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babydollmarauders · 1 year

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KARMA— JACK HUGHES

jack hughes x fem!reader

part of the Midnights Fic List

summary: in which y/n’s ex-best friend has been gossiping behind y/n’s back saying that Jack should be with her instead, so y/n shows that karma goes both ways.

specific lyrics: “you’re talking shit, for the hell of it. addicted to betrayal.” and “ask me what i learned from all those years. ask me what i earned from all those tears.” and “karma is my boyfriend, karma is a god, karma is the breeze in my hair on the weekend, karma’s a relaxing thought”

warnings: toxic friendship mentions, light profanity

notes: this is pretty short, i didn’t feel like this one should be too long, i wanted it to be pretty simple just like the song

“did you hear about what Carley said last week?” i hear as soon as i sit down in my seat at brunch.

“no.” i shake my head. “what did she say now?”

“she was out with her friends, and Nicole and Jesper were sat by her at the restaurant; overheard her saying that Jack should be with her instead of you. apparently she’s convinced that he’s only pitying you and she deserves him because she’s ‘richer, prettier, and has more followers’.” Ryleigh says. “what a bitch! i can’t believe you were ever friends with her.“

“karma is a bitch, it’ll get to her one day.” i shrug. “she wasn’t much different when we were friends. claimed i ‘stole’ Jack from her because ‘she saw him first’, but he and i had already been dating by the time she saw him. we just hadn’t been public yet.”

“but, you’re literally the sweetest person i’ve ever met. i’m just saying, i don’t understand how you could’ve been friends with her for so long.” Darya chimes in, setting her mimosa down in front of her.

“i was friends with her since we were ten, she’s always been this way. a lot of my tears were from her hand. she insisted she would do things in the name of friendship and ‘bettering me’, but eventually, i learned that she was just a horrible person and i should stop excusing her actions. as i said, karma will get to her eventually.” i explain as i scan the menu in front of me. i know how Carley is. it doesn’t exactly surprise me that she’s talking bad about me, she used to do it even while we were friends.

“well, karma isn’t coming fast enough. that girl needs to be humbled soon.” Ryleigh exclaims and Darya nods in agreement. before i can respond, the waiter comes to take our orders and the subject changes.

i’m sat in glass seats at a Devils home game, waiting for them to come out for warmups. i switch between glass seats and the WAGS box every few games. i like hanging out with the girls but, i love to see the smile on Jack’s face when the Devils score. especially when he scores and he gets to look over at me and see that i watched and that i’m cheering for him. it’s not too long before warmups start that someone sits at the end of my row, and i look over to see Carley and one of her friends. i choose to ignore her and the looks i know she’s giving me. i have a right to be here, and she’s allowed to come to a game if she wants, i don’t control that. it’s when the warmups start that i have a problem with her. i’m looking down at my phone, texting Ryleigh when Jack skates by, banging a hand on the glass in front of me to get my attention. i startle, jumping in my seat and dropping my phone, and he laughs.

“hi baby!” i immediately recognize the voice yelling down the row. i look over to see Carley staring straight at Jack as he skates past her. he turns around, skating backwards and giving her a weird look before looking at me with a ‘what the fuck?’ face. i shrug my shoulders. what possessed her to make her think that calling my boyfriend ‘baby’ is okay?

i let the comment roll off my back, it’s whatever. i know that Jack has tons of fans, he’s talented, he’s hot, he’s sweet, he’s a total package, i get it.

“score a goal for me tonight, babe!” i hear her call out. that’s when my problem starts. and my anger only increases after warmups, when i overhear her talking to her friend. “eventually, he’s gonna realize how much better he can do than y/n. and i’ll be there with open arms when he does.”

i remind myself to stay in my seat. i’ve turned a blind eye to her glares, i’ve let her gossiping fall on deaf ears instead of making a scene or causing drama, and i know it’ll be worth it in the end. i was raised to remember that karma is a powerful thing, and that it goes both ways. you do bad things, something will knock you down a peg. you do good things, you’ll have good luck. it’s common sense. but apparently she didn’t get the message.

“babe, come look at this!” Jack calls to me from our bed. it’s officially the off season and Jack and i have been at the Hughes lake house for the past couple days. it’s been nice being surrounded by his family and even a few of our friends.

“what’s up, love?” i ask, walking out of the closet where i was picking out a cover up to wear out on the boat. i slip the sundress i chose over my head and pull it down over my bikini.

“come see what Bratter just sent me.” i flop myself down on the bed next to him, laying on my side and cuddling into him, an arm wrapping around his torso. he tilts his phone screen towards me and i read the text that Jesper sent him.

—

From: Jesper Bratt

took Nicole out to lunch and she pointed out a girl that she said is obsessed with you. said her name was Carley. heard her talking to someone, saying you guys were destined to be together 😂 even heard her say that y/n isn’t good enough for you? does this girl have nothing better to do?

—

“she really just won’t stop, will she?” my question is rhetorical but Jack answers anyways.

“she’ll get the message soon enough. i don’t want her.” his words make me furrow my brows but i nod anyways. “you ready to head out?”

“yeah, let’s go.” we stand from the bed, making our way out of the bedroom and down the stairs, meeting the others in the living room before heading down to the dock and onto the boat. i sit and watch as all the guys take turns wakesurfing, choosing not to participate and instead enjoying the summer evening air.

“babe! babe, c’mere!” Jack calls from the back of the boat, where he’s currently wakesurfing. i stand, walking over and bending over the back of the boat so i can hear him.

“look at you, superstar!” i chime, grinning at him. he laughs and shakes his head.

“no, i wanted to say that i wanna take you on a walk around the lake when we get back.” i admire his smile for a few moments, just nodding in response and watching his face all lit up with joy. this man makes me so happy.

i keep myself rooted in that spot until he decides he’s done and gets back on the boat, letting Luke take his place. he looks at me with a wicked grin and i know exactly what he’s planning to do, but the boat is only so big and he catches me quite easily. pulling me to him, getting me wet with the cold water dripping from his hair and body. i shiver and let out a squeal; halfheartedly attempting to push him away. i feel my feet lift off the ground as Jack moves over to the bench seats, sitting down and pulling me onto his lap.

“now my cover up is all wet!” i feign a pout, but all he does is laugh, placing a gentle kiss on the tip of my nose.

“i’ll make it up to you. promise.” he squeezes me tighter to his chest and i shuffle down in order to lay my head on his chest, getting the side of my face wet in the process, but i don’t care. “i love you.”

“i love you too.” i smile, turning my head slightly to lay a kiss on his chest.

when we park back at the dock, Jack lets the guys know we’ll be back up to the house soon and pulls his hoodie over his head. he slings one arm around my shoulders, holding me to his side, and sticks his free hand in his hoodie pocket. we continue to walk along the lakeside in silence, just enjoying the last moments of sunset and the sounds of nature. i stop Jack a few times in order to point out pretty birds or various other beautiful nature moments. i let go of him once more, stepping closer to the water and letting him fall behind me.

“Jack, look at the way the sunset is reflecting off the lake! it’s gorgeous.” i turn to look back at him, checking to see i have his attention, but when i catch sight of him, one knee on the ground with a ring box opened in his hands and a watery smile on his face, my hands fly up to my mouth.

“y/n, i texted Quinn right after i met you, telling him i just met the love of my life. at the time, i thought maybe i was over exaggerating, but then i got to know you, and i knew i wasn’t. these past two and a half years with you have been the best of my life, and i was hoping you’ll choose to continue that. y/f/n, will you marry me?” his voice wavers, laced with emotion, and tears spring to my eyes.

“yes. god, yes! a million times yes!” i exclaim and he takes my hand, slipping the ring in my finger as he stands and i pull him into a kiss. my hands hold his face to mine and he grips my hips. pulling away, i wipe the tears from his cheeks and then mine. “i love you so much.”

“i love you so much more, pretty girl.”

—

@itsmey/n just posted

Liked by @_quinnhughes and 26,372 others

@itsmey/n summer nights 🤍

karma is so good to me

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@user1 THEY’RE ENGAGED?! THIS IS SO EXCITING

@_quinnhughes congrats guys! welcome to the family y/n

@itsmey/n thank you huggy!

@user2 OMG!

@jackhughes my forever girl ❤️💍

@itsmey/n so grateful for you

@trevorzegras congrats you two! happy for you guys!

@itsmey/n thank you, z! better clear some time from your summer golfing schedule next year!

#jack hughes #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes x reader #nhl fic #nhl imagine #nj devils #faithlynn’s writings <3 #midnights fic list #babydollmarauders

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wynnyfryd · 4 months

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Trailer park Steve AU part 41

part 1 | part 40 | ao3

FUCKING. FINALLY. welcome back and happy new year babies! cw: this is just porn. D/s vibes but nothing formally discussed. smidge of subspace, mild to moderate pain play, oops! all nipple play. minors i will spray you with bear mace i swear to god

The hand under his shirt moves higher up, fingertips skimming his sternum, weaving through his chest hair; tugging, just a little. “Good?” Eddie checks. His voice is light, relaxed and conversational like he isn't driving Steve crazy, working his fingers in maddening little circles that make Steve's lungs forget how to work.

Steve goes to say yeah, but then Eddie pinches his left nipple and all that comes out is: “Fuck.” Quietly gasped at the ceiling, panting when Eddie doesn't let go.

No one's ever touched him there before.

Not on purpose; not like this.

Eddie's fingers are fucking jumper cables; he rolls the stiffening nub between his forefinger and thumb, and electricity bursts from the point of contact down the length of Steve's whole spine — settles in the small of his back and makes him lurch off the floor with a wordless groan.

"God," Eddie breathes, rolling his hips against Steve's thigh. Slow and filthy and hard, painting a wet spot on his sweats. Steve can feel it against his leg, the tiniest little dot blooming at the tip; knows that if he looked down he'd see it spreading dark and damp. God. God.

Eddie shoves Steve's shirt up under his arms and chases his fingers with his tongue. Licks the battery; makes Steve jolt. "Knew you'd be like this," he says, searing eye contact as he dips to swirl the pointed tip of his tongue against the peak. He blows a stream of cool air until Steve squirms underneath him, then crawls up to press his lips to the lobe of Steve's ear, breath hot against him as his tongue flicks out to taste. "Knew you’d be sensitive here, too." His fingers play with the skin he left pebbled and spit-slick. "You’re so responsive, aren’t you?”

Shame or something like it scorches Steve’s cheeks like a brand, and he curls up to hide in the crook of Eddie’s neck. Squeezes his eyes shut, focuses on hot skin and fine stubble. Warm. Safe.

"Sorry," Eddie chuckles in his ear. “Too much?”

Steve shakes his head. Doesn't want to hear the word 'sorry' right now; thinks it sounds weird in Eddie's mouth. Thinks it has no business here.

Eddie rocks his hips against him. “Gonna tell me if it is?”

Steve nods mutely, curling in tighter and rolling his forehead over Eddie’s collarbone, the fabric soft against his nose.

"Gonna tell me with your words?” Eddie teases, voice low.

Steve tries; he tries, okay? But all that comes out is another weak moan, a reedy whimper high in his throat, and he can't uncurl himself; can't shake the flood of nerves or shame or— he doesn't know what. Doesn't understand what's happening: why he's rolled up like a pill bug, why he's shaking like a leaf, making all these pathetic, needy noises like some wound-up nervous virgin, but Eddie's hard against him, and his rings are tickling his ribs, and he can't fucking stop now; can't find his words, can't work his tongue.

Eddie fists his free hand in the hair at Steve's nape, pulls him out of hiding and looks at him with narrowed eyes.

It's mean. It's hot. Steve wants to stare without blinking; desperately wants to look away.

Eddie's tongue runs over his lip, considering and almost rude, like tsk, tsk, tsk; whatever will we do with you? and then he twists Steve's nipple hard.

“F-fu—!” Steve stutters, whimpering in shock. Eddie pinches harder, eyes narrowing to slits, and it hurts; it fucking hurts, but it snaps him out of it. Whatever it was. “Yes!” he gasps, hips bucking without thought.

"Ah," Eddie bites back a pleased grin, "so you do know how to answer me. That's good." He shifts his weight onto his elbow and gives Steve's abused nipple a sharp flick, asking in a bored tone, "Yes what, baby boy?"

Holy shit; holy shit. Steve couldn't possibly remember now. “Yes," he babbles, guessing, "I'll— I'll do it; do whatever, just— fuck. Eddie. Eddie, please.”

“Close enough," Eddie relents. Smiling wide, teeth sunk into his bottom lip; sadistic fucker's loving this. He gives Steve's nipple a soothing pat (or rather, a pat that would be soothing if his skin wasn't still stinging from the vicious treatment a second ago), and says, "I’ll be nice this time.”

Steve gawks at him. Lifts up on his elbows so he can do it properly. “That was you being nice?”

"Sure was." He sighs a happy hum and gives another languid thrust, cock flexing on Steve's thigh, and a pulse thuds between their bodies. Steve can't tell whose pulse it is, whose blood is singing in whose veins. Eddie taught him something once about resonant frequency — symphonies of synchrony, he said, or something like it; all wistful and blissed out on the tail end of a joint — and Eddie kisses him now and when he bends to nip his Adam's apple, Steve feels the murmured words reverberate inside his throat. “You wanna see me get a little mean?”

—

part 42

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

#trailer park steve au #steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #my writing #my fic #ah fuck it i don’t feel like getting up early to do the tag list happy midnight smut time

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try-set-me-on-fire · 10 months

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pick me, choose me, love me

9,335 words || rated T

Eddie wants to scream. Eddie wants to talk to Buck. There are questions he should ask - Do you know when the bleeding started? How long has it been? How bad does it hurt? Are you injured anywhere else? There is a conversation he wants to have - If I leave you here I don’t know that you’ll be alive when I get back. There are protocols, in disaster situations. If you can only save one person, you save the one most likely to survive. Beyond protocol, you always fucking save the kid. Beyond that, it's our kid. It’s our fucking kid, it’s Christopher, and I am going to get him to the surface and in doing so I am going to leave you for dead. But it’s Buck, and they never really needed words to talk, and Buck is still looking at him, and Eddie knows what he'd say. He'd downplay the injury. He knows the protocol. And he’d already said it, damned him out loud, he’s going to take you back up top and then come back for me.

