#We never get that time back. We already work long hours for frankly less pay than you’d expect for someone saving lives

[aspiringhorrorauthor]

Just read a post about how you shouldn’t trust a doctor who rushes you and like, yes I fully understand the frustration, so here’s what you can do to stop yourself being rushed:

-ask for a double appointment

-ask for a triple appointment

-fuck it ask for an hour long appointment if you think it’ll help

-be outright about what you want/need from an appointment. If you need more time to process information, say that. If you need the doctor to write out all information, say that. If you have a complex case/long history, say that!

-list all the reasons why you want to see the doctor/vet that day and please don’t sugar coat it. “Been vomiting” is a ten minute fix. “Been vomiting after every meal for the past two years” is not. It needs a double appointment and possibly a referral too.

Doctors and vets are overworked to fuck and exploited to hell. Help us out a little, please

[thephooka]

Happy Webcomic Day! My webcomic White Noise is a labor of love--according to Procreate, this page took me 15.5 hours to complete.* Here's a look into that process!

Some other notes:

The thumbnails are done on graph paper and I script while I do them--there is no separate written script for White Noise. I usually spent a couple hours on weekends as needed thumbnailing, sometimes at a coffee shop or at home listening to records.

I then set up the file in Photoshop, so I can lay in the text and use the template I have with bleeds already set up. The text is rasterized and I shuttle the file over to my iPad via Airdrop.

The bulk of the actual work is done in Procreate, which records timelapses that I sometimes share to my Patreon. I usually spend a couple hours most nights after my day job or on the bus commuting doing this.

Once everything art-wise is done, I shuttle the file back over to my desktop to re-set in the text, add a stroke around the speech bubbles (Procreate doesn't have that took fsr) and do the resizing/exporting for web.

On Sunday mornings I get up, queue the page and write the page descriptions. I don't spend any time on the page descriptions outside of that.

Also, this process goes for the whole first arc of White Noise. I'm done with that arc (which means you can binge the whole thing I'm js!!) and am experimenting with some different methods these days, but my workflow is still generally the same.

*Some more talk about the labor (and burnout) involved below the cut:

This particular page (and most of the pages I did in 2023) took a lot longer than normal because I was heading into a burnout period that I'm still lowkey in/recovering from. It's obvious to me now in retrospect watching the timelapse here and seeing how much noodling I'm doing and how much I'm struggling with the process, but at the time I was just very frustrated generally. When I'm not burned tf out pages take maybe 10 hours max.

2023 was a pretty stressful year--lots of big life changes, uncertainty, pet death, health issues--so it's no wonder it propelled me into burnout, but it just goes to show that even the slowest and steadiest pace is not sustainable forever. I've been doing one page a week following this general process for over a decade! And I stuck to that pace because I knew it was one I could maintain. But even so, by the end of this arc I found myself working more and more slowly, not really looking forward to the work, feeling anxious about being behind, unhappy with the finished work, and extremely annoyed with myself for not being able to give it my all right there at the finish line.

I did stop for a while after the epilogue and took a more or less complete break from drawing for about a month--the longest I have EVER gone without drawing, much less working on White Noise--which did help, but these days my ability to work is...inconsistent. I should probably take another total break, but I'm reluctant. What if my passion never comes back? What if people forget about WN? It's already pretty obscure, and with the general social media collapse, it's harder than ever to get people to read my work. Now that I've left Hiveworks, WN doesn't even get the benefit of being linked to other comics (although objectively very, very few readers actually got referred to my comic that way.) And frankly, I'm also just too proud to go too long without comic updates. I've always told myself, I might not be the best artist or the fastest worker or make a popular comic, but I'm consistent. Difficult to let that go.

This is all to say that webcomics are hard. We do them because we love them, we have stories to tell, we are seized with the human compulsion to create. We spend hours of our time, almost always on top of the paying work that allows us to eat, to make something that we then give away for free. It has consequences on us that the reader doesn't often see, no matter how careful we are about it. If you ask me, webcomics deserve to be valued more.

Happy Webcomic Day! Read webcomics!

[thechronicmasochist]

Onlyfans Hurts Sex Workers, and I’m Stepping Back from it.

December 29, 2021 by lavenderlust

This is an audio transcript from an announcement clip filmed 12/28/21, which you can find on my free onlyfans profile here.

Hi! Lavender here. Uhm, I’m just going to speak candidly, frankly. I did make some notes but for the most part I’m just going to talk.

So I have been making and selling porn for four and a half years now. I began by selling clips on Tumblr independently, and after a year of that I started off on my first clip site, Manyvids. At the time, I was working full-time as a caregiver so I could kinda just release clips at my leisure when I felt like it and when I made them, no big deal. Any extra money was just extra money and it was super appreciated, but I had regular income.

In 2019 I had a medical emergency and I was both forced to and privileged enough to be able to take a leave of absence from work. The COVID pandemic began just as I had started to get back out there looking for new jobs. I filmed with a well-known BDSM studio called INSEX at that time. I filmed with them twice, but they’ve shut down entirely due to COVID.

I signed up to Onlyfans in July of 2019 despite my hesitation. I really didn’t want to, but I did. Sales on clip sites had become really scarce, I was never really any good at camming. I’m not consistent, and I’m autistic. Communicating person to person is not really my thing. The idea of selling so much content for one low subscription price though, it didn’t appeal to me so I put it off and put it off until July of 2019.

