#what if it SPIRALS and they’re on opposite sides of the Second Coming both thinking THEY’RE the one who can stop it and save the world

[avelera]

Oh man, what if there IS a time skip for Good Omens S3 and we DO flash forward to Supreme Archangel Aziraphale and Duke of Hell (There Was A Vacancy) Crowley as bitter exes, WHAT IF??

#good omens #good omens spoilers #LISTEN EVEN IF THEY DON’T #I WANT TO READ THE FIC OF IT AND I WILL TAKE RECS #but I mean my other ship was pacific rim newmann I am all about bitter ex to lovers again energy #what if they don’t fix it before it festers #what if Crowley takes the job of Duke of Hell out of SPITE #which just breaks Aziraphale’s heart but he can’t complain he did the same thing #what if it SPIRALS and they’re on opposite sides of the Second Coming both thinking THEY’RE the one who can stop it and save the world #GOD THE CONFLICT WOULD BE SO DELICIOUS

[rubydubydoo122]

In every universe Jason Peter Todd dies young. It’s a fate sealed across the multiverse. Maybe he could hope that there’s one universe where he doesn’t. aka, Jason, Dick, and Bruce go multiverse hopping, and are not having a fun time. (Ps, when I started writing this fic I hced Jason as Latino, but I don't really believe in that hc anymore, so just a heads up if you don't like that hc)

TRIGGER WARNING -> Child Death, (It's Jason)

If only both Dick and Bruce didn’t have the same idea to shove Jason out of the way from opposite sides. Maybe he would’ve still gotten hit with the device, but at least both of his shoulders wouldn’t have been bruised. They were fighting Black Mask and his posse who  had gotten ahold of a transportation device. And that’s what Jason got hit with. Because certain people (Cough, Batman– past, present and otherwise, Cough) refused to communicate. 

Right. Bearings. Then head back to Gotham. 

Ah shit. Of course he was stranded with Bruce and Dick. Of course.

They need to get back to Gotham. Tim, Damian and Cass were more than capable of taking care of themselves, but after they finish the fight, they’re going to start spiraling. Because Bruce and Dick are gone. 

“Nightwing, Batman, wake up.” He lightly shook their shoulders, while looking around. They were in a warehouse, with a bunch of crates in it. He could hear people walking around, but they were pretty hidden where they were. “We gotta get back to Gotham. They’re all gonna think we’re dead again.” The setup of the wearhouse was eerily familiar. The sooner they got out the better. 

He ducked the twin reflex punches from both of them and gave them a deadpan glare. Not that it could be seen through his helmet. The sentiment still stands.

Bruce grunted, “Status.”

“A little nauseous, but other than that, fine. Hood?”

“Sore shoulders from both of you ramming into me.” He peeked over the crate they were hiding behind–

No. 

His heart crept up into his throat, pulse pounding like a drum in his ears

They can’t be here. How were they here? Now? At this point in time? She couldn’t still be here.

He ducked back down, “Br-atman, We’ve gotta go.” As if on cue, there was a cackle.

Jason didn’t even see the monster, just her . 

Dick set himself in determination, then popped up to get a look himself,  “Besides the Joker it’s just three people. No hostages.”

Jason barely heard what he said. He just had to focus on taking off his jacket without his hands shaking, to hand to Dick. Of all the places to be sent back to, why here?

 He took off his helmet and domino and tore off the Bat on his chest, handing them to Bruce, “STT-1.” Situation time travel- past. Meaning they couldn’t interfere. Which sucks because, ya know, Jason was about to die. 

He turned to Dick, mainly because he didn’t want to see the expression Bruce was making, “You’re off world. You’re also in your deep V-Neck era, so…” he made a zipper motion.

Dick’s face paled in realization, “No.”

“Dick–”

“No! We can’t just let you die.” 

Jason looked to Bruce, because he was certain he was going to say something like ‘We can’t mess with the timeline,’ but Bruce just seemed frozen.

Jesus Christ, why does he have to be the level headed one for his own death. And he was seconds away from a panic attack. “I’ll come back.” Though he could feel his stomach twist. Knowing you’re going to come back doesn’t make watching yourself die any better. “There aren’t any windows and only one door, but they’re gonna be near the door, so I say we go up.” he reached for his grapple.

Bruce rested a hand on his elbow, but before he could say anything, Jason cut him off. “I-I don’t–” His voice cracked, “You don’t want to watch this.” because if he did, if Jason did, he would need at least four to five weeks to recover, and they didn’t have that time. They needed to get back. The longer they stayed, the more ripples they made. He’s watched ‘Back to the Future’ enough times to know that much. 

God he wished Tim was here. He’d at least be better at compartmentalizing this whole situation than anyone here. They were all too emotionally involved. They were all too close to a boy who was about to be dead.

Bruce nodded, like his mind was in another place, but then grabbed his grapple and shot up to the ceiling. 

Jason waited to watch Dick do the same, before following. Bruce was already out of the hole he had made in the roof, but he could hear the door opening below, and clammered after Dick. They had to hurry, because a smaller Jason was about to come in, stage right.

“Mom.” 

Jason grabbed Dick in one hand and Bruce in the other and tugged them down and out of sight.

“Jason?”

He knew the conversation by heart. It’s the lines that repeat over and over and over again in his brain. It’s the sounds he hears when he wakes up from nightmares. Not the sound of a crowbar meeting skin, or the sound of laughter, but the sound of betrayal.

“You’ve got big trouble, mom. I know about it… the Joker… everything.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Come on, mom! Play straight with me! I can help you.”

“Sure, tell me about it.”

Don’t. Don’t, You idiot. Don’t tell her. 

There was the sound of a zipper being undone, “There’s a lot about me you don’t know.”“That… That outfit… you’re…” He could feel the hairs on his neck stand up, as his mother put the puzzle pieces together. As she figured a way out for herself. “Come with me.”  

He felt Dick’s grip tighten on his hand, as if holding onto him would stop a 15 year old him from walking into that warehouse. Yet the touch felt miles away. Galaxies, even. 

“Wait! The Joker–”

“Is long gone. There’s nothing to worry about, but I’ve got something to show you.” 

Even in the heat of the desert, Jason felt his blood run cold. There was a static in his ears, and the floor started to spin. He was such a stupid kid. 

God this sucks. He has more trauma than this moment. He’s worked through this trauma. Especially after Damian’s death. So why does it still feel like someone’s pouring acid on a stab wound?

Bruce’s hand slipped out of Jason’s as he bolted back towards the hole in the roof, but Dick grabbed his cape before Bruce could drop in. “Bruce, we can’t–”

“Why not? I can save him this time!”

He could hear them talking about embezzlement below. He could hear the obnoxious laughter as the butt of a pistol hit his face. He could feel skin on skin as the goons three times his size beat him up. 

“Because this Jason needs you more.”

He could feel metal against skin. The numbness of the initial hit, followed by the bone deep pain aching across his entire body. “What hurts more? A” crack,  “or B?” thwack, “Forehand,” pop, “Or Backhand?” There was laughter. Just laughter.

“Jason, you need to breathe.” Bruce’s hand supported his right hand from the bottom, “In…” Bruce gently folded each of Jason’s fingers until his hand was in a fist, “and out…” he traced each finger while unraveling them. “In…” Thumb, pointer, middle, ring, pinky, “and out…” Pinky, ring, middle, pointer, thumb. “In…” fold fold fold fold fold “and out…” open open open open open.

“Jason! You’re still alive!”

Jason shook his head. This is not the time for a panic attack. He could do that later. Preferably in the safety of his own apartment. With no one else around to see it. “We’ve gotta move. The bomb’s gonna go off. Two minutes.”

Dick had that look on his face, but turned towards Bruce “B, which way do you come from?”

He looks out in the distance towards a red truck. Dick started towards the opposite direction, shooting his grapple to slow his fall, but Bruce was still looking at the truck.

Jason gripped Bruce’s elbow and pulled him along in the direction Dick went in, “ Gotta get you outta here .” Below, his younger self was echoing the phrase to Sheila.

Lovely juxtaposition. 

Bruce seemed to snap out of it as they swung down, the only thing pushing them forwards was instinct. There was heat pulsing on the back of his neck as darkness engulfed him. His ears rang as the explosion sounded, sending them tumbling.

A weight was holding him down. He could only see darkness. The smell of smoke was wrapping around his throat like a noose. 

He was dying. 

He was dying again . 

Yet, he wasn’t. He could still breathe. The darkness and weight weren’t suffocating, they were familiar. He didn’t realize he was that acquainted with Death. 

No, wait. He’s not dead. He’s breathing. He’s not choking. His lungs aren’t filled with blood. He’s not dying.

The Darkness unraveled around him, and he felt fingers on his wrist. Then his neck. He was looking at a face. He was looking at Bruce, who was searching him head to toe for any injury “Bruce, I’m ok.” 

His ears were ringing though. He didn’t know if it was the explosion, or the panic attack from earlier, but he wants the ringing to stop. He wants to hear whatever threat might come their way.

He pushed Bruce’s hands away, and went to stand so he could assess their surroundings, but was immediately knocked off balance by Dick fussing over him. He swatted him away, “I’m fine.”

The warehouse wasn’t even close to looking like a warehouse anymore. Of course he’s seen it since he’s died, but freshly exploded the building looked… not promising for anyone who was inside. It wasn’t. Anyone who was inside during the explosion was dead.

“Jason! Where are you!”  

It was Bruce, but it sounded farther away than the Bruce that was right next to him. 

His legs started moving forwards without his permission. Until the smell of smoke was too strong. Until he could feel the heat radiating off the rebar. Until…

Until he saw himself. 

Bloody, bruised, burnt. Facedown, weezing, bent at different angles. At 15 he was smaller than Damian was at 12. 

Jason remembered being all alone in his final moments. Knowing Bruce would come, but he’d be too late. Even though he knew Bruce would be too late, he still hoped. He hoped someone would be there to lay him gently to rest.

He found himself on his knees. Next to the young Robin, brushing hair behind his ear. He heard Robin's breath stutter until another rasp overtook him. Mami used to do it when the days weren’t good, but they weren’t bad. Back when he’d go with her while she’d get her cancer treatments. He’d sit in her lap while she brushed his hair behind his ear, and read to him.

Jason focused on the cross that had spilled out from under his Robin suit. “To heaven's gates we wish to fly, out of this world across the sky; To heaven's gates our souls are seeking; the angel's lyres and voices speaking.” He heard gravel crunching behind him, knowing it was Bruce and Dick he continued “To heaven's gates our lifelong journey; not through these halls atop a gurney.

“To heaven's gates you start to weep; reminded I was never yours to keep. To heaven's gates why mourn with sorrow? Morning shall come, there will be a tomorrow. To heaven's gates I view their glory; glancing behind I close my story.” 

He hears the last exhale, and knows. He can feel it in his soul. He knew when his own time was up. When all he could feel was pain, and then the pain suddenly went away. He knew his time was up. He knew there was nothing he could do. “At heaven's gates I find myself; not bruised, not broken, nor on the shelf. At heaven's gates I hear you cry and remind you: this isn't really goodbye.” He gently tucked the cross back into Robin’s suit, and placed a kiss on his forehead. “May holy Mary, the angels, and all the saints come to meet you as you go forth from this life.”

He stood up and turned back to see Dick with tears painting his face, and Bruce who looked shell shocked.

He heard the other Bruce’s footsteps stagger closer, so he dove behind the nearest piece of rubble. 

“Jason?” Bruce reached out for Little Jason’s wrist. For his pulse. “No. No.” Bruce pulled him up, but he was limp in his arms, “Jay? Lad. It’s ok, it’s ok. It’s just me. It’s Bruce. You can stop pretending.” Bruce’s fingers frantically searched little Jay’s neck. Trying to find something that wouldn’t be there “The Joker is gone. You can wake up now.” He cradled him close. Hand supporting his neck like an infant “ Jason, please.” His voice was dangerously wet, “You can’t be gone. You can’t. You can’t. You haven’t finished— you’re not done with— you can’t be done— you have so much more left—” There were shutters throughout Bruce’s body, causing little Jay’s arm to fall out from where he was cradled close. Bruce couldn’t be crying though. Batman couldn’t be crying. Not for him “ Jason… my boy… my son, please. Come back. Come back. I can’t lose you. Please.”

Jason had to turn away. He had to. This wasn’t for him to see. It was for a boy who was now dead.

Everything around them turned too bright. Like they were put into a room where all the walls and the floors were made out of fluorescent lights. Then they were in an alley. A very Gotham looking alley. Covered in snow.

He was regretting giving Dick his jacket, but oh well. 

There was the sound of retching, and when he looked over, Dick was kneeling by a corner of a dumpster, and Bruce had a hand on his back. Except he was staring directly at Jason. 

So, naturally, Jason looked everywhere but Bruce.

Actually, this Alley looked very familiar. It looked a lot like the one he used to squat in when he was freshly homeless. He’s pretty sure if he rounded the dumpster to where Dick and Bruce were, he would find his old shelter of trash bags and cardboard boxes. 

Hold up. 

It’s May in their Gotham. It’s not supposed to be snowing. And they had traveled back. And the super bright light felt the same as the original ray that had sent them back. 

“‘Wing, B–”

“Oh no.” Dick was apparently done throwing up, and was now rustling through the pile, “Kiddo? Can you hear–” There was a sharp inhale, “ Jason?”

“Dick,” He grabbed his elbow to stop him from engulfing his younger self in a hug for warmth. “Dick we’ve gotta go.”

He ripped his arm from Jason’s grasp, and leveled him with an incredulous look, “You’re going to freeze to death.”

Bruce and Dick already somewhat knew. They had assumed, which was rude, because you don’t assume something like that about someone. Besides, he did it because he had to do it. Otherwise he would have frozen to death. And it was only for this winter. He was hiding out in an abandoned apartment building for the rest of the time he was ‘homeless’. “Some…someone comes by.” He shivered and crossed his arms to retain warmth. He hates the cold.

If Dick or Bruce said anything, Jason couldn’t hear them. His ears were still ringing from the blast for some reason.

He shook his head and looked to Bruce for a plan. Except Bruce was still looking at him like he was a ghost. 

Maybe Jason should also be a little shell shocked, but honestly, he could never forget that day. If he’s left alone to think long enough, it’s the only thing he can think of. How he shouldn’t have gone after his Mother. How he shouldn’t have trusted her word. How he shouldn’t have allowed himself to hope that there was someone who would give him unconditional love.

Even Bruce’s love was probably conditional to an extent. He loved Robin, not Jason. And the mission would always come first. Batman would always come first.

Obviously, currently, Batman wasn’t in control, Bruce was trying to grab for the steering wheel, because he was obviously debating actually talking about emotions or repressing them forever and ever and ever. 

Jason groaned, they need a plan of action, “Looks like we keep going further and further into the p-past.” His teeth chattered “I want my Jacket back. You two need civies. T-there’s a Goodwill down the block.” 

Dick unzipped the jacket and handed it to Jason, while slipping under Batman’s cape. 

“Go up, I’ll meet you two on the third story. We were in the other time for like… two hours right? A bit more than that?” It was weird to think how long the Joker took to beat the living shit out of him. It somehow felt simultaneously like seconds and years.

Dick nodded, and reached to his ear, “but switch to line two. Just in case”

Jason reached up to his com to do that, “Can’t believe Mr. Paranoid still uses the same frequency from over 10 years ago.”

Dick snorted, “Not gonna defend yourself, B?”

Bruce just looked at Jason, long and thoughtful. He needed to stop staring. Yes, Jason understood that he was Bruce’s biggest failure. No need to stare at him until he explodes for it.

Yeah, no. This was getting awkward, “I’m gonna–”

“Why didn’t you tell me Sheila betrayed you?” 

Jason felt his eyebrows shoot off of his forehead and into the sun. Bruce? Trying to fix preconceived notions and willingly opening up for a conversation that would definitely involve emotions? 

Jason almost said, Because I was dead , but he didn’t. They just watched him die again, saying that would be cruel, and he needed Bruce to get his head back in the game instead of staring at him like he was about to turn into an apparition.  

Master at compartmentalization my ass . “Can we have this conversation at a different time? Thanks. I’ll be quick.”

And with that, he left for the thrift store.

There was a bitter sense of nostalgia. This was his Gotham. The Gotham he knew before he died. The skyline, the corner stores, the types of small crime that’s still around, but overshadowed by the growing number of crazies in Gotham.

There were even people he remembered who had died years ago. People he couldn’t say goodbye to because he himself had died. 

Right. Clothes.

He was really tempted to get Bruce a Batman shirt for shits and giggles, but who knew how far back they’d go before they managed to get back to their time. So he chose something relatively timeless for both Bruce and Dick. T-shirt, jeans, jacket. No designs that would date them. Also a duffle bag to keep their suits in.

He was just around the corner when Dick spoke into the com.

“Jason, someone’s coming into the alley.”

Now Jason wanted to throw up. He had to close his eyes and tell himself that there were no hands grabbing at him or his clothes. There was not one forcing him to do anything. “Does he have red hair? Balding with a horrible comb over?”

“Yeah.” A beat of silence, “I hate not doing anything. First with the Joker and now with… wait. He’s leaving.”

Jason almost tripped over his boots, but then picked up his pace. “What?”

“He definitely saw you– the younger you. He walked up to you, looked like he was debating something and then walked away.”

He can’t be. In a messed up way, the man saved him. If the man didn’t pimp him out, he would’ve froze to death. He would’ve never fought as hard as he did to find real shelter. He would’ve never lived long enough to meet Bruce. 

Jason rounded the corner into the alley. The man was long gone. Just… leaving little Jason to die.

He knelt next to himself. God, this version of him was even smaller than the one before. If he didn’t know he was supposed to be 10, he would think this kid was eight. His cheeks were sunken from the lack of food, and his face was pale, edging on blue. Hypothermia. Maybe even frostbite at this point.

“Jay, you gotta wake up. It’s too cold for you to fall asleep.” He placed a finger to his neck. 

Ice cold, and pulse too slow, but he cradled himself close, hoping he could will heat back into him. He doesn’t die here. Why is this version of him dying?

Jason placed a hand at the base of his skull, and rubbed circles into his back with the other. He doesn’t remember who used to do that with him, Papi or Bruce, he just remembers nights in the League when all he wanted was that feeling again.

Though, Bruce was holding his dead body like this, so maybe it was him.

He felt his younger counterpart shift the slightest bit in his arms, “ Papi? ” it was barely above a whisper.

Jason knew he looked a lot like him, the only thing that differentiated them from each other was his eyes, and the vitiligo. “ Mi alma.”   My soul . Ironic. God, Papi hasn’t called him that since he was seven. He’d come into their apartment after work– and not the job with Two-Face, his job before that– and be happy to see both him and Mami.

Little Jay gave him a tired smile, that somehow still held the power of the sun. “You came.” Had he always smiled that bright? Even after the streets had hardened him? 

“You needed me.” And he did, but Papi would also be dead with time. 

“‘M tired.” Little Jason wasn’t even shivering. He didn’t even have enough energy to do that. Meaning that, trying to warm him up would be a waste of time. 

“Do… Do you want to rest?” He wasn’t supposed to die here. Yet, he won’t make it. This… this doesn’t make any sense.

Little Jay gave him one slow nod, as he tucked his face into Jason’s chest.

“Alright… Alright. I’ll tell you a story, then. I know you love them.” He took a breath. He couldn’t tell him the poem he had told the 15 year old him. He knew more than one though. “ Two roads diverged in a yellow wood; And sorry I could not travel both; And be one traveler, long I stood, And looked down one as far as I could; To where it bent in the undergrowth.

“Then took the other, as just as fair; And having perhaps the better claim; Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that the passing there; Had worn them really about the same,

“And both that morning equally lay; In leaves no step had trodden black; Oh, I kept the first for another day; Yet knowing how way leads on to way; I doubted if I should ever come back.