Tag list under the cut

@cm1031sr @buck2eddie @lillathelegend @hermscat @anxieteandbiscuits @swiftiesisters14 @shortsighted-owl @eowon @slightlyobsessedwitheverything @courtjestermerlin @soitgoghs @starlingbite @simplybuddie @goodiecornbread @bingobanjo83 @panbuckley @anatargmova @melodysims @thatnamewill-probably-change @iinryer @thebrofriends @thefangirloutof-time @librathefangirl @fernt1408 @leothil @buckley-diaz-rules @hermscat @the-little-red-queen @readeries @fjuckers @prince-buck-diaz @demieddiediazz @thebirdling @spaceprincessem @daniwib @tulipfromtheinternet @adarkbouquet @devirnis @buckitup @bog-kreature @canyouhearmyfear

#buddie #eddie diaz #evan buckley #evan buck buckely #Christopher Díaz #911 fox #911 abc #911 fic #my writing #my art #hello hehe dropping this at like midnight oops. oops #oh well thats what the tag list is for #trapped buck and Chris fic here it is at long last….#pick me choose me love me #really posting because for some reason ao3 wasn’t accepting pasted in italics and i spent awhile fixing them all and dint want it to crash #in the middle of the night and lose all that work #ok goodnight have fun

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crybaby-bkg · 5 months

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cw: this got long sorry 😔 but creepy/perv bakugou, recording, film major bkg x art major reader, masturbation, coercion, dubcon before it just becomes con, voyeurism/exhibitionism

as an art major, you typically did some works for a few students on campus; for their plays, as background pieces while they danced, a cover for their released songs. it wasn’t out of the ordinary for people to ask you to create something for them, and you enjoyed it more often than not. but, you weren’t usually the art itself.

Bakugou is a friend’s friend that you’ve seen a few times, ran into at the library or at coffee shops. he’s a film major, and always looks so unhappy about the whole thing, as if he didn’t choose it himself. you joke to Mina that you think he’ll graduate and become one of those directors that hate everything and yell at the actors constantly and later on get sued for being a dickhead. you never say it to him though—you’ve never spoken more than a couple words to the man.

it’s why it shocks you when he approaches you one day. it’s after one of your painting classes, and he stands outside the door with a frown and his hands shoved in his pockets, his eyebrows scrunched as if pissed at the mere sight of you. he asks you, in that low and gruff tone of his, if you could star in his final project for the semester. says it’s supposed to be a film made with this criteria and that, but, you’ve kind of checked out on the conversation after the first sentence.

“You mean, you want me to create something and that be the star of your film?” you ask him, feeling so intimidated at his stature. he always seems to loom, his hair shadowing the lights above, creates a cast over a portion of his face, makes his eyes look…unsettling. like they’re looking straight through your flesh, can find the marrow in your bones. he scoffs like you’ve offended him, rolling his eyes into his skull, mouth pulled tight.

“No.” his voice is firm, gaze concentrated only on you, like the halls are empty and you’re the focus of his lens. “I want you to star in it.”

his words confuse you—you’ve never presented yourself as an actor before, never alluded to wanting to be in the spotlight if not for what you create with your hands. but he shuffles on his feet, looks desperate even. there’s some hemming and hawing for a minute or so—why not choose Mina?—she’s busy—why choose me?—‘cause you’d be perfect for my short film—what’s it about?—you’ll find out once you get the script.

and even after you hesitantly agree and get the script—you still don’t understand what you’re doing. why you’re here, why you’re the only person, why it has to be a solo film, why there’s damn near zero lines in the entirety of the have-to-be forty five minute film.

the scenes are all so long, and maybe it’s because movies aren’t your forte or chosen major, but you just don’t get it. one scene; you’re staring at yourself in the mirror while Bakugou holds a small, black camera over your shoulder. he’s eerily quiet behind you, whispers out a faint fuckin’ go when you have to wash your face in the sink, makes you do it over because your movements are too jerky and unnatural.

the rest of the scenes go that way; you doing regular at home activities, being put under a lens, quietly barked at to do this and move that way and fix your hair and remember to frown.

“Isn’t there another way to film this?” you ask him on the fifth day of shooting in his spacious loft. there’s a bubble bath scene coming up, one you dont understand the importance of, but Bakugou tells you it’s the most necessary part of the entire thing.

“No,” he grunts out, looking at you from under his lashes as he sits on the lid of the toilet. “But I’ll make it soapy, so the camera won’t see much.” the camera? much? you weren’t worried so much about what the camera captured as you were the man behind it. he looks at you with such intensity, you feel naked already despite the robe you wear that’s suspiciously already your size.

he leaves the bathroom when you sink in the hot water, returns before you can say it’s okay, hears the water splashing and thinks that’s good enough. he kneels on the floor beside you, camera pointed directly in your face, makes your chest hot and your skin feel prickly. the scene passes on regularly enough; you run the water over your arms, tilt your head back as you sigh, whisper the few lines scripted, lean back and close your eyes, sigh again. it’s almost relaxing, makes you forget about the friend of a friend recording you naked right now. almost.

“Touch yourself.” Bakugou suddenly demands, hushed and quiet behind the camera. your eyes immediately shoot open, looking to him in question, how he’s eerily still in his spot hovering over you.

“Huh?” you ask, unsure if you heard him correctly, looking around the rounded lens in your face, trying to ignore the red blinking light. but Bakugou only frowns.

“It’s a masturbation scene. Touch yourself.” he repeats, voice louder, more demanding this time. your stomach twists at the thought of doing something so intimate in front of him. he’s a handsome guy, for sure, even made you consider asking him out after this, figured he was just serious about his work and awkward about certain things. but…something had been off about this entire thing since the start.

“But—but I don’t, I’m not,” you stutter, sitting up a little, the bubbles covering your chest starting to disperse with your movements. but Bakugou only sits a little higher on his knees, finally pulling the camera away from his face for the first time since he’s asked you to do this for him.

“You want me to fail?” he asks, booming voice eerily quiet in the silent bathroom, carmine eyes dull, shaded over with something terrible. “Then do it.” he tells you when you shake your head quickly.

you stare at him until he gets back into position again, camera back pointed at you. when he doesn’t say anything else, you swallow thickly, wondering if the art that will come out of this will be worth it. so you listen, sneak a hand under the water, start touching yourself in a way you never have in front of anyone.

is it bad to say that it’s exhilarating? being watched and recorded by someone who breathes so heavily every time your voice hiccups? being directed to touch your chest next when the suds start to disappear and your nipples start to peek through? is it bad that you want him to send you this portion of his film, only, just so you can watch yourself again and again? make a portrait of yourself with your fingers on your nipples and your knees raising from the water and your head thrown back from the intensity in oil pastels?

“That’s a wrap.” Bakugou announces when you finish, head spinning and still panting. you look over to him, how he closes the camera, the obvious bulge in his pants. “I’ll get you a towel.”

you wonder when’s the next time he’ll need you. or better yet—maybe he could be the star in your final drawing project? you had finished it already but, what was the harm in starting over with him as your muse? as naked as you are? camera not blocking his face so you can paint the similarities of his blushing cheeks and eyes when you direct him to look at you? to touch his chest? to play with himself just like that?

#this got. so long. sowwy #but I thought about this ummmm Sunday night #but I was DRAINED from writing 7k words of scorned past midnight and then having to edit it skdjfkf #so I was like. okay. put this idea in the drafts. NOW ms dory memory #anddddd I love this so very much #would’ve loved to turn this into a full fic #but it’s so exhausting trying to write long fics recently bc of this multichap #I’m just not used to it and I can’t do two things at the same time #and I already have like 9 fics on my list to write!!!! lol #but there is something so alluring about film major bkg 2 me #I think hes awkward and comes off as mean but he really is just that serious about his work #but he’s #also a creep for you LOL #definitely think he agrees to become ur muse for art as like a trade off #and you get that boy into SO many humiliating positions 😵‍💫#I need. to lie down. anyway.#I wrote this at 1am and was scared to post it then cause I didn’t think anyone would see it #so here it is in the morning :)#bakugou treats! 🍬#—new treat in the streets! 🍫

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leverage-ot3 · 1 month

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silly episode idea but hear me out

okay well the first part isn’t silly! so the episode is based around a con they are doing where a polyam triad wants to get married and have been writing to senators and stuff for years but nothing has happened. maybe there is a time element that leeway has to happen soon (not sure what that would be yet, maybe someone is sick???)

(obviously polycules aren’t only and are often more than just a closed three-person system, but I’m saying triad right now bc I feel like that would be an easier and more ‘socially acceptable’ gateway into more accepting legislation for diverse relationship dynamics)

the leverage crew, of course, can’t outright change the public perception of poly marriage, but they can use the ‘enemy’s’ tactics against them and slip stuff into legislation without people noticing like they do. it’s slimy and it’s not a permanent fix, but it’s a start, and it gives people the opportunity to see poly marriage in action and that it isn’t as terrifying or pearl-clutching-inducing as they think it would be. there’s a long way to go, but the seeds of change have been sown and they will make sure everything goes as smoothly as possible

this is one of the cases that they will monitor on the back burner over time. some cons can finish within a few hours (the bottle job), and some things they will follow over time and make adjustments when needed- amplify voices and expose corrupt politicians etc

and then it’s just after 3/4 of the way through but the con has been finished? what is going on? this is where the silliness comes in

the camera turns to the ot3 and…

hardison, pulling out three individualized rings: I know it’s not legal yet, and we have the necklaces, but I think rings would be a nice touch

eliot, pulling out an intricately carved box that also has three self-handcrafted rings: dammit hardison (with feeling and tenderness, and damp eyes)

parker, pulling out three very stolen rings from her pocket: does this mean we’re getting triple married if we all have three rings???

harry pops into the conversation (practically vibrating) excitedly just casually mentioning that he’s a notary and would be honored to marry them to each other if they wanted to

(they do)

wait, did I say silly? I meant unwaveringly tender and heartwarming

#this started out as a funny proposal headcanon but it just turned into sweet and cute #I had a version where eliot proposed first and then hardison went to get his but parker pickpocketed him #but this is more sweet #I know she loves pickpocketing but I feel like she wouldn’t take that moment away from him if she thinks it matters that much that way #but also. have you considered it would be hilarious #and omg they have such a good wedding!!! so many people invited!!! sophie has a ball organizing it #(hardison and eliot get veto power of course. parker does too but she only really cares about the cake. as long as she has her boys and her #family she’ll be happy with whatever the wedding looks like. eliot though has Thoughts on catering & hardison stresses about color schemes)#breanna and harry kick their feet and giggle like schoolgirls they are SO HAPPY the ot3 gets their moment #they have been (quietly) (unsuccessfully) shipping them for forever this is VINDICATION #I should link the post about who is invited to the ot3 wedding (list ever expanding)#I’m literally posting this at midnight but I didn’t want to schedule or queue it. I want it out now. instant gratification babey #eliot spencer #parker #alec hardison #leverage ot3 #parker x hardison x eliot #leverage #leverage redemption #episode ideas #fic ideas #I know I’ve written a proposal post/ficlet before but I was too lazy to find it #polyamory #ot3 marriage #marriage #weddings #harry wilson #thiefsome #hitter hacker thief #mine

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th3archivist · 11 months

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Writing is like watching a mildly interesting Netflix program.

It’s fun, and when you start you spend hours on it, but if you make the mistake of taking a break before you’re done, say goodbye to finishing it that month.

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miracleonice87 · 10 months

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17 w barzy pls! i feel like he only ever gets smut or fluff written w him

from m's midnights prompt list

warnings (cw / tw): miscarriage, pregnancy loss, mourning... this one's a doozy, folks 😔 please don't read if these subjects are triggering or sensitive for you

word count: ~2,100

17. Bigger Than The Whole Sky

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It started as the most typical Isles weekday gameday. Mat woke up an hour before morning skate, kissed your forehead, and rolled out of bed as you snoozed away for just a few more minutes, the early-pregnancy exhaustion hitting you hard the last several weeks. He made himself a coffee, you an Earl Grey, and carried both back to the bedroom where he found you just beginning to stir. You both sipped at your drinks as you went through your morning grooming and threw on athleticwear. Soon, after a playful kiss in the hallway, you were both headed out the door, Mat to the rink and you to the Lees’ to workout with Grace in their home gym.

At least, with the intention to workout with Grace.

Instead, your world as you knew it and your greatest dream came crashing down during the short drive to the Lee house.

What started as light cramping quickly gave way to sharp, stabbing pains that had you doubled over in Grace’s doorway by the time you reached their stately home. She knowingly shuffled you inside, alarm bells blaring in her head even as she used her calmest tone and did everything she could to soothe you. Her babysitter quickly led the girls away from the scene, distracting them with an invitation to play princess dress-up in the toyroom down the hall, away from your intensifying sobs.

As Grace guided you toward her car in the garage, your hands gripping hers with knuckles white as you leaned into her for strength, she noticed a figment of every expectant parent’s worst fear… the seat of your grey leggings stained with an unsettlingly substantial amount of blood.

“Is this it?” you cried. “Is this what it feels like?”

The pit deepened in her gut, her maternal instincts screaming yes.

“I don’t know, sweetheart,” she answered softly. “We’re gonna go find out, okay? Together.”

“A-and Mat…”

“I know. Of course.”

You reached the passenger door, and with one hand Grace opened the adjacent rear door, grabbed one of the girls’ pink travel pillows, and tossed it onto your seat in the hope that it would somehow make you more comfortable on the drive to the hospital. She got you settled into the passenger seat and seconds later, was already rolling down her driveway at a speed faster than she ever hit on a normal day, making an impossible phone call via her hands-free navigation.

At the other end of that call was her sweet husband, who thank god had gotten caught up talking to one of the assistant coaches about gameplans and hadn’t yet stepped onto the ice for morning skate as Mat had minutes ago.

Anders looked at his phone with a furrowed brow and a knot in his stomach… Grace never called him when she knew he was at the rink.

“G? What’s going on?”

That’s when she told him it was you, not herself, who was the reason for the call.

“Shit… is she…”

“I don’t know. She’s in a lot of pain, Anders.” Which he already knew from your muffled sobs on the speakerphone. He’d never heard you cry before. “She’s bleeding. Get Mat off the ice now and tell him to meet us at the hospital.”

“Fuck. Okay. Be careful – I’m-I’m hanging up.”

“Okay. I’ll call you.”

“Yeah.”

Anders tapped the red button and sat in silence at his stall for the briefest of seconds, running a hand through his hair and blowing out a breath through pursed lips, absolutely dreading what he had to do next.

He made his way down the tunnel, stopping at the bench instead of immediately hopping out onto the ice. Lane noticed and caught his eye. Anders closed the short gap between himself and his head coach, ducked his head, and explained the situation as quietly and briefly as he could. Lane’s expression went cold, and he offered a slow, single nod, then cleared his throat.

“I’ll do it if you want me to, but I think you should maybe be the one to…”

Anders cut him off, shaking his head.

“No… no, he should hear it from me.”

Lane set his jaw, clapped the captain’s shoulder, and fixed his gaze back across the ice with a pained exhale.

