself off, his leg not working the pedals bouncing profusely. “I still need you to enter Sakura Grove.”

That was true. You had three number-codes to punch in for clearance, and there was a thumbprint scan at the building in which you and Midnight worked. Still, you scoffed. “Just get Nemuri to let you in. You evidently don’t need me.”

The hand on the steering wheel tensed, veins pulsing. “First name basis?”

“Some professors like me.”

“Forget I said anything,” he grumbled, and when you turned to the window again, he mashed on the car radio, volume loud over the rain.

After a babble of a drum solo and what sounded like shouting in English, you were able to translate the song in your head by the time it hit the chorus:

“Got it bad, so bad, I’m hot for teacher.”

Aizawa stared, baffled, at the radio instead of the road as the guitar picked up, and he changed stations.

Again, in English, but with a hypnotically alt-relaxed beat: “Can’t tell my friends, ‘cause they will laugh; I love a member of the staff.”

You sneaked a glance at the driver’s seat, where Aizawa was fighting traffic, his erection, and his incredulity at what he was hearing.

“I fight my way to the front of class to get the best view of her—”

Aizawa changed stations before the singer could finish the couplet, and he sank into his seat at the safe sounds of synth and guitar, but you sat up straight, eyes wide and biting back a laugh, because you knew what the fuck was coming:

“Don’t stand—don’t stand so, don’t stand so close to me—”

Aizawa smashed the radio’s off button, seething. He ran his fingers back through his hair, and after a deep breath, he opened his mouth. “What’d you do,” he asked flatly.

“Me?” you said, pointing at yourself, doing your fucking best not to smile, “What makes you think I’ve done something?”

Aizawa was panting. Chest heaving. Sweat visibly dripping down his face. Free hand darting between a superfluous position on the wheel, resting on the car door, and bunching up his jumpsuit to hide his erection, which only drew attention to it. “You didn’t—you and Nemuri didn’t orchestrate all this, did you?” he asked, teeming with nervous energy, “It’s a little—it’s a little too perfect for you, to get to see me dishevelled and desperate, to nearly get me to cave into what you want.”

Several feelings flooded you at once: revulsion at the suggestion you made a criminal use her quirk on you, anger that he’d even consider it to be in your character when he’s known you for years (and more anger that he thought you would want to lose your virginity with three other guys in the room), a wretched, clawing desperation to prove him wrong and beg for forgiveness—and a creeping disgust and shame towards yourself, for having been so vulnerable in his presence when he didn’t want it or you.

Time to shut down. “C’mon, Aizawa. That’s not very logical in the grand scheme of things,” you said, scathingly using his favourite word, propping your chin on your fist, and leaning against the window again, “And if I did, I sure as hell wouldn’t let it end with my fucking soulmate going to someone else to make him come, especially when I was similarly helpless.”

“I wouldn’t put it past you—”

“Thanks for your vote of confidence,” you said bitterly, “but I wouldn’t do that. To you or to me. I don’t do things that would humiliate or hurt you.” You scooted closer towards the car window, away from him and his stupid pine aftershave. “I guess I’m a brat, yeah, but I’m not mean.”

To have something to do instead of talk to him, you exhumed the car manual from the glove compartment and started to read it, and you read that dull fucking piece of crap until you were forced to punch in your clearance codes for Sakura Grove.

As soon as he was inside the main building and out of sight, you slammed the manual and the glove compartment shut, and you screamed. No one would’ve heard you over the thunderstorm, anyway. Comforting that the weather was as angry as you.

You unbuckled and cosied up in your seat, glaring at the curtain of mist blowing rain horizontal outside. Lightning illuminated a worker rushing from one building to another, and she had to double back to get her ballet flat, hopping slightly to put it back on.

You don’t have another work shift until Monday, but you kind of wanted to clock in, anyway. It’d be satisfying to bitch about the whole thing with Ito. She’d tear into Aizawa. He deserves it.

Slunking down into your seat, you were struck with new terror: what if Aizawa were right? What if you did, inadvertently, plan this out, by inhaling Ito’s quirk dust a second time? Sex pollen was…sex pollen was a trope. A pretty fucking common one.

Oh, my God.

You clamped a hand over your mouth and tried to work out the logistics. Serendipity was already scheduled to arrive in Japan regardless of you inhaling the dust again, and—fuck fuck fuck. You didn’t like this.

You swallowed thickly, turning it all over in your head, and as the variables overlapped and blurred in your mind, you started to cry.

“Goddammit,” you said aloud, sitting up and dabbing at your face with your sleeve. You’ve already cried a lot today, and it’s not even noon. You’re taking a nap when you get back to campus.

You know who else likes naps?

You fucking sobbed harder, even though you were laughing a bit, too. You decided that you were too worn out to make any sound judgments. Go to sleep once you get back, and think about it when you wake up.

You sniffed and looked towards the door to the main building. God, he’s taking a long time. You’d figure that he’d edged himself to oblivion and back during the car ride, but no—

The next instant, you tensed up, frazzled, because a half-dressed Aizawa’s straddling you, hips jerking, driving into your own and biting into his fist as he came on your shirt, cum spurting all the way up to your boobs.

The groan he released once the spill of his cum slowed to a slight dribble nearly wrecked your ears and stopped your breath. You’re hastily, desperately drinking up details, eyes flicking over them rapidly in case they’re snatched away before you could notice: the weeping, pink tip of his cock, the only part of his dick peeking out of his jumpsuit’s lower half—the trail of dark hair leading up to it from his naval, framed by an infuriating v on his lithely muscled abdomen—all of his exposed, corded muscles of his chest, tendons visibly stretching and contracting in his forearms—and when he wiped that final drop of cum off his cock, it was with the thumb stained with soulmark pink.

Of course, for how much relaxation coursed through his body, it all fled him the second he finally opened his eyes.

You expected that he’d scramble to cover himself up and off of you, but once that initial panic faded, all he was left with was resignation. He yanked up the elastic of his boxer-briefs to hide his cock, and, sighing, he said, “Please. Please don’t say anything. I can’t handle it right now.”

You nodded. His eyes travelled over your face, his expression cracking. “You’re crying,” he said, voice breaking.

“Not because of you,” you said, wiping at your tears, “It’s something I did.”

He wiped away the tear stains on your other cheek. “Let’s find something to clean you up.”

While he twisted to fossick through the console for tissues, you swiped two fingers through the stuff on your shirt. So, this was a man’s cum. Weird. Thick. (You’ve seen some before; you’re not an idiot, but this was your first time, uh, experiencing it. Honestly, it reminded you a bit of the congealed quirk stuff earlier.) You rubbed it between your fingers.

“Oh, what are you doing—no, stop that,” said Aizawa softly, swatting your hand away from your cum-stained shirt. When you eyed the bit on your fingers, Aizawa sighed again. “Don’t taste it.”

He took your hand and wiped it clean, pink ink seeping across skin with every brief touch. He gave you a tissue from the pack he found for your tears, and he used the rest to wipe off your shirt.

“Doesn’t look like there’s anything else for you to wear,” he said, checking the backseat.

“It’s okay,” you said, balling up the tissues and putting them in the centre console, “We’re going straight back to campus. I’ll just shower and go to bed.”

“Sounds like a plan,” said Aizawa, and he lifted himself from your lap and moved to cross to the driver’s seat.

You grabbed his arm to stop him. “You should, too. Don’t run yourself dry.”

Aizawa froze, considering, and then he nodded, slowly sinking back onto your lap.

He braced his hands on his thighs. “I’ve been cruel to you.”

Too exhausted to argue, you shrugged. “You have your reasons.”

“I shouldn’t be so cold to you, though. It’s been wearing away at my conscience,” he said, patting his pockets on his thighs and moving down to his calves. When he didn’t find what he was looking for, he said, “Give me your phone. You deserve my number, at least.”

You pulled yours out and opened a new contact before handing it over. “You’re sure you’re comfortable with that?”

“Yeah,” said Aizawa, tapping the screen, “So long as it doesn’t…lead to anything out of bounds. And…maybe you can stick around for a while next time you shift in your sleep.” He shot you a smirk as he returned your phone.

The contact name simply read Shouta. No surname or honorifics. Just Shouta.

Heat rose to your face, but it was much pleasanter than when it had earlier that day.

“Are you good to drive back to campus?”

Tilting your head, you pocketed your phone again. “Yeah, I’m up for it.”

“Good,” he said, climbing off of your lap and into the backseat, “I’m going the fuck to sleep.”

soulmate trope taglist: @bakugouspsycho, @pansexualproblemchild, @doonaandpjs, @sunsetevergreen, @the-coffee-is-on-fire, @liberace2, @ladymidnight77, @nonomesupposedto, @gooooomz, @kissmebakugou, @pachiibatt, @celestair

#bnha #aizawa shouta #aizawa x reader #aizawa/reader #aizawa imagine #aizawa fic #mha #aizawa headcanons #aizawa fanfiction #aizawa fanfic #aizawa shouta x reader #soulmates #soulmate #soulmate au #dash it all

[joviepog]

Oh god this might become an issue. I’m in my hunger games phase and I’ve reread all the books and rewatched like, all the movies. So now I’m head over heels for young!coriolanus. Lmao enjoy my first BOSAS fic!

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Weakness

Warnings: Mention of killing, cursing, suggestive if you squint really hard, kissing (if I missed anything let me know!)

Who: Young! Coriolanus x reader

Pronouns: She / her

Word count: 1,122 words

Tag list: @phxntomsdusk @haunted-headset @ax-y10 @radio-to-trenchcoat-demons (ask to be added)

Main plot: Corio realizes he finally has a weakness after so long, you.

This story is NOT proofread!