“I shall be telling this with a sigh; Somewhere ages and ages hence:Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—” He could feel the last of life simmer out. Like someone had placed a lid on top of a candle. “I took the one less traveled by; And that has made all the difference. ” He placed a kiss into Little Jay's forehead and cleared his throat, “May holy Mary, the angels, and all the saints come to meet you as you go forth from this life.”

Bruce and Dick climbed down from the fire escape. 

Neither of them said anything for a moment, until Bruce spoke up, “Not time travel. Alternate Realities.”

It was like saying the words spurred up the bright lights around them. 

This is going to be worse than that time with Rayner.

#jason todd #batman #batfam #dc comics #red hood #dick grayson #time travel #alternate universe

[hxneyhxrts]

Sun Bleached || Jake “Hangman” Seresin (part 2)

Part 1

note: you guys are batshit for reading this, love you, let me know how we’re feeling

warnings: explicit language

Sleeping on the Blacktop

“You’re asking me to assemble a team to prepare for attack and these guys are my choices?”

Jake hadn’t meant to raise his voice when speaking to Maverick, but the image of that girl and her fucking grin after her little performance was sending him spiraling.

Admiral Simpson responded before his captain could tear into his ass about his volume. “You aren’t impressed?”

Rooster spoke up from where he lounged against the opposite wall, the rest of the team scattered around the office like weeds. “I thought they were pretty good.”

Jake scoffed and rolled his eyes. “You would.”

“Who’s top of the class so far?” Phoenix interrupted as she sensed the tension between her teammates rising with every second passing.

Cyclone smirked at Jake, and something about the older man’s expression irked him even more.

What was happening to him?

“Lieutenant Canadee. Callsign ‘Cheek’.”

He wanted to scream.

“She’s one hell of a pilot,” Coyote offered.

Jake didn’t know why, but the statement bugged him. “She’s reckless, is what she is!”

Eyes from all over the room settled on him, a genuine laugh leaving Phoenix at the sight of him. “Never thought I’d see the day Bagman wanted someone to take it slow.”

Jake rolled his eyes, both at the nickname and the comment. Maybe he wasn’t the safest or most “textbook perfect” pilot, but he was damn good and he knew his limits.

Most of the time.

But she didn’t. She hadn’t even finished the program yet, and she still flew with the arrogance of a seasoned professional.

And he hated it.

Every single part of her flying screamed ‘untouchable’. And that little bitter rage inside of him wanted to correct it, to put her in her place and keep her from killing herself.

‘That’s not true,’ snarled a little voice in the back of his head, and again, he yanked on that internal leash until it quieted.

It was true. It must’ve been true. He wouldn’t be so riled up over her if it wasn’t. She was dangerous and he wouldn’t allow that. Not on his first assignment as squadron leader.

“So my only options are inexperienced pilots who cower against some kid?” he simpered.

Maverick sighed, a defeated sound that only served to push Jake further. “Or you pick the kid.”

“I’m not putting her anywhere near my team.”

It was final, his voice. No room for argument or discussion. He had made his choice and that was that.

Rooster didn’t seem to think so.

“I don’t get why you’re so against the idea of her being on the team. Her and her RIO seem like a good pair, and the other pilots talk highly of her. She might do great,” he tried. Jake didn’t miss the way his voice seemed to soften more than usual, as if picking up on the tension mounting.

“Or she could get us all killed,” he sneered.

And herself, but he didn’t voice that point.

How was no one seeing his side of it? How had no one else in the room picked up on the fact that this was a ridiculous idea?

Top fucking 1%.

A beat passed before Beau sighed, pushing himself back from his desk and stalking around to lean on it. “The rest of the crew calls her and Rev ‘the Twins’.” His lips spread into a small grin that seemed to chill the air around them. “Ask me why.”

He was baiting him, and Jake knew, could read right into him. This was a way to reign him in without saying as much. Jake had been towing the line between passionate and disrespectful, and Admiral Simpson had had enough. He was trying to reel him in before he got too far out.

Jake, at least, had the decency to appreciate the effort.

“Why?” he all but spat.

If he was affected by the snappiness, Beau didn’t show it. “They walk alike. They talk alike. They think alike. They eat, breathe, sleep, and fly alike. They’re the most cohesive team I’ve had come through this program in quite some time, and yes, that includes all of you.” His eyes slid across the crew assembled, somehow making a room full of the Navy’s finest feel small and insignificant under his stare. “They’d be a fine addition to the team, but in the end, it’s up to you… squadron leader.”

The title sounded sour when he said it, and Jake realized this was never meant to be a reward for his bravery during the dagger mission, or a “challenge” as Maverick had tried to frame it.

It was a punishment. For not following orders and flying without instruction. Forget that he had saved Mav’s ass (and Rooster, the son of a bitch), he had bucked and shouted until he took what he wanted, and left despite his orders to stay put.

And they wanted him to pay for it.

Admiral Simpson would never say as much, and Maverick probably did see it as a learning opportunity, but Jake saw it for exactly what it was.

His captain stirred in his chair, shuffling his feet uncomfortably and finally speaking up again. “Give it a shot. You’ll have plenty of down time to talk to them, and starting tomorrow you all will be flying in dogfight drills with them. Just take a few days to get to know everyone and see who meshes with the rest of you,” he encouraged, but his eyes didn’t have the same cheer in them. He didn’t believe the words he was saying as much as anyone else in the office. “Be open-minded, and see what happens.”

See what happens. A team tasked with protecting the fortress they called ‘home’, and they wanted him to just…

see what happens?

Jake spun on his heel and stormed out before he said something that very well may have cost him his career.

—————

Coyote had tracked him down, pacing on the deck while sweat headed down his neck. It took all of twenty minutes to convince him to join the team for lunch, but he relented nonetheless and sulked behind his friend down the corridors and to the mess hall.

Goddamn Coyote.

Because “team lunch” didn’t just mean them, Rooster, Phoenix, Bob, and Payback.

“Team lunch” meant his team…

…and every single one of the rookies.

The urge to turn around and stalk back to the deck was almost overwhelming, but Coyote clamped a hand down on his shoulder and steered him towards a seat near Bradshaw. A quick glance over the crowd was enough for him to realize a certain young woman was absent, and he cursed the surge of disappointment he felt, insisting it was annoyance.

Yes. Annoyance. He was annoyed that she would skip team lunch. That’s all this was.

“If it isn’t our fearful leader,” Bradley cooed, halfway through a plate of whatever the higher ups had ordered for catering. A celebratory lunch, he was sure, for the graduating class.

Celebratory lunch for mediocrity.

Great.

Jake knew he was being unfair, anyone with eyes could tell he was in a mood, and it’s not like anyone did anything to piss him off. But he was upset, and he was squadron leader, so it was their problem now too.

He realized too late that Bradshaw had been in the middle of conversing with Rev, the latter of which was staring at Rooster like he hung the stars. He had half a mind to stand up and relocate, maybe sit somewhere where no one would bother him (like another room), when the door swung open, loud enough to echo through the room, and Rev’s eyes lit up.

“There she is!”

Fuck.

Cheek seemed to skip into the room, her steps light and bouncy and unrelentingly agitating for some reason. Because of course she would fly hard enough to make a mockery out of the rest of her team, and still have the audacity to just stroll on in.

The chair across from him was pulled out and before he could brace himself, she was in front of him, changed out of her flight suit into a Navy sweatshirt and athletic shorts. His nails bit into his palms at the sight of her bare legs, and he wanted to scream.

Jake knew her type. She flew fast, and without regard for herself, only concerned with the task and those around her, and that kind of flying was not what he wanted to put out in the field for this mission. He wouldn’t risk her failing and reaping the consequences because of her recklessness.

‘You don’t even know her,’ a voice in his head reasoned.

He didn’t have to. At least, he didn’t think so. He didn’t want to.

He didn’t.

“Hey handsome,” she smiled, and the way her eyes crinkled under the weight of it made his chest hurt.

He didn’t want to think about what that meant.

He didn’t.

A hand hovered in front of him, outstretched and gentle, and it was only then that he realized she had been speaking to him.

“What?” he bit out harshly.

But it didn’t deter her. That same bright smile was practically cemented to her cheeks. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Gwyn.”

Gwyn.

Gwyn.

Somehow having a name, an actual name to call her made the knot in his chest so much worse.

What the fuck was wrong with him?

“Hangman,” he replied without humor. She didn’t need to know anything beyond his callsign. He couldn’t handle the idea of her calling him anything else besides his callsign.

Her hand hung limply between them as she replied, “Oh we’re using callsigns. I’m Cheek.” Jake didn’t want to, but he shook her hand, for no other reason than to get her out of his space and back to her side of the table where she wasn’t so suffocatingly close. She perched herself on the edge of her chair, elbows resting on the table, as she leaned in like she was hanging on to every word he said.

“Alec Shaw, callsign ‘Rev’,” cut in the dark haired man next to her. Jake didn’t bother offering to shake his hand, and Alec didn’t seem interested in offering his.

Bradshaw introduced himself next, ever the charmer, and began a series of polite questions that Jake probably should’ve been asking as squadron leader, but he was too preoccupied watching the way Gwyn’s eyes followed their every movement, as if she was scared to miss something.

“So,” Rooster smiled, lacing his hands together on the table, “why do they call you ‘Cheek’?”

Gwyn opened her mouth to respond, but Rev beat her to the chase, and Jake got the distinct impression that he did that often.

“Because she never knows when to shut the hell up.”

The young woman smiled, clearly unbothered but the comment, but Jake bit back the urge to reprimand Alec for it all the same.

‘See what happens.’

Fuck.

He knew he should’ve been more engaging in the conversation, maybe even make rounds to different tables and speak with all the other candidates, but he was glued to his chair, trying (and failing) to ignore Gwyn as she told Bradshaw about how she had been invited to join the program.

“Alec and I have been flying together since flight school, so we were really stoked to be invited here together.”

“You make a good team,” Bradley smiled politely, side-eyeing Jake in a way that told him he should be paying attention. Jake sighed and sat up.

“What makes you better than every other pilot here?”

Straight to the point. He wanted to hear her brag out of her ass that way he could report back to Mac that she wasn’t a reliable team member, and move on.

Gwyn’s brow furrowed, only a little, but enough for him to catch it before it was gone. Almost instantly, she replied, “I don’t think I’m any better than the other pilots. I don’t think anyone here is any better than anyone else. I just happen to have a great RIO, and we just happen to make a great team.”

Rooster nodded approvingly, but Jake tensed. That wasn’t the answer he wanted, not the kind of answer that was going to help solidify his feelings towards her and help him be done with all of this. So he pushed.

“You may not be better than anyone else here. Some of us are.”

The furrow in her brow was back. Alec sat up a little straighter, glancing between the two of them before interjecting. “Well, what makes you better than the rest?”

His response was instant, practically rehearsed. “I'm faster, I'm smarter, I'm just better.”

“Do you think I’m not as good as you are?”

The tone she spoke to him with was quiet, almost timid, and he knew he had hit a nerve. A better man would’ve pulled back, maybe apologized, and moved the conversation along. But he didn’t want to be a better man. He wanted to be rid of her and the tingling that was now spreading through his chest and down his spine.

“With all due respect, only one of us has actually completed Top Gun.”

“And yet, we’re sitting at the same table.”

Jake’s shoulders tensed at the challenge in her words. She was angry, and pushing his buttons. Had he deserved it? Sure.

Would he accept it? No.

“What are you implying?”

Her gaze narrowed before settling again, and when she spoke again her voice was distant. “Nothing, Lieutenant Seresin.”

She stood from her chair and left the room in four strides, quickly enough to miss the way his face fell at how she said his name, spitting it out like a curse.

Alec watched her go, and smirked. “We’ll see you guys tomorrow for drills.” And with that, he stalked after her.

Rooster sighed from beside him, clapping a hand on his shoulder, but deciding not to speak. Jake didn’t need him to, anyway. He knew was being an ass, but it was like he didn’t have control over his mouth or his feelings. He didn’t want this responsibility, didn’t want to lead a team. Even more, he didn’t want to lead a team with her in it. Didn’t want to think about the mission at hand and how it would affect not only his friends, but some kid who hadn’t even finished Top Gun yet. So if he had to bitch and moan his way into getting her as far away from this assignment, so be it.

It still didn’t fix the feeling in his chest, though.

Part 3

#jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin #hangman top gun #hangman x reader

[heyheydidjaknow]

I don’t know what to even say. I’m sorry, France, for probably not representing your language properly. Blame Google Translate.

First Goodbye

“I fucking hate you right now.”

“You’re very close.”

You glared. “Fuck you and your ‘very close’,” you huffed. “I’m about two seconds away from a stroke is what I am.”

You were not bad at jigsaw puzzles. By no means were you good at them, but you would not go so far as calling yourself bad. Of course, you had not done a jigsaw puzzle in some time, but you had figured that it would be a relatively simple affair, completing one.

He had picked the puzzle.

“I promise,” he smiled softly, “you’re doing very well all things considered.” The puzzle he had picked was currently taking up the entirety of your coffee table. It was 1,000 pieces in the picture— you insisted on a picture, to his great amusement— of Van Gogh's “The Starry Night”. What had begun as a fun date idea for his last night in town had spiraled very quickly into the worst situation you had ever had because while he had finished his half of the puzzle in twenty minutes while taking routine hot chocolate breaks, you had only just finished the edges.

“How come you finished yours so fast, anyway?” You fingered through the pile of your sorted pieces. “Oh, no, wait, never mind. No social life.”

He smiled. “Surprisingly, that’s not it.” He took a drink from his cup. “I just spent a lot of time indoors as a kid.”

“And why’s that?”

“Weather.”

You looked up at him. “Weather?”

“Yes.” He set the mug down between his legs. “It was cold where I grew up.”

“Where’d you grow up?”

“The Polar Urals.” He glanced at the piles, reaching over and setting one of the pieces in its place. “For a long time, anyways. I completed a lot of puzzles.”

“The Polar Urals?” You sighed, conceding and sliding the box with the sorted pieces over to him so he could help. “Where’s that?”

He considered the question. “If the Arctic Ocean is a circle, the Polar Urals start at the opposite side of Canada.”

You tried to picture it. “What, in Russia?”

“Yes.”

“You’re Russian?”

“That is what that word means, yes.”

You folded your legs under you. “Can you speak Russian?”

“I can,” he nodded.

“English is your second language?”

“Yup. Well,” he clarified, “it’s more like a second first language. My family is from all over.”

You placed another piece, knowing full well it was in the wrong place. “What languages do you know?”

He sighed. “By the time I was eight I knew five. I don’t know how many I know now.”

Your eyes widened. “Five?”

He counted on his fingers. “English, Japanese, Russian, French, Italian. I would consider those my first languages.”

You laughed. “How do you know so many?”

He set his hands on his knees. “Well,” he shrugged, “my father was born in Russia. My grandmother was Russian and my grandmother was Italian, so he knew both. My mother was born in Japan, and her parents were Japanese and English. They both learned French and then spoke all of those when I was growing up, so I learned them all.”

“So you do have parents.” You leaned back on your hand. “I was starting to think you were grown in a lab or something.”

He opened his mouth, paused, closed it again. “I’m not surprised you say that, actually. That piece is oriented the wrong way.”

You stopped. “How could you know that?”’

“Puzzles with images like these usually have their pictures lasered on.” He stood up, walking over and sitting directly next to you. “And because they’re lasered on, if you look closely, you can see the lines. That’s the way to tell whether or not pieces are sideways definitively, to see if all the lines are oriented the same way.”

You picked up one of the pieces, holding it up to your face. Sure enough, just as he had foretold, there were the lines. “Huh.” You leaned against his shoulder, taking the hint. “And you know that why?”

He took a second too long to answer. “Because it makes those sorts of puzzles very easy after a while.” He took the piece from you, setting it in its correct place. “That’s why blank puzzles are more challenging. That, and you don’t have a picture for reference.”

You nodded. “What happened when you were eight?”

“Hm?”

“You said you knew five languages until you turned eight and then you learned more.” You tucked your legs under you, relaxing into him. “What changed?”

He reached around, setting his hand tentatively on your waist before awkwardly pulling it away. “Well,” he cleared his throat, “when I was eight, I met Watari.”

“The man who homeschooled you?”

“Yes.”

You paused. “You said you had parents. Past tense.”

“I did.” He leaned back. If he minded that you followed he hid it well.

“Watari adopted you, then?”

“You could call it that, yes.”

You rolled over to look at him. “May I ask–”

The words were not emotionally driven; the delivery was as dry as it would be if he were stating a statistic. “My father was executed.” He opened his eyes softly, glancing over at you curiously. “My mother killed herself soon after. My extended family would not take me, so Watari did.”

You said nothing.

“I lived in England until I turned fourteen. Then I traveled around a lot. I’ve learned more languages since then, which is why–”

“I’m sorry.”

“What?”

You took a strand of the carpet between your fingers. “I’m sorry that you went through that.”

He studied you for a moment, then rolled over, facing you. “Please, don’t be.” He closed his eyes. “It was so long ago; I can barely remember them, anyway.”

“That doesn’t make it easier.”

“True.” He sighed. “Would you mind if we changed the subject?”

You stopped. “Okay.” You pursed your lips. “So you lived in England for a while?”

“Yes.”

“And you’ve been all over?”

“Sure.”

“What’s your accent, then?”

He opened his eyes. “I don’t think I get your meaning.”

“Well, I have an accent don’t I?”

“Sure.”

“Well, when you’re speaking naturally, what’s your accent?”

He considered it. “I don’t know.” He looked away from you. “It depends on which language I’m speaking, what dialect.”

“Then what dialect and language are you best at speaking?”

He paused. “French,” he decided.

“Can I hear?”

“Why?”

“I’m just curious.”

He stared at you, analyzing your face with the same clinical edge he had that first day. “What would you like me to say?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” You smiled. “Anything.”

His eyes softened. He cleared his throat and began. “Si nous sommes ensemble vous serez incroyablement malheureux. Malheureusement pour vous, je suis une personne incroyablement égoïste, donc je ne vous avertirai pas correctement.” He reached towards you, taking one of your hands awkwardly in his, interlacing your fingers together. “Encore, ne serait-ce que comme ça, s'il vous plaît, trouvez-moi ennuyeux et ne m'appelez pas une fois que je serai parti.” There was a quiet earnestness to his voice, warmness you had never heard from him before, and in that moment– one of the few moments you would get from him of the course of your relationship– you almost believed he and you were the same species.

You swallowed. “What does that mean?”

He breathed in, held it, breathed out. “Nothing important.” And just like that, the water was disturbed, the moment lost. “It’s a passage from a book.” Abruptly, he sat up, pulling himself to his feet and grabbing his cup. “I have to leave.”

Something about his tone made your heart pang painfully. “Leave?” You watched him set his cup on your counter. “Why?”

“I need to pack my things before the flight tomorrow.” He did not look at you. “I’ll be gone by morning. You shouldn’t see me off.”

You stumbled to your feet. “Hey, wait a second–”

“You have made this one of the best months in recent memory.” He stopped at the door. “For that, I'm eternally grateful. If we never meet again, I wish you the best.”

You grabbed him by the arm, spinning him around to face you. “Now hold on just a minute!” You caged him against the door with your arms. “You can’t just do that!”

“Do what?”

“That!” You gestured with your hand. “You can’t just leave someone so suddenly. It’s not right.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s wrong, that’s why.” Quickly realizing what you were doing, you put your arms down. “If we don’t have something, that’s fine. I mean, it’s not, but I can roll with that.” You felt heat creep up your neck. “But you can’t just leave like that. You have to at least be straight enough with me so that if I should be moving on I know to.”

He seemed almost stunned.