Anders shuffled to the end of the bench at its opening and waited a few moments for Mat to skate past him on a loop. When he did, he called, “Barz.” Hoarse, somber, short. The younger player immediately skidded to a stop, sending snow flying from beneath his blades.

“What’s up?” he asked, panting.

Anders swallowed, tucking his chin to his chest for a moment.

“Leezy? What’s up?” Mat repeated, brow furrowing.

Anders met Mat’s eyes again and sighed.

“You gotta go to the hospital, bud,” he said softly, unable to keep his voice from shaking. “Grace just called, and-”

Mat didn’t even let Anders finish his thought before he jumped the threshold and ran down the tunnel, shedding his gear as he went, trying to hold it all in his hands and beneath his arms. Anders followed close behind.

“Barzy, bud, are you good to drive?”

Mat nodded furiously without so much as a glance Anders’ way.

“I’ll drive you if you want.”

Mat shook his head.

“You call me if you need anything, you hear me?”

He was nodding again, and simultaneously busting through the doors of the locker room, where he threw all his gear into his bag, pried off his skates, and tugged on his crewneck and sweats in the blink of an eye before heading for the exit with just his keys and his phone… but he stopped in front of his friend before he could make it that far.

Anders could see the red already rimming his eyes, and he felt his own throat constricting as he heard Mat’s breath coming in short, stuttering gasps.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this, man,” Mat managed between breaths.

All Anders could do was grab Mat in a crushing hug, the sounds of him clapping Mat’s back echoing in the empty locker room.

“It never is. I’m sorry.”

No words appear before me in the aftermath

Salt streams out my eyes and into my ears

Every single thing I touch becomes sick with sadness

'Cause it's all over now, all out to sea…

The ultrasound screen had been turned off for at least half an hour by now, you and Mat left alone by the doctor for nearly as long, but you still lay flat on your back, wet cheek pressed to the ugly pleather exam table, willing the black screen to turn back on and tell you something different than it already had. Willing this nightmare to end, willing yourself to wake up, willing it not to be true, to be some giant, cruel misunderstanding.

No words came to your lips, though thousands of them hummed incessantly between your ears, intrusive thoughts even louder than they’d been all morning in the now-silent room. You heard Mat sniffling behind you, felt his lips kissing the back of your hand every few seconds. Before he’d arrived, you had thought you could not possibly ever feel the sting of devastation more acutely than when the doctor had uttered the words “I’m so sorry; you’re miscarrying.” But good god, the second Mat ran through those sliding glass doors in an utter panic, hair wild no doubt from pulling it throughout the entire drive to the hospital, eyes and nose and cheeks pink from crying, lips parted and shoulders rising and falling as he attempted to catch his breath… you realized how wrong you’d been.

You could handle the pain this would inflict upon you. But seeing Mat suffering just as much… that made you want to crawl in a hole and never see the light of day again. And since that moment, after he’d gathered you in his arms, you’d tried your damndest to avoid making eye contact with him altogether.

He was sad because of you. Mourning because of you. Depressed and angry and sick and childless because of you.

And that was simply too much to bear.

So it was nearly an hour since he’d gotten there and you had yet to look him in the face again. And while looking him in the face was killing you, you not looking him in the face was killing him.

Nobody won in this situation. It was a lose-lose-lose.

“Honey, look at me. Please look at me?” Mat begged from your side.

Unsurprisingly, he was met with silence, and no motion.

“It’s not your fault. Alright? It’s not your fault, babe,” he said firmly, squeezing your hand. “I need you to hear that.”

More silence. It wasn’t even that you wouldn’t speak, it was that you simply couldn’t.

Mat sighed, using his free hand to swipe at the never-ending tears streaming down his cheeks. Then, he trailed his palm along the length of your arm.

“You can be as quiet as you want for as long as you want, baby, because this is an awful fucking thing that’s just happened to us, to you,” he spoke, voice wavering. “But I’m gonna keep talking because I’ve gotta make sure you know that this isn’t because of anything you did, or didn’t do. Like the doctor said, these things happen for reasons we’ll never know. And I’m not upset with you. I’m not mad at you. I could never be mad at you. I love you.”

You closed your eyes, swearing your eyelids were suddenly outfitted with weights. It was all sinking in… the reality of it, the heaviness, the emptiness. You just wanted to sleep.

You finally opened your mouth, feeling how dry and cotton it had become. You didn’t have the strength to debate him on why this had happened, how it had to be your fault somehow, but you mustered enough to give him what you knew he needed.

“I love you,” you whispered, unnerved by how weak and small your own voice sounded in the sterile room.

Behind you, you heard Mat rise up from the uncomfortable vinyl chair. He bent over you, pushing some hair back from your damp face, and pressed a gentle kiss to your temple, relieved and grateful to have gotten any response, any sign of human function, from you at all. Then, he patted your shoulder and said the very thing you’d been dreading.

“Come on… let’s go home.”

Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye

You were bigger than the whole sky

You were more than just a short time…

Mat didn’t know how he’d found himself in the nursery or how long he'd been there, but after laying with you in your bed and softly stroking your hair as you finally fell into a much-needed slumber, that’s where his aimless wandering had eventually led. He didn’t bother to turn on the light; the afternoon sun streaming through the still untreated windows cast a golden glow on everything in the room.

It had once felt so cozy, a representation of all that the two of you had to look forward to in the weeks and months to come. He loved sitting in the room all alone when he arrived home from a road trip, late at night when you were already sound asleep, dreaming about who your baby would look like, what they would sound like, who they would someday grow to be.

With you losing your pregnancy so soon into it, the material items in the room were still few. As he ran his fingertips along the covers of the gifted copies of “Goodnight, Moon,” “On The Night You Were Born,” and “Love You Forever,” and over the stuffed Sparky the Dragon next to them on the shelf, his eyes filled with fresh tears, realizing that he would never get to snuggle his first baby earthside, read to them with Sparky tucked in their lap. He leaned wearily against the railing of the crib he had just put together mere days ago, and as he looked toward the tiny “13” jersey laying on the still plastic-wrapped mattress, a sob escaped his throat and he let himself fall completely apart for the very first time, without needing to remind himself to hold it together in your presence. He turned and sunk down to the floor, leaning against the solid oak frame of the crib, and buried his head in his hands, crying as he never had in all his life.

Eventually, there would be conversations about the next steps to take for your health, whether or not to try again, and when, and whether to leave the nursery as it was or pack it up until, hopefully, you were pregnant once more. But for now, there was just sheer sadness as you and Mat grieved the little one that just wasn’t to be.

And I've got a lot to pine about

I've got a lot to live without

I'm never gonna meet

What could've been, would've been

What should've been you…

#m's midnights prompt list #my writing #mathew barzal #mat barzal #tw miscarriage #cw miscarriage #mathew barzal fic #mathew barzal fanfic #mathew barzal fanfiction #mat barzal fic #mat barzal fanfic #mat barzal fanfiction

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nythtak · 15 days

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Thought it'd be fun to do a little drabble soooo-

Cattonquick Oxford Days - the first cigarette

(This is based in the Maneater AU - unless I change my mind on details later - but can be read as in canon universe)

The lighter fails to catch the first couple of times Felix tries it. But after a final, despairing shake of the crappy thing, the flame sputters to life.

“Thank fuck,” he mumbles around the ciggie, and hurriedly brings the lighter up. April’s swung in with far too much chill, because fuck England, right? No spring for them, nooope. Just horrible grey rainy days, where even brief lulls like this evening are tarnished by cold winds.

He’s regretting not grabbing a jacket when he had chance to, and he eyes Oliver’s long-sleeves jealously. They’re on their way back from the pub, and it’s still early enough that most streetlights feel unnecessary. After a of couple hours there Felix realised he just wasn’t feeling it tonight, that stickiness of going through the motions and not enjoying himself like usual, where even a few pints couldn’t soften it up.

So when Oliver gave him a nudge, mentioned he has an essay he really needs to work on, Felix leapt at the chance to head out. He has his own pile of coursework to dive into before the Easter holidays start. Maybe speed through a chunk of it tonight, get that late night focus on, and then he can decide how much is usable tomorrow.

He’s glad he decided to stick it out at Oxford over the coming break. Originally it was more about keeping his word on staying at university all year, rather than nipping home every holiday - or even every other weekend, like some silly sods do. He went as far as to swear off a trip abroad this school year, fully committed to the uni life, which means no fluttering off to sunnier skies.

He aims a glower up at the dark clouds far above them. Curse thy existence.

“Felix?”

Felix’s head snaps down, and down, and he has to grin. Oliver is so short. Like, okay, so he’s not actually super-duper short. A bit below average, perhaps, and around the height of most girls. But he’s a lot shorter than Felix, which is what really matters.

It means he’s the perfect height - practically made for it - for Felix to sling an arm around his shoulders and drag him into his side. Oliver runs a bit cool, but he’s still a damn sight warmer than the nippy evening air.

“Yeah, mate?” Felix takes a pull from the ciggie, careful not to blow it all in Oliver’s face. Would be awfully rude. But that does get him thinking about how Oliver doesn’t smoke, and he frowns at him. “You know, I don’t think you ever said why you don’t smoke.”

Could it be something to do with his family? Cigarettes are a huge leap from heroin and meth and whatever else, but traumas can be multi-layered, can’t they? A full-on aversion to anything even related. But Oliver is clearly battling through it, going to the pub and clubs where alcohol abounds, not even flinching at all the casual drug use their group gets up to.

“Just not keen.” Oliver shrugs slightly, and it’s interesting to feel the motion of it under his arm. Makes him want to squeeze Oliver a bit. His hand slides down to cup Oliver’s bicep rather than hanging loosely, but he holds off on the full grabby. For now.

“So you’ve tried one before?”

Oliver hesitates, but shakes his head. He’s looking ahead rather than at Felix, and while he does have lovely thick hair, that isn’t quite the view Felix wants currently.

So he brings them to a stop, Oliver stumbling into him a bit and looking up questioningly. There it is. Christ, Oliver’s eyes seem to get bluer every time Felix catches a glimpse. Like, with each additional second he knows Oliver, he’s able to see more of him. Another droplet of paint on the colour palette, swirled in with patient brush strokes.

“If you’ve never tried it…” Felix puts the ciggie between his lips, just so he can flip his hand and pluck it out again. Holding it filter-first toward Oliver with an inviting smile. “How can you know you won’t like it?”

Now, Felix would never pressure anyone into doing something they don’t want to. That would be terrible manners. All he’s doing here is giving Oliver the chance to expand his horizons. Indulge in a little fun, like he’s clearly not had chance to- well, probably in his whole life.

Felix has been making up for that. He’s fully embraced showing Oliver the highlights of uni life, and it’s been an absolute blast so far. Letting Oliver have a go at smoking is just another part of that.

“I dunno, mate.” The corner of Oliver’s mouth ticks up as he looks from the ciggie to Felix. “They’re not great for your health, right?”

The little right? at the end softens what might’ve been an annoying admonishment, to something that makes Felix smirk. “All part of the appeal. If we only did what was healthy, we’d be a proper dull lot.” He raises his eyebrows and tips the cigarette closer to Oliver’s lips, his pinky finger grazing Oliver’s chin. “You’re not dull, are you, Ollie?”

He knows most of his friends think Oliver is boring. That he outlived any novelty within the first week; Felix’s unlikely saviour from a tutorial scolding, the scholarship boy with the funny accent. Farleigh has certainly made his opinion clear, his pissy attitude the real bore around here.

They just don’t get Oliver. None of them.

Nah, Felix is the only one who gets the real Ollie, the one Oliver trusts and opens up to. They’re already best mates, fitting together like two puzzle pieces. And the way Oliver looks at him - yeah, it can get a bit much at times, but it’s all part of Oliver’s charm, really. He’s completely genuine and clearly thinks the world of Felix, so obviously he can’t filter that intensity down. Felix would never ask him to. He accepts Oliver exactly as he is.

Oliver takes the cigarette, pinched between his thumb and forefinger as he eyes it like it might bite him. Or give him lung cancer.

Felix would give him a drumroll if he could. He settles for an encouraging shake and cheering, “Go oooooon, Oll-aaaaay!”

And Oliver does.

Not that there was ever any doubt. But it’s still satisfying in a warm, buzzy way to watch Oliver take a drag, lips pursed and the shadows on his cheeks deepening a little. Takes it like a pro, his Ollie, and it’s only once Oliver’s eyes close that Felix realises they’ve been locked in a staredown.

Then Oliver breathes out, and Felix is hit by a faceful of smoke.

The moment his coughing fit is done, he grabs a hastily apologising Oliver by the shoulder, snatches the ciggie back, and gets revenge.

#saltburn #cattonquick #saltburn fanfiction #fic: maneater #oxford days #az writes #probs post this on ao3 later even tho feels kinda short for it #i just love this time period for these two #i have a few more ideas too #like 'first time' ollie gets 'propa sozzled'#midnight snacks in the dorm kitchen #dang i need to check out prompt lists again

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acabecca · 2 years

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Midnights lyric prompt list

1. “you don’t ever say too much”

2. “how the hell did we lose sight of us again?”

3. “i should not be left to my own device”

4. “you wanting me tonight feels impossible”

5. “you’ve got no reason to be afraid”

6. “i never think of him, except on midnights like this”

7. “i don’t remember who i was before you”

8. “don’t get sad, get even”

9. “i made you my world”

10. “i’ll be getting over you my whole life”

11. “karma’s a relaxing thought”

12. “i find myself running home”

13. “i told u none of it was accidental”

tagging some people i don’t mind annoying and also who reblogged the last ones: @sgtbuckyybarnes @katiekinswrites @witchofinterest @ceruleanmusings @starcrossedjedis @eddiemunscns @steveshcrringtons

#writing prompts #song lyric prompts #prompts #prompt list #taylor swift #fic prompts #midnights #BYE I LOVE THIS ALBUM #also this isn’t me coming back to tumblr this is me being whipped for TS and being unable to resist making a prompt list ok #BYE AGAIN #🫡

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babydollmarauders · 1 year

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HITS DIFFERENT— JACK HUGHES

final part of the Midnights Fic List

summary: in which y/n and Jack were in a relationship for 4 years before deciding to go separate ways, but everything reminds her of him and y/n realizes she’s made a mistake by letting him go.

specific lyrics: “i washed my hands of us at the club, you made a mess of me. i pictured you with other girls in love, then threw up on the street.” and “they say that if it's right, you know. each bar plays our song, nothing has ever felt so wrong.” and “i find the artifacts, cried over a hat, cursed the space that i needed. i trace the evidence, make it make some sense why the wound is still bleedin'. you were the one that i loved.” and “i heard your key turn in the door down the hallway. is that your key in the door? is it okay? is it you?” and “i never don't cry at the bar. yeah, my sadness is contagious. i slur your name 'til someone puts me in a car.” and “love is a lie; shit my friends say to get me by.”

notes: i don't know how i feel about this one. i feel like i could've potentially done better, but anyways MIDNIGHTS FIC LIST IS OFFICIALLY DONE! it's a month later than i had originally wanted to finish it, but it's finally done!

the reflection staring back at me is a bit of a hot mess. mascara smudged, hair tousled, lipstick fading. i stare in the mirror until i feel the sting of the hot water on my hands, pulling them back with a hiss of pain. the alcohol running through my veins helps me avoid overthinking about this dingy club bathroom, my shoes sticking to the floor with every step. but the buzz does nothing to help with the thoughts that run through my mind when i hear the song that’s blasting from the speakers throughout the club.