Reblogs and comments are always appreciated <3

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Snow is used to being the most powerful in the room. He’s used to having control. He likes having control. In all his years he had never had power until now. So when he finds out he finally has a weakness after so many years, he almost panics. Almost.

Corio would only have one weakness. Your smile. And at first, he didnt pay it any mind.

He didnt pay it any mind when you were just an option. He didnt care at all when all he cared about was if you were dutiful enough to be the first lady of Panem.

But now?

God he hated himself for not paying it any mind beforehand. Because now that you sit here, next to him in a counsel meeting, he regrets ever picking you to be his wife. The way you smile sends his heart aflame. The way your eyes close and your head tilts when you smile makes his breath hitch ever so slightly. You were like the sun in a room filled with cold hearted people. Your dress only brought out your smile more and he hated the people that let you wear such a beautiful outfit.

For so long he tried to avoid seeing you. It was more because he saw no point in seeing you. The only reason he married you was for the money and for the eyes of the people. Not for love, not for romance, and definitely not for his own selfish desires. And at first it stayed that way. He feared that the more he saw your beautiful smile, the more in danger he would become. He only saw you during important counsel meetings that you had to attend to.

At first, he was going to “get rid of you” because of his new found weakness. He was going to blame it on “natural causes” and hope he could find another wife. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He told himself that it was “just in the meantime” so that he could have time to find a new wife. But suddenly he started looking forward to those counsel meetings. And suddenly he started to see you in the hallways, or the library, or even the garden.

Totally not because he had memorized your entire schedule.

He hated how fucking weak you made him feel. He wanted to figure out why. Why had you made his heart skip a beat ever time you spoke? Why had you made him choke on his own drink when you would simply look at him with a warmhearted smile? Why was it that you had him following you like a lovesick puppy around the mansion?

Why. Why. Why

To find his answers, he started to speak to you. Only to find answers of course. When he would see you in the library he would make smalltalk. He started to dine with you instead of eating in his office. He started to walk you to your chambers to make sure you got there safe. He even walked with you in the garden on a daily just to see y- to get answers.

He wrote all his feelings down one day. Just like a child would write in a diary. And he hated it. So he burned it and made sure there was o evidence of his lovesick words. He would toss and turn every night, thinking about you, wondering why the hell he felt the way he did. He would daydream everyday at work when you weren’t there, imagining you smiling in front of him. And when you were there he couldn’t take his eyes off you.

Why were you so kind? Why did you smile at him every day? Why did you bring him his favorite food twice a week to his office?Why did he feel so helpless around you?

Why. Why. Why.

He asked himself this for a whole year. He soon began to get eye bags from not sleeping enough at night due to his tossing and turning. (He had to cover them up with makeup for public appearances) He soon became fond of your walks in the garden. (Sometimes holding your hand and adding more of the flowers you liked) He soon bought you new bookmarks with different colored roses for your books. (One almost every week) He soon began to pop into your office with your favorite food twice a week just to see your smile. (Just like you had done)

He was completely clueless to his own feeling. His thought process was that it was “For you not to feel uncomfortable.” It wasn’t until one day he overheard of the maids talking about how happy he had seemed since you came that something had clicked. Every time he was with you a slime crawled on his face. Every time he looked at you his gaze softened. Hell, every time he heard your name he would instantly cheer up!

“Shit.” He grumbled as he turned around and went to find you.

‘One last test.’ He thought. ‘One last test to see if i really do love her.’

So, he barged into the library. He saw you sitting by a large window, face hidden in a book and the sunlight hitting you softly. You looked like a goddess. You perked up when you saw him, a smile appearing on your face. That damn smile was going to be the end of him. “Coriolanus! I thought you had just left for a meeting-“ You were quickly stopped when he moved the book from your hands and kissed you.

It was an angry kiss -sure- but a passionate one at that. It took you a second to process what was happening before you kissed back. He put his hand on your cheeks as he bent down to kiss you on your chair. You could only put your hands on his chest to steady yourself. After a few moments, he pulled away and put his head on yours. You both gasped for air softly and his lips were only a few centimeters away. He looked down to your lips and you blushed. “Coriolanus? What was that fo-“

“It’s Corio for you. Corio.” He interrupts. You smile, that damn smile that captivated him a year ago. “Okay then Corio. What was that for?” He pulls away and smiles at you before turning away, “Just double checking something.” He then walks away and leaves you dumbfounded on the chair. And as he walks through the long hallway of his mansion, he tastes the strawberry chapstick that you had on his lips. He smiles as he walks to his meeting. What was he going to do with you? His only weakness.

If you do want to be added on my tag list pls let me know! If you want to be taken off, private message me :)

#hunger games x reader #hunger games x yn #bosas x reader #bosas x yn #ballad of songbirds and snakes #ballad of songbirds and snakes x reader #ballad of songbirds and snakes x yn #young!coriolanus snow x reader #young!coriolanus snow x yn #young!coriolanus snow #hunger games #bosas #coriolanus x y/n #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow #corio snow #Coriolanus

[cassiefromhell]

Unexpected (pt. 2)

Part One Edit: Part Three

Fanbase: acotar

Eris x Reader x Azriel

Summary: Reeling from the shock of discovering you have another mate, you realize that you need to tell Eris about your predicament.

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: suggestive

A/N: Requests are OPEN! Check my pinned message for details on what I'll write <3

I stare for a long, hard moment at this winged male.

He takes a step forward.

I take a step back, slipping my hand to my side, where a slim dagger is hidden under the flowing fabric of my skirt.

“This must be strange for you,” he murmurs, raising his hands slowly. “I know that you’re mated to Eris, but the moment you walked in, I could feel—”

I bare my teeth at him, fingertips grasping the handle of my knife. “Who knows?” Instinct has a snarl building in my throat. I’be worked my entire life to have a pretty, elegant, no-hitches mating ceremony, and this… odd… occurrence will not get in my way.

Hurt crosses his pretty face. “What do you mean who knows?”

“He must know,” I hiss, pointing to the first male—Cassian. Which means this one is… “Azriel. Who else have you told?”

“No one.”

“Good,” I release my knife, turning on my heel and working my way through the crowd. “Tell no more, and no one gets hurt.”

And I mean it. I’m a trained assassin. 

They let me leave without much struggle, but I am well aware of the shadows that are pooled at my feet, stalking my movements. The dancers let me pass easily, simply whirling and twirling out of my way.

I reach the doors in record time, grabbing a croissant to shove in my mouth on the way out. With a point of my index finger, the candle next to Eris’s throne on the dais lights up — our signal that something is wrong.

I stride out of the ballroom, heading straight for our bedroom. I only make it halfway there before I find myself in a storage closet, on my knees, unable to breathe. The shadows stopped following me just outside the door, and I can see where they block the light filtering in through the gap between the floor and the door.

Resting my forehead on the ground, I try to catch my breath and process what is happening. 

I start by listing what I know:

Eris is my mate.

I love Eris.

I am going to officially accept Eris as my mate tomorrow at 11a.m. during a brunch time mating ceremony.

There’s another male, an Illyrian, who is also my mate.

I think.

Shit.

A soft tug comes from the half-formed mating bond, snapping me out of my haze.

The only problem? I’m not sure which bond is being pulled.

My problem is solved quickly, however, as Eris’s soft voice cuts into my consciousness from the loose thread connecting us. 

Love? Are you alright? I see the candle, and I can’t find you.

I sit up straight, leaning against a wall. I left. I’m in some closet down the hall.

I’m on my way. What happened?

I bite my lip, suddenly realizing that I’ll need to inform Eris of this…mishap. 

I’ll explain when you get here. I really, really love you, you know.

He sends a feeling of pure, undeniable love down the bond. It means more than words.

Not even forty seconds later, the door is opened, and my ginger lover is striding to my side. 

“That was fast,” I murmur, leaning into him when he pulls me to his chest. “Like, really fast. How did you find me that quickly?”

“It’s the strangest thing,” he folds me into his lap, taking my place against the wall. “Azriel’s shadows followed you.”

My head snaps up at the name. “You know him?”

He nods. “We’ve collaborated on multiple things — the Hybern War and the human queen situation, to name a few.”

I remember him telling me about those stories. About the spy that he didn’t particularly like, and his companion, which he liked less. 

I burst into tears.

He sighs softly. “Little flame, what has you so upset?” He tucks my head against his shoulder, stroking my hair and lower back. His heart begins to pound, and he must be plotting how to brutally murder whoever’s caused this under his soft exterior.

“You’re going to hate me, Eris,” I sob, reaching up to knot my fingers in his hair. “Really, truly, hate me.”

“I could never, my love,” he coos, pulling me closer. “Now, what’s happened?”

“Something awful.”

“Did you… cheat on me?”

“What?” I burst, leaning back. I shift to be straddling his lap, hands on his shoulders. “I could never!”

“Then I don’t hate you,” his index finger reaches up to stroke my tears away.

“You might take that back,” I sniff.

Eris huffs a sharp breath, and places both hands on my hips. “Okay. My love, you need to tell me. I promise to not be angry.”

“You promise.”

“Of course. Pinky promise,” he offers a pinky, hand still at my hip.

I lock our fingers together, and blow out a long breath. “Okay, so, uhm… there’s a reason Azriel’s shadows are following me. I saw him for the first time at the party tonight. And it just… clicked. Eris, he’s my mate, too.”

He stills. Completely, and utterly still under me. 

An eternity passes. And then another. I’m certain that with every long minute of silence that passes, he’s adding to a plan to publicly execute me.

At least a bajillion years have flown by when he finally speaks up. “…The mother has a cruel sense of humor, doesn’t she?”

“I’m so sorry,” I suck in a breath, trying to muster the strength I need right now. “I don’t care for him. Not at all. I have no idea who he is, and he’s already stalking me,” I raise my voice at the end, and the shadows pooled beyond the door seem to scatter. “I love you. I do. And I want to go on with the mating ceremony in the morning. I’ve told him to tell no one.”