You felt tears stinging your eyes, not so much out of sadness as out of shame or anger or embarrassment or who knows what else. “Am I ever going to even hear from you again? At least tell me that much.”

He took a step towards you.

“Well?”

He took your face in his hands and kissed you.

Your mind went blank.

He pulled away, fingers lingering a moment before stepping back towards the door. “I don’t know.” He pulled it open. “I don’t know, but I’ll try to.”

And just like that, he was gone.

Previous Works

#l x y/n #l x you #l x reader #l death note #l dn #death note lawliet #dn lawliet #lawliet x reader #l lawliet #ryuzaki lawliet #death note x you #death note x reader #death note x y/n #death note #one of these days it’s not gonna be angst #I’m not sure if this is angst actually. I think it is but I’m not sure. #it feels on brand #tw kissing #tw large puzzles #fuck jigsaw puzzles #tw puzzles #I think they deserve a tw honestly #im sorry French speaking people #i used google translate #it’s probably a grammatical nightmare #hopefully it’s comprehensible #when I found out that the creator just said screw it to backstory outside of how he was at the orphanage my heart soured #im basing his childhood on time and ethnicities specified by the author #no backing #no canon validation

[clearcloudlesssky]

*sips tea* WHY, HELLO THERE

I am here to inquire about your writing! (I just want to give you an excuse to make a tumblr post about it because you're an amazing writer)

Who's your favorite oc and why?

What two characters do you think have the most interesting dynamic together out of the ones youve written?

What tropes do you use the most?

Do you have any ocs you think youd get along with irl? Any you think you'd hate irl?

ALSO...CAN I MARRY ORPHEUS??? (and eule i love them both)

WHY, HELLO TO YOU AS WELL

thank you for inquiring about my writing!! it means a lot seriously

i am so so sorry i didn’t answer this sooner i literally did not know that there was a inbox until today sobs

well anyhoo questions

1) who’s your favorite oc and why?

my favorite oc at the moment is levine. mostly cause depressed doctor with a missing inventor childhood friend, who disappeared after a morally wrong experiment, but then the subject of that experiment appears at his doorstep and what tf is he supposed to do now.

plus i just like his personality (me saying he’s quiet and hates interacting with people just like me frfr)

ok but on the legitimate side of things

levine tends to portray himself as a misanthrope who dislikes spending time with others, but in reality he uses it as a mask to cover up the fact that he doesn’t actually hate people, rather he ends up caring too much, so he just withdraws.

he pretends to be the first option, but ultimately he’s a bleeding heart disguised as a cynic. yes, he’s bitter and somewhat jaded by certain events, but that doesn’t stop him from feeding the scrawny cat on the side of the road or taking in a child? automaton? person? that was left to him.

plus his relationship with childhood friend aka local crazy woman camille who is his exact opposite is fun to write

2) what two characters do you think have the most interesting dynamic together out of the ones you’ve written?

hmmm out of the characters that i’ve written so far the relationship between yuna and neva is probably the most interesting to me, seconded by marion and cinna.

in yuna/neva’s case it’s the mixture of childhood-friends-turned-reluctant-enemies-but-not-really, and the thing about their vibe that i like is that they just keep making each other worse. they love each other, they adore each other, but they also hate and despise each other, and whenever one falls it’s inevitable that the other follows.

yuna is usually the one to take the first downward plunge, without any hesitation, and she always looks back at neva like “are you coming?” —and neva always looks at her, and something inside her whispers that this is wrong, she shouldn’t be doing this, but another part says yes this feels good, and enjoys the thrill, and it’s that side that wins over like all of the time.

because when it comes down to it yuna just does what she wants in the moment, without much regard for the future or the people around her. maybe a different person could reel her in, or clean up her messes, or tell her hey this is wrong, but that person will never be neva. neva is kinda apathetic to both life and people, she’s just plodding through life. yes, she has a better moral compass than yuna, but she’s not pressed enough to follow through on that bit of conscience within her and stop what they’re doing, so everything usually just spirals and spirals until it explodes.

that was basically them in their teenage years, and when the story starts as reuniting adults, the pattern just. happens again but on a larger scale. i told you they’re my toxic lesbians and i love themmmm

3) what tropes do you use the most?

erm i would say that i use “childhood friends” AKA “knew each other in youth” wayyyy too frequently. also a sucker for the parental figure and traumatized child relationship

4) do you have any ocs you think you’d get along with irl? any you think you’d hate?

i think that i’d get along with eurydice (wow i should probably rename her) mostly because she’s a chill lady, runs a tea shop. i’d like to get a drink from her and just relax. i also think i’d get along with doll but let’s be real, doll gets along with like 99% of the people they meet. they are my sunshine porcelain automaton child. (i coparent with levine.)

erm i would probably dislike hanging around yuna, enough said about that. i kinda want to say marion but i wrote him to be fairly charismatic and i don’t think that i would be immune haha

5) can i you marry orpheus (also eule)

STOP MARRYING PEOPLE’S OCS ASHER >:(((((

you have permission to marry eule. but marion comes as a side piece. this is non-negotiable.

as for orpheus, ask anil lmao

suddenly occurs to me that nobody knows who these people are. oH well maybe i’ll post more later TwT

i wrote this at 2AM coughing so if this is incoherent i sincerely apologize

#who let stella write #answering asks #writeblr #original story #original characters

[pixelwisp-archive]

HQ Teams Lose Their Manager

Based on this ask! @confusedturtle​

[gn!Manager]

Feat. Aoba Johsai, and Nekoma (Was gonna do all the teams but this ended up being a little tougher than I was expecting. Maybe if there’s interest I’ll do more parts with more teams! :))

I decided to mix up the outings so it didn’t get boring! Hope that’s okay!

AOBA JOHSAI

Where you went: Haunted Attraction - it was more like a haunted mansion than a house. It was your suggestion - and the boys never say no to you, no matter how badly they want to sometimes.

What happened: The team went in groups of two - You and Kunimi took the lead, followed closely by Hanamaki and Matsukawa, then Yahaba and Kyōtani, then Iwa and Oikawa (who insisted he be behind Iwa and Kyōtani for protection, even though Kyo was all but quaking in his shoes), and taking up the rear was Kindaichi and Watari. At some point, Makki noticed you and Kunimi had just kind of...disappeared? He tried to be discreet about it, he really did, but when he whispered to Mattsun “You see Kunimi and Y/n?” one of the actors heard and started shrieking about having eaten the two of you.

How they reacted:

Makki and Mattsun are actively planning your’s and Kunimi’s funerals just to rile up Oikawa, much to Iwa’s distress. Probably reenacting Shakespearean monologues about your death while the others slowly dissolve into mass panic (thanks to Oikawa).

Iwaizumi is desperately trying to keep things under control, while also keeping an eye out for the two of you. He knows it’s likely you got lost but he has enough sense to know that surely one of the actors would break character to help you...right? He’s trying a little extra hard to keep his cool. 

Oikawa? An absolute Mess™. He is plowing through the attraction, accidentally bumping into actors left and right, shrieking at every turn while shouting for you (not Kunimi tho hfkajsdfaks) and trying (and failing) to direct Kyōtani and Iwaizumi through the house as if they were Pokémon. 

Kyōtani is a little too busy hanging on to his last shred of dignity to give you a second thought. Between trying to keep his cool and trying to get Oikawa to stop pushing him into the rooms when his heart is barely hanging in there, he is a millisecond away from an all out villain origin story. Yahaba is mildly concerned, but honestly he’s too busy cackling at Kyōtani (please yahaba let the man have a minute of peace).

Kindaichi and Watari feed off Oikawa’s chaotic energy - they didn’t know what was going on, but they heard that you and Kunimi were dead and just began blindly panicking along with their Captain. 

Where they found you: Outside, with Kunimi, having completed the attraction 20 minutes ago. You stood at the exit with ice creams and gasped when the rest of the team was escorted out by security. You guys are banned from coming back, but you can’t get too upset about it when the team rushes to you - Oikawa flinging his arms dramatically around your frame half muttering into your hair about how he thought he lost you, Iwa standing a little closer than usual, the rosiness of his cheeks and the softened gaze giving him away as he says “Glad you’re okay”, Kyōtani standing on the side opposite Iwa, his hand coming to hold the hem of your shirt to comfort him. Yahaba, Kindaichi, and Watari coming around too to talk your ear off about the chaos that just unfolded before them. You can’t help but smile as Makki and Mattsun tease Kunimi, regaling the events that had taken place and making Kunimi chuckle - certainly an achievement in it of itself.  

NEKOMA

Where you went: Indoor Trampoline Park - Coach Nekomata was getting fed up with the constant bickering between members of the team (everyone @ Lev) and Coach Naoi recommended a trip to an indoor trampoline park as a team bonding field trip. Being their manager, you were forced invited along too :)

What happened: Things were going surprisingly well - Kenma and Fukunaga found an arcade area and spent most of the time there while Yamamoto and his posse of first years (Inuoka, Shibayama, and Teshiro specifically) were causing discreet chaos on the trampolines. Kuroo and Yaku raced to the obstacle course to see who could complete it first, with Kai following after them begging them to not get the team kicked out. Lev had dragged you to the end of the obstacle course to see who would reign supreme, but he dragged you into the foam pit and in his excited state, didn’t notice when you sunk in and lost your grip on his hand. It wasn’t until Kai asked Lev about your whereabouts that it hit him that he lost you, his hands sweating as he turns to Kai with straight panic. Yaku and Kuroo tie (though each of them insists there was a clear win) and walk up just as Lev stuttered out “I-I think I lost them.”

How they reacted:

Kuroo’s mother hen senses immediately spring into action - he calls for everyone to meet up at the center to confirm that no one knew your whereabouts.

All hell breaks loose when they notice that both you and Kenma are missing from the group.

Kenma had left the arcade after some younger kids had barreled into the area shrieking like escaped zoo animals - when he decided to hide underneath the foam pit, he found you (hiding from Lev) chillin’ and decided to join you. 

Fukunaga found you guys relatively quickly, but returned back to the group and didn’t say a single word about it, he just watched the team crumple into hysteria with a pleasant smile on his face LMAO

 Kuroo is yelling at Lev, who’s drowning in a sea of guilt and is literally near tears (please someone hug our tall lanky boi). Kai is trying to get him to remember the last time he was with you, but Lev is too busy spiraling.

Yamamoto is already calling Tanaka to plan a funeral service for you - he is inconsolable and Inuoka and Shibayama are trying (see: Failing) to console him with gentle pats and “They’re probably fine, Taketora-san!”

Teshiro is trying hard to maintain his composure but everyone else’s stress is getting to him and he can’t decide if he wants to cry, go home, or both.

Kuroo is seconds away from taking over the intercom to call for a shut down when Lev bursts out with a “THEY’RE IN THE FOAM PIT” and the entire team hustles to the foam pit to save you.

Yaku is trying to make it worse because stressed Kuroo brings him a sick pleasure pls I can’t I love Yaku so much lmaooo

Yaku: “it’s been too long...they’ve definitely suffocated by now.”

Kai: “KNOCK IT OFF YAKU”

Lev sticks his arm down into the foam pit, blindly searching for either one of you.

I swear Kenma becomes a body contortionist the way he moves to avoid the dangling arm that’s jerking around in a desperate attempt to catch a hold of something human shaped

 Where they found you: The moment you hear Yamamoto say something about ordering vigil candles, you realize that you should probably let them know you’re alright. You sigh dejectedly and take Lev’s hand and he HURLS you up out of the foam pit and rocket launches you into the air. The team collectively catches you before you hit the ground and they all bear hug you, Yamamoto sobbing while still on the phone with Tanaka - Kenma shows up seconds later and Kuroo crushes the both you in a hug while simultaneously scolding you. the first years and Yaku all talk over each other trying to tell you the absolute chaos you two caused and Kenma is so bothered by the noise he disappears again causing another panic before you guys are inevitably kicked out.

#haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu!! #haikyuu x reader #hq!! x reader #nekoma manager hc #headcanons #hq!! headcanons #hq headcanons #nekoma headcanons #aoba johsai headcanons #seijoh headcanons #haikyu!! headcanons #haikyu!! #haikyu!! x reader #I love seijoh and nekoma so so much my goddd #these were kind of terrible tho im so sorry lmao #Nekoma's gave me so much trouble for some reason and idk whyyy

[raindownforme]

Hey! I’m back with another request!

Reader and Ted practicality have all the same classes and whenever they have to do projects or work in pairs Ted without fail or shame is always like “Can she work with me! Please!” Even in front of the class So he can flirt with her during the project

She/her pronouns pls :D

Also I LOVED ORBITING JUPITER I NEVER HEAR ANYONE TALK ABOUT IT

An Ode to You

Ted Nivison x reader [she/her used]

The teacher, Mrs. Statham, smacked a stack of papers on her rolling cart. She lined the edges of them up to make it straight, then held the stack in her off arm. She turned to face the class, smiling kindly as she stood tall in her professional shoes.

“This week, we’re starting a project. You and a partner will be writing poetry based on prompts and discussing your different styles of writing. Your partner will be randomly assigned-“ the class groaned, some shutting books in protest. “Hey. It’s 9am, you think I want this either?” The class grew quiet. “Exactly. Now, I’m pulling names from a hat. First is…”

y/n leaned into her open palm, closing her eyes for a moment. She could hear students shuffling around their chairs, tennis ball covered legs scraping the cheap cement. She ran a hand through her hair, leaning back to stretch her back over the cheap school chair.

“YES.” Someone stood quickly in the opposite corner of the room, the scraping and falling sound of the chair making y/n jump. She opened her eyes to see her classmate Ted standing up in the corner with his arms upright in a cheering motion. He smiled widely, looking over towards y/n. He quickly realized his outburst, dropping his arms and pushing his glasses further onto his face. “Should I pick up that chair?”

“Yes, Ted. Then go move over to your partner.” Mrs. Statham shook her head, going back to the task she’d been working on before hand. Ted gathered his things, placing the chair back to where it belonged, and headed across the classroom to where y/n sat. He pulled the chair next to her out and sat down, smiling widely.

“Hey, come here often?”

y/n rolled her eyes, trying to hide a small smile. “Good morning Ted.”

“Good morning gorgeous.” Ted looked away from y/n, sorting through his backpack for a spiral notebook and a mechanical pencil. He turned back to y/n, intending to say something, but Mrs. Statham spoke first.

“All partners have been assigned. On the board are types of poetry and some one-word prompts. Yes you and your partner must pick the same type of poem and prompt. If you have any questions, I’ll be up here grading. Go ahead.”

The students began chattering as Mrs. Statham went to her desk. y/n huffed, staring at the board. She wasn’t well-versed on types of poetry, and the list was quite long.

“How about an Ode? You know like an Ode to something?” Ted gestured with his pencil as he talked. “I’ll let you pick the category.”

“An Ode to…” y/n scanned the board, looking for the right word. “Does that say darling?”

“No?” Ted squinted as he looked at the board as well. “I think it says daring. But I like darling! An ode to darling.”

y/n smiled, turning to begin writing in her own notebook. The rest of the lesson went on with only a few scattered comments from Ted.

“What color are your eyes?”

y/n looked up at him, confused. “Why?”

“Never mind I got it.” Ted furiously scratched at his paper, y/n returning to her own.

“What season is your favorite would you say?”

“Fall.” y/n set down her pencil, smiling kindly at Ted. “I like the leaves and it’s usually a nice temperature out. You?”

“I’m a late spring early summer kind of guy.” Ted taped his pencil over and over in a slow rhythm he could only hear in his head. “I mean, unless you have a pollen allergy.”

“Why?”

“I can’t take you out if you’ll be sneezing and coughing the whole time. I don’t know, maybe the fall could be a good time.” Ted waved like he was getting rid of an idea. “I’ll figure it out.”

“Okay?” y/n thought to herself for a moment, then ignored Ted’s question to go back to her work.

“Hey what’s your-“ Ted was cut short by the ringing of the school bell. He groaned dramatically as y/n stood to gather her things. “No! Stop.”

“Why?” y/n didn’t stop, instead zipping her bag shut and throwing it over her shoulder. Ted grabbed onto the edge of her shirt, tugging slightly.

“I don’t want you to go.”

“Ted, I have a class across the school. I’ll see you tomorrow.” y/n gently pulled her shirt from Ted’s grasp. He sighed, standing up.

“Fine. Let me walk you there at least?”

It took Ted all of a minute to gather his things. He shouldered his back pack and led y/n out of the classroom. He let his hand fall to his side, gently taking y/n’s middle finger and wrapping his own finger around it. He looked down at her, smiling softly, and held on tighter when she showed no sign of discomfort.

The two walked in silence across the school, taking y/n to her science class. Ted stopped her before she walked in, keeping her finger is his grasp. “Can I see you later?”

“Ted, we have class tomorrow. I’ll see you then.” y/n patted him in the arm, politely excusing her self. She watched him walk backwards down the hall, and turned to walk into the class.

“I’ll be thinking of you!” She rolled her eyes at Ted’s outburst, avoiding the peering eyes of her classmates.

———

The next few days continued the same way; Ted endlessly flirting while y/n write her ode. The writing came easy to her. She wrote about the stars, about the constellations and the night sky. It was a basic topic she knew, but it was easy to write about and it fit the prompt. She wasn’t sure what Ted had written about, but by now everyone had finished their poems, and it was time to present.

“Alright, Ted and y/n?” Mrs. Statham sat behind her desk, yawning into her mug of tea. “Please state your type and prompt.”

“We chose an Ode, and I miss read the prompt so instead of daring we chose darling?”

She nodded, keeping her eyes on the grading sheet in front of her. “I like it. Go ahead.”

y/n cleared her throat. She looked over at Ted, waiting to see who would go first. He gestured to her, offering her to go first while smiling kindly. Oddly enough, for it being the first class of the day, Ted seemed to be the most awake in the classroom.

“For darkness around you, a pattern to make do…” y/n read robotically from the sheet of paper in front of her. The poem lasted only ten seconds, letting her quickly set it aside and awkwardly smile at her classmates. There was light clapping from the crowd, complimentary almost.

“Very good.” Mrs. Statham scribbled on the grading sheet with a blue pen. “And what was that called again?”

“An Ode to the Stars.”

“Thank you. Ted you’re next?”

Ted nodded eagerly, straightening himself. He smoothed down the front of his shirt and looked expectantly at Mrs. Statham. “Do I-“

“There are no extra credit points for memorization. However, if you’d like to, go ahead.”

“Thank you.” Ted turned back to y/n, smiling widely. “I’m encaptured in your loving stare; My darling girl, my lady, fair.”

Ted went on for a long minute, leaving y/n a flustered mess. Every stanza, Ted found a new way to look at her. A new way to gesture to her. A new way to emphasize the lines he spoke. And after that long minute, the class fell silent for a moment before clapping loudly for Ted’s display.

“Thank you both. Class, did we notice any differences in Ted and y/n’s writing?”

Someone y/n didn’t know the name of put their hand upwards, prompting Mrs. Statham to call on them. “Well, y/n wrote about an object, Ted wrote about a person.”

“Good. Is there anything else we can infer class?”

“Oh!” Someone in the back classroom sat up straighter as they shouted out. y/n couldn’t quite see who it was. “y/n wrote kind of factual? Like things that we could all see. But Ted sees the person differently than we’d normally… perceive them?”

“Yeah. Exactly. Alright good job you two, go ahead and take your seats.”

Ted followed y/n to the shared desk in the far corner of the classroom. Another set of students went up to present theirs, and y/n kept her eyes glued forward on the pair, avoiding looking at Ted.

“I really liked yours.” Ted leaned over to whisper in her ear. She jumped a bit, surprised by how close he sat. “I think it was beautiful.”

“Thanks.” y/n chewed at the inside of her lip. “What was yours called again?”