“y/n/n, you good?” my head snaps over to Marie, her upper body peeking in through the bathroom door. one look at me makes her sigh. “you’re thinking about him again, aren’t you?”

“it’s our song.” i explain, as though she hasn’t heard the same excuse at every other bar we’ve been to in the past six months.

“i know it is, hun.” she gives me a pitiful smile, fully entering the grimy bathroom in order to grab my hand.

“it just feels so wrong hearing it without him.” tears well up in my eyes, my heart hurting just a little extra.

“let’s go get you another drink.” i give a numb nod in response, letting her lead me to our other friends that sit in a booth by the bar. at the sight of my state, they both give each other an unspoken glance before giving me a look of pity.

“i ordered you another tequila sunrise.” Beth tells me, sliding the drink towards me. i drop into the booth, muttering a short ‘thanks’ before gulping at the drink.

“lay it on us, babe. what’s on your mind tonight?” Lisa pipes up, sipping at her own drink and raising a brow at me.

“i just— they say that if it’s right, you know. and i thought we were right. but, it makes no sense because why didn’t i know until we broke up? i mean, i knew. obviously i knew, i followed him here from Michigan. but, i didn’t know know until we separated, ya know?”

“i’m gonna be honest, i only understood maybe half of what you just said.” Lisa says, making Beth and Marie giggle. “but love is a lie, y/n/n. sure, you can like someone enough to be with them for a long time, but romantic love? complete bullshit. it doesn’t exist. this isn’t the movies.”

“she’s right. and the quicker you realize that, the quicker you’ll get over him.” Marie nods, pointing at Lisa as she speaks while Beth hums in agreement.

“i don’t know if i’ll ever get over him. i love him. i miss him.” i whine. “i want him back. i don’t wanna be here. i want Jack.”

“alright, maybe it’s time we get you back home.” Beth sighs, tapping her thumbs on her phone. ordering an uber, i assume.

“i don’t wanna go home. i wanna see Jack.”

“you can’t see Jack, y/n. you’re drunk, and you guys broke up.” Marie pats my shoulder, helping me out of the booth and out of the club, the other two girls following behind us.

i continue mumbling to myself, my words slurred, and i’m eighty percent sure that the only actual audible word was my ex’s name.

“c’mon, hun. watch your head.” Lisa coos, helping me into the uber. “we’ll see you on tuesday, babe. get some sleep.”

Marie and Beth call out some goodbyes before Lisa shuts the car door, she motions for the guy up front to lower his window, whispering something to him before he starts off towards my house.

“would it be too late to ask to change the drop off location?” i ask him, anxiously playing with the strap of my purse as i speak.

“i’m sorry, ma’am. your friend just told me you might ask that. she said i’m under strict orders to take you straight to the predetermined destination.” i heave out a deep breath, slumping back into the seat of the car.

it doesn’t take too long to get to my apartment complex, muttering a ‘thank you’ to the man before sliding out of the vehicle and making my way up to my apartment. as soon as i make it into the apartment, i bee-line for my bedroom, stripping out of my club outfit and changing into some leggings and a tank top. i wipe off my makeup and throw my hair up before entering my closet. my sights set on the old USA Hockey sweatshirt on my shelf, i hop up, reaching for the article of clothing. however, as soon as i pull it down, something else comes tumbling down with it, falling to the floor in front of me.

slipping the sweatshirt on, i bend down to pick up the fallen item. holding it, tears prick the backs of my eyes as i realize what it is, Jack’s hat. his New York Yankees hat to be exact. my heart aches remembering the times he wore it. our Yankees game, date nights, even just lounging around the house. clutching the hat to my chest, i sink to the floor, sitting criss cross as i cry.

space. why did i think i needed space? i got plenty of space when he was always gone for roadies. fuck space. i just want him. my fingers trace the Yankees symbol, my tears falling down onto the dark blue fabric. why does it still hurt so bad? it’s been six months.

i know it may not help that i’m still in the same apartment we shared. every piece of this home reminds me of him. but it’s been much too hard to move. i tried looking at other apartments, but nothing felt as right as this one. i’m not ready to give up the last piece i have of the one i love.

too busy crying on the closet floor, i barely hear the lock on the front door turning. my head snaps up at the sound, trying to remember which of my friends have spare keys. Marie, Beth, and Lisa are the only ones, but i just left them. that only leaves two other options, Quinn or Jack. but, that i’m aware of, Quinn is still in Vancouver. i know he doesn’t have another game in New Jersey until next month. which only leaves Jack. i try not to get my hopes up, but i can’t help but wonder if it’s him, if he’s come back. the chances are slim. it’s been six months, why would he come back now?

i come to the decision that it’s probably Marie checking up on me. probably worried about the way i was when we parted not that long ago. it wouldn’t be the first time she’s checked on me.

footsteps thump against the wooden floors, getting closer to the bedroom, and i huddle further into the closet, hoping Marie will just leave me alone. tears still stream down my face as i clutch the hat closer to my chest, letting out silent sobs.

“y/n?”

that’s not Marie.

too exhausted, i opt out of leaving the closet, not even able to get myself to speak without being racked with sobs. i sniffle as i hear him pass the closet, the footsteps stop for a moment before i hear them start again, getting closer to the cracked open closet door. i don’t bother looking, fully believing that at this point i’m a mix of drunk and sleep deprived, just hearing things that aren’t there. i wipe at my eyes but the tears keep coming. i shift to bring my knees to my chest, the hat now gripped in my hands in front of me.

“oh, baby.” i hear from behind me before a body drops down beside me on the floor, pulling me into them. his cologne fills my senses, my face buried into his chest. the scent fills me with melancholy, memories of when he used to hold me close and whisper sweet nothings in my ear. comforting me. making me feel at home within his arms.

“it’s okay.” as if i summoned the whispers with my thoughts, his breath fans across my ear. “i’m here. i’ve got you. i’m right here.”

his reassurances calm me just slightly, but the real help is when he splays a hand along my chest, taking deep breaths. muscle memory takes over as i mimic his breathing.

“what are you doing here?” i ask once i’ve finally calmed enough to speak. i wipe at my nose with the sleeve of my sweatshirt, finally looking up into the blue eyes that peer down at me.

“Beth called me.” he whispers.

“she did?”

“yeah. she told me you’re not doing okay.” he confesses. “she didn’t tell me much more than that. just that she’d really appreciate if i checked on you.”

“you came over here in the middle of the night just to check on me?” i question. “you have a game tomorrow. you should be sleeping.”

“you’re a lot more important than a game.” his hand moves from my chest to cup my jaw. “i told you i would always be here for you, y/n. i meant it.”

“but, we broke up. i didn’t think you cared anymore.” a lone tear drops from my right eye as i speak.

“i’ll always care about you. i don’t think i can ever stop. i love you, y/n/n. and i know you said you wanted space, and i respected that, but i told you when we broke up that i would be here when you decided you were ready.” he pauses, his eyes scanning my face before he continues speaking. “and now i really hope you’re ready because these past few months have been hell without you.”

“i made a mistake. i don’t want space. i want you. you’re the only thing i’ve wanted since i was seventeen.” my voice is barely above a whisper, scared for his response.

“you have me. i’m right here.” his eyes jump between my own and my lips three times before he leans down. i meet him halfway, our lips pressing together in a slow kiss. gentle passion and love radiates between us, his hands cupping my face as mine grip the nape of his neck as if he'll disappear from my hold.

pulling away, his forehead leans against mine. my breath catches in my throat at the sight of the smile gracing his lips. a smile of my own spread across my face and i crane my neck to place a chaste kiss on his lips.

"i missed you so much." i admit. "moving on from boys in high school was so easy, but the heartbreak hit different this time."

"that's how you know it's real. we're real. there's no moving on from us." he tells me. "at least, not for me."

he pulls me in tighter against him, crashing his lips against mine once more, and i feel content again, my life being fixed with such a simple motion.

#midnights fic list #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes fic #jack hughes blurb #nj devils #faithlynn’s writings <3 #nhl fanfiction #nhl imagine #nhl fic #nhl blurb

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ravendruid · 1 year

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hello! Can i please request — playing with the other’s hair while they sleep for vaxleth! thank you!!

HI! Thank you so much for the prompt! Here you go, I hope you like it <3 This drabble is set during the night in C1E42. Playing With The Other's Hair While They Sleep

Keyleth woke up with a start, bolting upright on the bed as her heart raced in her chest. It was just a dream, everything is fine. She told herself, hoping it would help calm her breath. She had dreamed that four dragons had attacked Emon, one of them the largest, most powerful red dragon she had ever seen. In her dream, countless people had died from the attack, some at the gates of Greyskull Keep. It was just a dream. She repeated to herself, but something felt weird.

The first thing she noticed out of place was that she was not sitting on a comfortable mattress but on an alternative bed made from thin blankets. The second thing, which made her heart race again, was that she was not alone. A lithe half-elf was sprawled out at her side on his stomach, one leg bent upwards, a restful face turned in her direction, and his hair spread out on her pillow. Keyleth’s heart jumped at the sight of his bare back, the burned mark of her hand between his shoulder blades, and tears started falling down her cheeks. It wasn’t a dream.

Sudden bile rose from her stomach, and Keyleth barely had time to get up and reach a wooden bucket that had been forgotten in her bedroom. She wiped the corners of her mouth and crossed the room to peer out the window. Catha was still high in the skies, illuminating the barren fields outside of the keep, the ones that still stood unburned, and, from Emon, she could see a faint glow of red-ish lights that she assumed were fires that hadn’t been put out yet. It wasn’t a dream. Her legs faltered as she looked over her shoulder to the rogue, still sleeping peacefully. Keyleth had half a mind to wake him from his slumber, but Vax had been exhausted – and so had she – and she did not dare to wake him for a stupid reason such as this.

I wish it were a dream. Keyleth hugged her stomach, her gaze still lost in the landscape below. Ire filled her blood, sorrow for the lives she could not protect crushed her heart, and revenge boiled within her as she glared at the hill where once the Palace had been erected, now completely razed. You can’t let them win. This is what they want. Keyleth closed her eyes and took a long, deep breath. Turning her back to the window and the desolation outside, her heart warmed again at the sight of Vax, who had crawled closer to the middle of their makeshift bed, no doubt in search of her warmth.

Keyleth laid back down on her side, facing him, she wiggled as close to Vax as she could without waking him up, and when her limbs were decently entangled with his, she brought one hand to his soft, dark hair and tucked a mesh behind his ear. He isn’t a dream. He is real. Keyleth kissed his brow and let her forehead lean against his as her hands combed his hair.

“You okay?” Vax’s rough voice was barely a whisper.

“Mhm. Go back to sleep,” Keyleth replied in an equally hushed tone. Vax gave a soft nod and shifted so his body was pressed against her, laying his head on her chest. Keyleth couldn’t help but smile at how tight he held on to her, at how big his smile was as if there weren’t dragons out there, killing people and destroying cities. She kept playing with his hair – it was the most soothing thing ever – interchanging from combing her fingers to wrapping them in his locks, and, eventually, sleep found her again.

Keyleth didn’t dream of dragons anymore that night. She didn’t dream of fire, death, or pain. Instead, she dreamt of Vax, smiling big at her, holding her in his arms as they sat atop a hill overlooking Zephrah. She dreamed of her village full of color and cheer, of the lives of countless half-elves and halflings she would lead one day. Keyleth dreamed of love and happiness, and when she woke up the next morning, still entangled in Vax’s embrace, the memories of dragons from the day before were the last things on her mind.

#critical role #cr fic #vox machina #vaxleth #prompted #I'm super exhausted so I hope this is decent enough #I actually wrote this last night at midnight #I'm still taking prompts from this list <3

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crybaby-bkg · 1 year

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sorry I’ve been on such a Dabi high lately but I almost croaked earlier at the thought of being his college gf and just being so opposite of each other!!!!!! you’re all good grades and perfect attendance, easily approachable and sweet smiles. and he’s all grumpy faced and dark clothing, makes people nervous whenever he stands outside smoking right by the doors.

who the hell would’ve thought you two would end up together? it just didn’t make a lick of sense seeing you two from the outside. but when they get a glimpse of you guys together, alone, everything just falls into place.

he’s so supportive of everything you do, no matter how dumb or nerdy he thinks it is. he keeps count of your stitches for you when you crotchet, doesn’t mind being your model for a cropped hot pink sweater you’re creating, wears the knitted beanie around campus that you made for him. he hates not having your attention but he takes some of the same classes you take so that he can help you study, quiz you when you’re not too sure of the subject, maybe even help you cheat if you want (you don’t, but he always offers).

he buys you your favorite drink at the cafes and always carries an extra laptop charger in case you forget. he helps you pick out your outfits when you’re unsure, and loves the opposite aesthetic whenever you stand hand in hand with him. he praises you when you succeed, and comforts you with your failures. he looks like a dirtbag that hangs around campus to be a creepy bum, but he’s there for you through and through <3

#sorry I just cannot get enough of him #I wanna write another fic for him which is terrible #bc I already have like 8 on my list :(#but he’s just so :(((((#I want him to be my opposite but so supportive bf so bad #he’s all cigarette smoke and I’m all strawberry scented lipgloss :(#why is talking about self shipping so hard for me AKSJDKDJDJ #I changed I’m to yours and back to I’m like nine times lmfao #BUT SERIOUSLY I need him so bad or else I’ll combust #I don’t need to write another college bf touya au I DONT!!!!!!!(?)#I’m being tempted……..he is my temptress in my hero journey……….and I am weak……#okay bye I wrote this at midnight but didn’t think anyone would see it until this morning anyway lol #I will attempt to do my own cluster lashes so wish me luck #if they fuck w my sensory issues then they are immediately coming AWF #—new treat in the streets! 🍫#dabi treats! 🍬

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candleshopmenace · 1 year

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don't say a word.

SUMMARY

Present Mic frowns. “You cook dinner by yourself?”

“Yeah?” Katsuki tilts his head, confused. “Don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” Present Mic says, and he sets down his cup. “But I’m an adult. You’re eight.”