Eris nods slowly, thumbs rubbing my sides. “Try not to talk like that. If he’s—” he swallows hard, “…your mate… You deserve to have a chance to get to know him.”

“But I love you. You’re my mate.”

“He is, too.”

I groan, taking my bottom lip between my teeth. “Stop being the logical one. You’re supposed to be angry.”

“I am angry, believe me,” he growls. “But not at you. It’s not your fault, and you deserve the best shot at happiness you can get. Even if that means that I’m not the only one you love.”

I don’t respond, staring directly at his chest. I simply can’t look him in the eye. It’s difficult enough to face them with the sinking feeling in my chest, like I’ve betrayed him.

Would it be worth it to even entertain the idea of having another mate? I’ve never heard of it happening. 

In my heart, I am sure that I love Eris. But could I love this other male, too?

“In the end, it’s your decision, little flame,” Eris presses a kiss to my temple. “I don’t exactly like the situation, but I’ll do whatever it takes for you to be happy.”

“I love you,” I whisper, leaning forward against his warmth.

“I love you more.”

I grin, opening my mouth to reply, but he sweeps me up into his arms before I can make a sound. I squeal, gripping his neck to keep myself upright. 

“I say we go back to our party,” he announces, holding me close. “And dance until our feet fall off.”

“I’d be inclined to agree. You paid for really good food.”

He laughs, placing me on the ground and holding me to his side. With a wave of my hand, my tear-streaked makeup is repaired, and Eris tucks a few strands of hair back into place.

Together, we stride back into the hall, ready to face our guests once more — even if one of them may be my mate.

Eris and I have devolved throughout the night. 

We went from dancing, to talking to guests — avoiding the Night Court group like a plague — to eating, and now we’re drinking absurd amounts of wine with Lucien, High Lord Tarquin, and a few of the latter’s friends from the Summer Court. I think one’s name started with a C.

I’m on my… fifth? Sixth? I don’t know, but I’ve drank many glasses of Fae wine.

I’m seated next to Eris, our chairs pushed together so that I can rest my head on his shoulder.

“Why’d you two even leave earlier?” Tarquin asks, sipping his wine — he’s much more conservative, and has had far less than us.

“Do you need to ask?” Lucien hiccups. His hand flies up to cover his eyes. “Please, don’t ask. I don’t want to hear about my brother’s fuck life.”

Eris scowls, looking tempted to throw the glass in his hand at his younger brother. I take the glass out of his hand to prevent that scenario, patting his shoulder soothingly.

“Lucien,” I start. “I assure you, that is not why we left.”

“Then why?” Tarquin asks once more, gesturing to Eris and I. “You practically ran out, and two minutes later he was on your tail.”

I open my mouth, then close it. When I look up to Eris to make him conjure up a story, he has his eyes locked on something else.

Straightening, I follow his gaze. 

And lo and behold, Azriel Shadowsinger is standing there.

The Illyrian’s wings frame his broad shoulders, and his entire body looks rigid. His expression is unreadable, as I hear it always is. His attention is undoubtedly glued on me.

Next to him is Cassian, who was speaking until my eyes shifted to him.

I would go on to observe them further, but Eris pulls my face to his, and suddenly his lips are on mine, his hand rooted in my hair.

Perhaps Eris is bothered by this situation a little more than he was letting on.

Nevertheless, I’m not complaining, and I part my lips for him. His tongue makes sweeping moments through my mouth, eliciting little noises from my throat, my hands finding their way into his rouge locks.

“Ahem.”

I pull away just enough to glare at Lucien, the male making a gagging motion.

“Fuck you,” I laugh, taking a cookie and whipping it at his head. He ducks, then throws a scone right back.

Love? Eris purrs down the bond.

Hmm? I reply, glancing over at him.

What do you say we go back to our room? He tucks a piece of hair behind my ear. I think I could use a little practice for tomorrow. 

Practice, huh? I hum, shivering as he traces a finger down my spine.

He sweeps me up into his arms as a reply, and I laugh, wrapping my arms around his neck.

“We’ll see you in the morning, lovepixies,” Tarquin calls after us, followed by gagging noises from Lucien. A few of the summer court bunch laugh at the younger Autumn Court heir’s antics. Luckily, sneaking off together and public affection isn’t particularly uncommon in the days surrounding a mating ceremony — Fae culture.

His mouth is on mine once more as we make our grand escape, kissing me with the passion of the High Lord he is. My back hits a wall, followed by my legs being hoisted around his waist, skirt bunching at my hips.

I bite down hard on my bottom lip when his mouth trails down my neck. He leaves sloppy kisses and licks in his wake, hands trailing up along my spine.

A sharp tug on the bond comes, and I gasp sharply, eyes zeroing in on Eris. “What was that for?”

“Hmm?” He glances up at me, halfway to being on his knees. “What was what for?”

“You tugged,” I murmur.

“No,” he frowns, straightening. “I didn’t.” He places me back on the ground, his eyes narrowing around the corner. I’m not even sure if he’s aware of how he tucks me behind his back.

And, right on cue, Azriel Shadowsinger comes into sight.

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #writing #a court of wings and ruin #a court of silver flames #a court of mist and fury #azriel acotar #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #azriel x you #eris vanserra #eris x reader #eris vanserra x reader #eris acotar #romance #acotar fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #eris x reader x azriel #suggestive #mates #cassiefromhell

[justanotherhh]

alastor aroace semiotics: symbols/metaphors/codes (oh my!)

thinking about some of the aroace subtext, both in terms of what's definitely intentional, and things that one can pick up on within the burgeoning field of "what the heck does aspec (in this case aroace) semiology even look like in (this particular) narrative?"

there's the really obvious one of course "ace in the hole." funny as well, because ace in the hole could also reference Alastor being the card you play as a hidden advantage (potentially hinting that Rosie knows that Alastor has his own agenda and supports that, like she does in the song). Of course "Alastor is ace" is the main point of the joke, because it's a sentence that comes a little out of nowhere, and clearly confuses Alastor, because he doesn't know Stuff

2. secondly, there's the pilot episode's placing Alastor first next to and then on top of the Ace of Spades. tbh if this was an accident, it sure was a serendipitous one, because the Ace of Spades not only refers to being ace, but specifically aroace (with Hearts meaning alloace, Diamonds meaning demiace, and Clubs meaning grey-ace <- t Ace of Diamonds/Clubs are a more open to interpretation, I've seen some also use them for demiromantic and greyromantic)

3. Body language! Alastor's reactions to being propositioned or involved in a sex joke, or having to listen to romance talk ranges from discomfort (glitching), to blunt refusal/shutting down of the conversation, to boredom/distraction. I haven't made a study of Alastor's body language in detail, but I'd be interested in how his smiles potentially shift when around very sexual and/or romantic discussion, regardless of whether he's the centre of that (but probably moreso if he is). I think this would come more to the fore in future seasons if there were examples beyond Angel Dust, who also made Husk uncomfortable in the first half of s1, but Alastor -- especially in the pilot -- had very visceral reactions to Angel's "flirting/joking," moreso than anyone else, until Angel had really gone too far with Husk in ep4 (and he come onto Alastor as strongly/invasively as he did with Husk)

4. Speaking of Angel... Alastor not being present outside of a flashback in all of episode 4, and not in episode 6 either. Both episodes featured sex heavily, including Angel showing off one of his pornos, and the gang going to a sex club. Also, Valentino was in both of them (makes sense, seeing as they were Angel-centric). I wonder what Alastor feels about Valentino's whole... existence. He's also the only main s1 hotel character to not be involved in the trust exercises that lead them to the bondage/SM club. this has nothing necessarily to do with the character, but he's very much placed outside of sexual scenarios and places by the writing/plot, which is fun to notice, especially in the first two examples, as his not being in the episodes isn't actually explained. No Alastor in the sex episodes, because his fourth wall sex repulsed senses were tingling?

5. boundaries and power fantasies. that is, Alastor is a character who has very clear boundaries and ways of enforcing them. from blowing up Sir Pentious when he grabs his coat, to noping out of any space he wants to, to seizing the narrative from Vox and telling the story on his terms, to shadow tentacles (ironic), nobody touches him emotionally/physically unless they're allowed. Niffty, Rosie, and Mimzy so far appear to be the ones who have crossed into that "allowed" space the most, but considering he lets everyone (barring Lucifer and Husk, who don't want to) hug him in the finale, some of those barriers are coming down, which is another interesting analysis to make at some point

these boundaries aren't all entirely healthy either -- the way he lashes out at Husk who seems to actually be trying to look out for him (which suggests that Husk is emotionally close-ish to him, enough that he didn't realise he was overstepping), and the way he breaks down in the finale, shows that his inability to be vulnerable in front of others is... not actually a good thing. I wrote a whole bunch about how this part of Alastor's writing play into a very aroace-in-feel narrative for him, but suffice to say... a story about someone with boundaries that seems to be completely absent of "romance/sex will fix you" is refreshing. and very aroace coded

there's also a power fantasy in the idea that one can simply bend the space to avoid ones boundaries being trampled over. to be able to either nope out of a room or to make oneself so terrifying that nobody would want to try to get up in your space... it's got a little smthinsmthin of a "wish it were me" in there. being repulsed means an often constant erosion and invasion of boundaries, from people making your disgust and/or obliviousness the centre of their sex jokes, to being hyper-scrutinised and challenged every time you do or don't let someone into your space in whatever way, or challenge their notions of what's "allowed" as an aroace person. sometimes you just want to say "Demonic Powers Be Upon Ye" and be done with it

6. An Absence. most often aspec narrative is defined by an absence of allo-narrative. that is, Angel Dust, Husk, Charlie, Vaggie, Cherri, Sir Pentious, Lucifer, are set up as allo-figures with romance and sex featuring more or less in all of their stories. the only hotel residents so far who don't have that going on are Alastor and Niffty, and Niffty's story has yet to have the foundations laid out for beyond the very bare bones, and she flirts with others (her "bad boy" preference). whatever Alastor's journey is, it's not coded as alloromantic or allosexual in any way, whether through casual jokes/flirting, or a longform romantic and sexual relationship exploration, with the possible exception of...