“An Ode to You.”

“Sorry?” y/n tried to swallow the heat rising to her face, trying to not be flustered in front of Ted.

“It’s called An Ode to You.”

“To me?”

“No— well.” Ted twirled a pencil around in his finger tips. “It’s called An Ode to You, not like An Ode to y/n, I mean technically it is about you-“

“Me? What, are you flirting?”

Someone snorted in the seat in front of y/n and Ted. “You just noticed?”

y/n watched Ted’s face turn bright red. “I mean, they’re right. You just noticed?”

“I assumed it was a joke.”

“Why would I be joking?” Ted looked at y/n with concern etched across his face.

“I don’t know! Are you not joking?”

“No.” Ted very gently took y/n’s hand in his. “y/n, my darling. I would never joke about you.”

“Well Ted, honey, it’s 9am and you’re flirting with a tired teenager.”

“Can I flirt with you some other time?”

“Yes.” y/n yawned, stretching her arms upwards. “Any other time.”

“Tonight then? 7 o’clock?”

“Why 7-?” y/n stopped, her face becoming increasingly heated as the realization came to her. “A date? You want to take me on a date?”

The school bell rang and Ted stood from the desk, placing a folded piece of paper in front of y/n. “Text me, I’ll come pick you up.”

She watched Ted walk away, then looked down at the paper. On it read a phone a number that she assumed belonged to ted. When she unfolded it, however, was a hand written poem with a title reading, An Ode to y/n.

#ted nivison #ted nivison x reader #chuckle sandwhich x reader #chuckle sammy #chuckle sandwich #lunch club x reader #lunch club

[strangerthings4theories]

The Demogorgon Is Billy’s Dark Reflection

At first glance, the Demogorgon seems irrelevant to the question of whether or not Billy’s coming back. But as I aim to prove, it has everything to do with it. 

Stranger Things deals heavily in the theme of reflections and opposites. Characters are designed to mirror each other, embody the opposite of each other, and sometimes both at once. Hell, the Upside Down is presented as a reflection of the real world. Literally.

(Damn. They ain’t subtle.)

By the term “dark reflection,” I mean a relationship like that between the Upside Down and the real world. The two are almost exact copies; the Upside Down has all the same landmarks, down to Will’s fort in the woods. But the Upside Down has been corrupted by the Mind Flayer, its inhabitants turned into unthinking monsters.

It’s like us. But it’s everything we hate about ourselves, everything we’re afraid of becoming.

When we probe relationships between characters, we find that pattern replicated across the board. I don’t have room to explore it in full here. However, Billy and the Demogorgon are one of the most obvious examples.

With the exception of El, the main character of the show, no one else has been compared to the Demogorgon like Billy has.

>>Billy fills the “monster” role in S3 that the Demogorgon filled in S1.

In S1, the Demogorgon stalks the inhabitants of Hawkins, kidnapping and killing them. In S2, we find out Demogorgons do not act alone, but are the puppets of a greater monster: the Mind Flayer. 

In S3, the Mind Flayer possesses Billy, turning him into His puppet. Billy then stalks the inhabitants of Hawkins, kidnapping and taking them to his master, which ultimately results in their deaths.

In S3, the Demogorgon wears a human face.

>>Like the Demogorgon, Billy is the puppet of a greater monster... even before he’s possessed.

Max tells us as much in Runaway Max when she’s watching Billy beat the life out of Steve:

I remembered how it had felt the first time I’d watched the Hargroves in action. Neil standing over Billy with the belt in his hand. Neil calling me a stupid little girl for having the guts to try to stop him. Making it so clear that he thought I was small and weak and pointless. And knowing Neil believed that still wasn’t as bad as the way Billy had hated me for trying to help him. He was damaged. Broken, maybe. And even if he’d been coherent enough to argue with, it wouldn’t make a difference. I understood now that Neil was in his head, and that meant he was just as dangerous as his father. (p 218)

This implies not only that Billy is the Demogorgon, but also that Neil is the Mind Flayer. The ramifications of that idea are... oof. Just oof.

Remember the definition of “dark reflection” that I gave you. A dark reflection is something that’s like us, but represents what we hate or fear most about ourselves.

The Demogorgon is Billy’s dark reflection because it represents his fear of losing his humanity to an abuser. 

>>Runaway Max draws on the grossest scene in S2 to give us a Billy/Demogorgon parallel.

In S2, Dustin finds a baby Demogorgon and names it D’Artagnan. At first Dart seems harmless. Then he molts and, in a scene I hate to watch, eats Dustin’s cat.

Keep in mind that Dustin’s cat is orange.

In Runaway Max, Billy seems harmless at first. Then, in a flashback to California, we’re told of the day Billy “molts.” 

One afternoon, he’s hanging out with Max and his buddies Wayne and Sid on the scrubby hill behind the Hargrove house. He’s bored and pissed at Sid for besting him on a history paper. Pulling out his lighter, he starts playing with it.

We learn there’s a corpse of a cat nearby:

There was a dead cat that had been lying under one of the sweet pea bushes for a while. A mangy orange tom with one white foot. (p 63)

Billy stalks over to it with his lighter. In a “hard, bright” voice, he talks about giving the cat a “Viking funeral.” Then, over Max and Sid’s protests, he drenches the corpse in butane and lights it on fire. The flames race down the hill, and the others have to stomp them out before they spiral out of control.

Max notes Billy’s reaction:

Billy just watched, standing over the burning cat, smiling that small, tight smile he got when something seemed funny to him....

After that, I knew.

Not that Billy was crazy or out of control, exactly - it wasn’t like the cat had been alive. But the fact that he’d done it meant something. (p 67)

Yeah, this scene means something, alright. Symbolically, Billy - a baby Demogorgon - has just eaten a cat. And, like Dustin with Dart, Max realizes he’s a monster in the making.

>>The show’s plot and cinematography choices emphasize the Billy/Demogorgon connection.

1) El first meets them in the Void. They’re both crouching, and literally or symbolically feasting, as she approaches from the right.

2) They stalk after the kids, shoulders hunched. In the Demogorgon’s case, the kids are trapped. In Billy’s case, he thinks he’s trapping the kids, but they turn the tables on him.

3) When the Demogorgon is activated, a crack rips through the tile wall of the lab. When Billy is activated, we see cracked tiles on the wall behind him.

4) El pins them against the wall with her powers. Then she screams in their faces before she deals the “death blow.” In the climactic shot, she’s on the left, they’re on the right. Mike and/or her friends are behind her.

All of that ^ is the equivalent of the Duffers banging pots and pans. “Hey guys! Billy is like the Demogorgon! The Demogorgon is like Billy!” When I first noticed it, it told me to look for other examples of “mirroring.” Do we get any other shots that juxtapose the two?

Turns out we do. Oh my god, we do.

Study this pair of shots very, very carefully.

In the first, the Demogorgon is approaching the Byers' house. It's in the center of the frame, moving straight toward us. We see woods in the background; a lamp post is on the left side.

In the second, Billy is running away from the sauna. He's in the center of the frame, moving directly away from us. We see woods in the background; a lamp post is on the right side.

I’ve already talked about how the Upside Down is the deep sea. However, it is ALSO the woods. In fairytales, the woods are a place of mystery and monsters. Some of the most famous tales happen there, such as Little Red Riding Hood and Hansel and Gretel. (If you want to read more about this topic, here’s a Wikipedia article to get you started. Also a cool article on Medium)

With that in mind, we can describe this pair of shots as follows:

In the first, the Demogorgon is emerging from the Upside Down.

In the second, Billy is going to the Upside Down.

Interesting, right? Ah, but that’s only half of the story.

Study this pair now and tell me what you see.

Yep... they’re related.

In the second shot, Billy is swimming into the ocean. It’s the last glimpse we have of his young, happy self before the Mind Flayer kills him. He’s in the center of the frame, moving directly away from us, just like the first shot.

With that in mind, we could say...

In the first, he’s going to the Upside Down in its ‘woods’ manifestation.

In the second - OUR LAST GLIMPSE OF YOUNG BILLY BEFORE HE DIES - he’s going to the Upside Down in its ‘ocean’ manifestation.

Interesting how we've only seen him leave. Yet we have this iconic image of the Demogorgon, his “dark reflection,” emerging from the Upside Down and coming to us.

I have a spooky vibe, y'all, that we're missing a final shot.

And we're going to see Billy... 

coming to us... 

from the water.

I have so much more to unpack here, but this post has gone on long enough! In future posts, I’ll lay out more evidence suggesting Billy will return from the water. I’ll also explore the mythological implications. They’re mind-blowing :3

»»————-　✼　————-««

P.S. I mentioned El has a unique relationship to the Demogorgon too. I’ll try to explain that eventually~~

»»————-　✼　————-««

The “Billy Is Alive” Meta Series (So Far)

Billy Is Not a ‘B’ Character In Stranger Things

The First Rule of Analyzing Stranger Things: The Upside Down Is Symbolized By Water

The Lifeguard And The Rip Current: Our First Big Hint That Billy Is Alive

Why Haven’t We Seen Dacre On Set?

Frequently Asked Questions

For updates, follow the hashtag #billy is alive meta

#billy hargrove #the demogorgon #stranger things #billy hargrove is alive #stranger things theory #stranger things 2 #stranger things 3 #stranger things 4 #stranger things meta #stranger things analysis #billy hargrove meta #billy is alive meta #ohbillyboy #the upside down #el hopper #eleven hopper #dark reflections

[wrightaboutthat]

Collegial Support ~A Narumitsu One-Shot~

Summary: “I could not stop thinking about you this morning. And it’s landed me in quite the...predicament.” A desperate cry for help brings Phoenix Wright into the Chief Prosecutor's office. The reasoning, however, is beyond anything he could have imagined.

Tags: Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Office Sex, Fluff and Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, Oral Sex, Frottage, Desperation, Riding, all these tags but they're still so incredibly in love your honor, basically just them trying to one up adoration the entire time, Vaguely Set After AA4, no beta we die like miles' self control, Oh and I forgot the Lawyer Cult tags-neck kiss o'clock, Horny Lawyers, Miles Edgeworth is sent to the moon

Additional Notes: Hello everyone! I'm so anxiously excited for this one. I'm still trying to find my footing with this pairing, but couldn't help but dive headfirst into some good ol' office loving. Soundproofing in prosecutorial spaces is a blessing, actually. I'm so obsessed with how much these two adore each other, and subsequently so obsessed with bringing that element to light!

Super happy to finally share this with you all, and shoutout to the Lawyer Cult/the *cough hack* Hivemind for offering encouragement along the way! The excitement and support offered necessary boosts to keep going, so I appreciate you all <3. Hope you enjoy!

You can also read the work on AO3 here [x]

Phoenix was nothing but casual whistles as he strolled through rival territory. Nothing was out of the ordinary; it had been a regular day, a regular workload, and regular chain of beckoning messages on his phone.

“Wright?”

“Hey baby. What’s up?”

“Are you busy currently?”

“Not really, why?”

“Come to my office at your earliest convenience. I require your assistance.”

“Be over soon <3”

He had wrapped things up, left matters in capable hands, and headed over to the Prosecutor Building. It was not an unusual sight, as everyone in the space immediately recognized his intentions. Thus, unimpeded and contented, did he journey up to the office of utmost desire, mentally preparing for cases and kisses a plenty.

But walking into his partner’s office changed that. Where he expected to find Miles sitting at his desk, he instead found him standing on the opposite side. Where he expected to immediately catch those gorgeous silver eyes, he instead found a tense, burgundy backside. And where he expected to find the usual poised posture, he instead found a pose of what appeared to be frustration. For whatever reason, the normally composed man was leant over the mahogany, head hung and hands fisted.

Any manner of salutation died in his throat, instead being replaced with a concerned inquiry as he strolled forward.

“Miles? Is something wrong?”

He watched as Miles sighed harshly, but remained frozen in his spot.

“I would say so, yes,” he grumbled, his baritone deeper and thicker than usual.

“What is it?” Phoenix asked, coming up to his partner’s side and seating himself on the edge of the desk.

Again, Phoenix was expecting something work-related. Perhaps one of the other prosecutors was ill-performing. Or maybe a case was quickly getting too complicated. There wasn’t much that seemed to shake the sturdy foundation that was Miles Edgeworth after all; he was poised, stoic, and powerful. So he prepared himself for something of an intellectual explanation, quietly observing and waiting.

He watched as Miles slowly brought his head up, his bangs shifting and continuing to border his face. He heaved another heavy sigh, and still continued to avoid eye contact. Phoenix felt his wavy brows furrow tighter, but he held his tongue. Eventually, Miles did end up breaking the silence, albeit in gritted, deep tones.

“It would appear that certain...matters...are spiraling out of control.”

“Such as?”

Another sigh, another grumble, and another pause. Miles’ head seemed to dip back down then, grey hairs effectively hiding his visage away.

“It’s abhorrent.”

“Okay?” Phoenix softly pressed, “What’s going on?”

There was another pregnant pause then, the air growing noticeably thicker. Despite the uptick in tension, the oddity of it all, Phoenix didn’t take his eyes off his partner, patiently waiting for an answer. He noted that Miles almost seemed to be trembling, something that earned a tautness in his throat. Still, the possible explanations swirling through his head didn’t even come close to what was eventually uttered.

“...Infernal physiological processes, ones that have never hindered me in the past.”

What?

Mismatched eyes blinked numerous times, attempting to make sense of the unexpected shift. What did that even mean? Sleep troubles? Anxieties? A bad craving for burgers from being around the kids for too long?

“I don’t understand,” Phoenix said.

Miles seemed to snarl, his hands tightening against the deep mahogany. Though Phoenix couldn’t see his face, he could easily picture the deep sneer his lips had likely hiked into.

“Must you make me say it, Wright?” he hissed.

“Yeaaaah?” Phoenix drawled, nervously resting his hand upon his neck, “Because I’m not following.”

The harshest sigh of them all sounded in response, before Miles’ head drooped even lower. He seemed to take a few beats of cleansing breaths, before miraculously pivoting to catch Phoenix’s stare. Heterochromatic eyes took note of numerous elements then: the sharpness to the opposing glare, the deep furrow to his brows, the very pronounced swath of crimson beneath ivory skin, and the sporadic beads of sweat against his hairline. He certainly looked shaken, and once more did Phoenix’s brain clamber for a reason. Again, was he proven deeply wrong in a matter of seconds, the true answer utterly whiting out his entire system.

“I could not stop thinking about you this morning. And it’s landed me in quite the...predicament.”

A pin could be audible in the space if one were to fall, the office growing incredibly silent. Likely because Phoenix wasn’t even breathing; words and inhalations had utterly jammed in his throat. Outwardly, he was frozen in time, locked in the utmost surprise. Inwardly however, his subconscious was clambering and screaming. It ran through the words over and over again, attempting to process, attempting to taste. Because, there was absolutely no way that was the true reason. Despite dating Miles for a while, despite being intimate, there was no way such troubles spilled off his tongue.

So, when Phoenix finally got air moving through his lungs again, he quickly spoke his incredulousness.

“You’re kidding.”

An even deeper shade of crimson gripped Miles’ cheeks, and he ran to hide behind curtains of grey hair once more.

“No.”

“R-really, you must be joking,” Phoenix said, his hand gripping his neck a bit tighter.

“Does it look like I am?” Miles snapped.

No. It didn’t. The tension, the embarrassment, the desperation...It absolutely all checked out. And the more Phoenix processed it, the more he burrowed into the delightfully chaotic situation, the more he fell under a similar spell. The corners of lips began to twitch upwards, and his heart began to pound harder and faster within his chest. He stepped back through the situation, all the way back to the initial text messages. And when the disguising blanket draped upon “I need your assistance” was yanked off to reveal “I need you...”

“Wow, I...Wow,” he breathed, beginning to grin and chuckle all the same. When Miles simply groaned and remained silent, he couldn’t help but state the obvious, cementing them both into the humorous yet delicious reality.

“Esteemed Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth rushed me to his office because he was horny?”

Said esteemed prosecutor recoiled like he been slapped, before scrunching himself down even further.

“Don’t say it like that,” he grumbled.

But where one was falling, the other was rising; Phoenix found himself beaming more and more, amusement and interest quickly surging within.

“Ahh right, always one for eloquence,” he snickered, moving his hand upwards to run through ebony strands, “How about...Miles Edgeworth couldn’t get his rampant, raging desire under control?”

“Wright.”

Phoenix couldn’t help but giggle more. The cheerful noise pried silver eyes back in his direction, but not in a preferred manner; Miles was glaring something terrible.

“And quit laughing,” he hissed.

“I’m not laughing at you, baby,” Phoenix said, controlling his mirth but still grinning all the while, “I’m just...blown away- maybe even flattered?”

When Miles answered with nothing but an embarrassed exhalation, Phoenix couldn’t help but look on with a more sheepish expression himself.

“You’re...that attracted to me?”

“Unfortunately...” Miles sighed.

Phoenix couldn’t help but giggle once again, feeling heat spread out across numerous places in his body. He saw fit to punch through the barriers Miles was hidden behind then, reaching out with a hand to softly frame his sharp jaw.

“Well, if it’s any consolation, I’m insanely attracted to you too,” he murmured, giving a few strokes of his thumb, “Always have been. And you’re lucky I am because you’re an ass, and you scared me.”

“Understandable. It was...a shameful move.”

It was then that Phoenix began to grow frustrated with the frozen state of his partner. That, and he felt inclined to test the waters of attraction, to delight in the desperation Miles was trapped in. He had called him over in search of distressed release after all, so it was high time Phoenix unlocked the apprehension and allowed them both to enjoy.

His grin turned a bit slyer then, and he hopped off his mahogany perch, venturing to stand behind his Miles’ backside. Phoenix watched as burgundy stiffened even more, but before any objections could be raised, he was snaking his hands around the bent-over form. Grasping his torso, he pulled Miles upright, pulled him flush. He even went so far as to jut his hands downward, tugging that glorious behind into his already-swelling groin.

The resulting shaky gasp furthered his smile, and he was half-tempted to grind something terrible. But he held onto his composure, held onto his resolve, instead relying on words to chip away at any semblance of control. They were their art form after all, their weapon; surely they’d be just as effective at beckoning Miles into the bliss he craved.

“Yet you called me here anyway,” Phoenix whispered, easing his mouth close to Miles’ ear, “Were you just that desperate, Miles? Longing and aching?”

The effect was immediate; the room electrified and Miles stiffened immensely against him before beginning to quiver.

“W-Wright...”

The reaction caused mismatched eyes to flash, a darker sheen blanketing over the amusement. The longing and aching were quite mutual after all, Phoenix quickly venturing to the same plane. Brazenly, he flicked his tongue up the helix of Miles’ ear, before traversing into even dirtier territory.

“Yeah? Or was it because you knew I can’t exactly pass up on such an opportunity?” He barely gave Miles an opportunity to shudder or whine before he added with beam, “Almost makes me want to subvert expectations. Maybe I need to make myself less available.”

He was pleased to see Miles jerk his head, glaring at him over his shoulder.

“You wouldn’t dare...” he hissed, though his vocals were less solid than before.

“Maybe not,” Phoenix said, moving back to bite and kiss at the offered ear, “Think I’d rather pleasure you until you can’t think straight.”

Miles was definitely unraveling; his backside pressed harder against Phoenix’s tenting crotch. It was a beautiful thing, an unexpected delight. He never pictured that he’d have a Chief Prosector falling apart in his hands, rasping and begging and wanting. He felt inclined to play just a bit more, to savor the moment.

“Wright...”

“Ahh right, eloquence,” Phoenix chuckled, moving his kisses to any part of that gorgeous neck that wasn’t hidden by Miles’ cravat, “Think I’d rather dampen the- what’d you call it? Infernal psychological processes?”