“I can cook!” Katsuki says. “And I bake really well, too!”

“Bakugou,” Present Mic says, and there’s something in his voice that makes Katsuki feel very small, “that’s not the point.”

—

Katsuki is pretty sure that there’s nothing wrong with his family. He doesn’t understand why nobody else seems to agree with him.

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[discord server]

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When Katsuki wakes up, the first thing he wants to do is go back to sleep. His entire body feels achy in a way that reminds him of what Auntie Inko called growing pains, and his head hurts, and when he opens his eyes he has to close them again because the lights are too bright. Plus, he’s tired. Which makes no sense at all, since he just woke up, but things rarely make sense, and so Katsuki is fucking exhausted.

From the doorway, someone says, “Bakugou? It's time to get ready to go, buddy.”

Katsuki cracks his eyes open and sits up, ignoring the way his stomach churns in favor of looking at Present Mic. “Where are we going?” he asks, blinking several times to make the room stop spinning. Everything looks weird, like it's smaller than it used to be, but he dismisses that as his mind playing tricks on him.

“Well, Eraserhead and I have to go to work,” Present Mic says. “We have to teach. I was thinking that you could sit in the teachers’ lounge until we’re finished.” Katsuki doesn’t know what expression he’s making, but he must look upset, because Present Mic quickly adds, “You wouldn’t be alone. All the teachers have different planning periods, so there’d always be someone to watch you.”

Katsuki frowns. He doesn’t need anybody to watch him. He can watch himself, and he’s even old enough to cook things on the stove at home! But he doesn’t say that, because he doesn’t want to seem rude or ungrateful that Present Mic is thinking about him, and it's not like he’d been asked a question or anything.

When an adult said something to you and it wasn’t a question, that meant that they were telling you what to do. And if an adult was telling you what to do, that meant you had to listen, because they would get mad at you if you didn’t. It's probably twice as true for heroes, since they were really strong and could hurt you really badly if they felt like it, and so everybody had to listen to them. Even other adults had to listen to them. Katsuki doesn’t want to make Present Mic feel like Katsuki isn’t listening to him, and so he says, “Okay.”

Present Mic’s shoulders relax, like he thought that Katsuki would throw a fit or argue with him about something he said. “Okay?” he says, copying after Katsuki, and then nods. “Okay! Well, get dressed, and then we’ll go downstairs and get some breakfast, alright?”

Katsuki sighs. His head hurts, and he’s pretty sure that eating will just make it hurt even worse. It feels like there’s someone inside his skull, whacking at the space between his eyes with a heavy metal hammer, and he really doesn’t want to get out of bed but he does anyways.

“Bakugou?” Present Mic asks, and, when Katsuki looks over at him, he sees that he’s frowning. “Are you feeling alright?”

Katsuki stares at him, wondering if it's a trick question, if he’ll get in trouble no matter what answer he gives. If it's a trick question, he needs to figure out which answer will get him into the least trouble, because his body hurts and his head hurts and his stomach hurts and he doesn’t know how many more things can hurt before he starts to cry, and wouldn’t that be embarrassing, crying as soon as he wakes up?

He must be quiet for too long, because Present Mic gives him that smile that people give when they don’t really want to smile but don’t know what else to do with their face. “Well, okay,” he says. “Sorry for waking you up so early, kiddo. I just didn’t think that you’d want to be left by yourself.” His eyebrows pinch together. “Do you want to be left by yourself?”

Without thinking, Katsuki says, “No!” He doesn’t know why he says it as quickly or loudly as he does, but then he imagines being left alone in this big building with all its hallways that he could get lost in, where anything could happen to him, and his heart feels like it's trying to beat out of his chest. Maybe he’ll get in trouble for being clingy, but he’d rather get punished for that than be stuck in an unfamiliar place, by himself, for an entire day. “Don’t leave me here. I’ll be quiet, I promise.”

Present Mic holds up his hands. “I’m not going to leave you by yourself if you don’t want me to,” he says. He sounds worried, which makes Katsuki feel guilty because he’s sure that Present Mic has bigger things to worry about than him. “I was just asking because you look tired. I could take the day off, if you want. You look like you could use some rest.”

… Is he trying to get rid of him? Is he that annoying?

Katsuki gnaws at the inside of his cheek, unsure of what to say. Should he agree to stay behind? Is that what Present Mic wants? Would it be selfish to say that that’s not what he wants? But why would Present Mic offer to take him along in the first place if he was just going to turn around and do the exact opposite?

Katsuki feels sick.

Present Mic clears his throat and Katsuki winces at the sound even as his head jerks towards it. He cringes further when he sees that Present Mic’s smile is even tighter than it was before. “I’m not trying to trick you, Bakugou,” he says, which is exactly what people say right before they try to trick you, but Katsuki doesn’t point that out because he’s seen what happens when he interrupts someone. “If you’re feeling unwell, I’d be willing to stay with you, since you don’t want to be left alone.”

Katsuki shakes his head. “It's fine,” he says. “I feel fine.” He hesitates, then braces himself and says, “I’d like to come with you.”

Present Mic is quiet for a moment, and fear floods Katsuki so fast that he feels like he’s fallen into a giant pile of snow. He did that once when he was six, and Auntie Inko had to rush him to the hospital because he got hypothermia. He remembers feeling so cold that he thought he was going to die, and that’s how he feels right now because he’d just failed a test he didn’t know he was taking. He gave the wrong answer.

Present Mic says, “Okay.”

Katsuki stares at him. He feels dizzy and cold and sick to his stomach, and his head hurts, and he almost wants to cry. He says, so quietly that he almost can’t even hear himself, “Okay?”

“Yeah,” Present Mic says, shrugging. “Okay.” And then he says basically the same thing he said earlier, says, “Get some clothes on, then let’s get something to eat.” As he closes the door, he says, “Make sure to wear something warm!”

Katsuki wraps his arms around himself and shivers.

There’s a plate in front of him. He’s in the kitchen and Present Mic is watching him and there’s a plate in front of him. Katsuki looks at Present Mic, who blinks back at him like he doesn’t know what the problem is. Like he doesn’t know that there even is a problem. He says, “You need to eat so that you have energy for the day,” and Katsuki can’t help but feel like this is a trap.

Katsuki shakes his head, digging his nails into his palms so that he can ignore the part of him that wants to reach forward and grab the plate that Present Mic is offering him, because that’s not healthy food. He’ll ruin himself if he eats that, and then he’ll never be a hero. Besides, heroes were supposed to have a lot of self-control. That’s what his mother always said, and it made sense, and so Katsuki has to control himself and not eat something that he knows will only hurt him in the end.

“Bakugou,” Present Mic says, and Katsuki takes a step back, shaking his head again. “Look, you need to eat. I’m being serious.” He looks between the plate and Katsuki, then sighs. “This is exactly what I made you for breakfast yesterday. What’s different about today?”

“I don’t -” The words feel like they’re stuck in his throat. “I don’t - I can’t eat eggs. Not the yellow part. They’re bad for you.”

“Well, I’m not letting you only eat toast again.” Present Mic straightens, setting the plate down on the stove. “You know, that’s probably why you’re so cold.”

“I’m not cold,” Katsuki says, even though he is. He’d put on long-sleeved shirt and then a sweater and then a jacket, but he still feels like there’s ice under his skin, spreading and growing like a sickness, like a disease. He says, “And I like toast.”

Present Mic sighs and turns in a circle, looking around the kitchen. “What else do you like?” he asks, walking over to a cabinet and opening it. “Cereal?”

“I want an apple,” Katsuki says.

Present Mic sounds very tired when he says, “That’s not enough, Bakugou.”

Katsuki frowns, thinking of all the times he asked for a snack and then watched his mother take an apple out of the fridge. She’d cut it in half, then weigh each piece on the little scale on the kitchen counter. She never said that apples weren’t enough. She never said that any kind of food wasn’t enough. Glancing around, Katsuki sees that there’s no scale in this kitchen, and he wonders how all the people who live here know how much they’re supposed to eat if they don’t have a way to measure it. “You guys should get a scale,” he says.

Present Mic closes his eyes for a moment, then opens them and says, slowly, “We don’t need a scale, Bakugou.”

Katsuki starts to argue, then bites down on his tongue. Present Mic has a ring on his finger, and it always hurts more to be slapped by a hand that has a ring on it. Present Mic’s ring doesn’t look like it has a gemstone on it or anything, but Katsuki still doesn’t want to risk it. “Okay,” he says. “Sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?” Present Mic asks, and it sounds like one of those questions that adults asked but never actually wanted an answer to, and so Katsuki stays quiet. “You don’t -” Present Mic sighs and glares up at the ceiling for a moment, then looks at Katsuki like he’s trying to see inside his head. “Bakugou, if I get you an apple, you need to actually eat it. Okay?”

Katsuki blinks at him. “Why would I ask for food if I wasn’t going to eat it?” He watches as Present Mic crosses the kitchen, pulling open the refrigerator door. He waits until Present Mic is far enough away, then points out, “You should totally get a scale.” Present Mic straightens up so fast that he hits his head on the top part of the fridge. “Ow, fuck,” he mutters, then looks at Katsuki. “We don’t need a scale. You don’t need a scale. You’re eight.”

“My mom has a scale,” Katsuki counters. “She uses it for food so that we can stay healthy, because she’s a model and I’m going to be a hero.”

“That’s not what being a hero is about,” Present Mic says. “Being a hero is about saving people, not eating, like, one thing a day.”

“I eat more than that!” Katsuki says, and it feels weird to be saying that, but Present Mic is wrong. “I would die if I only ate one thing a day.”

“Oh my God,” Present Mic says. He closes the refrigerator, shaking his head. “I can’t believe that I’m having this conversation.” He looks at the apple in his hand, then at Katsuki, then sighs. “Do you want me to cut this up?”

“No, it's fine,” Katsuki says. “You’re probably already late for work.” He takes the apple when Present Mic offers it to him, then stares down at it. Now that he’s actually holding it, he kind of wants to ask if Present Mic can cut it in half, but he guesses that it’s fine. Apples are healthy, anyways, which is why they always had them in the fridge at home.

Present Mic puts a hand on his shoulder. “Are you sure that you feel well enough to come along?” he asks, sounding concerned. “I wouldn’t mind -” Katsuki says, “I’m fine.”

Present Mic looks like he wants to say something else, but then he just sighs again. “Alright, then,” he says. “Let’s go.”

Like the rest of Yuuei, the teachers’ lounge is huge. There’s a teachers’ lounge at Katsuki’s primary school - he knows because he’s caught glimpses it while walking by when the door was open - but he’s pretty sure that it's not as big as this.

When Katsuki says that, Present Mic laughs a little and says, “Well, Yuuei has a lot of teachers. Plus, they have to convince people to work here somehow, right?”

“I guess so,” Katsuki says. He pulls his legs up into his chair and crosses them, leaning his elbows on the table as he watches Present Mic bustle around the kitchenette in the corner, and then he asks, “Where’s Eraserhead?” Because now that he thinks about it - and he is thinking about it, a lot - he hasn’t seen Eraserhead since yesterday. “He wasn’t here this morning.”

“He was taking Eri to school,” Present Mic says, taking down two mugs from the cabinet above the sink. They’re gray, with the symbol of Yuuei printed on the sides, and he pours hot water into both of them as he says, “He’s teaching right now. He’s Class 1-A’s homeroom teacher.”

“That’s the hero class, right?” Katsuki asks, sitting up in his chair. He remembers seeing a special documentary about Yuuei, and he remembers thinking that Class 1-A was the class he wanted to be in when he got older because that was where the best heroes came from. “Y’know, where the top-ranking students are?”

“Yep! You’ve met a few of them, actually.” Present Mic glances over his shoulder. “Let’s see… you’ve met Ashido, Todoroki, Kirishima…”

“And that girl with the ponytail,” Katsuki adds. “She made me some clothes because you guys weren’t expecting to have to take care of me.”

Present Mic hums in agreement as he turns around with a cup in each hand. He carries them over and sets them on the table, then sits down across from Katsuki. “Her name is Yaoyorozu,” he says, then nods at the mug he’s placed in front of Katsuki. “Let that cool down a bit, and then you drink it. It’ll warm you up.”

“I’m not cold,” Katsuki protests. He pulls the sleeves of his sweater over his hands and drags the cup closer to him, feeling the steam on his face as he peers at its contents. “Is this tea?”

Present Mic nods. “Peppermint.”

“I like tea,” Katsuki says, and he finds himself rubbing at the mark on the side of his palm. It's barely even noticable, just a few shades darker than the rest of his skin, but it feels rough beneath his fingers. “I tried to make some a couple days ago, but Todoroki wouldn’t let me because he’s an asshole.” He hears a snort and looks up to see that Present Mic is doing a terrible job of covering up a smile. “I’m being serious! I was trying to make some tea and then he came running in and started yelling at me!”

Present Mic’s smile turns into a frown. “Todoroki did that?” he asks, like he thinks that Katsuki is lying. “That doesn’t really sound like something he’d do.”

Katsuki tenses. He should’ve just kept his stupid mouth shut, because Present Mic has obviously known Todoroki for longer than he’s known Katsuki, and that meant that he’d be on Todoroki’s side. Like how Katsuki’s father always agreed with his mother, or how Kariage always backed him up in a fight. He doesn’t know what good it’ll do, but he finds himself saying, “I’m telling the truth.”

Present Mic’s eyebrows shoot up. “I never said you weren’t,” he points out. “I just meant that Todoroki usually doesn’t act like that.” He takes a sip of his tea, then muses, “Maybe it's because he was sick.”

And that’s something that Katsuki didn’t know about. “He was sick?” he asks, remembering how angry Todoroki had looked when he ran into the kitchen, the way he grabbed Katsuki’s arm and shook him and asked if he wanted the burn to scar. “So he’s usually not that mad?”

“Well, he’s mad, but not loudly. If that makes any sense.” Present Mic looks at Katsuki over the rim of his cup. “Does that make any sense?”

Katsuki thinks about how his father sometimes got really quiet, and that usually meant that he was pissed about something or the other. And then something would set him off, and he would explode, going on a rampage like some kind of monster. He’s never been well and truly angry at Katsuki, but he’s seen it happen. It never ended well. Katsuki presses his hands to the sides of his cup in an attempt to make them warmer, then says, “Yeah, that makes sense.” But now he can’t help but wonder what it was about him that seemed to make Todoroki so upset. Did he do the wrong thing? Did he say something he wasn’t supposed to? Maybe Present Mic is right, and maybe Todoroki was acting weirdly because he was sick, but Katsuki has the feeling that it's somehow all his fault.

He takes a sip of tea and winces when it scalds his tongue. Present Mic catches the motion, because of course he does, and asks, “Is it still too hot for you?”