7. Vox. the characters that Alastor seems closest to in this story are Rosie, Mimzy, Niffty, Charlie, and Husk (with the mysterious figure that owns his soul looming in the back as well). out of them, none of them are coded as anyone he's sexually or romantically involve with or heading in that direction. the last figure in Alastor's life that's very heavily figured so far is Vox. And Vox is obsessed with Alastor in a way that absolutely can be read as a bad one-sided break-up/jilted stalker type framing, with Alastor gleefully recounting his "no" when talking about their past, and otherwise putting Vox out of his mind, while almost all of Vox' big character moments revolve around how much real estate Alastor takes up in his mind (literally, considering his error message is all Alastor messaging)

Vox being a figure who is symbolically the trampler of aroace boundaries is a very good way of showing Alastor's total disinterest and even disgust (depending on whether or not he knows that Vox was/is into him), and can act as a future potential interesting barometer for other characters to be "less" invasive, but still not quite getting it to begin with (see, Angel Dust's casual flirting, Charlie's tendency to see everything from her perspective, who knows how Cherri and Lucifer might fit into this equation, and generally the sex-and-romance framing of a lot of the other narratives)

8. I talked about aroaceness being a humanising factor to Alastor in my other big ol' post I did, just want to mention it here as well. so far it exists somewhat as a Potential, in the sense that we're firmly in s1 and there's still a lot of ways this could all go, but I think it's worth mentioning as a form of foundational signposting work that's been done for his character

he's more on the dark grey end of the grey scale of all of these characters, he's manipulative, sadistic, cruel when he wants to be, petty, selfish, likes being the centre of attention + is easily rankled when he's not, and presumably he went to hell because he killed people for kicks <- these traits are not unique to him, considering the setting, but what is is the beginnings of a storyline exploring his particular relationship to vulnerability and power and why those things are a part of him in the way they are. this from the perspective of someone who is aroace (and possibly repulsed) instantly adds a potential sympathetic nuance to who he's become, similar to the layer of power fantasy mentioned above. both of these turn his narrative from a cautionary tale or a villain-played-straight (haha) trope into something much more interesting

with the semiotics of aroaceness already in place, these affect how we read the foundations for the rest of his narrative and where it's going. quite simply, it's one of the biggest factors right now that make all his other story beats more resonant and interesting, depending of course on where they take it...

9. his smile. since we've gotten deep enough into meta territory now that we're in hc/future theorising country -- the smile is of course a mask, that's known to everyone. there's a lot of future opportunities for how to utilise that alongside aroaceness-as-theme-for-him. aroaceness, or just "someone where there is a noticeable lack of romantic (and hinted at sexual) interest," is usually coded through a certain shallowness. a pathologisation of behaviours -- which is another deeper analysis post to make at some point (jeez there's so many). Alastor is off-putting, yes, but he's also very confident and charming when he wants to be, he can put people at ease despite themselves (see, Charlie). It's a very interesting mask to give someone who's aroace, because it makes him complicated, rather than a simple ableist "point at the weirdo with no friends, that's our Outsider/killer."

(it also hearkens back to the humanising factor, in that his shallowness isn't because he's aroace, it's because he doesn't know how to be vulnerable with people as the person he is in a world that is incredibly amatonormative and focused on sex)

His smile can be unnerving, but it can also be disarming, give others the illusion that he's in control, make it impossible to guess his emotions (etc. basically what he said to Charlie)

so quite simply, his smile as a twisted distortion of society's demands upon people. he's not being abrupt, aloof, asocial, unkempt, or all the things aroaceness is often stereotyped as. he's performing the most acceptable normative person you can imagine. his surface is unscratcheable because of normative ideals

it's a very fun, unique-to-this-story way of potentially telling an aroace narrative. I'd be interested in what it takes to make him drop it (if he can, or if the story takes the route of accepting that he can't -- the man who laughs kinda vibes) and whether that will tie into a piece of his story that itself takes on aroace proportions (perhaps related to worrying for others in a non-romantic way, perhaps in relation to being able to or being forced to be vulnerable in a non-romantic/non-sexual way, etcetc).

Potentials:

we haven't seen him around the aro/ace aroace colours yet as far as I can remember, which is a fun, easy way to signpost (see, Vox flashing the bisexual flag on his screen)

since we've had an "ace in the hole" joke, I think we could have an aro/arrow-based pun in there as well, maybe even as a deconstruction of when they're used in romantic ways -- (no aro going through his heart, too aro for cupid's arrow, idk I'm spitballing here) or as literal arrows in some way. also someone's gotta call him aces at one point, right? just cos? I feel like the "<2" emoji might be too niche (heck, maybe all of this is, but that's part of the point -- all of this should be ways we're able to signpost aro and ace and aroace characters), but there's characters who know modern emoji and online lingo

other asexual symbols I know of include stating a preference for cake or pizza over sex and/or dating and the black and white rings (worn respectively on right an left middle fingers, although since they only have four fingers in this world...)

I've really enjoyed "clueless cannibal about modern lingo" Alastor comics, including the one about serving cunt and the one about eating ass both by @nouverx. it goes nicely on from his being confused about "ace in the hole," with that HH style sexual comedy. there's a whole bunch of that one could play with

speaking of slang, confirmed bachelor has often meant gay, but the aro/ace community and the gay community has overlapped as long as anyone has been non-conforming. @creepysora suggested a gentleman never kisses and tells, either as Alastor being unaware that it's actually about sex, or as an aware deconstruction of the phrase that gives him the space (similar to confirmed bachelor) to sneakily go, "go mind your own fucking business 😊!" I'm sure there are others that could fulfill a similar purpose of allowing Alastor a certain kind of old-timey buffer

similar to the episode of Bojack Horseman that had Todd visit his girlfriend's parents (both Todd and his GF are asexual and not out to her parents), which depicted allosexuality from the perspective of asexuality as something nonsensical and Other, perhaps having something from Alastor's POV in which he's the observer of the rites of romance and/or sex in a way that shows their strangeness when one sits outside of their tenets

would kind of like to see him killing/hurting people for being pushy, either when alive or dead. I already see a lot of potentials for his past as a serial killer to be framed from an aroace POV, but I especially like this idea, similar to how Hannibal often targets people for being "rude."

more on what I was saying about aroaceness as a humanising trait -- more on how this affected him in life, how he feels about Vox's consistent obsessive behaviour, how it potentially makes it harder to imagine his place in a group setting like the hotel (which is rapidly being paired off into romantic couples -- often a nightmare scenario for aromantics), more on how potentially learning these words or something better to describe himself can make it possible for him to assert boundaries without shutting everyone out to a large extent, and also, tbh, to put Big Expectations onto a story that's barely even started, I hope that none of this takes away his less savoury traits necessarily. I hope he's still kind of an asshole, but simply that he is grounded in himself enough to be able to really believe in Charlie's work/aims and support her in them for more reasons than his own ends, and can admit to really caring for something

reiterating: I am interested in how his smile-as-mask will play into all of this

Any symbolism, metaphor, coding, and straight-up telling I've missed in the show itself? Any you'd want to see in upcoming seasons?

#alastor #aroace alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel meta #i keep saying *there's another analysis here* let's see if I ever do

[shepscapades]

Recursive Event anon back again - all else I can really ask is if you have any preferences/hard limits when it comes to shipping/potentially nsfw content based on/in DBHC?

Ooh, no that's a really good question! Regarding NSFW content, I would prefer for people to stay away from any explicit nsfw content. This goes both for the event and any fancontent people suggest or submit to me here on tumblr. I know there's a blurry line in there when it comes to gore, since some of the comics deal with techno-gore and robot blood, so I would just use the comics (found under the #dbhc tag) as a guideline for that, and maybe not push too far past how explicit i've been when it comes to gore and violence.

Shipping is a little harder because i definitely have an idea of what the "end game ships" are in my brain for the au, but i also haven't been super transparent about details or timelines or any of that, so it really comes down how much the fancontent is based on the au's canon material. Ethubs is probably the ship i've been most transparent and clear about regarding them having a romantic end-game, whereas Ranchers, Grumbo, and Docsuma are all just roughly implied/hinted at there being more in the future.

This au is really just an android concept combined into the massive world that is hermitcraft, so it leaves a LOT of room for possibilities i haven't yet explored, but truthfully, dbhc to me has also become a specific story with specific characterizations, designs, and plot points. Anything else tends to bleed into "au of the au" territory (which isn't always my thing, but it's also not super avoidable since this au has really only been explored through very brief specific points in time).

Basically! If fancontent is going to be made for a big or public event, I think i would largely prefer if fancontent is centered around or inspired by Canon Content for the au: characters, moments, or information that has been revealed or explicitly talked about in dbhc art or ask posts. Ethubs has the shipping Go-Ahead, but docsuma, ranchers, and grumbo are a little harder to represent accurately since *i* haven't even really fully explored them/planned for them, so I would maybe stay away from more explicitly romantic content with those characters (though i would tend to say flustery or embarrassing moments is okay!). That's a very long-winded way to say that, gosh! But hopefully that all makes sense!

If you have an idea for a piece you'd like to do as fancontent but are afraid it might not be within these parameters, you're always welcome to message me and ask! <3

#dbhc ask #ask #mcytblr recursive event #dbhc #anon

[mauesartetc]

Have you seen vivzi's tweet regarding the mille situation?