“Physiological processes, darling,” Miles rasped, “Regardless, eloquence doesn’t really carry...the same effect...”

“Yeah?”

Phoenix could barely contain his smile, his excitement, licking a tantalizing trail against sweet ivory skin.

“So naughty, Miles. Yanking me here just to mess around, just to have dirty things whispered in your ear...”

“I’m...I’m certainly not proud of such crassness...”

“No? Well, that’s a shame, because-“

Phoenix finally gave a grind of his hips, drawing sharp gasps from the both of them.

“-it’s driving me absolutely wild too.”

“Phoenix...”

Phoenix managed to contain himself a bit then. He managed to keep a hold on his own hungering pelvis. Instead, he opted to hammer in the last bits of reassurance, whispered between heated kisses to neck and jaw.

“Really, Miles. Don’t worry. Just enjoy yourself, love. I’ve got you. I’m glad you rang, because I want to make you feel so, so good. I always do.”

Miles tensed, as if poised to argue further. But then with a groaning sigh, a heaving breath, he beautifully relented, his head lulling backwards against Phoenix’s shoulder.

“I love you. How is it that you put up with my nonsense?”

Phoenix grinned, a mix of triumph and bashfulness. He thirsted over newly exposed skin for a few beats, before returning such sentiments.

“I love you too. And hey, I can’t exactly complain about getting to bang the Chief Prosecutor. Kinda the opposite- I want to boast it.”

To his furthered relief and amusement, Miles lightly snorted.

“Tsk...”

But despite the lightheartedness, despite the mirth, Phoenix knew there was a duty to be fulfilled. So he plunged back into lecherousness, whispering against Miles’ ear once more.

“So I can’t wait to make you scream, and let everyone know.”

He snickered as the rested head jerked back up, Miles looking over his shoulder with wide eyes.

“Phoenix Wright,” he gasped, “Were you always this lewd?”

“Mm, maybe; it kinda can’t be helped around you. But hey, you like it.”

Before any objection could be raised, before they fell victim to further arguing, Phoenix hushed it all with just a few calculated movements: he spun Miles around, removed his glasses, and swallowed any poised words with his own mouth. He coaxed the arguments into honeyed nothingness, eased the apprehension into eagerness, and melted the tension into heat. His tongue jabbed, and his hands wandered, wrestling out every sweet little noise he possibly could. But upon plunging downward, upon feeling the extremely taut bulge that was Miles’ front, Phoenix couldn’t help but break away and stare.

“Wow, holy shit- you really like it.”

Once again, he didn’t allow time for a response; he reached to trace the delicious outline with a hand, before giving the entire area a sharp squeeze. Miles of course, immediately acted accordingly. Being so pent up, so deprived, so hungry, his entire body practically rolled from the sensation, coupled with a strangled noise of approval.

“N-nngh...”

And that was the utmost green light. That was all Phoenix needed to leap into action. His eyes flashed with a darker sheen, a hotter spark, and he slipped his hands around Miles’ hips.

“Alright. Enough making you wait- let’s take care of you, sweetheart, hmm?”

“You’re far too good to me...” Miles panted.

“Because I adore you,” Phoenix said simply, before tugging him close, “Now c’mere...”

They locked into a passionate kiss then, one that quickly grew heated, desperate. Mouths wandered like they were each other’s quenching thirst in the desert, the first meal after starvation. Groans, whimpers, and shaky breaths sounded in a libidinous melody, cutting through the silence of thickened office air. And although Phoenix’s mind quickly began to grow woozy with lust, he still acted with his beloved in mind. Not breaking their connection, he softly ushered Miles back around his large wooden desk, guiding him back to his leather chair. And when the constrained hips began to grind, began to search for that fiery friction, Phoenix proceeded further.

He broke their kiss for the purpose of latching his mouth to area just beneath Miles’ jaw, sucking and staking his claim. As he did so, his hands wandered downward once more, fishing for the belt and fly that constricted his love so.

“Wr-Wright...” Miles whimpered, the cracking tonality pure music to Phoenix’s ears. Still, with a heated kiss followed by bite, did he voice his motives.

“You’ve no idea how much I want to get beneath this,” he breathily chuckled, briefly tugging on the damn cravat with his teeth, “But that’s not exactly the most pressing matter, now is it?”

His fingers were deft then, working at the devilish constraints and unzipping the burgundy slacks. Another teasing squeeze was offered to the ever-growing bulge, but when the touch earned a yelp, Phoenix denied no longer. He plunged a hand into soft fabric, grasped his lecherous prize, and finally pulled it free. He removed himself from Miles’ neck just in time to witness him groan with relief, his head lulling and his chest heaving. But unsurprisingly, were heterochromatic eyes drawn downward, marveling in the sight that awaited.

“God...You’re so stunning, Miles.”

And he was; he was utterly engorged and ready. The utmost desire was palpable, what with the tip weeping something terrible. Various twitches and jerks also complimented the display, Miles’ body practically screaming at Phoenix to proceed.

Proceed he did; he nudged Miles backwards and downwards, guiding him to sit. He wasted no time in kneeling betwixt shivering legs, spreading them further and allowing for more space. A second of admiration had to be given, before he finally nestled close, ghosting his breath across Miles’ center. Such an action earned a needy whimper, Miles reaching with a shaky hand towards Phoenix’s head.

“M-May I?” he rasped, just barely touching ebony strands.

“Do whatever you need,” Phoenix said, licking his lips and readying himself. Normally, he would be inclined to tease and taste. Normally, he would give kisses and licks before he consumed. Normally, he would take the time to marvel in Miles’ beauty. But with how heated the situation was, with how noticeable the tremors were, he skipped right over the normal proceedings. All he offered was a kiss to the dripping head, before steadying the shaft with a hand.

“I’ve got you, baby. I’ve got you.”

“T-thank you...”

The gasped words of appreciation died with the following actions. Phoenix guided Miles fully into his mouth, taking as much as he could possibly manage. As he slid downwards, eyes trained upwards, attempting to watch the reaction such relief earned. It was well worth it; Miles practically rolled like a wave, his head craning back, his free hand gripping one of the rests, and his mouth falling agape.

“O-oh fuck...Phoenix, thank you...”

The expletive rolling off such an esteemed tongue made brown and blue flash, kindling a new spark of determination within. Phoenix eased back, slipped a limp leg over his shoulder, and took Miles deeply again. He hollowed out his cheeks then, watching as the suction took its effect.

“A-ah!” Miles gasped, bringing a hand to his mouth and biting upon his fingers. He likely wouldn’t last long. Beginning actions were almost drawing forth cries already. So Phoenix slipped back once more, before finally starting his rhythmic bobs.

The office turned into a medley of strained pleasure then. Slurps, hums, and moans sounded from Phoenix, complimented by expletives, whimpers, and hissed praises from Miles. The hand against Phoenix’s head didn’t demand more- rather, it tugged against black hairs, communicating the mounting ecstasy. Still, even without guidance, did Phoenix go deeper still, proceeding until he lightly gagged. But despite the discomfort, despite the tears welling in his eyes, he was undeterred.

For he was driving Miles insane and he knew it. The divine baritone he was so accustomed to had rocketed upwards in pitch. The legs that were normally so sturdy and strong had become something of gelatin. The control which Miles normally wielded so well had all but dissipated, sharp noises and hissed vocals increasing in volume and frequency.

“Oh, Phoenix...F-fuck...L-love you...Just like that...”

It was fuel for Phoenix, stoking the inner flames. He grasped his perch a bit tighter, and sped up his movements, groaning and slurping all the while. Fluid was dribbling down his chin, and the occasional tear dripped down his cheeks, but still, he continued. It didn’t matter that his own slacks were painfully tenting. It didn’t matter that his knees ached. It didn’t matter that his jaw was starting to tire. It was all for Miles. And he intended to absolutely see it through to the end.

An end which did indeed seem fast approaching; the hand which had gripped Phoenix’s hair shakily traveled downward, feebly grasping at the working jaw.

“P-please...I’m- Phoenix, I’m a-about to...”

It was a crackling warning that went unheeded. It was a vague instruction that went ignored. Instead of backing away, Phoenix slid deep once again, switching between sucks and swirls of his tongue. He even went so far as to reach with a hand, moving to fondle whatever he could. And that was it. The stimulation reached its utmost peak. Miles’ pelvis tensed immensely, before giving a mighty quake.

“G-God I’m- ah!”

The sharp cry matched the intensity of the first spurt within Phoenix’s mouth. The force made him startle slightly, but he quickly relaxed, eagerly drinking in the release. He hummed a single note as he captured the bursts, taking everything completely in. But to the beautiful torture of Miles, he did not cease with his suction; between swallows, he continued to work his lecherous efforts, efforts which quickly took effect.

“Ah- Ph-Phoen- Ah!”

He pushed through the growing sensitivity, pushed through the crests, fully intent on overwhelming Miles with the deserved pleasure. Cries ventured more towards yells, shivers more towards jerks, those handsome vocals choking off in the utmost ecstasy.

“Phoenix!”

Mismatched eyes ventured to take in the scene. Miles was arched against the chair, gripping the leather like he was holding on for dear life. Moisture dripped down his ivory skin, likely a mixture of tears and perspiration. And when he quickly clapped a hand over his mouth and released a muffled noise that surely would have been a scream, most would normally cease their efforts. But Phoenix remained. Phoenix continued. He stayed until the pulses slowed, the bursts stopped, and the cries blubbered. Only then, did he release Miles from his mouth with a smack, sitting back on his legs to admire his work.

It was like Miles had been reduced to a burgundy puddle, utterly limp against the chair. He quivered and heaved, his pants shaking as he fought for breath. An occasional whimper slipped through his lips, an aftershock or two likely traversing through his system. But he appeared satisfied, appeared entirely sated.

Phoenix ran his tongue across soiled lips, before wiping at his mouth further with the back of his hand. He massaged his jaw for a beat or two, before smirking at the handsome mess before him. Though his knees groaned, he slowly stood up and straddled Miles’ lap. And, being mindful of his positioning, he eased himself to sit, before nuzzling close.

He couldn’t help himself then; he felt inclined to finally rid Miles of the dreaded fabric barrier. He softly tugged at the various loops, and struggled a bit, as per usual. But soon enough, did he finally unwind the cravat, tugging it free and revealing his favorite expanse of skin. Phoenix sighed a bit at the sight, before grinning and easing close. Seeing as Miles was still recovering, he didn’t leap for fervent, desperate kisses; instead, he opted for gentle, for reverent, easing his mouth over dewy skin.

To his delight, Miles softly moaned, his quivering hands easing around Phoenix’s back to hold him close. The soft kisses continued, coupled with a few sucks here and there. Phoenix carried on, even with his crotch atrociously swollen, and with rasped words from his beloved breaking the silence.

“Oh, darling...My dear love...”

Phoenix’s beam grew at the endearment, a delightful blush easing across his cheeks. Through his smile, through his affections, he of course returned the praise.

“Hmm...You did so well, sweetheart...”

Miles’ hands gripped Phoenix’s back a bit tighter, holding him close in a messy embrace.

“I love you...” he said through his slowing breaths, “You’re astounding...”

“I love you too,” Phoenix replied, offering one more kiss before leaning back. He watched as Miles craned his head back against the chair, continuing to wheeze and come down from his high. While the sight was satisfying to see, it caused a rather devious smirk to form.

“But don’t get too tired on me now.”

Wrinkled burgundy tensed beneath him, almost as if Miles was holding his breath. His grin intensifying, Phoenix leaned close once more, offering another kiss to that desirable neck before adding, “I’m not finished with you yet.”

Miles’ head was quick to snap back up, stunned eyes locking with smug.

“P-pardon?!”

“I said I wanted to make you feel good, remember?”

“Y-yes but...Phoenix, you already have. You’ve done everything and more.”

“And you were the one who gave the horny summons in the first place.”

“I-inconsequential!” Miles hissed with a furious blush to match, a sight that tugged a laugh from Phoenix. “If anything, it’s high time I return the favor. Your slacks are absolutely bursting at the seams.”

“Heh; the Chief Prosecutor has a perverted eye.”

“Phoenix.”

The biting tone hushed any further cheeky comments. When Phoenix quieted, Miles softened, sighing and reaching with a hand.

“Let me see you,” he said, cupping Phoenix’s face, “And give you what you desire.”

“You will. And I desire more of you.” Phoenix shied away from the touch, leaning close to Miles’ ear once again. He offered the sensitive area a kiss, before smirking and purring more libidinous motives. “I want to be inside you...”

To his delight, he could feel the shakiness that quaked at such a phrase. It seemed like Miles had stuttered on his breath, the intense words likely plunging betwixt his legs. Strangely though, such whispers didn’t beckon like they had earlier; Miles appeared to fight for composure rather than submit.

“You’re far too pent up. You’re seconds away from finishing in your suit.”

Phoenix smirked, leaning back and shaking his head.

“I’ll be fine.”

“Wright.”

“I will. I just want- ah!”

The unexpected squeeze to Phoenix’s taut bulge sliced his words with a yelp. It was something of a lightning strike, his crotch electrifying from the touch it so desperately craved. Really, he could barely deny it anymore. He knew he was painfully wanting. Everything between his legs was straining, throbbing. And much to his chagrin, Miles was also aware.

“I know you’re suffering, dear.”

“Miles-“

Once more were arguments cut by further touches, further whimpers of need. It felt good, so incredibly good, Phoenix’s hips bucking towards the sensation on their own accord. But still, in the back of his mind, did stubbornness persist. For he wanted nothing more than to pleasure Miles, to focus on sending him absolutely skyward. It was why he had been called to the office in the first place; his own wants were insignificant in comparison.

But oh, how his body fought to overpower his mind. Oh, how it screamed for him to give in. Even still...

“Shh...” Miles soothed, poising his hand over the swell.

“I’m not...This isn’t how I wanted-“

“Perhaps I’m not done with you either.”

It was astounding how well Miles knew him. It was astounding how in tune Miles was with his thoughts. And it was astounding that Miles wanted...more. Naturally, such notions were indeed enough to shut Phoenix up, all points dying in the back of his throat. He fished for silver eyes with widened bicolored, beginning to shiver atop his burgundy perch. Miles gave him a knowing look then, raising a single brow before murmuring further.

“So in the mean time, hush, and let me help you.”

Reflexively, Phoenix opened his mouth to stubbornly resist, but no words rolled off his tongue. He was locked into the silver spell, insistent eyes ushering him away from arguing. Biting his lip, he gave a feeble nod, and that alone encouraged the progression. Miles hummed a sigh, and softly nudged Phoenix’s chest, gesturing for him to stand. He quickly did as he was told, what with the tightness beneath his slacks indeed growing uncomfortable. He watched as Miles momentarily tucked himself out of the way, before rising to join him. He was half-tempted to hold the back of his neck, unsure of where things were going to go. But when Miles spun him around and pulled their forms flush, it became abundantly clear.

He couldn’t help but whimper then, the mere implications of what was to come causing his hips to shift. The movements only intensified when Miles nestled closer, his chin hooking on Phoenix’s shoulder and his hands snaking around his begging form.

“Look at you...” he whispered, pivoting to press a kiss to the side of Phoenix’s jaw, “You thought you were going to last? Truly? You’re writhing, love...”

It really was something- how quickly he fell apart, how quickly he lost his foothold. But it couldn’t be helped; he had always been impervious to Miles’ intoxicating touch. It was a wonder he thought he’d last indeed. Still...

“I...I was going to try...F-for you...”

“So stubborn.”

Normally, there would be teasing and palming abound. Normally, Miles would be meticulous with his touches and strokes. But presently, he seemed to follow the exact route of desperation, skipping directly to the point. For he reached for blue slacks, hastily unzipped them, and tugged Phoenix free. He wasted no time at all, grasping the pulsing length with a hand and immediately creating shockwaves.

“Ohh fuck...” Phoenix gasped, his tone already hiking upwards.

Though his mind was instantly woozy, though his body was focused on sensations below, he could still feel the warmth from Miles’ smile. It glimmered upon his shoulder, coupled with a contented sigh as monochromatic eyes likely looked him over.

“Hmm...Exquisite as usual.”

He released his grasp, leaving Phoenix in a shivering limbo. But then came a sound that drew forth a whimper: Miles licking and moistening his hand. And moments after, it was a wonder Phoenix’s legs didn’t immediately give out. It was a wonder he didn’t yell into the heated silence of the office. Because yes, Miles knew him well; he knew exactly the right pressure, exactly the right stroke. He gave several tugging passes, before fixating on the head, thumbing the slit in circular motions.

White flashed before Phoenix’s eyes, a garbled mess of moans and gasps escaping him. His pelvis thrust towards the skillful hand, chasing after the intense pleasure. It was incredible, or pathetic- he couldn’t quite tell which. Because he was already feeling that clenching fire, that telling tension within his abdomen. Thus, did he heave and lean against Miles, straining to hold on.

“I can’t...I c-can’t...Miles, I...”

Miles huffed with amusement, squeezing the tip betwixt his fingers before shifting back towards strokes. Phoenix had to stifle a cry, clamping down on his noises as flames surged higher and higher.

“Fuck...Fuck! I’m...!”

“Let go, my darling...”

And just like that, he was done for. In just a few passes, he was finished. He stiffened immensely, before arching against Miles, crying out as he finally released the pent up tension. He roughy came in numerous bursts, likely soiling Miles’ hand and the floor before them. But said hand didn’t shy away, continuing to stroke to utter completion.

Phoenix moaned pitifully as he stepped down from immense heights, slumping back against the sturdier form behind him. He could feel the heat from Miles’ smile once more, lips ghosting against his neck as he hummed his triumph.

“There we are...” He eased a series of kisses to Phoenix’s skin before adding, “Utterly breathtaking...”

Phoenix turned his head to meet the advances, easing their mouths together despite his quickened breaths. He kissed Miles deeply, passionately, sighing as the last bits of elation departed his system.

But as he came up for breath, he became...acutely aware of just how fast things had gone. His gaze drifted downward to the mess on Miles’ hand, before shifting to the matching white streaks on the floor. Though Miles was masterful, it had hardly taken any effort. No, he wouldn’t have been able to last in a deeper connection at all.

The thought flooded his face with crimson, sheepishness overtaking his features. He shifted about on his feet, before awkwardly clearing his throat.

“Erm...”

Miles could easily sneer at him. There were boundless quips he could launch for such an occurrence. Banter seemed to be threateningly hanging above both of them. But instead, Phoenix only picked up on gentle huffs of mirth, the warmth of Miles’ expression still evident.

“Still going to bluff, my love?”

“Ah, no...” Phoenix pulled himself away then, mindful of the mess as he turned to face Miles. A hand crept up to hold his neck, along with more sheepishness to match. “You...You were right.”

He watched as Miles rolled his eyes and shook his head, though the gentleness remained.

“How ludicrous.”

It was then he surprised Phoenix, drawing his soiled hand to his mouth. Without the slightest bit of hesitation, he licked and sucked at the incriminating evidence, cleaning without complaint. He hummed as he did so, whereas Phoenix couldn’t help but rasp an expletive at the sight.

“Now who’s lewd?” he managed with a strained snicker.

“Hmm...Is it such a crime to marvel in you?”

“I guess not, but...damn, Miles.”

Silver stare flashed as he swallowed the last drops down, the action topped off with a contented sigh. Miles walked towards his shelves then, retrieving a few tissues. He offered Phoenix a handful, before bending down to address the remaining mess- the streaks which had narrowly missed their shoes.

“I’m just pleased I was able to return such a release,” he murmured as he cleaned, “You didn’t need to be hurting on my behalf, dear. Especially when you went through the trouble of coming here.”

“For you. You shouldn’t have even had to worry about my-

“-Hush,” Miles interjected, “Who’s to say I didn’t enjoy it?”