Katsuki shakes his head. “Nope,” he says. He hates it when people worry about him because that means that he’s distracting them, and people always got mad if you distracted them for too long. “It didn’t even hurt! One time, I accidently put my hand on a burner while I was making dinner, and I couldn’t move my fingers for, like, a month. That hurt way more than this.”

He’d said that in an attempt to reassure Present Mic that he was fine, but his words seem to have the opposite effect - Present Mic frowns, and his eyebrows furrow again, and he looks even more worried than before. “You cook dinner by yourself?”

“Yeah?” Katsuki asks, feeling confused. “Don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” Present Mic says, and he sets down his cup. “But I’m an adult. You’re eight.”

“I can cook!” Katsuki says. “And I cook really well, too! Everybody says so.”

“Bakugou,” Present Mic says, and he sounds weird. He’s speaking quietly, but there’s something in his voice that makes Katsuki feel very small. “That’s not the point.”

Katsuki presses himself back in his chair, unsure of why Present Mic suddenly seems angry. He’s not sure if he’s angry at him or if he’s angry at something else, but there never seemed to be a difference in how Katsuki got hit, and so he can only assume that he’s done something wrong. “Sorry?” he tries, because maybe if he apologizes, shows that he really does feel bad about whatever it is that he’s done, he can get away with only a single blow.

Present Mic’s eyes go a little wide. “I’m not angry,” he says, and he says it quickly, like he thinks that Katsuki might try to interrupt him. “I was just… thinking.” He pauses, then says, “How many times have you cooked dinner by yourself?”

Katsuki lets himself breathe. But he doesn’t relax, not completely, because if he does something wrong this time, he’s sure that Present Mic will change his mind about not being angry. “A lot,” he says, because maybe that’s the right answer. Maybe Present Mic wants to know if he can take care of himself - which he can, by the way. He’s not a fucking baby. “I have to stand on a stool to reach the spice cabinet, but I’m good at cooking. And baking! I know how to make cookies and stuff, but I only ever make them for my friends. And for Deku, because he’s not going to be a hero, so he doesn’t have to worry about not eating healthy things.”

He waits to see if Present Mic is going to respond, but he doesn’t, and so Katsuki continues, “He likes those ones that have chocolate chips in them. I want to eat them, sometimes, because they smell really good, but…” He trails off, thinking about how good the cookies smelled. And they looked good, too, and he knew they tasted good by how much his friends seemed to like them, but all the ingredients that went into them were bad, so they had to be bad, too. “They’re bad for you. They have a bunch of sugar in them, and butter, and then there’s all that chocolate, so there’s no way that they’re healthy. They’re even worse than peanut butter, I bet.”

When he finishes, Present Mic still doesn’t speak. He just looks at Katsuki like he’s watching a sad movie, and he’s frowning again, and he hasn’t taken a sip of tea in the past five minutes, and Katsuki tries to think of what it is that he’s done wrong. He got asked a question, and so he answered it. Was he not supposed to answer it? Was his answer not the one he was supposed to give? Was his answer too long? The third option seems like the most likely, and it makes the most sense, so Katsuki says, “I didn’t mean to talk that much.”

“No, it's…” Present Mic pinches the bridge of his nose like he has a headache. Like he has a headache because of Katsuki. “It's fine. You haven’t done anything wrong. I was just wondering about something.” His glasses are fogged with the steam from the tea, and so he takes them off and cleans them with the edge of his shirt, then asks, “Do your parents leave you at home by yourself?”

“Well, yeah,” Katsuki says, feeling relieved, because at least that’s a question he knows the answer to. He’s been asked it a bunch of times, and he never got in trouble for his response. People always just smiled at him and told him how responsible and mature he was, which was a good thing because it meant that he was better than other kids his age. “A lot! It's because they know that I can take care of myself, and I know the way to school, and I look both ways before crossing the street. One time they left me by myself for, like, a bunch of months, and I had to go to the store by myself and everything.” That last part is important because he had to carry the groceries home by himself afterwards, so he couldn’t get too much. He was responsible and mature for his age, but he was also small for his age, too, so it's not like he could carry a lot of stuff at one time. “But my dad left me a bunch of money, so it wasn’t that bad. I read a lot of books and stuff, since house was really quiet.”

He stops talking and watches Present Mic, hoping for the praise he always got when he told that to other adults. He was responsible and mature, and that meant that he was going to be a good hero. The best hero, actually, because Katsuki was great at being the best! When he got the highest grades on his tests and stuff, his father would smile at him, and even his mother would tell him, good job, and then she would brag about him to all her friends, which was a good thing because it meant that he’d actually done something right for once.

But Present Mic doesn’t smile at him, and he doesn’t say, good job. He just says, in that weird voice that makes Katsuki feel tiny, “Right.” He puts his hands around his cup of tea but doesn’t drink it, just holds it. “How old were you when they left you alone for all those months?”

Unease flares through Katsuki’s stomach. Does Present Mic think that he’s lying about being able to stay home by himself? But that can’t be right, because Present Mic said just a couple of days ago that he thought that Katsuki was going to be a great hero. Those had been his exact words, You’re going to be a great hero. Did he change his mind? Did Katsuki make him change his mind?

Hesitantly, Katsuki says, “Seven?” and then winces when the word comes out sounding like a question. He tries again, saying, “I was seven,” and then he adds, “It was last year,” because he wants to show how long ago that was, and he’s gotten older than that, so that means he’s even more responsible and mature than he was back then.

Present Mic’s frown deepens. “You’re really young, Bakugou.”

Katsuki scowls. “No,” he says, feeling hurt, “I’m not.” Why can’t Present Mic just act like all the other adults that Katsuki has met? Why does he have to react so differently to everything?

“You’re eight,” Present Mic says, like that changes everything. Like that changes anything. “You’re too young to be left alone for a day, much less an entire month.”

“It was a bunch of months,” Katsuki corrects.

“That’s even worse,” Present Mic says. “How many people have you told about this?” The way he says it makes it sound like he thinks that Katsuki was trying to keep it a secret. “How many adults know about this, Bakugou?”

Katsuki tries to remember all the adults he’s gotten compliments from, but quickly loses count. He shrugs. “A lot, I guess.”

“And none of them have done anything about it? None of them have tried to help you?”

Katsuki tenses, feeling hurt that Present Mic thinks that he needs help. He just told him that he was able to take care of himself! He doesn’t need anybody to help him with something that he already knows how to do! “I don’t need help!” he says, and his voice sounds louder than it should, but he thought that Present Mic said that Katsuki was going to be a great hero, and great heroes didn’t need help. All Might never needed help, which was what made him the best hero. “I’m responsible and mature!” and he’s never actually said that out loud before, so he stumbles a little over the words. He sputters, then continues, “I know how to take care of myself!”

“That’s not what I meant, Bakugou,” Present Mic says. “I know that you can take care of yourself. But you shouldn’t have to. You’re too young to worry about things like that. You should be having fun, not… not worrying about making yourself dinner. That’s what a parent is supposed to do.”

Katsuki shakes his head. “That’s what parents are supposed to do for kids that don’t know how to do things for themselves. I know how to do everything by myself. I don’t need anyone’s help, so my parents don’t have to do that.” He tries to keep himself calm as he explains it, but Present Mic is looking at him like he’s something to be sad about, and the anger grabs hold of him again and refuses to let go. He doesn’t want to be here. He should’ve just stayed back at the dorms. Sure, he’d be lonely, but at least he wouldn’t have to deal with one of his favorite heroes telling him that he’s practically useless on his own. He feels sparks crack across his palms and quickly smothers them on his pants, knowing what happened when he couldn’t control his Quirk, but he’s so, so angry and he hears himself say, “Don’t you have a class to teach?”

“Not for another thirty minutes,” Present Mic says, then pauses like he wants to say something else. He closes his mouth. Opens it, then says, “Bakugou, you deserve more than this.”

Katsuki doesn’t answer, and they spend the rest of the time in silence.

After Present Mic leaves, time passes in a blur. Katsuki is bored but doesn’t want to say it, knowing that complaining would just make him sound ungrateful, and he distracts himself by watching the hands of the clock tick away the seconds and minutes and hours. True to Present Mic’s word, all the teachers have different planning periods, so there’s always someone in the lounge with him. Some of them talk to him, and he tries to respond politely, but most of them just stare at him while trying to pretend that they’re not staring.

Katsuki sighs.

He must fall asleep for a little bit, because he wakes up when the chair across from him scrapes against the floor as someone pulls it back and sits down in it. “Oh, sorry,” they say. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Katsuki straightens, rubbing at his eyes. “It's okay,” he says, because that’s what you’re supposed to say when someone apologizes, even if it's actually not really that okay. “I -” He looks at the person who just sat down and freezes, staring. He says, after a long moment of silence, “You’re Midnight.”

The woman raises an eyebrow, looking amused. “Yes, I suppose I am,” she says. “And what’s your name?”

Katsuki stares at her. It takes several moments for her question to register in his head, and, when it does, his answer sounds nervous even to his own ears, “Bakugou.” He clears his throat and tries again, steady and confident like his mother always told him to be when introducing himself to strangers. “I’m Bakugou Katsuki.”

“I should’ve guessed,” Midnight says, and he has the feeling that she’s teasing him. Before he can say anything about it, she smiles and asks, “What are you doing here?”

Katsuki pauses, thinking about how he should respond. Does she want to know why he’s in the teachers’ lounge, or does she want to know why he’s at Yuuei in the first place? The second choice seems the most likely, since it would give her more information, and so he says, “Eraserhead is taking care of me,” which is a concept that still feels weird to think about. He didn’t even know that his parents were friends with any heroes. But his father once shook hands with some super important person in America, so he supposes that it's not actually that strange. “And Present Mic.”

“Really? That sounds fun.” Midnight’s smile widens. She seems delighted by the sight of him, and he can’t figure out why. “How old are you, Bakugou?”

“I’m eight,” he says, watching her warily. She looks really happy to see him. He doesn’t remember the last time anyone ever looked happy to see him. Actually, Deku looked at him like that, and so did Kariage and Yasu, but they didn’t count because Katsuki has known them since forever. “I’ll be nine in April.” He counts on his fingers, then adds, “That’s in three months.”

Midnight nods as if she’d been expecting that answer. “That’s really close,” she points out.

“Yeah, it is.”

Midnight puts her elbow on the table and leans her cheek against her palm, watching him. “What are you hoping to get for your birthday?”

Katsuki blinks at her. He hasn’t gotten birthday presents since he was, like, four. Well, he got them Deku and Kariage and Yasu, but, again, they didn’t count. “I’m too old for presents.”

“Nobody is too old for birthday presents,” Midnight says, that teasing tone back in her voice. When Katsuki shrugs, she asks, “Well, what kind of cake do you plan on getting?”

She’s asking all the wrong questions, Katsuki thinks, then says, “I don’t like cake.” When her eyebrows shoot up, he hurries to explain, “I tried it once at a party, and it tasted good, but my mom found out and got really mad at me.” He shudders at the memory of how mad she got at him.

“... Why would she get mad at you about something like that?” Midnight asks, sitting up. She’s frowning. “What’s so bad about cake?”

“It's unhealthy,” Katsuki says, and it's true, so he doesn’t really know why Midnight’s frown deepens when he tells her that. “Like, it has all that sugar and stuff in it. It's really bad for you.” The silence stretches a bit too far, and Katsuki shifts in his seat, suddenly nervous. When his mother got quiet, it usually meant that she was really, really angry at him. And when she got angry, people got hurt. He got hurt. He doesn’t know if Midnight is the same way, but she’s watching him with wide eyes and she’s staying so still that she looks like a statue and Katsuki doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do, and so he says, trying to relieve the tension, “I have to eat properly if I’m going to be a hero.”

“Bakugou,” Midnight says, and she doesn’t sound as happy as she did before. “That’s not… sweetie, you should be allowed to eat cake.”

Katsuki leans back in his chair, putting himself out of her reach. “Sorry,” he says, because he’s obviously made her upset. He thought he’d been doing the right thing by saying that, by proving how much he wants to be a hero, but he guesses that he was wrong. He feels like he’s been wrong about a lot of things, lately.

“You don’t have to apologize for anything,” Midnight says, and her voice is just barely above a whisper, and Katsuki doesn’t like the way she’s looking at him. She’s looking at him like she’s never seen him before.

Katsuki shrinks under her gaze, holding onto the sides of his seat to keep himself from running.

… He doesn’t know where he’d go, anyways, if he did run. Somebody would find him, because somebody always does, and then everything hurts more than it would if he had just stayed where he was. He knows this because he still remembers the one time when his mother was yelling at him and so he ran into his bedroom and shut his door in her face, and she responded by locking it and not letting him out until he apologized. But he didn’t want to apologize, not to her, and so he missed dinner for two entire nights. And then when he did get to eat, he threw it back up because he ate too fast, so he didn’t get dinner that night, either.

Katsuki winces at the memory. The only good thing that came out of that experience was that he learned his lesson: running away didn’t help anything. It just made things worse.

Midnight closes her eyes for a moment, then opens them and asks, “Are you bored?”

“No,” Katsuki says, because that’s probably the answer that she wants.

Midnight’s eyebrows pinch together. “Are you sure?” she asks. “It doesn’t look like you have anything to keep you busy, and I’d be pretty bored, too, if I were stuck in here for hours.” When it becomes clear that Katsuki isn’t going to respond, she scrapes her chair back from the table and stands, holding out a hand towards him. “C’mon,” she says. “You can help me in my classroom, alright?”

Katsuki starts to reach out, then draws back. “Present Mic told me to wait here,” he says, suspicious.

“I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

“He told me to wait here.”

“Look,” Midnight says, taking out her phone.

Katsuki can’t help the way he goes so tense that his entire body aches. His teachers used to get him to behave by threatening to call his parents, and he knows that Midnight isn’t going to do that, that she doesn’t even know his parents, but some voice in his head whispers, But what if she does? They’d be so mad if they had to come home early just to pick Katsuki up. His mother might even be mad enough to -

Don’t, he tells himself. Don’t think about that.

But Midnight doesn’t call his parents. She just says, “We can ask him, okay?” and then dials somebody’s number before Katsuki can respond.

Midnight puts the call on speaker, so Katsuki can hear it when the phone rings once, twice, three times, and then Present Mic’s voice asks, “Do you need something, Nemuri?”

“Yes, actually,” Midnight says. “So, I’m in the teachers’ lounge, and -”

Present Mic interrupts her, asking, “Is Bakugou okay?”

“Bakugou is just fine,” Midnight says. She puts a hand on Katsuki’s head and he flinches, thinking that he’s done something wrong, but then all she does is ruffle his hair. “I just wanted to know if you’d mind me bringing him to my classroom.” She pauses, then asks, “What were you thinking, anyways, leaving a kid in here with nothing to do?”