Oh yeah. Though to be clear, it's not just one tweet; it's a motherfuckin' thread (with screenshots below for posterity).

I won't go over this whole thing point by point, but one aspect that jumps out at me is how Viv deflects responsibility from herself onto the viewers. If your audience doesn't fully "understand" your characters, that's a problem. It's your job as a writer to make them understand, and do it in the story you're telling, not on social media. Can't help but see shades of how gobsmacked Fennah was that his audience didn't get how one of his characters represented toxic relationships, despite that character amounting to a harmless, childlike pet.

While Viv's response doesn't demean the audience like Fennah's, it does come off as a tad arrogant, as if Millie being perceived as flat is the viewers' fault, not hers.

The second thing that stood out is the list of Millie's qualities: "She is resourceful, she has strong family ties and memories, she has sibling rivalry, she's excitable and hyper focused." Only three of those are actual personality traits, and I can't even remember her being "hyper focused" at any time. To me, that would suggest working long hours on some kind of project, too engrossed to notice hunger, thirst, or how much time had passed. I guess you could make the argument that she worked tirelessly to become the skilled fighter she is, but we never see that in the show. I'm not even sure how "strong" those family ties are considering Millie didn't even hug her mom when she saw her. Basically, this smacks of telling rather than showing, trying to convince us this is the case rather than letting us see for ourselves.

[Edit 6/10/23 Forgot to mention this tidbit: "we are literally on 3", meaning the third episode. Girl, no. You were literally on ten episodes total, and eleven/twelve (depending on whether or not the pilot counts) with the release of Western Energy. That's way too long to go without properly developing one of the main characters.]

Also, "we found more storylines that influenced Blitz"? You mean you created more storylines with him as the focus. You chose to follow those paths in Season 1. It didn't just happen to you. "Whoops! Tripped over this random plot! Guess I have to use it in an episode!" Obviously Blitzo is the main character so it makes sense that he'd have the most plots centered around him, but it's extremely telling that y'all gave absolutely none of the focus to Millie.

Let's look at the seven episodes of Season 1. Blitzo could be the focus of three, Moxxie could get one, Millie could get one, Loona could get one, and Stolas could get one, and you could save extra story ideas for Season 2. There ya go. Yes, seven episodes is a pretty short season with not much wiggle room to fit all the juiciest stories in, but there's definitely space to tease what's coming. Imply that there's more to these characters and this world than meets the eye. Make the audience hungry for more. This is a fan-funded Youtube series, after all; it's not like any networks or streaming services are threatening to pull the plug if the metrics aren't up to snuff.

Finally, the "this is a male-led show" excuse for female characters being underdeveloped is so weak, especially for an adult show that prides itself on social progressivism. You've got a handful of queer main characters and a trans side character, but fleshing out the women was a step too far-? Y'all are all about spotlighting LGBT stories, but anything resembling feminism that goes deeper than '90s-style "hey, this chick can fight!" girl power? Whoa, that's a bit too much, buddy.

Call me crazy, but shouldn't viewers get the impression that all of a story's principal characters have inner lives, regardless of gender? What is Millie like when she's alone, isolated from her relationships? What does she think about? How does she entertain herself without anyone to brawl with, or anything to hack into with an axe? The show hasn't given us any hints.

Honestly, if you're not good at writing female characters, you're allowed to say that. Yes, it's embarrassing to admit when you're a woman yourself, but if you grew up in a culture that promotes internalized misogyny and prioritizes masculine wants over feminine needs (which many of us did, let's be real), it's understandable. That shit's hard to unlearn. What might make it easier when it comes to characters, though, is what I like to call the Ellen Ripley method.

Challenge, Viv: Write a nuanced male character. Give him strengths and flaws, likes and dislikes, quirks and hobbies, strained relationships and happy ones.

Now make him female.

It really is that simple.

We'll have to wait and see how much that defense regarding Hazbin Hotel truly reflects reality, though if I were a gambler, I'd bet Alastor and Angel Dust will dominate the story and leave Charlie and Vaggie on the sidelines.

#vivziepop critical #helluva boss #helluva millie #helluva critical #writing #ask #blacklilly27 #female characters #representation

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Rollo was having a stroll in the City Of Flowers and he encounters a certain fox beastman and a certain cat beastman who each been baffled by NRC students alike Rollo! What if those sinister 3 team up to have revenge the NRC students? That could be troublesome!

Oh, I recently wrote a fic about Rollo meeting Fellow and Gidel! It’s just a brief meeting, so they don’t really bond or get to know each other beyond how they initially present (because who opens up about their entire backstory to someone they ran into on the street??), but still paints a picture of what I feel their interactions would be like.

I actually don’t think (if they ever did share their experiences with the NRC students with one another good luck getting Rollo to emotionally open up) those 3 would plot revenge together?? Rollo is still hostile toward NRC, but Fellow and Gidel aren’t. If anything, they sort of declare a friendly rivalry with them at the end of the event??? And then they set off to work toward their own goals while suggesting that maybe they’ll run into the NRC students again someday. I definitely don’t get the sense that Fellow and Gidel are vengeful, they’re just looking out for themselves at this point.

I also feel like Rollo and Fellow just… wouldn’t get along? Rollo dislikes noisy, cheery people (which Fellow is) who use their magic for amoral or frivolous things (which Fellow does). Fellow might find Rollo’s uptight and neurotic attitude annoying to deal with. Not only that, but I feel as though their ideologies would clash with one another. Rollo thinks that magic should be extinguished altogether, but Fellow sees magic as a symbol of power. The latter might not see eliminating magic as a way to equalize social status, but rather getting rid of one way the less privileged like him could rise out of poverty. It’s not magic that Fellow hates, but the system tied to it that gatekeeps education and opportunities to those blessed with a plethora of it. Fellow might have a bone to pick with the elite who abuse their power, but he’s just as quick to use his magic for his own needs (like getting back at his employer) when it suits him.

Things get even more complicated when you consider how Gidel fits into all of this. He’s Fellow’s “brother” (not blood related), so Gidel is very important to him. Gidel also seems to be a child, so perhaps Rollo would have a soft spot for him due to his own fondness for his late younger brother. Fellow is canonically protective of Gidel and resents magic schools for denying Gidel and education due to his lack of magic, thus condemning him to poverty. Rollo, meanwhile, loathes his own magic and eagerly wants to be rid of it. He might see Gidel’s lack of magic as a blessing (as it was magic that claimed the life of his own brother). He wouldn’t understand why Fellow wants to subject Gidel to an environment with mages, to potential danger. On the other side of the aisle, Fellow wouldn’t understand why Rollo wants to deny Gidel a chance to study among mages. He would think that Rollo’s all up on his high horse since Rollo himself is a gifted mage and student council president of his NBC, while Fellow and Gidel have almost no magic nor fancy titles to their names. He would be mad that Rollo is rejecting Gidel from what Fellow sees as a chance at a better future—a chance Fellow was denied due to his own lack of magic.

It would be one big hot mess 😭 and honestly, now I want to write a follow-up to that initial fic where Fellow and Rollo go for each other’s throats—

#twst #twisted wonderland #Fellow Honest #Rollo Flamme #Gidel #disney twst #disney twisted wonderland #spoilers #notes from the writing raven #question #Ferro Honest

[morgandoesstuffsig]

surprise attack hugs! [omori.]

alt. title; surprising the RL!Sextet (6) by hugging them when they're least expecting it.

warnings/tws; suggestive-spoilers during MARI's part.

req. by; none

chars. used; HERO, MARI, SUNNY, AUBREY, BASIL, KEL.

song of the day; Hug Me - Pharrell Williams & Trey Parker

a/n's; yes i used a despicable me song, what are you gonna do about it? also, platonic or romantic? up to you to decide.

by continuing from this point on you understand that it is your fault if you see any opinions that you do not agree with and that make you mad. you will not take it out on me or anyone else who enjoys/agrees with them, and you especially will not do anything illegal/dangerous to them or myself.

images do not belong to me and belong to their rightful owners.

HERO.

i couldn't find a header for him D:

Ah yes, that one man who always seems to have nearly everything under control... but he really doesn't.

He's quite easy to fluster, as long as you know how to.

It's quite funny and ironic, actually. He's flirtatious with those he's close with (and has nearly the same age with.)

He never misses a beat, but when he does, it's usually 'cause he's either stressed or thinking about something.

Either way, that is your time to strike!

Hug him from behind as he's thinking and he'll jump out of surprise.

He'll whip his head towards you, already blushing also out of surprise.

Give him a wink and a smug smile, and he'll be hiding his flushing-red face behind his hands, mumbling god-knows-what in them.

Pull him closer to you and dude will pass the fuck out.

He has no idea how to respond, and you haven't even said anything yet.

(if you do say something, whisper it in his ear, it'll make him explode.)

in the end, he's frozen stiff in your arms.

if you let go for some odd reason, the "effects" don't immediately wear off, but give him a minute or two. or three. maybe four.

well however long, he'll probably still be blushing 'till the day's over.

he's so cute grrr

222 words.

MARI.

woah how'd you catch her off-guard???

like????

she always seem(ed)s to be ready for everything

so when you manage to give her a surprise hug, she's obviously not prepared for it.

just dont do it by the stairs.

she'll turn around rather quickly, so you'd better be holding on before you fall down!

if you don't fall down, great! she can easily hug you back, just 10x harder <3

if you do fall down, worry not! the great MARI will catch you!

probably catches you in one of those dip-like positions you see in dance moves or those dramatic romance movie scenes

if so,

expect kisses <333 (w/ consent ofcofc,, she's a respectful queen <333)

then she'll help you up and hug you tighter

probably says somethings like 'oh my, you startled me darling! next time please give me a warning!'

all in all, respectful and pretty queen<333

151 words.