Further banter built on Phoenix’s tongue, but ultimately didn’t manifest. Instead, he opted to tuck himself back in before bending down and offering an additional hand. As he cleaned though, he couldn’t help but wonder...was Miles truly satisfied then? Did his own release mark the end? Would he be satiated until they saw each other again in the evening? Was it enough? Phoenix had been the one to allude to further steps, to delving deeper into pleasure. But the current actions smelt of finality.

That was, until a previous quip entered Phoenix’s brain, something said in passing but dripping with significance. He decided to inquire.

“Baby?”

“Hmm?”

“Did...did you say you weren’t finished with me?”

Miles stilled, a swath of crimson rolling across his cheeks. He kept his head down, hiding behind grey curtains once more.

“I suppose I did, yes.”

“You actually want to go further?”

“Don’t you?” Miles murmured, standing up to throw the tissues away.

“Ah, yeah, of course I do. I always do,” Phoenix said, mirroring Miles’ actions. When he had disposed of things, he opted to stand with a hand grasping his neck. “But you’re not bothered? My beloved workaholic wouldn’t worry?”

“Well, there’s always something to be done,” Miles said, venturing back towards Phoenix to loosely snake his hands around the small of his back. “But all the same, I can’t exactly pass you up.”

“You don’t have meetings or anything though?”

“I can guarantee you I don’t.”

“But that’s- wait.” Phoenix shifted in Miles’ embrace, starting like he did in court when a realization struck. “Don’t tell me you carved out space in your itinerary.”

He watched as Miles opened his mouth, only to be silenced by a new wave of warm blush. As the words died, he avoided eye contact. That alone was an answer, an easy deduction, effectively drawing a breathy laugh from Phoenix.

“Oh my God, you did. Miles, you literally made a dick appointment.”

Such a statement drew the monochromatic gaze back, but in the form of a glare. The angry crimson did nothing to help the rivaling laughs, effectively leading to Miles breaking away.

“Phoenix Wright, your crude terminology has me inclined to cancel.”

“Sorry!” Phoenix snickered, reaching to lace his hands around Miles’ neck and restart their embrace, “I’m just...so blown away. I never thought you’d want something like this.”

Miles heaved a sigh, averting his eyes once again as the blush turned gentler.

“Yes, well...wanting you to such a degree changes a lot.”

It was Phoenix’s turn to blush then. He couldn’t help but grin through the warmth, easing close enough for their noses to brush.

“I love you so much,” he murmured, nuzzling until he drew forth a ghost of a smile.

“I love you too.”

It was only natural that the pair kissed, slower and more purposeful than their previous advances. Even with deeper intimacy on the horizon, even with lecherousness hanging over their heads, their lips only glided and caressed.

“What about you?” Miles softly asked when they broke apart, “Nothing going on at the agency?”

“Nah. I’m sure the kids will keep everything in working order.”

“Mm...”

Phoenix’s brows furrowed slightly when Miles looked away, scanning his sharp features for discomfort. He couldn’t quite decipher, so he reached up with a hand, framing Miles’ jaw and stroking with his thumb.

“Hey, we really don’t have to continue if you don’t want to though. Don’t pressure yourself. If there’s any doubt, we can wait until we’re home.”

“No, that’s...” Miles sighed, the color in his cheeks intensifying further. “...I do. This morning, I couldn’t stop envisioning...”

Even though he trailed off, the underlying meaning was apparent. Brown and blue eyes flashed, coupled with the room twinging with a new burst of heat.

“So all of this wasn’t enough, hmm?”

“It was extraordinary, but...”

Phoenix smirked, easing close again. The vice of desire tightened around them, beckoning his lips to that stunning neck once more. He hummed and kissed a trail, already feeling sparks venturing downward.

“...But you want me inside you too,” he whispered against sweet skin, sealing the statement with a nip.

The salacious words and actions prompted another shiver. Phoenix’s grin only intensified, coupled with the frequency of his bites.

“It’s incredibly crass, I know,” Miles eventually said, his voice strained as he shifted beneath the touches.

“It’s amazing is what it is. And perfect because...I want you too. God, I want you so bad.”

Phoenix latched his mouth onto sweet skin something proper then, biting and sucking. He was intent on making a mark, both literally and figuratively, driving his point completely in. Said motives were made worse by a moan gracing his ears, the noise hammering in his claim.

“Phoenix...”

The subsequent grin broke the heated connection. He leaned back to admire, humming at the reddish blotch that seemed to saturate in real time. But though they stood together in the flames, though he could still taste Miles upon his tongue, though their bodies had started to sing once more, he couldn’t help but inquire one last time.

“You’re sure?”

Heated eyes softened, Miles reaching to cup Phoenix’s face.

“I’m sure,” he murmured, before sighing and looking away, “Lest you depart and my thoughts...drift once again.”

“Maybe those infernal physiological processes aren’t so bad after all...” Phoenix snickered, his hands drifting to mirror the frame.

“Mm...”

The pair smiled, before easing to close the space between them. Lips initially brushed in a tender kiss, but quickly intensified to something far more molten. Starving mouths gaped, and thirsting hands wandered. As Phoenix plunged downward towards a particular prize however, as hands grasped burgundy curves, concentration was severed once more.

“Ahh, shit,” Phoenix hissed.

“What is it?”

“You don’t...happen to have any supplies, do you?”

“Bottom drawer...towards the back.”

The instruction sent Phoenix off without hesitation initially. He broke away towards the specified destination, bending down to fish for the desired bottle. Upon grasping it though, a lightbulb suddenly popped forth; he couldn’t help but smirk as he processed the location, the readiness.

“D-don’t you say a word, Wright. Just grab it.”

It was like Miles had peered into his cheeky thoughts. That, or he had spied the budding mischievousness on his face. Either way, it made Phoenix snicker once more, standing up and biting back wry comments.

“And wipe that grin off your face,” Miles huffed.

“Do it for me.”

Silver eyes narrowed, but Miles complied, surging forward to lock them in a hungry kiss. Hands from both parties began to wander, groping and attempting to make purchase. Miles’ fingers curled through ebony locks, whereas Phoenix’s hands framed his favorite jawline. The pair moaned through the rougher advances, heat surging and dancing betwixt them.

It certainly wasn’t a bad way to allow their bodies to catch back up.

The swirling warmth prompted Phoenix further. His hands drifted downwards, grasping Miles’ collar and giving a beckoning tug. Miles understood at once, breaking the kiss and panting against rival lips. Phoenix took advantage of the pause, moving to remove his own jacket. He was simply going to shrug it off, to opt for a quick discard, but a pair of hands interjected. He looked on with mild confusion as Miles guided the fabric off, dutifully holding instead of dropping. It was when he meticulously hung it off the back of his chair that things clicked for Phoenix.

“Priorities,” he laughed.

“You’ll thank me later when your jacket isn’t a crumpled mess,” Miles said, repeating the actions with his own, “We’re going to be conspicuous enough already.”

Phoenix snorted, but the amusement did little to slow him. The moment Miles pivoted back to face him, he pounced, locking them back in a kiss as fingers worked at golden buttons. The action drew forth a whimper, but Miles seemed undeterred as well. He too, reached through the passion for Phoenix’s waistcoat, unbuttoning whenever he could manage. The pair worked through the layers of fabric, brushing the coats aside and finally reaching the undershirts. Phoenix could almost curse at their fashion choices, acting as a barrier of sorts against their fire. Instead though, his mind grew giddily woozy, what with the prospect of more beautifully exposed skin on the horizon. He hurried then, desperately working at buttons to remove the last block.

When he finally got it open, when he finally parted the fabric for his ardent eyes, he couldn’t help but break away to stare. Hands reached to follow his gaze, caressing the awaiting chest. The pair shivered at the exchange, but Phoenix was inclined to go further. Wandering fingers drifted to Miles’ dusky nipple, encircling the area before pinching lightly. The resulting gasp drew forth a smirk and magnetized lips to skin.

Phoenix kissed a trail across taut pectorals, humming at the sparks buzzing betwixt their bodies. Just as before, the gorgeousness bewitched him, leading him to lick and bite a plenty. He encircled Miles’ nipple with his tongue, long enough for trembling fingers to thread his hair. If they decided to tug, he would appropriately respond, nipping until a whimper was earned.

Eventually though, his own body grew impatient, beckoning him to press forward. He leaned back to eye his work, grinning at the beauty and marks alike.

“God, I love you. You and your body both.”

“I love you too. Though, did I not say I wished to see you as well?”

“You did, but...I’m not quite finished.”

Motions from earlier were repeated, Phoenix reaching to undo belt and slacks alike. Unlike before though, it was with the intention to completely remove; fingers grasped all matters of fabric, tugging until everything was pulled downward. Burgundy and boxers pooled at Miles’ feet, and Phoenix stooped to follow. He took a moment to remove Miles’ dress shoes and socks, before the other constraints were guided off and away.

Upon easing back to his knees, Phoenix found himself at eye level with the most desirable part of all. It was engorging once more, and already beading with pre-cum. As a result, he couldn’t help himself; he reached to give a tugging stroke or two, before he eased to kiss the awaiting moisture away. Miles’ groan almost coaxed him to pleasure further, but he ceased- though not without licking up the entirety of the beautiful length.

He kissed his way back upwards, murmurs of praise coiling on his tongue. The moment he was standing though, said murmurs were immediately hushed, Miles’ demanding mouth finding his. The two fell victim to yet another heated kiss, moans reverberating through the space. Before Phoenix could caress further, Miles raced for his turn. He deftly unbuttoned Phoenix’s undershirt, and caressed bare skin the instant it was offered. Phoenix couldn’t help but release a whimper for Miles to swallow, the touch trailing sparks across his own chest.

He expected actions to parallel, to mirror. But it seemed desperation was at the forefront; he smiled as Miles jumped right to his blue slacks, hurrying to free him once more.

“So ready for me...” Phoenix purred into swollen lips.

“Have been since the moment you embedded yourself into my thoughts...”

Such words flared nostrils, stuttered breaths, and stoked new fires of determination. He sighed as Miles removed him from fabric constraints once more, but when Miles pulled back and hesitated- perhaps to admire, Phoenix jumped at the opportunity. Clothing didn’t need to come fully off after all. Entire exposure wasn’t necessary. They had everything they needed, with a few conspicuous shields to match.

So he grabbed ivory hips, pivoting Miles around and ignoring the sharp gasp. A beckoning nudge was given, gesturing for Miles to bend over the desk before them. To his utmost delight, Miles did so without delay or argument, reclining and beautifully displaying. Though a new desperation was indeed gnawing within, Phoenix couldn’t help but appreciate the sight.

“I’ll never be able to get over how gorgeous you are.”

“Hmm...” Miles hummed, propping himself up on his elbows, “Coming from the most magnificent man...”

“Says the one who’s insanely irresistible.”

“Objection- ah!”

Arguments were severed by touches; Phoenix’s fingers squeezed the offered cheeks, before easing to simply caress.

“Sorry, what was that?”

“You’re playing dirty, Wright,” Miles said, huffing and shifting against the contact.

“Well yeah, I would hope so. I’ll keep this method in mind for the next time you’re getting too sassy in court.”

“Yes, because they surely wouldn’t hold you in contempt whatsoever- ungh!”

Again were vocals stolen by a squeeze. Phoenix grinned, going so far as to offer a light whap before chuckling over the following gasp.

“Worth it.”

He kneaded the doughy flesh with his fingers, marveling at the sounds such an action earned. Every moan and whimper resonated directly between his legs, slowly coaxing his erection back to totality. He wasn’t quite sure how Miles wanted to proceed, how Miles wanted to be taken, but oh, how tempted he was to simply pound him then and there.

His beloved beginning to whine coaxed Phoenix towards the next steps. He reached for the bottle of neglected lube, popping it open and smirking at how Miles hummed at the sound. Generously, he coated his fingers, before transferring some to his still-swelling length. He stroked and readied with trembling sighs, before reaching for the desired entrance.

The second Phoenix brushed upon puckered skin, their breaths caught, tangling in the new tension gripping the room. Around he rubbed in tantalizing circles, ghosting upon the area in preparation. With how Miles squirmed, Phoenix expected to be implored, to be begged. Instead, he was stunned to watch as Miles reached back with a hand, prying and spreading himself open. It was a miracle Phoenix didn’t leap to sheath himself then and there.

He instead shakily inhaled, and poised a single finger to proceed. Consent had already been given. Approval had already been spoken. But even still, did Phoenix double check, holding steadily in place.

“Ready?”

He smirked when it seemed like Miles’ body did the talking, what with his pelvis titling a bit closer. Such an expression warmed all the more when shaky vocals joined the mix.

“Yes. Please.”

Through the muscular resistance he finally pushed then. Phoenix couldn’t help but hum at the tight warmth which awaited, the noise beautifully melding with the opposing moan. He eased in only to his knuckle at first, closely watching Miles for signs of discomfort. But when he only spied breathless pleasure, when he only spied a silent ask for more, did he insert his finger in completely. He allowed Miles a small respite, giving the muscles time to adapt and relax. The moment the tension eased, Phoenix began to move, slowly jutting in and out in a salacious pattern.

Mismatched eyes scanned meticulously, lecherously. He eagerly drank in every sigh, every quivering moan. If Miles seemed to react more to a certain area being stroked, Phoenix would fixate on the spot, jutting until hips quivered beneath his touch. He knew the workings of his partner after all. He knew what he liked, how he ticked. So when that gorgeously stoic body began to tremble, Phoenix went further, slipping a second finger into the mix.

“Phoenix...” Miles sighed, his tone coated with delicious enjoyment, “Yes...”

The praise fueled him, warming both his groin and his expression. He thrust the pair deeply, before taking a few beats to explore the muscular walls. He swirled about rhythmically, before scissoring for that perfect stretch. He couldn’t help but groan at the sensations, at the sounds, at the torridity of it all. He worked for every little bit of pleasure, every sweet vocalization from Miles.

It seemed successful thus far; Miles was writhing against his perch, moaning against the advances. The further Phoenix stretched, the more his reactions intensified. Deeper thrusts seemed to coax his hips backwards, like they subconsciously sought more stimulation.

So Phoenix delivered without hesitation. He slipped a third and final finger in, marveling at how Miles’ back arched in response.

“Fuck...” he gasped, sending a new rush of blood straight to Phoenix’s crotch, “So good...”

Every movement earned a breathy moan then. Every thrust was met with an equal advance. And every jolt of Miles’ pelvis seemed to coax Phoenix’s similarly. He needed more. They both needed more.

Phoenix reached deeply for that sweet inner spot, stroking until Miles began to whimper something terrible. But then, he abruptly pulled out, drawing a sharp gasp into the heated space. It was not without cause; he reached for the lube once more, intent on slicking and readying his erection.

“Ph-Phoenix...”

The mewl made him smirk through his preparation, smiling despite the grunts and sighs from touching himself.

“I won’t keep you waiting, baby. You’ve waited long enough.”

Biting his lip, he nestled himself into the constricted space, teasing his head against the awaiting entrance. The pair vocalized at the sensation, Phoenix groaning and Miles whining. But right before he proceeded, right before he could venture inward, Miles gasped with further conversation.

“Phoenix.”

Before he could even question the sharper tone, Miles released his grip on himself, effectively closing off proper access. In the pause he seemed to be taking to steady himself, to catch his breath, Phoenix couldn’t help but buzz with alarm.

“What is it?”

Miles inhaled deep lungfuls of air, before standing and pivoting to face Phoenix. Mismatched eyes were spellbound, immediately drawn downward to the enticing sight between pale legs. Despite their previous ventures, Phoenix was pleased to see that Miles was plenty hard once more- though, the relief was short lasted. Had he done something wrong?

“Sweeth-“

“-I love you,” Miles blurted, rushed and unexpected, “You’ve done everything and more, as you always do. It’s high time you simply sit back and enjoy.”

Before returned sentiments could even poise on his tongue, Phoenix found himself getting dragged across the room, stumbling as he was tugged by his hand. His aroused mind buzzed with confused static, unable to process the new turn of events. That was, until he spied where Miles was headed, where he was being lead to.

The pair of plush couches. A luxurious seat. A location entirely fitting for a different position.

“Oh...” Phoenix breathed, coming to the realization through his buffers, “That’s...”

“Phoenix.”

“R-right!”

As desperate as he was, as they both were, he rambled no further, nor did he try and argue. He simply assumed the new position, seating himself on the edge of velvety fabric. The moment heterochromatic eyes locked with fiery silver, he gave himself a presenting stroke.

“I’m yours how you want.”

Miles was on him immediately, gripping Phoenix’s shoulders and straddling his toned legs. Phoenix expected him to lower immediately, to aggressively ride the moment they were situated. Instead, to his surprise, did further honeyed words fall from his tongue.

“I do believe I’m the luckiest man in the world...” Miles said, aligning himself just so.

“Objection- believe that title belongs to-“

Argument and breath alike were stolen by Miles nestling close, positioning to proceed. Phoenix could almost laugh at how Miles turned his own tactics against him, what with hushing words with arousing actions. But he found himself too shaken, merely reaching to steady his shaft with a hand. He groaned as Miles gripped his shoulders tighter, and as cheeks enveloped his awaiting length.

There was the slightest bit of resistance, the smallest amount of give. Before suddenly, Miles engulfed him, sliding down and easing them into full penetration. Colors flashed in Phoenix’s vision, the feeling of connecting so deeply with his partner absolutely unprecedented. He couldn’t help but moan his approval, his hands flying for purchase on Miles’ body. It took all of his self control not to immediately lose it, biting his lip as Miles sunk further and further.

It seemed Miles had been holding his breath, for he released a groaning exhalation the moment he completely took Phoenix in. The pair panted and moaned, savoring the closeness and allowing each other to adjust. Phoenix nestled against Miles’ bare front, hissing quiet expletives with equally soft kisses to match.

“God...fuck...you feel so good...”

“You’re perfect, Phoenix...Utterly...perfect...”

“Love you...” Phoenix breathed, brushing beneath hanging fabric to get a good grip on Miles’ hips.

“Love you.”

And with that, did Miles begin to move, surely readied to chase what he had desired all day. Phoenix watched with thirsting eyes as Miles eased up, before slowly plunging downwards once more. The two moaned from the passes, the stretches, before Miles truly began to ride. He took Phoenix deeply, and rocked his pelvis with reckless abandon.

Phoenix looked on in awe, mesmerized as Miles undulated and threw his head back. Phoenix’s breaths were beginning to dance with moans, matching the grunting efforts sounding from his partner. The familiar fire was already starting to burn in his abdomen from such advances, his entire lower half alight with sensations. But he wasn’t about to finish quickly this time- not until he ensured Miles’ utmost satisfaction.

This was for him. This was all for him.

So he tossed care to the side, and began to meet, began to guide. With a tight grip on moving hips, he coaxed Miles towards bounces, so that he could properly mirror thrusts. Phoenix jerked his hips upward every time Miles bore down, deepening the stroke again and again. It seemed to have an immediate effect, Miles’ head lulling back even further.

“Ah!” he gasped, “Fuck...Phoenix, t-that’s-“

A tighter grip on Miles’ hips angled him forward, just that perfect little amount to beautifully graze the treasured spot within. Phoenix relished the obscenely loud moan such a shift earned, groaning himself as it instantly resonated in his groin.

“Fuck, Miles...God.”

He thrust upwards even harder, racing against his own body and Miles’ building speed. The office became a lecherous cacophony then, what with Miles keening, Phoenix grunting, and their connection squelching. It was music to Phoenix’s ears, utterly captivating and everything he wanted. Though, he still aimed to take Miles even higher, to draw forth uncontrolled noises as he unraveled.