Present Mic is quiet for a long moment, and then he sighs. “Yeah,” he admits, “that was a pretty bad idea.”

Midnight shakes her head, but she’s smiling. “You’re not very good at this whole babysitting thing,” she says, then, speaking over Present Mic’s protests, “Anyways, you’re fine with me taking him for a little bit? He can hang out in my classroom. The kids will love him.”

“Are you sure it’ll be okay?” Present Mic asks, sounding worried. “Have you told them about -”

“Yes,” Midnight says, cutting him off. “Everybody already knows. They’ll all be perfectly behaved.”

“... Well, alright,” Present Mic says, still sounding unconvinced. “Don’t let anything happen to him.”

“Oh, please,” Midnight says. “Who do you think I am?” Then, without waiting for Present Mic to answer, she ends the call and grins down at Katsuki. “See? I told you he’d be fine with it!” She puts her phone away and holds out her hand.

Katsuki takes it.

Midnight’s classroom is empty. When Katsuki looks around, wordlessly questioning, she explains, “I’m still technically on break. They’ll be here in -” she looks at the clock over the door “- about ten minutes.”

Katsuki says, “Okay,” and then falls silent, unsure of what it is that he’s supposed to be doing. She must want him to do something, but he can’t figure it out. But he doesn’t want to ask, because then he’ll feel stupid if the answer is something obvious.

Midnight smiles at him. “What kinds of things do you like to do?” she asks, walking over to her podium. “I’m sure I can find something to keep you entertained.”

Katsuki follows her after instinct, trailing behind as he considers her question. He likes to read, but it looks like the only books in here are textbooks about history and stuff, and he likes to draw, but all of the supplies that Eraserhead got for him is still back at the dorms. “I don’t know,” he answers. “I just -”

Somebody says, “Kayama-sensei, I’d like to speak to you about something.”

“Hold that thought,” Midnight says to Katsuki, then looks towards the voice. Katsuki follows her gaze to a tired-looking boy in the doorway. “Yes? What do you need?”

The boy walks forward. He starts, “I was wondering -” and then stops short when he sees Katsuki. Aside from his raised eyebrows, Katsuki can’t read his expression. “Is that -”

“His name is Bakugou,” Midnight says, and there’s something in her voice that Katsuki can’t quite decipher. It almost sounds like a warning. “I’m looking after him for a little bit.” She clears her throat, and her voice is back to normal when she asks, “Now, what is it that you needed help with?”

With what seems to be great difficulty, the boy looks away from Katsuki. “I had a question about the study guide you gave us.” He puts his backpack on the closest desk, unzipping it, then rummages through it until he pulls out a packet of stapled paper. He flips to a page, then points at a line of text on it, showing it to Midnight. “It says the the Quirk Discrimination Act of 2173 was meant to protect people with mutant Quirks, but it was actually made to protect people with mentalist Quirks, because there was an incident a year before where a nine-year-old girl had her vocal cords -” He falters, glancing over at Katsuki, then looks back at Midnight. “The Act of 2149 was the one that protected people with mutant Quirks, not the Act of 2173.”

Midnight frowns down at the paper, then sighs. “You’re right,” she says, somehow managing to sound apologetic without even saying the words. “I don’t know how I made a mistake like that. The years aren’t even similar. Sorry about that, Shinsou.” The boy - Shinsou, Midnight had called him - rubs at the back of his neck, looking like he regrets bringing up the mistake at all. “It's not a big deal,” he says. “I just remember it because it's the year I manifested my Quirk.” He shrugs, then lets Midnight take the study guide. As she walks away, he turns to Katsuki and says, “Wow, you’re tiny.” As if to prove it, he crouches down so that he can look Katsuki in the eyes. “I bet you can’t ride any rides at the fair.”

Katsuki scowls at him, crossing his arms. “You’re a jackass.”

“Yeah, well,” Shinsou says, shrugging again. “Doesn’t change the fact that you’re tiny.”

“Don’t antagonize him, Shinsou,” Midnight says, but she sounds like she’s smiling. “Aizawa-sensei is in charge of him. You don’t want him getting mad at you, do you?”

Shinsou tilts his head. “I guess not,” he says, straightening up. “He’d probably have me run laps until I dropped.” He pulls his backpack off the desk and puts it down by his feet, sitting in the chair. He props his chin in his palm and studies Katsuki, then says, “I bet you plan on coming to Yuuei when you’re older.”

Katsuki’s scowl deepens. He has the feeling that he’s being made fun of. “Yeah,” he shoots back, glaring. “What about it?”

Shinsou holds his hands up in mock-defense, his sharp grin giving him away. “Calm down,” he says. “I was just making an observation.”

Katsuki narrows his eyes, unwilling to let his guard down. There’s something about the way the boy speaks, like he’s purposefully keeping his voice flat, that makes him uneasy. “I can beat your ass, you know,” Katsuki says. “I could blow up this whole entire room.” He wouldn’t actually do that, of course, because he’d get in trouble and then his arms would get hurt again, but he wants Shinsou to know that he could.

Shinsou raises an eyebrow. “Christ,” he mutters. “You’re as touchy as always.”

Katsuki bristles. He doesn’t know exactly what Shinsou means by that, but he can tell it's a bad thing by the way the jerk said it like he didn’t want Katsuki to hear. “Shut up,” he snaps. “Leave me alone.”

And now Shinsou raises both eyebrows. “Hold on,” he says. “Calm down. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Bullshit.”

“No, seriously. I’m being serious. Dead serious.” He grins again as he says, “There's no point in picking a fight with someone I’ve just met, especially a six-year-old.” “I’m eight!”

“Well, an eight-year-old, then,” Shinsou amends. “I don’t make it a habit to fight eight-year-olds. Even if they do threaten to blow me up.”

“I wasn’t threatening you,” Katsuki says, even though, yes, that was exactly what he’s been doing. “I was just telling you that I could beat your ass if I wanted to.” He feels his hands start to get hot and curses, waving them through the air to cool them down before he actually does blow something up. “You’re fucking lucky that I don’t want to get in trouble, bastard.”

“I’m so relieved.”

Katsuki glares at him. This was how all fights started, usually. He didn’t try to get into fights, but people liked to taunt him until he got angry enough not to care anymore about getting in trouble, and then everyone said that it was his fault even though it wasn’t. And then his mother would yell at him the entire car ride home, and then, if the damage had been really bad, she’d shove his arms into those stupid restraints until he either learned how to control himself or threw a big enough fit that his father unlocked him just so that he’d stop screaming. The last option usually came first.

“Fuck you,” Katsuki says, rubbing at the thin scar wrapped around his arm, just beneath his elbow, as a reminder of what would happen if he let himself get too upset. He drops his hand, though, when he sees Shinsou’s eyes follow the motion. “The Hell are you staring at?”

“Nothing,” Shinsou says, which is total bullshit. “I was just wondering what your parents are like.”

“What kind of question is that?”

“It wasn’t a question.”

“Well, that’s still a weird thing to think about. I don’t wonder about what your parents are like.” Katsuki frowns, sitting in the seat across from Shinsou, turning to face him. “You’re fucking weird.”

Shinsou shrugs, not looking offended at all, which is fine. Katsuki hadn’t really been insulting him. He’d just been making an observation. “Yeah,” Shinsou says. “I guess I am.”

Katsuki goes silent, not sure about how he’s supposed to respond to that, then says, “You look tired.”

“Oh, really.”

Katsuki nods. “You’ve got bags,” he says, tracing his fingers under his own eyes to demonstrate. “You must stay up past midnight a lot. I tried to do that once and then I got in trouble because I fell asleep in class the next day.”

Shinsou huffs a laugh. “Sounds like your parents need to set a bedtime,” he says.

“I only tried to do it once!” Katsuki protests, rushing to defend himself. He pauses, considering, then points out, “Plus, it's not like my parents would know if I stayed up too late. Time doesn’t work the same in other places. One time my dad called me, and it was, like, five in the morning! He woke me up! When I asked him why he called me so early, he said that he got confused because it wasn’t that early in America.” He looks at Shinsou. “Isn’t that weird?”

Agreeably, Shinsou says, “Yeah, that’s pretty weird.” He pauses, then says, “I’ve never been to America before.” “I’ve been there,” Katsuki says, happy to share the knowledge he gathered from his one trip to the United States. “Everybody smiled a lot, and it was really loud. I got to see the Statue of Liberty and everything! I wanted to see more, but then I had to go to the hospital.” When Shinsou stares at him, Katsuki explains, “My dad hit me in the head with a vase.” Then, when Shinsou’s eyes go wide, “It was an accident! He was trying to hit somebody else, but I got in the way, so it was my fault.” He pushes his hair out of his face and points to the scar along the top edge of his forehead. He knows it by sight as much as he knows it by feel, the crooked line of it usually hidden by the fall of his hair. “The doctors had to stitch it up and everything, and my head was hurting really badly, so I didn’t even get to see the rest of New York. I’m still mad about that, actually.”

“Oh,” Shinsou says. “That’s… interesting.”

“Yeah,” Katsuki says. “It doesn’t hurt anymore, though. And my dad got me ice cream, which I don’t really like, but I ate it so that he wouldn’t feel bad.” He grins, remembering. “I had to eat it really fast so that my mom didn’t see, and I ended up getting a brain freeze.”

And that makes Shinsou laugh, even though it sounds more surprised than anything, like it's been shocked out of him. Maybe that’s just what his normal laugh sounds like. “Fuck,” he says, shaking his head. “That’s… not what I expected to hear.”

Katsuki’s smile falls. “What did you expect to hear, then?” he asks, not really knowing if he wants to know the answer. “I don’t know,” Shinsou says. “Something happy, I guess. Not a story about your dad throwing a vase at your head.”

“He didn’t throw it at my head,” Katsuki points out, irritated. “I literally just said that it was an accident.” He pauses, processing the rest of Shinsou’s words, and then scowls. “And it was a happy story!” “Your dad hit you in the head with a vase and put you in the hospital. That’s what I’ve gathered from this. It doesn’t sound very happy.”

“That’s because you’re trying to make it sound unhappy,” Katsuki says. “It's like you weren’t even listening. He got me ice cream!”

“You just said that you don’t like ice cream.”

“I don’t,” Katsuki huffs, crossing his arms. “But he got it for me, and he apologized.”

Shinsou blinks at him, eyebrows furrowing. “You never said that he apologized.”

“He got me ice cream,” Katsuki says.

“But he didn’t apologize.”

“He got me ice cream,” Katsuki repeats. What about this doesn’t Shinsou understand? Was he even listening?

“Yeah, but he never said that he was sorry.”

“He didn’t have to,” Katsuki explains. “I knew that he was sorry. He wouldn’t have gotten me anything if he wasn’t sorry. He never gets me anything unless he’s sorry.” Katsuki tilts his head back, trying to think of an example. He comes up with the most memorable incident, which also happened to be the one that he wasn’t allowed to talk about. His father made him pinky-promise to not tell anybody about it, but it’d probably be fine if he kept the details out of it. “There was this one time when I hurt my arm, and my dad took me to the zoo after I got my cast off. I got to see all the animals, but we didn’t go into the bug exhibit because he doesn’t like bugs. We took a bunch of pictures.”

“... I don’t see why he’d have to apologize for you getting your arm hurt,” Shinsou says. “Not unless you’re leaving something out of the story.”

Katsuki freezes. He hadn’t mentioned how much it hurt to have a bone broken, or how his father had gotten the doctor to make his cast bright orange to cheer him up even though it didn’t really work, or how Katsuki had to tell everybody that he fell down the stairs, or how all these years later all his mother had to do was grab his arm to make him behave, but he feels like Shinsou knows it all anyways, like he can see everything that Katsuki kept hidden, and he wonders if maybe it was a mistake to start talking about his family in the first place. His arm aches when it rains.

Shinsou says, “But I could be wrong.”

“You are,” Katsuki says. He thinks that he says it too fast, but he can’t stop himself. “You’re wrong. He apologized. He got me ice cream, and he took me to the zoo, so you’re wrong.” And Shinsou is looking at him in the same way that Present Mic had been looking at him, the same way that Midnight had been looking at him, like they thought that there was something wrong. Like they thought that there something wrong with him. “Stop looking at me like that!”

“I’m don’t know what you’re talking about,” Shinsou says. “I’m just -” “Shut up!” Katsuki snaps. His head is hurting again, and so is his stomach, and he feels like he’s about to cry. But he can’t cry, he can’t, he doesn’t even have a reason to cry. It's not like anybody is yelling at him. He’s the only one who’s yelling. “Leave me alone. I don’t want to talk to you.”

Shinsou frowns. “Hey, it's alright,” he says, and then he reaches forward.

Katsuki flinches, jerking back so hard that he almost falls out of the chair and has to grab onto the desk to keep from crashing to the floor. He watches as Shinsou quickly pulls his hand back, but Katsuki’s heart doesn’t slow down, just keeps beating so fast that he feels like he might throw up.

“Sorry,” Shinsou says. “That wasn’t - I didn’t mean -” He looks around the classroom like he’s searching for help, then says, “Kayama-sensei, can you…” And then he trails off, like he’s unsure of what he’d been about to ask.

Midnight asks, “Is something wrong?” There’s the sound of footsteps. “I finished editing the -” She stops. Katsuki can feel her eyes on him, burning into him. “Bakugou, are you okay?”

In response, Katsuki bursts into tears.

—

“He’s tired.”

Katsuki swipes his arm across his eyes and tries to focus on taking deep breaths, which is what Recovery Girl told him to do. He doesn’t look at where Present Mic and Eraserhead are standing in the corner, speaking quietly, like he can’t hear them. Like he doesn’t know that they’re talking about him.

“No,” Present Mic says. “He’s hungry.”

“Well, yeah, but he’s more tired than hungry.” Eraserhead waves a hand in Katsuki’s direction, and Katsuki closes his eyes. “Look at him, he’s exhausted. He should sleep.”

“He’s exhausted because he’s hungry. He needs to eat, and then he should sleep, not the other way around.” Present Mic sighs. “Christ, his head must hurt like Hell.”

And he’s right. Katsuki’s head does hurt like Hell. It's been hurting since he woke up and now it's even worse. It hurts so much that he feels dizzy when he pries his eyes open and says, “No, it doesn’t.” He doesn’t know why he’s saying it. He doesn’t know why he’s not telling the truth. He’s a liar and a baby and a weakling and he doesn’t deserve to have people be worried about him. He doesn’t deserve anything.

He feels his eyes start to burn and quickly closes them again.