SUNNY.

waaah i couldn't find a header for him either :(

dude is spacing out every 30 seconds,,, you can easily surprise hug him nearly 98% of the time

just run up behind him, and hug him!!

it's that simple

my dude probably jumps, flinches, and stiffs up in that order

just be like 'surprise, it's me!!' and he'll calm down.

turns around and owlishly blinks at you a couple of times

then he turns back around, small blush covering his cheeks

dude's temperature went from -34°F to 150°C /hj

naur cause dude barely had any body warmth 'till you hugged him

probably gonna stay inside your arms for a bit longer.

he can't help it!! you're just so warm!!

it's your fault for hugging him in the first place!!

just let him indulge in the moment for a bit <3

dont let him fall asleep though, 'cause he will, and then you're stuck there 'till he wakes up again.

lmao tough luck

but hey

at least he's happy.

for once.

169 words.

AUBREY.

OH EM GEE GIRLBOSS PUSSY SLAY QUEEN???

OFF-GUARD?!?!?!?!??!?!?!?!?!?!?!??!?!?!?

WHAT KIND OF SORCERY IS THIS??? (the power of plot, baby /hj)

just like

make sure that before you hug her

she's not ready to attack you with her bat

'cause that'll hurt like a fothermucker

so if she isn't ready to commit 30 charges of aggravated assault and 27 acts of public disruption, go for it!

don't aim for the neck tho lolol

she'll probably throw you off by spinning around so fast

so like

hug her by the stomach/waist

and pull her close

and then

GERMAN SUPLEX

and then put your head on her shoulder, and whisper a small 'hi'

her face is almost as pink as her hair

and you've only said one word

lord help her she is such a tsundere

she'll just like

freeze up for a second

and if you're doing this in front of her friends???

lord expect a really long scolding

even though it's more yelling than scolding

eh, whatever

but doing it in private is your best option

she'll just look away and pat your arm a bit

you two are then left alone in comfortable silence <333

200 words.

BASIL.

bestie he will pass out out of pure fear /hj

but after he realizes it's you,, he'll just be flustered

i mean, he could never even imagine having the courage to do that to someone

especially not you /pos..???

but that's just him

back to the point,,,

you,, are hugging,,, him,,, willingly???

he's so confused

he doesnt know why but

he still likes it anyways

he'll let out a nervous laugh before giving your arm(s) a little squish

in return for the hug, ofc

he knows its not much but

it's still something

and something is better than nothing!!

100 words.

KEL.

i was too lazy to find a real header😋

yeah this man

he loves hugs

but surprise hugs,,,

he will marry you if he gets these at least once a day

i mean, how could he not?

his love/crush is willingly hugging him, and as a surprise!!

who doesn't love surprises????

he does, for sure, and if you do creep up and hug him

he'd be elated!

he'll spin around and hug you right back immediately!

just be careful if it's after he finishes playing basketball

he'll probably be sweaty

like

really

sweaty

and stinky

so be prepared!!!

but overall, hug him as much as you want, he just loooovesss hugs in general!

113 words.

THE END.

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#x reader #omori #omori basil #omori sunny #omori hcs #omori headcanons #omori x reader #basil x reader #kel x reader #kel omori #omori kel #real world kel #sunny x reader #omori aubrey #aubrey x reader #real world aubrey #real world hero #omori hero x reader #hero x reader #omori mari #mari x reader #real world mari #not a request #i hate tags #requests open #morgan.died : writes

[lizz-crimson]

To The Place I Belong... (Shinnok's Head X Reader Part 4) [Finale]

Summary: Shinnok believes giving you your greatest wish will break the 'spell' you've cast upon him...

Tags/Warnings: Cursing, Two Johnny Cages, Shinnok smooches (finally!), and some suggestiveness near the end 😘. (Reader uses they/them pronouns, let me know if there are any mistakes on that!)

Words: 1554

Part1 - Part 2 - Part 3

You stood in the kitchen, tapping your phone frustratingly. Your nose scrunched up as, once again, another error message popped up on the chat screen. The group chat between you and the two Johnny Cage's had been wiped clean a few days ago, and there seemed to be no way to recover it. Your call history was out of whack too.

"Bah!" you huffed. Whatever, you'll make a new chat later. The only hard part was finding a new meme to name it after. Oh, well.

"Shinnok, I'm headed to work," you called. Shinnok rose from the couch a bit, having been draped in a blanket. He grunted, turning away from you. You chuckled in return. "Stay out of the snack drawer while I'm gone."

"I'm not going to touch your damned chips.." Shinnok groaned, nuzzling back under his blanket like a pouting child.

"I'll hold you to that."

And thus you left, ready to slave away at the office. Again. God, you hated it here..

Minutes later, when Shinnok knew you were long gone, he rose from the couch. Immediately, he began pacing the length of the apartment, hands behind his back, and muttering impatiently.

"Where the hell are those irksome pests…?" he growled under his breath.

A round of knocking sounded from the door, and Shinnok quickly waved a finger to unlock it. The older Johnny Cage entered through the threshold. He gave Shinnok a once-over, not exactly fond of the memories the fallen Elder God gave him.

"About time!" Shinnok huffed.

"Yeah, yeah, don't get your balls in a twist," Johnny sighed. He put his hands on his hips. "The other me is downstairs breaking [Y/n]'s lease." He pointed at Shinnok sternly. "Do not ask how."

"Yes, whatever. Did you do what I said to do?" Shinnok asked, hands balled behind his back.

"Yeah, the land is squared away."

"Good. Let's not delay."

One very straining teleportation spell later, Shinnok and Johnny stood on a hill overlooking a large plot of grassy land. Layers of mountains sat far off in the background, each shades of blue and gray. It was secluded, untouched, and far away from honking cars and overpriced rent.

"Perfect," Shinnok said. He then turned to address Johnny. "You said you had photos?"

"Yep. Here." Johnny handed Shinnok his phone, where he'd pulled up various images from across all of [Y/n]'s social media. All the images were house-related, and there was a clear theme. Shinnok nodded.

"Very well," he said. He tossed Johnny back his phone and let his magic glow in his hands.

"Soo.." Johnny began. "You really think this will make you stop wanting to do things for [Y/n]?"

"Of course it will!" Shinnok spat. Johnny wiped some spit off his face. Shinnok huffed. "It will work. I know it. If I give that mortal what they desire most, I will be free of their wretched spell."

Johnny sighed. [Y/n] really had him wrapped around their finger, huh?

"All right, do your thing."

"Johnny, what the hell?" [Y/n] asked. As soon as she'd gotten home, movers were packing her things, with the younger Johnny Cage standing in the middle of them and making sure things were going okay.

"Good news, Jailer of Shinnok. You don't have to live here anymore!" Johnny said. He pointed to the hallway, making the movers march your stuff out of the apartment and down the hall.

"What?" You stutter, hands waving about confusingly. "The hell do you mean? Where's Shinnok?" You asked, not having spotted him at all since you arrived. "Johnny, where's Shinnok?"

Johnny put his hands on your shoulders, turning you and pushing you out the door despite your protests. "Your househusband is fine; just follow me to the helicopter."

"The fucking what?"

One very, very long helicopter ride later, you were miles away from New York. The blinding skyscrapers had been replaced with wooded mountains, and the sounds of cars and people were long gone. Now birds and bugs of all kinds chirped about, leaving you in near-complete peace. The only reason it wasn't completely peaceful was because the house sitting in the field in front of you was a complete giveaway to what had happened. As the movers unloaded your things from their own helicopter, you took a deep breath before turning to Shinnok.

"Why?" you asked.

"Why what?" Shinnok replied. You sighed once more.

"Why did you conjure me a house?" you said more specifically, keeping your tone light and questioning. You knew what this was about; hell, you've suspected it ever since Shinnok got his head reattached. You just never said anything so as to let him figure it out first.

Judging by his answer, he still hadn't, and he was still so oblivious to his own damned feelings.

"I wanted to," he answered. Both Johnnys gave each other a look while you pinched the bridge of your nose. Yes, you were grateful for the house. Ecstatic even. But the fact that Shinnok was still so clueless wasn't even fun or endearing this time. It was just…

"You wanna kiss me so bad it makes you look stupid!" You blurted it out then and there. The younger Johnny was quick to pull out his phone and press record before you continued. "Shinnok," you spoke more softly, taking the fallen Elder God's hands in your own. "For someone so old, you really are dumb. You've lived with me for three months now. You've cleaned the apartment, you've cooked meals with me, you've eaten meals with me, and you taught me bone magic.." You huffed. "You've not even threatened the realms since you gained your body back. I swear to the gods, you are so, so stupid--"

A pair of surprisingly soft lips shut you up, and a pair of hands pulled you just a bit closer, pulling both of your faces out of the line of sight of Johnny's camera. It was a quick kiss, but that didn't mean you wouldn't melt into it, which you did fairly fast. Fucking finally..

"Enough, you're making my chest hurt…" Shinnok said in an accepting tone as he pulled away. His eyes were much softer now—not that most people would be able to tell, but you. In turn, you gazed up at him with a lightly wrinkled nose and a soft pink glow on your face.

"You could've warned me," you mumbled, earning a grunt from Shinnok.

"I could have," he said, placing his hand on your cheek. Your face was so soft. "But I like this expression on you."

"Clearly.."

Shinnok snorted, his lips tuning up in a smirk that made you roll your eyes. He took your hand and brought it to his lips, giving a kiss to the back of your hand.

"Now, come along. I put hours into this home of ours, and I will be giving you the grand tour," he said. Still holding your hand, he walked away with you, leaving both Johnny's behind. The younger Johnny was miffed he didn't get his picture, and the older one crossed his arms with a nod.

"Y'know, I think this will work," Older Johnny said.