“Phoenix, I’m...I’m close...Please, Phoenix, I-“

That was all he needed. Despite the burn in his pelvis, the tension in his stomach, the soreness in his legs, he strained to give Miles that last burst of pleasure. He continued to thrust, but reached with a shaky hand, intent on addressing Miles’ neglected erection. He grasped tightly as they both continued to move, tugging and jerking as best he could.

Any attempt at talking quickly turned into a jumble of moans and shallow gasps of air. But the moment Miles crested, the moment his orgasm tightly grasped his body, one thing still managed to ring loud and true.

“Phoenix!”

The cry echoed throughout the space and resonated deep within Phoenix’s mind. He felt warmth streaking against his hand and abdomen. He tugged until cries shifted more towards whines and dry sobs. And that was it; the flames had breached the last wall of control.

Throwing his hands back to Miles’ hips, he slammed him downward and came hard, bursting deep within. His head careened over the back of the sofa, moaning the beautiful opposing name through every intense peak.

“Miles! Miles!”

He jerked, pulsed, and emptied himself entirely into the cramped space. When Miles collapsed against him in blissful exhaustion, he too, melted in dreamy fatigue. The moment he stepped down from his climax, the moment he floated back down to Earth, he sagged back against the couch, something of ecstatic jelly.

The room was nothing but deep, slowing breaths then. After a few moments, Miles eased upwards and broke their connection with a soft moan, before easing to carefully settle atop bare skin. Phoenix could feel dewiness betwixt them, and could feel moisture leaking against his thigh. But he paid the sensations no mind; all he wished to do was marvel in his partner that much more.

He snaked his hands around Miles’ back, venturing beneath his ruffled clothing and holding him close. He softly caressed slick skin, before easing close to capture their lips in an exhausted kiss. Mouths lazily slid about, no glamour to the exchange as lips messily smushed. But when they were torn apart by panting huffs of air, did Miles finally find the wherewithal to speak once more.

“God...That...That was...”

“...The only way I’m choosing to spend my break from now on,” Phoenix finished with a breathy laugh. The mirth only intensified when Miles’ flushed expression turned incredulous, furrowing despite the streaks of red.

“You’re absolutely ridiculous...” he said, though twinkles of laughter were evident in his tone.

“Maybe. But you love me for it.”

“I suppose I do, yes. I love you so much.”

“I love you too.”

Swollen lips connected once more, a bit more tender and composed. They kissed softly, sweetly, pouring all manner of adoration into the connection. Regardless, Miles seemed keen to articulate further once they broke.

“Speaking of ridiculousness, thank you, darling...”

“Hmm? For what?”

“For this! For...” Silver eyes flitted away, like they hadn’t just been caught up in extremely lewd acts. “...Tending to my...atrocious needs so.”

Phoenix couldn’t help but laugh, at the sight and notion alike. He reached up to brush damp grey strands back, before cupping Miles’ face.

“You’re not still caught up on that, are you?”

He snickered as Miles seemed to blush further, practically sinking against his hand.

“I plead the fifth.”

“Miles,” he laughed, angling for a quick peck before continuing. “I adore you, and will tend to you whenever you want. Atrocious needs, physiological processes, or whatever else gets you going- I’ll be there.”

“Phoenix...”

The murmur of disdain was hushed by yet another kiss. Through the sweet connection, and the honeyed lightness in his brain, thoughts gently drifted. Phoenix wanted to stay there forever, cuddled close and deliriously post-coital. He wanted to bathe his beloved in pleasure until neither of them could stand. He wanted to relish in his beautiful body and handsome soul. But with every passing minute, he became acutely aware of where they were, and the subsequent duties they both had. He almost sighed his disappointment against Miles’ mouth, knowing he did indeed have to get back to the agency sooner than later. Thankfully, his brain offered a solution, a solution that pried his mouth away with further snickers.

“Speaking of which, hope you’re ready for a repeat performance tonight.”

He laughed as silver eyes widened- even more so when hands playfully shoved his chest.

“I’m more than satisfied, you goon.”

He beamed, snorting and chuckling a plenty. Another jest manifested on his tongue, one that would surely earn another shove. But if it meant furthering the moment, and chasing after those “damn processes,” he was powerless to stop it.

“Alright alright. Same time tomorrow then?”

#Narumitsu #Narumitsu fanfiction #Narumitsu smut #Wrightworth #Wrightworth fanfiction #Wrightworth smut #Miles Edgeworth #Phoenix Wright #NC-17 #ANOTHER ONE DOWN ANOTHER ONE DOWN #I've been working on this one for a hot minute and was worried my motivation would inevitability die out #BUT NO LOL #HERE SHE IS #SHE MADE IT #And thank goodness because GOD I just wanted to make them drown in each other #I just wanted them to savor each other like they deserve #I will never EVER tire of having them love each other so SO hard #they're so taken by each other your honor

[tennessoui]

i really am just so excited for part two of the roadtrip au and knowing it might be from obi-wan's perspective??? seeing obi-wan fawn over anakin while anakin dotes on him?? i'm losing my mind.

hey!!! bless!!!! i know i said it would be part 1, part 2, part 3, but i started writing part 2 and it's like already 2.2k long and they're just in Pennsylvania so i think we should all start thinking of this story as part 1 (finished, posted), ARC 2 (very long, is in segments, depending on what people wanna see and what road trip shenanigans i can think up), and part 3 (tbd)

anyway here's the 2.2k (squick: a/b/o, mpreg)

“Uh, sir? Are you...alright?”

That’s the gas station attendant. Obi-Wan barely resists the urge to thunk his head on the side of the bathroom stall. The only thing stopping him is how absolutely unsanitary it would be, and he already feels dirty enough. He pulls a few more squares of toilet paper from the dispenser and wipes at his mouth.

Of all the pregnancy symptoms he hates, he thinks morning sickness is the one he hates the most. And it’s the one that seems to be, for some reason, sticking around the longest.

He’d never even known how much of a misnomer morning sickness is, but it’s not like it’s only happening in the morning. He’ll feel nauseous halfway through the day, mid-afternoon, early evening.

His doctor and close friend at the hospital, Bant, had assured him this was normal and nothing to worry about. But it’s hard not to worry about it, especially when he lives with an Alpha who worries about everything.

“Just fine, thank you,” Obi-Wan says politely as he flushes the toilet and leaves before he can watch his breakfast spiral down and disappear. That’ll only make him feel even more sick.

The girl wrings her hands as she watches him wash his, and he has to take pity on her. She can’t be older than eighteen. “Morning sickness,” he tells her, placing a hand on the virtually unnoticeable swell of his belly.

“Oh!” she says. Obi-Wan fights the urge to grimace when he sees her eyes dart down to his unmarked neck. He knows how it looks. He knows how it sounds. “Sorry, sir, I didn’t mean to--”

“It’s quite alright,” he says. It’s not, but it is. Obi-Wan doesn’t want to have this conversation, doesn’t want to talk to this girl anymore. They’re passing through a small town in central Pennsylvania. He’s a pregnant, unmated, thirty-eight year old male omega. A rarity. A talking point. He doesn’t want to talk to her, he wants--

There’s a loud knock on the door to the bathroom. “Obi-Wan? Are you alright? Is there someone in there with you? I thought I heard voices. Obi-Wan? I’m coming in, Obi-Wan.”

Anakin.

Obi-Wan gets halfway through drying his hands before Anakin’s there, crowding him against the sink and nosing at his face and neck.

“Sir, this is a bathroom for omegas only!” the gas station attendant protests, but Anakin growls at her.

As much as the pregnancy has made Obi-Wan lose parts of himself to his Omegan side, it’s been ten times worse for Anakin for some reason. As far as Alphas go, Anakin’s always been a thoughtful, respectful one. Quick to anger, perhaps, but never violent or suspicious.

Now it’s like everyone in the world has done something to personally offend Anakin. Everyone but Obi-Wan.

If he didn’t feel such a burning, unignorable need to get to Seattle, Obi-Wan would have called the whole trip off weeks ago.

But he couldn’t then and he definitely can’t now, not when they’ve both taken the time off of work and Obi-Wan’s let his doctor know he’ll be out of the state and they’re already in Pennsylvania.

He’ll just let Anakin do whatever he needs to do to feel alright with taking a pregnant, unmated omega across the country. It’s not as if it’s a hardship to put up with all the scentings and hugs and looming and protectiveness.

Quite the opposite, actually.

Which just makes Obi-Wan feel even more guilty, the way he’s using Anakin like this. His dearest, closest friend, who is helping him in such an amazing way, and every time he touches him, it’s all Obi-Wan can do to not arch up into the touch.

He wishes he could blame it on the pregnancy hormones, the way his instincts are going haywire to keep an alpha--any alpha--close. But it’s not. It’s Anakin. It’s the fact that Obi-Wan is hopelessly, irreversibly in love with the alpha.

The touches and the scenting don’t mean what he wants them to. It doesn’t mean anything, the way Anakin pushes his shirts and sweaters to Obi-Wan’s chest and watches him put them on. He’s an observant man, his alpha. He knows Obi-Wan likes wearing his scent now that he’s pregnant. It’s comforting.

So even though it doesn’t mean anything at all, the way Anakin’s hands roam over his waist and stomach and hips as he growls at the poor gas station attendant, Obi-Wan has to fight to not push back into the touches, to not scent him in return.

He’s afraid once he does, he won’t be able to stop. The thought of it, of marking the beautiful, strong, virile alpha with his smell, is too addicting to ever risk trying.

“I’m fine, I’m fine. It’s just a bit of morning sickness,” he says lightly, touching Anakin’s chest gently. “She was just checking up on me.”

Anakin glares at the girl and starts to herd Obi-Wan out of the bathroom. “Not hers to check up on,” he mutters, hands latching onto Anakin’s hips and guiding him through the aisles of brightly colored chips and candy.

Obi-Wan thinks that for both of their sakes he should remind Anakin that he’s not his to check up on either, but he doesn’t want to, not when he can pretend for a little bit longer.

“I think I would like to lie down in the back for a bit,” he says, holding his stomach. “Just until we get out of this state.”

Anakin agrees immediately, like he knew he would. “Okay, Obi,” he murmurs, opening the car door for him. They’d laid down their suitcases in the wells behind the two front seats, and Anakin had thrown a couple of blankets over the entire area to make a sort of makeshift nest for Obi-Wan to sleep in should he want to.

They’ve only been driving for four hours, but Obi-Wan already wants to. He’s painfully on edge.

He hadn’t understood how hard it would be to convince his hindbrain and body to leave the safety of their apartment, but all he wants now is to nest somewhere safe for him and the baby. It would have been impossible to do this without Anakin.

“Alright,” the alpha says. “Um. Wait. Here.”

He shucks off his sweatshirt, a faded college one that Obi-Wan’s been coveting with his eyes since Anakin had put it on this morning. “Oh, dear one, no,” he forces himself to say anyway. “It’s December. You need a sweatshirt.”

“I’ll turn up the heat,” Anakin holds it out insistently, stubbornly. “Take it, come on.”

Obi-wan can only make himself hesitate for a second more before he’s snatching the soft fabric that smells like sunlight linen honeydew out of his hands and holding it greedily to his chest. “Alright.”

Under the weight of the alpha’s watchful eyes, Obi-Wan crawls into the backseat and curls up with his head diagonal from the driver’s seat. He thinks it’ll be nice to wake up and see Anakin’s profile whenever he wants to without additional shifting.

“Oh shit,” Anakin curses suddenly. “I was going to buy a coffee.” The alpha pauses, clearly torn between going back inside and not wanting to leave the omega alone in the car. But Obi-Wan knows Anakin, and he needs his coffee.

“Oh,” he says as if he’s just remembering something himself, “can you get me one of those bananas on the counter? I think they’re good for babies.”

That, obviously, changes everything for Anakin who straightens instantly. “Bananas are good for babies,” he declares, nodding his head before narrowing his eyes. “Would you...can I lock the door? I won’t be long. Just for safety.”

Obi-Wan blinks and purses his lips to stop his little smile. His alpha can be so silly. Safety. In the middle of the afternoon in rural Pennsylvania. “Okay, alpha,” he agrees before he even realizes that he really shouldn’t be calling Anakin alpha. Especially not when the other man always reacts so strongly to it.

Case in point, he thinks to himself sadly as Anakin’s hand spasms on the car door handle before he slams it and hustles away, almost at a run.

With a long sigh, he flops back down into his nest and squirms until he gets comfortable. There’s a pillow close to his hand that he hugs to his chest when he realizes it’s Anakin’s pillow from his bed at home. It smells amazing, a mix of both of them together.

Ever since he’d told the alpha he was pregnant, Obi-Wan’s fallen asleep in Anakin’s bed more often than not. It’s a comfort thing, one that Obi-Wan feels intensely guilty about. Surely if he keeps being so clingy and whiny and Omegan, Anakin will get sick of him.

And this is just the beginning of the pregnancy. He knows rationally that Anakin loves him as a friend, a brother, but how long is that love going to last if Obi-Wan can’t get a handle on his goddamn hormones? Anakin hadn’t signed up for any of this. It’s not even his pup. How much is Obi-Wan willing to put him through just because he can’t imagine a life without the alpha in it?

Wouldn’t it be the best thing for the both of them to cut their losses now? Bail and Breha had told Obi-Wan he could move in with them for the duration of the pregnancy if he needed to. The only thing that stopped him from saying yes immediately had been the hope that Anakin would be willing to stay with him, keep living with him even after he’d fucked up so much.

And the alpha, by some miracle, hadn’t left, hadn’t moved out. But Obi-Wan can’t shake the thought that he will soon, that this will all get to be too much. Obi-Wan’s omega whimpers at the back of his mind at the idea that one day the alpha will be gone.

The scent of distressed omega fills the car as Obi-Wan feels his bottom lip start to wobble.

Alright, the influx of hormones that are wreaking havoc on his emotions is probably the pregnancy symptom he hates the most. But morning sickness is still up there, too.

He sniffs into Anakin’s college sweatshirt and tries to think happy thoughts. He shouldn’t make Anakin worry about his emotions when he’s already spending so much time worried about his physical health.

How much is Obi-Wan going to take advantage of Anakin’s kindness?

The doors unlock with a beep, signaling his alpha’s return to the car.

It doesn’t take Anakin even a second to catch onto Obi-Wan’s recent spiral of emotion, but at least he won’t know why unless Obi-Wan tells him.

“Obi?” he asks frantically, as soon as he opens the car door. “Obi, are you alright? Did something happen? Did someone see you--?”

“Put the coffee down before you spill it,” Obi-Wan instructs after peeking out of his sweatshirt haven. “I’m alright, Anakin. It’s just the hormones. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Anakin shakes his head. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”

The statement pulls a wry smile from Obi-Wan. “Oh, I can think of a few things,” he murmurs, touching his belly with a pointed, gentle hand. Before Anakin can say anything about that, he continues quickly. “I was just wondering about something, I’m fine, really. Really.”

And then, knowing he shouldn’t but also knowing it’ll distract Anakin enough from this line of questioning, he tilts his head back to expose his neck and says, “Can we drive, alpha?”

The coffee cup still clutched in Anakin’s hands bursts open under the force of his grip. He really should have put it down.

Anakin curses up a storm as he shakes the hot liquid off of his skin, and Obi-Wan sits up worriedly. Anakin was bothered so much by Obi-Wan calling him that that he accidentally hurt himself. No more, the omega resolves. He can take a hint.

“Are you alright?” he asks, grabbing at Anakin’s hand to examine the red skin.

“I’m fine!” Anakin yelps, jumping away. “I just--I’m just going to go wash this off. Um. And get more coffee.”

He slams the door shut, and Obi-Wan wilts as he watches him go. He can’t even follow after him because Anakin’s locked the doors with his car key. He’s done enough already.

“Oh baby,” he tells his stomach. “I don’t think I’m ever going to have that alpha figured out.”

The baby is still and, of course, silent, but Obi-Wan takes comfort in their presence anyway. They can’t leave him. Not yet, at least.

Gingerly, he maneuvers his way out of his nest so he can reach his messenger bag he’d left in the foot of his passenger seat. It takes some finangling, but finally he’s able to fish out his headphones. As he resettles into his nest, surrounded on all sides by Anakin’s scent, he notices the bunch of bananas thrown in the driver’s seat.

Obi-Wan snorts at his silly alpha, but can’t deny that he’s touched at the same time.

It’s extremely easy to find the track he wants to listen to, what with how often he listens to it these days. Sometimes, it’s the only thing that can get him to fall asleep.

He pulls up the downloaded homemade album Anakin had given him for Christmas four years back. When he presses play, his alpha’s deep melodic voice spills into his ears.

“Whan that Aprill with his shoures soote, the droghte of March hath perced to the roote…”

Of course he can’t be sure, but he’s fairly certain he’s asleep by the time Anakin comes back to the car.

#asks #squick tag: a/b/o #squick tag: mpreg #prompt fill #roadtrip au #oh?? its somehow MORE angsty now that obi-wan's POV is being explored??? #is ANYONE surprised??? lmao #(no) #also yes at the end obi-wan is listening to anakin recite the general prologue of the canterbury tales with the original english #that anakin learned how to pronounce correctly so he could make obi-wan the best christmas present ever #was it going to be a love confession too but he chickened out at the last second??? yah #will anakin get jealous obi-wan's always lsitening to something on his phone and demand to know what it is??? yah #poor dumb men

[cellsshapedlikestars]

If you are accepting prompts--how about Sansa and Jon being on opposite sides of a political contest? Prime Minister Rhaegar Targaryen is forced to call a referendum for Northern independence, as demanded by the Northern Nationalists party. He is campaigning in the North for a United Westeros, taking his second wife Lyanna Stark and their son Jon along, toshow how hollow all talk if Northern independence is. However, this means that Jon keeps running into his Stark cousins, particularly Sansa Stark, who accompanies her parents to every debate and campaign rally...

I've been sitting on this for a while (and yes, I do see all the anon prompts, I promise!) and I've sort of been writing this on and off since I got it. The thing is, I have no point of reference for these politics, I'm assuming you wanted something like the Scottish independence movement, which I have almost no knowledge of as I am a dumb American who can barely handle American politics without spiraling into anxiety and depression. So, I've sort of talked around the specifics and hopefully I haven't gotten anything too crazy wrong.

Also, you mention his Stark cousins, but... well, I cannot do modern incest. I can handle them being cousins in olden times where it was acceptable & common (I can't even handle the sibling incest aspect in any time period), but I was writing this modern and that's a hard nope for me. I know it's a fairly predominant part of this fandom and if it's your thing, absolutely have at it! There is no kink shaming in this house. It's just not for me and I couldn't write it, sorry!

Also, as usual, this turned out longer than I intended since these are supposed to be drabbles mostly. But 'drabbles' for me always end up like 2k words

.

Jon sits in the window seat of the jet, headphones on and turned up. Somewhere behind him, he knows his parents are sitting, likely talking strategy. He knows dad wants him to join in, but Jon's in no mood to talk politics. It's what got him in this situation to begin with.

That stupid reporter. Jon's stupid response.

Jon! How do you feel about Northern Independence?

I say let them.

It's what he believes, honestly – if the North wants independence, why not? The rest of the SK treats them like shit anyway, why not let them break off, like Dorne did? It's not a naming issue – they're still called the Seven Kingdoms despite losing Dorne decades ago, so what if they're technically only six now? Jon knows it's about more than that – it's economics and politics and... well, pride. The SK can't lose another piece of their kingdom – nevermind that piece has been conquered and beaten down multiple times over hundreds of years. Northern Independence isn't a new concept – it's just been met with military resistance every time and stamped out. But they aren't in the middle ages anymore.

For a moment he turns his head to look behind him – to see mom with her head bowed in conversation with dad and something ugly twists in Jon's stomach.