“I think the hardest part would be finding food that he’ll actually eat,” Present Mic says. “He doesn’t like peanut butter, or caramel, or eggs, or cookies…” He trails off, then sighs again. “The only things that I’ve actually seen him eat are apples, toast, and, like, a few bites of dinner each night. I don’t know how he’s still awake. I don’t even know how he’s still alive.”

Katsuki brings his knees up to his chest and buries his face in his arms, trying to block out their voices. He’s doing the right thing. He is. Even when his parents weren’t home, he made sure that he ate properly. He checked the nutrition facts and everything because that’s what his mother taught him to do and he’s doing the right thing and he can feel his heartbeat against his ribs and he’s so fucking hungry.

“I mean,” Eraserhead says. “Why don’t you just ask him?”

“Don’t you think I’ve tried that? I’ve asked him what he wants to eat. I’ve asked him to eat. I’ve told him to eat.” There’s the sound of footsteps going back-and-forth and Katsuki can only assume that Present Mic is pacing. “Nothing works. If you put food in front of him and tell him to eat, he’ll just argue with you until you give him something he actually wants, which ends up being, like, a single piece of fruit.”

There’s a long pause, and then Eraserhead says, “He’s eight.”

“I know!” Present Mic says, and Katsuki flinches at the way his voice rises. “He’s eight! He’s a little kid! This shouldn’t be happening!”

Katsuki feels horrible. It's bad enough that Midnight had to carry him to Present Mic’s class, and now Present Mic and Eraserhead are arguing over him, and Katsuki wants to be with his parents again because at least then he knew what people wanted from him. At least he knew what it was that he had to apologize for.

His head hurts so much.

The voices drone on and on, and Katsuki’s thoughts are so loud that he can’t even understand them. His arm hurts and it feels like nails are digging into his skin and he wants to cry. He wants to fall asleep until everything makes sense. He wants to eat and eat and eat but he knows that he’ll just throw it back up, because that’s what happened last time, and he’s learned his lesson. Plus, wouldn’t that just be proving that he doesn’t have any self-control? If he loses control, he’ll ruin his future. Remember. He has to remember that.

There’s the sound of the door closing and Katsuki’s head snaps up. He blinks until his vision is clear and sees that Present Mic is staring at him, and when he sees Katsuki looking, he says, “He’s just getting Recovery Girl.” And he sounds almost scared when he reaches out a hand and asks, “Can I see your arm, Bakugou?”

Katsuki scrambles away until his back is against the wall. He shakes his head.

“I’m not mad at you, Bakugou,” Present Mic says, sounding pleading. “I just want to see your arm.”

Katsuki’s breaths are so short and shallow that he thinks he might fall over. He clutches his arm to his chest, wincing at the pain that flares through it, and somehow manages to say, “You said you weren’t mad at me.” And he should be grateful that nobody is calling his parents, but he can picture Present Mic’s fingers wrapping around his wrist and bending it until it breaks, and the mental image makes him feel so sick that he thinks he might throw up. “You said you weren’t mad. You said…”

Present Mic’s eyebrows furrow. “I’m not mad, Bakugou,” he says, still holding out his hand. “I just want to see your arm, alright?”

And he sounds so insistent about it that Katsuki knows that he doesn’t even have a choice. Maybe he had a choice before, but he must’ve done something to ruin it. He doesn’t deserve to have a choice. The only thing he can do is listen, and he can’t even do that properly. He inches forward and holds out his arm, eyes going wide at the red lines raked into his skin. He watches at Present Mic gently takes his wrist, inspecting the damage that Katsuki has done to himself.

Present Mic’s grip is so loose that Katsuki could yank out of it if he wanted to, but he knows that that’s what Present Mic wants him to think. It's a trap, and if Katsuki tries to escape his punishment, everything will hurt even more when Present Mic catches up to him.

After a few seconds, Present Mic frowns and says, “Bakugou, you’re shaking.”

Every moment feels like the moment before the pain comes, and the worst part, he thinks, is the waiting. He knows that he’s about to get hurt. He just doesn’t know when. Katsuki tries to answer, tries to apologize, but all that comes out of his mouth is a strangled sob.

Present Mic’s eyebrows shoot up. “Are you hurt somewhere else?” he asks, sounding frantic and worried. “Bakugou?”

His grip tightens, just a little, and Katsuki’s mind goes blank. The fear that rushes through him knocks the world off-kilter. He hears himself scream out, “SORRY!” and only knows that he’d been yelling by the way his throat feels like it's been ripped to shreds. He bursts into tears again and doesn’t even realize it until he feels them dripping down his cheeks, and he wants to run away, wants to hide, but that’ll just make everything so much worse. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m really sorry, please don’t -” He takes a gasping, heaving breath. When he speaks, his voice comes out thin and weak, “My arm -”

Present Mic lets go of him so fast that Katsuki flinches, scrambling away and shoving his back against the wall. Which is fucking stupid, because he’s just cornered himself. He digs his nails into his palms and tries to calm down, but he can’t, and he’s crying so hard that he feels like his chest might crack open.

Present Mic says, “Oh.” He looks down at his hands and then looks at Katsuki. “Bakugou, did you think that I was going to…” Behind his glasses, his eyes go wide. “Holy shit, did you think I was going to break your arm?” His voice gets louder as he says, “Did you think I asked you for your arm so that I could break it?”

“I’m sorry,” Katsuki says. He’s so fucking stupid. He always ruins things for himself. He thought that Present Mic wanted to break his arm and now he’s mad at him for thinking that and Katsuki doesn’t know what to do. He has so many things to apologize for that he doesn’t know which one to pick. He clutches his arm to his chest and feels his own blood on his fingers and that just makes him cry even harder. “I didn’t - I thought -”

“You thought that I was going to…” Present Mic’s voice trails off. He sounds sick. “You thought that I was going to break your arm. You thought that I was going to break your fucking arm -”

Katsuki opens his mouth to apologize again, but no words come out. His vision blurs and blurs until Present Mic is nothing but a smear of color. He can feel his mother’s fingers around his wrist and she’d been shaking him and she hadn’t meant to go that far, that’s what his father said, but she never said that she was sorry. She left that to him. She leaves all the bad stuff for Katsuki to deal with and takes all the good things for herself and she shows him off to her friends because he has good grades and a great Quirk and he’s going to be a hero when he grows up, aren’t you, Katsuki?, and that’s why she does this, to make him better, to make him stronger, and he knows that, he knows, but everything hurts so much.

Katsuki feels trembling fingers pry his hand open. He blinks away enough tears that he can see Present Mic trying to get him to stop digging his nails into his skin. He hadn’t even realized that he’d been clawing at himself again. “It's okay,” he hears Present Mic say. “It's okay, just - just let go, Katsuki, please -”

Katsuki manages to ask, “Are you mad at me?”

“No, no, no,” Present Mic says, shaking his head. “Nobody is mad at you. I’m not going to hurt you, please, Katsuki, you’re bleeding -” He finally loosens Katsuki’s grip and lets out a ragged breath, saying, “There we go.”

“Sorry,” Katsuki chokes out. The smell of blood makes his stomach lurch, and he doesn’t want to look down in fear that he’ll actually throw up. He guesses that it's a good thing that he’s in the nurses’ office and not in a classroom or something, but it feels like his arm has been ripped open and it hurts so much and he did it to himself so maybe he deserves it. “I don’t know why - I don’t - I -” The door opens and both of them flinch. Eraserhead starts, “Hizashi -” and then stops, staring. He’s silent for a moment, then shakes his head and goes to the cabinet above the sink, pulling down a box of badages. He takes out a roll of gauze and walks to the cot that Katsuki is on, saying, “I’m just going to stop the bleeding,” before taking Katsuki’s arm and pressing a wad of gauze to what looks like the deepest cut, a bloody trench ripped down from his elbow to his wrist.

Katsuki flinches in pain, screwing his eyes shut as he tries to take steady breaths. He feels someone rubbing his back and finds that he wants to both lean into and away from the touch. He tries to ignore the murmured conversation he can hear taking place over his head, tries to focus on the pain pulsing through his arm and his head and his chest, but his ears catch on the word stitches and he almost wants to cry again. Which is stupid. He’s stupid. He’s being stupid, crying so much over something like this. It doesn’t even hurt that much, and, even if it did, it’d still be his fault.

“You’re alright,” somebody says. “You’re going to be alright, I promise. Just hold on, and it’ll be over before you know it.”

It's never over, Katsuki wants to say, but he doesn’t have the strength to speak. It keeps going and going and it doesn’t stop. He doesn’t say that. He doesn’t say any of that. He just keeps his eyes closed, focuses on the pain of his arm, and lets the entire world slip away.

#de-aged bakugou week 2023 #day five: evil-doers #the evil-doers are mitsuki and masaru obvs #boku no hero academia #bakugou katsuki #present mic #eraserhead #midnight bnha #shinsou hitoshi #tw: abuse #tw: ed #fic #guys #my fucking internet cut out #like. my networks disappeared completely from the listing??#idk why #i paid the bill??#someone help lmao #my posts

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benbamboozled · 1 year

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BENBAMBOOZLED’S JASON TODD (mostly smutty) ONE-SHOT REC LIST EXTRAVAGANZA!!!

Omg I actually did it!

As per a request from @disniq that actually was an ask that I will put up when this is posted—my rec list of (mostly) smutty one-shots that is NOTICEABLY LONGER than my other fic rec list, heh.

So, before I get into it—cards on the table…

In the interest of limiting any possible controversy—because I’m just here to have a good time—my personal parameters as I went through all of my fave Jason Todd fics to create this particular rec list were:

-No Batcest (or whatever I think counts these days…I honestly can’t keep up and I don’t care to.)

-No noncon (however you can pry dubcon from my cold dead hands)

-No underage (whiiiich p. much takes out all my Robins-as-Robin recs)

-Nothing that I will personally define as “really weird” (and you can just use your imagination there)

Please keep in mind that a whole lotta good fic and a lot of my faves had to be left off of this particular rec list due to those parameters.

Okay, so…what’s left, HA! Welp, that’s what I’ve cobbled together here! There are a few non-smutty ones sprinkled in because I just liked them, but for the most part these are…yeah, they’re smut.

MIND THE TAGS. I know you all get that, but I still need to put up the disclaimer.

If you like any of these, pleeeease drop a comment on the fic! Doesnt matter if it seems like the author might not be in the fandom anymore—it’s still nice to see your work was enjoyed by someone! (I got a really nice comment a few months ago on a one-shot I wrote MORE THAN A DECADE AGO and it made my friggin year.)

(And if you don’t like ‘em…that’s fine but you’re wrong…but it’s fine…but you’re wrong.)

NOW…without further ado…your rec list!

A Stitch In Time

—BearlyWriting

—Rated E

—Jason Todd/Clark Kent

—Summary (abridged): “Jason is dying again, his throat slit open by the man who’s supposed to be his father. This time, lying in the rubble of an explosion, he calls Superman instead.”

https://archiveofourown.org/works/33371341

these games we play

—forestgreen

—Rated E

—Apollo/Midnighter/Jason Todd/Slade Wilson, Jason Todd/Slade Wilson, Jason Todd/Midnighter, Jason Todd/Apollo

—Summary: “Something warm unfurls inside of Jason. It takes him a moment to realize what it is: trust.”

(OKAY MIND THE TAGS ON THIS ONE. Like, all of the recs, obviously, but ESPECIALLY this one.)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/41939268

replace the feathers in our vests

—Gen

—likewinning

—Summary: “Bruce Wayne was actually a crimelord; the Robins were all boys who met on the street and were adopted as his ‘sons’; finally, Dick grabs his little brothers and runs. Written for Comment Fic.”

https://archiveofourown.org/works/3239156

funambulism

—mici (nobarlembeat)

—Rated T

—Technically tagged as JayDick BUT Dick is Renegade and there’s not a whole lot of shippiness in it so I’m adding it.

—Summary: “Talia has one last teacher before she funds Jason to return to Gotham, and that teacher has only one thing to teach him.

Or that's what Jason thinks.”

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28230840

catch a tiger by the

—mici (noharlembeat)

—Rated E

—Ra’s al Ghul/Jason Todd, Tiger King of Kandahar/Jason Todd, Tiger King of Kandahar/Jason Todd/Ra’s Al Ghul

—Summary: “It begins with a shadow and a stalking; it ends with an offer to become a triple-agent.

Or: Tiger meets an infuriating assassin, who offers him an infuriating deal. He wouldn't be so infuriating if his mouth wasn't so pretty.”

https://archiveofourown.org/works/31404734?view_adult=true

there’s something better wrong with you

—noctiphany

—Rated E

—Jason Todd/Midnighter (Jaynighter? Hoodnighter?)

—Summary: “Why are the tragic ones always so fucking pretty?”

https://archiveofourown.org/works/6148897

Seeds of Redemption

—Scandalsavage

—Rated E

—Arkham-verse, Jay/Bane

—Summary: “After Jason's brief tenure as the Arkham Knight, he tries to make up for his actions by fighting the crime and corruption of Gotham as the Red Hood.

On a recon mission to observe Black Mask, Jason runs into one of his old torturers and discovers he's not the only one looking to atone.”

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21814987?view_adult=true

Shameless

—scandalsavage

—Rated T

—Kon-el/Jason Todd (mentioned Bart/Tim)

—Summary: “Kon has a one-track mind.”

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32273284

Don’t let your yearnings get ahead of your earnings

—Skalidra

—Rated T

—Jason Todd/Slade Wilson (Hoodstroke)

—Summary: "Slade."

The tension that draws Todd up a little is interesting, as is his immediate, "As in Wilson?"

Slade quirks an eyebrow, watching the side of the kid's face. "Heard of me, hm?"

"Yeah," Todd says, after a couple seconds, "once or twice." Then, quieter and with more feeling, "Fuck."”

https://archiveofourown.org/works/20909573/chapters/49706528

In the corner of his eye

—Skalidra

—Rated T

—Technically tagged JayTim but it’s not like super shippy (also it’s Talon!Jay, so).

—Summary: “For weeks, Tim's been seeing a shadow in the corner of his eye. Just barely there, and he struggles to catch it for more than a moment, or identify it. Then, things start showing up in his apartment; small gifts, with no clue as to who's left them. Tim's determined though; he's going to find out who it is.”

https://archiveofourown.org/works/9794663

And there you have it!

#fic rec list #Jason Todd #a lot of rare pairs that don’t have cool names yet.#or they do and I don’t know them.#I’m gonna go with hoodnighter and hoodstroke #Clark Kent #Midnighter #Slade Wilson #Tiger King of Kandahar #it’s also possible that I forgot to add some…I think I did pretty good though!#my secret rec list is a helluva lot longer.#🤫#thank you dis for pushing me to make this!#at least I get to pimp some Jay rare pairs!#why yes I *did* put a lot of work in this post that will likely be seen by like 5 people max.

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