"Work how? I missed on my pic..." Younger Johnny whined. The older one hit him on the back of the head.

"I mean [Y/n] and Shinnok. I really don't think we'll have to worry."

Younger Johnny groaned, shaking his head. "Whatever, old me. But I am not the one who's explained that," he pointed to Shinnok and [Y/n] entering their new home," to Raiden."

"Oh..." Older Johnny's face fell. "Uh, flip a coin?"

Shinnok led you throughout the house, showing you everything he so meticulously put together just for you. He was proud of himself, and you could tell so.

It was such a relief, honestly. As soon as Shinnok understood how badly he liked you, he went into full devotion mode for you. When he got around to showing you the bathroom, he hummed with his chin in his hand.

"I'll have to make the shower bigger; it's not nearly big enough for two."

"You--huh?"

"Also," he turned, taking you in his arms. "I hope you know I no longer intend on sleeping on the couch."

The way your nose wrinkled as you blushed would never get old to him. The way you made his chest ache would never get old to him. The way your hand felt in his would never, ever get old to him.

He smiled.

"I apologize for taking so long to see how much you've grown on me," he said, leaning down to kiss your cheek. You sighed with a chuckle.

"And I'm sorry for making you do all the cleaning," you said. "I'll help out--"

"No," he cut you off. His hands trailed from your arms, down your sides, and to your hips. "I fully intend to do all the cleaning myself." His face leaned in closer, and his lips met yours in a much, much deeper kiss than before. His hands squeezed your hips—not nearly enough to hurt, but definitely enough to show his devotion. When the kiss broke, he let you recover, looking at your dazed face. Then he leaned in to whisper," Of course, I expect to be fully compensated for my devotion to you, my dear."

That could be arranged.

---

WEST VIRGINIA!!!!!

Aaand done! So sorry the last part took so long. It's not as long as the others, but hopefully still good! This part will be added to my AO3 in a little bit!

Anyways, I gotta explore my new Shinnok-made log home--

Have a good one!

#mortal kombat #mk #mortal kombat 11 #mkx #mortal kombat x reader #johnny cage #lord raiden #shinnok #shinnok x reader

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Up All Night 3

Warnings: dark elements, noncon, age gap, narcissim, probably name calling and nasty words, other dark elements. Proceed with caution. (older!reader)

Note: I wasn’t serious about this but now I were. Please let me know what you think as it helps me a lot with ideas and I love interacting with you all.

Part of The Club AU

You take the three minutes you have before you’re due for the meeting to pull on the black leggings you keep in your gym bag. It’ll have to do. You don’t have time to waste. The cardigan conserves your professionality.

You enter the meeting room. Ransom sits, hunched slightly as he squints at his laptop. He rubs his cheek, his lack of sleep showing in the bags under his eyes. You sit in one of the sleek black chairs and tap your fingers on the table. He aims a pointed look in your direction. You tap your nails louder.

“You call these notes?” He scoffs as he looks back at the screen.

“Mr. Drysdale, if you have your own, I suggest you go off of those.”

He rolls his eyes and sits back. “Whatever, I don’t need to fucking talk about the book. This is about a contract, not whatever bullshit plot this guy dreamed up in his shit–”

You see Robert Laing through the transparent panes of the wall. You recognise him from his author’s portrait. You stand in expectation as Ransom remains as he is, slouching in his chair as he swivels it back and forth. You muster a smile as Laing enters.

“Good morning, thank you for meeting me,” he takes the lead as he enters.

“Been waiting,” Ransom mutters.

“Robert Laing,” the writer introduces himself, offering his hand over the table.

Ransom makes a show of sitting forward and shakes it halfheartedly. To your surprise, the prospective client turns to you. You shake his hand eagerly, “Mr. Laing, we’ve been looking forward to it.”

“I know you,” he returns smoothly, “you must be the face behind the emails.”

“Ah, yes, that would be me,” you say proudly, raising your chin, “I trust you received the firm’s offer then.”

“I did,” he lowers himself into the chair across from Ransom and you sit as well, “I had my lawyer review it, of course. I’ve terms, a few, no major changes. More of an author than an editor, which is where you come in.”

“What do you want?” Ransom demands.

You clear your throat, “what are your suggestions?”

Ransom pivots the chair slightly and stomps your foot under the table. You hide the pain in your crushed toes and push your shoulders wise. He’s a little brat and he doesn’t like being reminded of that. He has to realise Laing is a hot property he can’t bully into taking the contract.

“It would be the percentage, solely, on the rights,” Laing unzips his bag and slides out a thin tablet, “what I think you’ve offered is just below fair, I would say. You must understand, everything I create is very personal.”

“We do understand, Mr. Laing,” you assure him, trying to disguise Ransom’s scoff as you raise your voice.

“Forgive my assistant. She talks too much. Let’s not get confused, Robbie, I’m the boss,” Ransom says, “so the lady is gonna leave and let the men talk figures.”

You slowly glance over at Ransom, careful not to lose your poise. You keep your smile in place and gather up your leather folder and metal pen. You stand.

“Of course, Mr. Drysdale, you are correct, I am only the assistant. Mr. Laing, it was a pleasure. You are very talented and I hope your place is with Thrombey Press. If not, I wish you the best in your endeavours.”

“Thank you,” he stands politely, “very nice to finally place a face to the name.”

You nod and strut out without looking back. There’s nothing more you can do and if Ransom blows it, he’ll know exactly who to blame. Though you’re sure he lacks that humility.

🩸

You settle in at your desk, the smell of cappuccino wafting up from your blouse. A bitter reminder of your hectic morning. You review the workday against Drysdale’s personal calendar. You truly hope he doesn’t intend to meet with the new non-fiction editor at that club. 

Just as you feel your irritation fading, Ransom appears, striding past without a word. He slam his office door and you glance over. He steps up to the blinds and closes them, blocking your sight. Oh, you don’t think it went well.

You continue, trying not to think about it. Laing would’ve been a great acquisition, especially since Drysdale has lost several during his tenure. A few minutes pass before a message pops up on your screen.

‘Asshole is ‘thinking about it’.’

You open Teams and type back. ‘Better than a no. Let’s hope he accepts.’

‘Cappucino is cold.’

His response is about as much as you expect. You reply with ‘yes, sir,’ and grab your purse. Anything to get away from him. The wall is hardly thick enough to simmer your agitation.

You sweep out and check your watch. You’ll allow yourself fifteen minutes to get it together and get his cappuccino. You’ll do your best not to spit in it.

At the coffee shop, a local place you prefer on your rare breaks, you put in your order. A cappuccino for him, a tea for yourself. You move along the counter, joining the queue at the window, waiting for them to call your name.

You stand close to a table, the shop overcrowded. A chair scrapes and someone coughs. You try to shimmy out of the way as someone stands on the other side of the table.

“Excuse me,” the familiar voice calls your name, “I thought that was you.”

You turn an greet Laing with a smile, this one less put on, “oh, surprise running into you here.”

“Ah, yes, I’m afraid I have a weakness for caffeine. A writer’s curse,” he smooths his lapel, “and you?”

“Tea,” you answer.

“Mm, yes, black tea?”

“Herbal, no caffeine,” you assure him.

There’s an awkwardness there, things unsaid.

“Would you mind,” he gestures across from him, “five minutes. I’d love to run something by you.”

“Oh?” you tweak a brow curiously.

“Forgive me, I don’t know the man well, but you seem the brains of the operation,” he explains, “and honest at that.”

“Right,” you utter slowly.

“I promise, I won’t keep you long enough for your tea to go cold.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” you wave him off, “I don’t mind.” You sit and forget all about your order, “I really think you could do well with Thrombey Press…” you begin the pitch Ransom scrapped.

#ransom drysdale #dark ransom drysdale #dark!ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x reader #drabble #series #the club #up all night #knives out #au #robert laing #high rise

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

Behind the Seams: Part IV

{ Behind the Seams: Part III | Part III: Edgestitch | Series Masterlist }

Welcome to the second instalment of Behind the Seams! For those new to the series, this is a behind-the-scenes deep dive that I post in between chapters for those who are interested in taking a peek at my writing process (mainly because I update so slowly lol). There are spoilers for Edgestitch below the cut, so if you're not caught up, I suggest you come back when you are!

Current status: 3.6k unfinished rough draft

Initial thoughts: The last chapter laid down a few anchor points that I hope will carry the story forward for the next 2 to 3 parts. I still don't have an overarching plan for this series, and there is no 'plot' to speak of other than the unfolding of the relationship between Joel and Pin, and I'm good with that!

After the excitement of the last chapter, it took me a while to get back into the Seams mindset. While we resolved a tiny bit of the sexual tension last chapter, there is still a lot to unpack between these two. The camera is zooming in for this chapter, where we throw Joel and Pin together again, but in a less accident-prone manner as they take things into their own hands rather than leave it up to chance.

The challenge: One word - intimacy. On both their parts.

As Pin alluded to in the last chapter, it's been a long time anyone has even kissed her, let alone anything else. There will be some action in this chapter - I haven't decided to which degree yet - but I want to do it in a way that is sensitive to her history (even though I will leave it vague).

As for Joel, it's also one word - Tess. My Google doc right now cuts off at the beginning of the intimate scene, because I haven't figured out what he's thinking just yet in relation to her. As much as he's falling for Pin, I imagine he might be confused, guilty, probably in denial about his grief. I don't want Seams to get too heavy, and I might not be exploring these themes in Part IV just yet, but these are themes that I'm looking to explore in some way in the series.

Ellie: I was so bowled over by everyone's reaction to Ellie in the last chapter! That really gave me such a confidence boost, and I'm so happy to say that our favourite gremlin is making more of a cameo this chapter. She's great comedic relief while bringing out the dad side of Joel that I just love dipping into.