He knows dad only married mom because she got pregnant – because his political career was just taking off and a mistress and bastard would have ruined him. And mom, she'd been so young, she's convinced herself he married her for love. Jon swears that mom used to be different. She used to argue with Rhaegar all the time about politics, he even remembers her bringing up Northern Independence when Jon was just a kid. But over the years she's had to play the perfect wife for him and somewhere along the way it just... stuck. Mom isn't his mom anymore. No, mom is what Rhaegar's political advisors want her to be.

So even though Jon had wanted to protest this trip, there's also a part of him desperately clinging to the hope that when they get North, mom will snap out of it. When she's home, maybe she'll be his mom again.

Especially since the leader of the opposition is an old friend of hers.

Ned Stark.

Dad doesn't react to much, he's a politician to his core, so seeing him get riled anytime Ned Stark is on TV is notable. In fact, there's a rebellious part of Jon that already likes Ned Stark simply for the fact that dad hates him so much. There's more to like than just that, Jon knows – Ned Stark seems like one of those politicians that's doing the job because they want to make a difference. They're rare, nowadays, but Jon's been surrounded by politicians his whole life and he can spot the do-gooders from a mile away.

He thinks it's partly why dad hates it – Ned Stark doesn't use the same underhanded tactics Rhaegar's used to, and from everything Jon's heard, there's nothing to use against Ned. The only skeleton dad's advisors had ever found tucked away in Ned Stark's closet had been that his wife, Catelyn, had originally dated his older brother Brandon, who died in a car accident. They'd begun dating and married shortly after - a minor scandal that hadn't gained any traction, considering they've been married for over twenty years with five children.

Dad was hoping to get somewhere with the youngest daughter, Arya, who always seemed more wild than the rest of her siblings (except maybe the youngest, Rickon). The problem is that she's never done anything really wrong and the North loves her. The oldest son Robb is as perfect a son as any politician could hope for and Jon sometimes wonders if dad would rather have Robb than Jon.

The other two sons are still fairly young and going after them would only make dad look like the bad guy. Then there's Sansa.

Jon remembers her from growing up – not that he'd ever met her, but they're both kids of prominent politicians and he's seen her in photos since she was old enough to walk. A proper lady, he remembers even the southern press naming her. Perfect, just like her older brother.

A hand on his shoulder jolts him out of his thoughts and he turns to see mom, who motions at him to take off his headphones.

“We're landing in a half hour and your father would like to go over your role,” she tells him with a perfect, bland smile. (She hasn't been his mother for a very long time.)

“I know my role,” he says and he can't help the bitter tone to his voice. “Stay quite, don't talk to the press. Pretty easy to remember.”

“And yet you still managed to nearly undermine my entire campaign with one flippant remark,” dad's voice calls over from his seat, low and smooth, though Jon absolutely hears the annoyance underneath it.

“Oh, he's just a child,” mom says, trying to play the peacekeeper like she always does.

“He's twenty, he's hardly a child,” dad starts, but Jon doesn't listen to the rest. He pulls his headphones back over his ears and looks back out the window and tries to pretend he's anywhere else.

…

By the time they reach Winterfell Castle, Jon is in a bad mood.

Not that he hadn't been before, but he's not allowed his headphones in the limo and so he'd had to listen to dad talk nonstop about his two favorite topics: Jon's failure as a son and how much he hates Ned Stark. And the way mom doesn't even try to defend Ned Stark like she used to infuriates Jon even more.

Jon hates his tuxedo and he hates that they barely had any time between landing and having to get ready for this dinner and he hates that he's going to have to smile and shake hands with a bunch of people who hate him on principle, simply for who his father is. For what his father represents.

When he does step out of the limo, he ignores every photographer and reporter that shouts his name, eager to get any sort of scandal out of him.

He doesn't blame them for this, he's given them enough over the years – not just his apparent support of Northern Independence, but everything else he's done to gain his notoriety. His reputation as a heartbreaker and a playboy that's mostly over-exaggerated, that time he punched a teacher (though to be fair, Thorne deserved it)... Teenage rebellion, they'd written it off as, but he's no longer a teenager and he knows he should grow up and stop doing things to piss off his father at some point.

(His favorite one had been sleeping with that investigative journalist when he was seventeen. She'd been older than him by a good few years and he'd known she was using him to write an article, but he was using her just as much to infuriate his father. His only true regret is that Ygritte's article hadn't done any real lasting damage to Rhaegar's reputation.)

Inside, there aren't any reporters but there are politicians everywhere and that's worse. He does the bare minimum to not cause an issue – he shakes hands and says hello, though he refuses to smile while doing it. They already hate him for being Rhaegar Targaryen's son. They already hate him for being Northern-traitor Lyanna Snow's son.

He keeps an eye on mom to see how she's doing and his heart twists painfully in his chest when he sees her. She has a bright smile on her face and anyone who didn't know her would think she's fine, but Jon can see how pale she is under her makeup. This is the first time she's been back in the North since she married dad and he has a sudden, sharp pang of hatred for Rhaegar – for getting her pregnant, for marrying her, for never letting her go back. For turning her into this.

He can tell the moment Ned Stark enters the room because mom freezes. And sure enough, there he is – beautiful wife at his side, the three adult children with him. Robb, Sansa, Arya. Jon's eyes scan over them – Robb with his perfect hair and smile, an easy way about him that's always come through even on camera. Sansa standing poised and almost too beautiful to believe – Jon's only ever seen her on film and somehow she's even more unreal in person. Arya, who by all accounts hates politics as much as Jon does, stands firmly by her family and Jon gets the sense she only hates the system, not her dad. Not like Jon.

As Jon scans the room, he can see other families here that he recognizes – the Greyjoys, including Robb Stark's best friend Theon. The Manderlys, the Karstarks, the Ryswells, the Boltons, the Mormonts. More families than Jon cares to remember.

There's a sense of someone behind him and he turns just enough to see that dad has come up to stand next to him. For a moment, dad just stands there before turning his head ever so slightly and bringing his mouth close to Jon's ear and he says so low Jon can barely even hear it - “if you do anything to embarrass me tonight, there will be consequences. If you do anything that makes it seem like you support this pathetic independence movement, there will be consequences. Do you understand me?”

Jon feels blind rage that winds so hot in his chest it makes him shake and his vision narrow. He has to close his eyes and take a deep breath before he can answer, and he grits out, “of course.” Dad nods and moves away, putting on his best politician smile as he goes to greet Howland Reed.

Mom shoots him a concerned look, but Jon ignores her. He can feel it building in him – that rebelliousness the press likes to talk about so much. He wants to hurt Rhaegar. For everything – for his mother, for all the people dad's stepped on and hurt. He wants to embarrass him, consequences be damned.

Just as he's thinking this, his eyes catch on copper hair and bright blue eyes.

Sansa Stark.

Darling of the press. Perfect Northern princess.

It takes root in his mind, against his better judgment. What would make Rhaegar more furious than an affair between his son and the daughter of Ned Stark?

Jon can't imagine Sansa would be amenable to the suggestion, not like Ygritte had been – there is no mutually beneficial agreement here. She would never agree to do something that might embarrass her father (and once again, Jon is reminded of the, pun intended, stark difference between his relationship with his father and the Stark children's relationship with Ned. Jon has never even met them in person and he knows this).

So he can't approach her with any sort of offer or plan. No, he'd have to pretend it was real.

He's going to have to seduce Sansa Stark.

#jonsa #prompt fic #ask #oooh boy do i know nothing of politics #and political families #do not @ me #is this boring? #probably #jonsa fic

[plutodexay]

hi i love your writing! could you do a fluff with remus we here they’re both professors and the kids ship them lol

Sorry this took so long but thank you for the request (and compliment!!), I hope this is what you wanted and I loved this prompt.

906

After a sudden paint bomb went off on the opposite side of the building, put there by some very obviously not Weasley twins, Remus and I started walking back towards our adjacent classrooms together. The conversation started out professional until we were out of the other's earshot, then it spiraled into how Remus hadn’t managed to pull that off with his friends back when he was the twins' age. Of course the twins hadn’t done it, just an age reference, no blame on the very innocent boys.

Somehow his class had managed to gather in his classroom without him, and the moment those doors opened a rain of ‘oooooo’s came down on us, something they did every time we were near one another without another professor, leaving us both stunned for the second. All it took was Remus giving the class a stern look for them to quiet down almost immediately, a laugh left me before I could stop it, causing him to look back at me with a small smile. Nodding to me, he turned away, walking into his classroom and starting his lesson before the door even shut, leaving me alone in the silent hallway to collect my thoughts.

Maybe there was something to the students' words and whispers, their small glances followed my murmurs and small points in our directions. We always just laughed at the expressions but recently there was more to it, in my mind at least. I could swear every time one of the events happened Remus sent a smile to me that I never saw him direct to anyone else. A smile that made me feel something I could never explain in any way other than hidden romantic feelings that only recently came to the surface.

Finally I headed back towards my own classroom, my students waiting in their seats as well. I could feel the confused looks on their faces as I walked in, later than I wanted or was warranted for the class.

“Were you with professor Lupin?” One of the older students asked, raising them hand quicker than they ever had in my class.

“Yes?” I answered back, confusion laced in my voice wondering how they figured that out.

“You always have that face when you come back from talking with him,” Another student stated, barely even lifting their head out of their book to look at said face they were talking about. Other students let out small giggles at the words, all giving me slight smiles as I rolled my eyes at their expressions.

“That and we heard the loud bang” Someone else said, causing the rest of the class to shush them right as I decided to finally start my lesson for the day, in a poor attempt to for once not think about the apparent issue anymore. It really did not work.

*Time Jump*

“I do apologize for the students' actions earlier today” Remus spoke up after we had been sitting in the library in silence for who knows how long. Closing his book to move all of his focus onto me, his eyes causing my face to burn.

“Mine did the same thing,” I added to the conversation, trying to get him to bring something else up.

After a small break of silence, Remus reached over to me, grabbing my own book out of my hands and closing it as he did his own. Yet, even as he did, for some reason he did not move his hand away from where it was resting on my own. His skin on mine felt like ice and fire all in the same way.

“Maybe they see something we haven’t.” His voice was hushed and he averted his eyes away from mine as he spoke. I could feel his hands shaking at the expression that had remained unspoken between us until now.

“Do they?” I ask him, turning my hand to lay on top of his to try and calm his nerves even though mine were going crazy as well.

He looked at my hand due to the movement, staring at our hands almost in disbelief for a moment before looking back up at me, our eyes meeting again. I felt his hands stop to shake as we stayed in the silence with our eyes locked.

“If you would want, we could put their theory to the test?” Remus asked, leaning in closer to me in an almost impossible way. I could feel his breath hitting my face in short and quick exhales from the stress of the moment.

“I would like that,” I felt a small smile creep up onto my face, and almost in an instant Remus’s face started to match my own.

Then, in a sudden movement Remus stood up and turned to a desk near us and grabbed something off of the table. After turning to me I saw it was a small flower that could be found almost anywhere on the grounds. A lopsided smile spread across his face as I reached out to take the flower, my face tilted in a positive question.

“A first year gave it to me early, they told me to give it to the ‘pretty professor I’m always looking at’, kids right” It only took a moment for both of us to burst out in laughter, then to be shushed by the librarian around the corner.

Who knows, maybe the kids had it right all along.

#remus lupin #remus x you #remus x reader #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin fic #remus lupin x you #remus fluff #professor lupin #fluff #writing #fanfic #fanfiction #remus fanfiction #hp fanfic #hp fanfiction #harry potter

[hopelesshawks]

History of Us Part 13- Your Fathers’ Children

Summary: Once upon a time Todoroki and (y/n) were best friends. Now they haven’t spoken in years. When (y/n) is forced to transfer to UA, will she and Shoto reconnect or will their troubled past keep them apart? A childhood friends to enemies to lovers hybrid fic.

If you don’t want to see History of Us content blacklist #hopelesshou

Warning for canon typical violence

Masterlist Kofi

“Don’t tell me I gotta compete with Shinso now too,” Sero groans as he leans over your shoulder. “Aww, scared of a little competition?” you tease him. “No but if you could be a little less alluring that’d be great. It’s hard enough trying to compete with Denki,” Sero jokes. “Who even said Shinso is a suitor? Maybe he just wants to be friends.” “A suitor? Don’t make this sound like the 1800s or something and we’re fighting for your hand in marriage.” “Don’t act like it and I won’t!”

Shoto watches you joking and laughing with Sero from a few rows behind, something angry simmering in him. Sero’d been beaten by Kirishima in the round of 16, so now he’s free to flirt and joke around with you as much as he’d like between your rounds. Denki is currently holding his own against Bakugo but after their battle concludes he’s sure Denki will similarly hover around you. The more he thinks about it the more it annoys him. A small voice in the back of his head reminds him your distrust of him largely stems from his own actions whereas Sero and Denki have done nothing wrong. In fact they’d reacted to the news of your father exactly the way he should have all those years ago. Round after round starts and ends and Shoto pays no attention to any of them except for yours, too caught up in looking at you and wishing he was the one making you laugh like that. His own matches are a blur, even when he faces Midoriya in the semi finals. By the time he’s been declared the victor he realizes he can barely remember any of it. As he helps his friend up off the ground, Midoriya gives him a concerned look. “Are you ok Todoroki? I haven’t seen you that pissed since our first year,” he asks. “Yea, I’m fine,” Todoroki lies, determinedly not looking at the stands.

He doesn’t want to risk looking up and seeing you laughing with the others instead of watching him.

The next round is you and Bakugo and you’ve already descended to the tunnel by the time Shoto’s returned to his seat. Watching you and Bakugo once you begin is mesmerizing in its ferocity. You both respect each other too much to hold back and the amount of firepower you both are executing in your own ways is devastating. Shoto can’t help but wince when you hit the ground particularly hard and he’s sure you must’ve broken something but before Bakugo can land on top of you to pin you down you roll out of the way and stagger back to your feet, giving just as good as you got. It’s too bad the two of you met up in the semi finals in all honesty. It’s a devastatingly close match through the end but Shoto sees the exact moment both you and Bakugo realize you’re going to win. Cementoss looks like he’s a second away from calling a halt as you pin Bakugo down, your forearm to his throat as he attempts to blast it off, looking almost feral as you use your quirk to hold yourself down on top of him. It’s the longest five seconds anyone in the stadium has experienced. Finally the airhorn blows to signal the end of the fight. You ease off immediately, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. You stand back up gingerly before reaching down to help Bakugo up. Shoto expects the blonde to smack the hand away but to his surprise Bakugo accepts the hand up and only manages to scowl at you for a moment before he gives you an almost feral grin, saying something that makes you laugh although it’s impossible for Shoto to hear it from where he’s sitting. You wince as the laugh aggravates one of your injuries and Bakugo rolls his eyes before helping you off the field.

Nezu announces that you’ll be given twenty minutes to recover before they have the final. After about five Bakugo comes back up to the stands. “Damn Kacchan didn’t expect to see you knocked out before the finals,” Denki teases. “Shut the fuck up Pikachu, (y/n)’s the only one of you idiots that had a shot against me,” Bakugo scoffs. “Is she good?” Mina asks and to everyone’s surprise Bakugo barks out a laugh. “Oh she’s fine but she’s pissed,” he snickers. “What why?” Jiro asks. “They’re letting the kid help recovery girl with injuries and she accidentally rewinded (y/n)’s hair back to its natural color too. The two finalists are gonna match,” Bakugo explains, causing several heads to swivel to Shoto as if trying to picture what you’ll look like with half white hair. “I’m going to prepare,” Shoto says, quickly standing and leaving his classmates and their gazes behind.

Time passes quickly and before Shoto knows it it’s time for the finals to start. He walks out to the cheers of the crowd and moves to the start. Shortly afterwards you emerge from the opposite tunnel. He sucks in a surprised breath when he sees you. A memory surfaces of the two of you being six and begging Fuyumi to take a photo of the two of you before your fathers returned from work. You had insisted on standing on Shoto’s right side. He can practically hear you whining “Sho-chan our white sides need to be touching! The mom sides!” He’s shaken from the memory when he notices you’re not looking at him but behind him. He turns to see what could possibly hold your attention right now and sees you’ve locked eyes with his father who’s standing at the railing with his arms crossed. The melancholy the memory had brought forth was swiftly and suddenly swept away by a burning rage. The moment “start” is called Shoto lashes out with his left side, scorching flames shooting in your direction that you just barely manage to dodge. “Of course you started with your flames,” you scoff as you retaliate but he manages to dodge as he begins to close the distance between the two of you. You prepare yourself for an ice blast but are surprised as he instead chooses to tackle you, you’re quick to make sure he doesn’t have you pinned, both of you rolling along the ground. “You’re such a fucking hypocrite,” he spits out as he tries to freeze you in place. “Excuse me!?” you reply incredulously finally managing to push away from him before launching your own counter. “You heard me,” he responds, his voice sounding almost lethal despite his even tone. “How, pray tell, am I a hypocrite?” you question as your quirk responds to your growing outrage at the accusation. Shadow and fire meet and begin to swirl around the two of you, creating a vortex that whips your hair around your face. “You go on and on about not wanting to be defined by your father yet you have done nothing but define me in terms of mine since you got here,” he accuses. “You chose to align yourself with him, not me!” you spit back. “Bullshit!” “Fuck you!” You both dive at each other, the sports festival all but forgotten to you both as you each continue to lash out. “I am not my father,” Shoto bites out. “Nor am I!” you fire back. “I have never once thought you were!” “Then why were you afraid of me!” you finally sob out. “What?” Shoto asks stunned. You’ve got him pressed flat against the dirt beneath you but the vortex continues to swirl around, hiding you both from view as Shoto stops fighting back. “Is that what he told you?” Shoto presses. “I mean it was understandable I guess but I just.... I thought if anyone would know that my father being a monster didn’t make me one, it would be you,” you confess. “I have never been afraid of you,” Shoto tells you and as your (y/e/c) eyes meet his blue and gray ones you can see the honesty there.

Only then do the two of you seem to realize how much your quirks have spiraled out of control. Your arm is burning where it touches Shoto’s left side which has been burning consistently since the two of you had started your shouting match. The black veins have expanded well past your forearm, up your neck, and onto your face. You realize Shoto’s overheating, if the sweat pouring down his face is any indication. Both of you have tears on your cheeks, although you can’t be certain when either of you started crying. As your emotions calm down and you both process what’s been said the swirling vortex slowly dies down and dissipates. The countdown starts as the two of you finally become visible to the anxious audience but Shoto makes no move to push you off. Instead the two of you just stare at each other as all of the hurt and anger finally drains out of you both. The airhorn blows to signal your victory but neither of you notice. “I’m sorry,” you breathe out, chest still heaving from exertion. “I’m sorry too,” Shoto responds and next thing you know you’re both laughing incredulously with relief, as if a thousand pound weight has been lifted for the first time in a decade. You roll off of him to starfish out next to him on his right side as you’re both racked by the laughing fit. Considering the display of violence you’d both just presented it’s probably a disconcerting sight, but neither of you can help it, too giddy with relief. When the laughter finally subsides to hiccuping giggles you both turn your heads to look at each other.

“I missed you.”

“I missed you too Sho-chan.”

A/N: When (y/n) and Shoto were trapped inside the vortex everyone was freaking out cause they couldn't tell what was happening. Cementoss thought they should end it before things escalated any further but Aizawa told him to just let it be. Present Mic then questioned why all the feral students end up in Aizawa's class and Aizawa just kinda grinned in response kjhbadvehf

Taglist: @sorrythatspussynal @miss-bakugo-writes @pixelwisp @larkspyrr @sokkaandzukosimp @akkaso @sunaispretty @mindofess @todoplusultra @oliviasslut

#hopelesshou #shoto torodoki #shoto smau #shoto x reader #shoto x fem!reader #shoto x y/n #todoroki smau #todoroki x reader #todoroki x fem!reader #todoroki x y/n