Joel: Many of you have brought up you're enjoying Joel's thoughts about Jackson and Sarah, and you don't understand how much it means to me. Getting into Joel's head has been one of my favourite things about this series, especially with him trying to figure out how to exist in this place after 20 years of just surviving. Ellie allowing himself to get back in touch with his dad side is another angle that I love delving into. The instincts have never left him, and I'm having so much fun bringing out that side of him.

Something fun: As I teased right here, the white undervest will make a return, and yes, Joel will be sweaty AF in it - I wonder why 🤷🏻‍♀️

Thank you for reading if you've made it this far! As with the last chapter, it helps so much putting my thought process into words, to make space in my head so that I can push forward with the writing. Thank you for indulging me, I hope you enjoyed this one ❤️ I'm always open to chatting, so don't be shy!

#behind the seams #fuckyeahseams #seams iv #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x fem!reader

[sepublic]

Writers’ Post-Hoot!

            As the title suggests, we just had a Post-Hoot with multiple writers from the show! Those present included John Bailey Owen, Cissy Jones (Lilith), Sarah Nicole-Robles (Luz), Rebecca Bozza (ItsRebeccaRose), Mikki Crisostomo, Madeleine Hernandez, Zarch Marcus, Avi Roque (Raine), with Zelda Black as our cameraman! I took notes, including on some cancelled storylines involving characters such as Vee, Odalia, Edric, Eda, and Hooty!

         Firstly, Zach Marcus has been writing on the show since the developmental pilot. It was confirmed Barcus was not based on him (unlike Jerbo for JBO), but he did say Barcus was ‘his’ character. I believe it was confirmed that Kikimora’s alias Miki was a reference to writer Mikki Crisostomo, and we also learned that The First Day had to be rewritten within a day! Mikki revealed she got hired for the show because she wrote a violent sample script in which someone had their rib cage kicked out, which convinced Dana she had to be on TOH!

         The development pilot is very different from the show according to Zach; It had the classic blood smear moment (in which Luz draws herself and Amity together, gets a paper cut, and uses her blood to simulate a blush as improv), and alas will never be released. JBO also said there are three poems in the show that the fandom hasn’t found yet…?!

         Dana was watching and commented a few times, such as when Avi, Cissy, and Sarah were doing the classic “Then why were you so easy to curse?!” line, commenting “Legendary Cissy line”.

         In regards to cut Season 3 storylines, Zach mentioned that there are so many versions of Thanks to Them that they went through (Dana gave a comment giving approval for them to speak on concepts). He revealed there was a version where the kids would’ve piloted Abomaton mechs in the desert…?!

         (I wonder if this is related to Kikimora, who pilots an Abomaton herself and comes from the desert of Palm Stings. Would Amity have helped in the creation?)

         Mikki also revealed Hooty was a Big Bad at one point in the writing process?! He’d have had as many legs as rib bones, poking through, as well as smoke.

         Huntlow was acknowledged as a major goal by Mikki and Madeleine (who kept asking why can’t they be happy???), and Zach joked that Huntlow wasn’t canon but c’mon. We can thank Mikki for writing the haircut that Willow gave Hunter!!!

         Dana was glad to keep the Star Trek reference, since so many crew members are Trekkies. Emmy also alluded to a ‘bog setting’ where the kids fought ‘bog bodies’… Unfortunately, her internet connection wasn’t so great so she cut out a bit and I couldn’t make out everything. But does this mean Belos would’ve reanimated corpses in the graveyard for the kids to fight?! Or the Grimwalkers?!

         JBO liked doing Luz in the human realm, as it was a different vibe than usual; More melancholy but also creepy. He wanted to explore the idea of what if a kid DID go to Narnia, and how that would affect them afterwards, and he’s happy with how it turned out… Same JBO, same.

         Emmy revealed there was also going to be a storyline where Vee was uncomfortable with having Hunter in the house!!!

         Sarah mentioned a question in the chat about the other coven heads, which could’ve been my question actually… JBO says that there was a lot they wanted to do with them, he really likes Hettie in particular. He considered exploring what Darius did to achieve his Abomination transform, speculating it’d probably take a dark sacrifice to do that. In general they wanted to see the coven heads plot with and try to kill each other; Lots of intercoven drama according to Zach.

         Zach also praised those who designed the coven heads; He lamented how designers often visualize concepts submitted by writers as so much cooler than the writers think they can do justice when writing, once they receive them back.

         Zach Marcus was described as the pun man of the writers, and when asked about what Darius’ Penstagram, they all agreed upon Goo Daddy. He was torn between Darius being a luddite, or nonstop posting what he eats, with a reflection of him in something. The writers discussed stuff like a Darius skincare routine, and him getting up every morning like a Disney Princess with animals, except they’re Abominations (fanartists were encouraged to depict this).

         JBO said he would’ve liked to see more of young Terra, Zach wanted to see more of her and Faust! As a reminder, a previous Post-Hoot had him put forth the idea that they were exes until they messily broke up and Terra tore off Faust’s lips and kicked him out, hence him living at Hexside and being so strict as a means of regaining a sense of control in his life.

         Zach also joked about everyone dying in the original Season 3 plans, but they allegedly changed it to a happy ending because the pandemic meant people needed something uplifting! They were barely in the exploration for S3 when they received news of the shortening.

         They joked about Barcus episodes, and also made a point about limitations actually being pretty good for writing, as it encourages writers to cut out the fat and leave the most essential bits. They said it was fun seeing Dana write on spite, and she thinks about a lot of the stuff they do for the story as the mastermind.

         Zach revealed him and Dana disagree on Mattholomule’s name, with Zach insisting it’s Mattholomule; His only compromise is saying his last name is also Tholomule… So Mattholomule Tholomule canon??? Zach also wanted a character named Corvus.

         Eda was a ‘horn dog’ in OG scripts for TOH, breaking hearts and all that. There was an episode with a B-plot in which Eda went on a date with playboy merchant, just so she could get a deal on crow heads, but Disney didn’t want a ‘horny old lady’. Dana commented that it was jut Eda on a date, but Disney was being weird about it.

         The writers also mentioned that they considered ‘Mom Tholomule’ and ‘Dad Tholomule’ in what they called the racing episode (I presume Eda’s Requiem’s B-plot), and they planned Steve and Mattholomule being brothers from S1! Zach joked that if the Tholomule parents showed up, they’d have taken attention from everything, with fans losing interest for Lumity, Raeda, and Huntlow in favor of them.

         They brought up their weirdest failed episodes, such as a race (which might be what they meant regarding the Tholomule parents) as well as an episode where Eda and Odalia had beef. It’d have been based on the Rats! musical poster –the one that gave Raine stage fright- and would’ve had musical elements, but alas Dana doesn’t like musicals herself due to her own experiences with them (which might be the Doylist source for Raine’s own trauma as well now that I think of it).

         Odalia would’ve been one of those obsessive parents, entering an Abomination disguised as a child for the role. Edric would’ve been angry and formed a rivalry with this fake child, wanting to be Momma’s Boy, and it’d end with the fake child getting decapitated and their head sliding off as the big reveal.

         When asked about doing ‘Blaine’ (Belos-possessed Raine), Avi explained they didn’t need to watch Rhys to copy Belos’ inflections, having watched the show plenty. They were surprised about the Blaine development when they went in to voice Raine that day and were told about it!

         When asked about favorite characters to write, Zach said he loved Eda because he didn’t need to go into anyone’s headspace when writing her, it was basically just him talking. Madeleine brought up how Matthew Rhys would charm the entire zoom call with his recording, and Emmy mentioned how twice she wrote for a bloodcurdling scream only for a VA to give more of an Ahhhhh.

         Specifically, Edric would’ve had a more bloodcurdling scream when he broke through his body cast to hug Amity (Zach wrote that, Emmy did the art for it), with everyone agreeing he should be in pain. A ‘piercing scream’ was specified, though Sarah joked about how hard VAs worked, and said a bloodcurdling scream might be done for an Oscar nomination (doing such a scream is taxing due to multiple takes).

         Mikki loves writing Lilith, calling her a big dweeb; Madeline loves Hooty the most, as he’s a wild card and she loves writing those. One example she brought up was in Hollow Mind, when Hooty shut down the Owl House. Madeleine loves it when Hooty goes from zero to sixty in either direction, fully insane.

         JBO also liked Hooty best, as well as King! They referenced the B-plot from Adventures in the Elements, in which Hooty negotiates a drawn body for himself from King, which Emmy and JBO wrote. The actual sketch used in the episode was straight-up one of their drawings, I didn’t catch whose though. Hooty’s dialogue in Eda’s conversation with him (from Something Ventured, Someone Framed) was also written by JBO, with Emmy drawing the bit where his tongue reaches for a fly!

        In regards to writing advice, JBO said to just do stuff, it’s better than nothing; Emmy concurred, it’s still worth it to write it, even if nobody pays you for it. Zach added that for writers, one of their goals is to be more of a tool; Get what they’ve made into the hands of someone who can take it further, it’s collaborative storytelling and writers need to see it from that perspective. Likewise, they mentioned having people read what you’ve written, as they can notice stuff that’s missing that you hadn’t thought of/remembered. Zach hoped for a TOH art book, as he liked a lot of Emmy Cicierga’s visual jokes and hoped people could enjoy them! IIRC Emmy did that one meme of Ariel combining her fish tail with two legs as a solution, so that tracks.

         On a final note, there was a HUGE wave of people commenting about Gustholomule throughout the entire stream. It went unacknowledged alas, but the group also mentioned they couldn’t answer spoiler questions so...

#the owl house #post hoot #vee noceda #edric blight #odalia blight #the owl house hooty #zach marcus #mikki crisostomo #emmy cicierga #john bailey owen #madeleine hernandez