I didn’t start to use Onlyfans consistently until well after COVID began, and I only began using it out of desperation. I’m immuno-compromised, so it was never an option for me to just go find another job. In fact, it’s still not even though I am fully vaccinated and have had a booster because it’s spreading among the vaccinated really quickly and I cannot afford to develop long COVID. I already have disabilities.

I threw myself into Onlyfans like it was a life raft. I wasn’t very hopeful, but I was super determined, which is very like me. However, the pressure to post content every single day, it’s unavoidable. You think that you can avoid that pressure but the reality is that if you don’t meet those standards you won’t have a consistent fan base. Subscribers on this platform specifically want consistency, want 24/7 availability. And that’s not a good way for anyone to live, and it’s really not a good way for me to live.

Even when I took just a single day off I would lose subscribers, if I was sending pay-per-view messages I was losing subscribers. When I eventually decided to go to no pay-per-view but to raise my rates (from $5/month to $12/month) I lost the bulk of my subscribers. There are a handful of you who have consistently and respectfully supported me and I appreciate you so much. I really, really do. But you’re the minority.

Onlyfans turned the independent porn community into a rat race. When I began creating porn the industry was made up of queer, disabled creators and artists who had turned to sex work as a way to maintain their own schedule. It offered flexibility. If we had the energy to create, then we did. But if we didn’t have the energy to film something new, we could advertise the content we had already created and often that was enough. We could do that until we were ready to film again.

Our time meant something. We weren’t expected to respond to our fans 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. We weren’t expected to monetize and sexualize every aspect of our lives (although, admittedly many of us did.) For me, a fifteen minute clip was worth $10. Now I post at least six of those a month for a flat rate of $12. And most Onlyfans creators charge less.

Onlyfans isn’t healthy for me, or for the independent porn industry. It’s had benefits. Many performers who had been filming professional clips and were using agents were able to break out of abusive contracts thanks to being able to support themselves via Onlyfans. And that’s wonderful, we do need to get away from the predatory agency policy. Thousands of Onlyfans creators made a lot of fucking money. And that’s great for them! I’m very, very happy for them. But for every single porn creator who has made a lot of fucking money, there are a dozen creators just like me who are making scraps and working just as hard.

And furthermore, we shouldn’t have to work just as hard! This industry used to meet us at what we were capable of putting forward as opposed to working us to the bone. I need you to understand that it has not always been this way.

And alongside all of this, MasterCard and Visa have teamed up with a religious extremist organization and, with the help of the legislative branch, have been targeting and censoring and choking out porn.

In 2018 a bill called FOSTA/SESTA was packaged as a “bill to end trafficking”. However, the language of the bill was actually designed to criminalize sex work further, increase censorship on the internet, and more or less choke out porn. The bill was sponsored in part by the aforementioned christian religious extremist group called “Exodus Cry.” This led to the Tumblr porn ban, the closure of Backpage, the continued censorship on Instagram and Twitter and Tiktok and Tumblr and everywhere of sex workers who are deplatformed daily, and much worse consequences.

In October 2021 MasterCard and Visa rolled out new regulations for websites to follow in order to continue processing their payments. MasterCard and Visa have a monopoly over banking and debit cards in America (at least), and they can control the transactions, so the guidelines are unavoidable for these websites. Everything from blasphemy to fisting to things that don’t make any sense to age play, daddy kinks, you name it, it makes the list of things that aren’t allowed. Just aren’t allowed. Even between consenting adults. On top of that, the new regulations state that the sites are responsible to check every single piece of user-generated media and content, prior to it going live on their sites. That means that every video I post is supposed to be checked by a real person or by a machine that has been proven to be effective.

These new terms were supposed to go into place in October of 2021, which is why you saw the Onlyfans panic where they were going to remove porn from their website. However, MasterCard and Visa realized that they weren’t going to be able to implement these changes right away. Because, frankly, sites just don’t have the manpower. I’m not against making sure that content that’s not supposed to be on the internet isn’t on the internet. I am against expecting sites to be able to check every single video of every single user of a website. It’s just not possible. It’s not possible for twitter, and it’s not possible for Onlyfans.

MasterCard and Visa dialed back their roll-out because of the immediate panic regarding it, however I predict that when MasterCard and Visa start enforcing these new guidelines most subscription sites will ban porn.

I can’t keep playing the violin on the Titanic. I’m exhausted from trying to keep a “happy, horny face” forward so I don’t lose any sales. My creativity is stifled by the pressure to produce quantity over quality. The increasing financial discrimination I face is burying my hope.

So, I’m stepping back. I’m going to drop my price back down to $5/month, for now. I’ll post when I want to. I love making content, and I’m sure that I will continue to do so, but I’m not going to force myself to do it. I’m going to go live for a bit. I’ll likely be making more clips, but not right away. I’m going to write. I might spend some time behind the camera instead of in front of it. I’m going to make art, and make mistakes, and make changes, and learn things. And with any luck, there will still be people who support me in my endeavors. But at the end of the day I do always have people who support me in all of my endeavors and it’s time that I get the chance to go spend some time with them.

In spite of all the problems, I have had fun here on Onlyfans. Doing weekly Fetish Friday clips has pushed me and challenged me in so many different ways. I have met extremely kind people. I had a couple months where I really thought I was doing well, and I was so proud of that. I have kicked Halloween’s ass.

But, it’s time I treat myself the way that I deserve and this isn’t it for me. I tried, hard, and I’m proud of what I accomplished here. It’s just not the right fit for me.

Going forward, if you stick around, I promise that there will be beautiful things in the future. Because I love to make things. But if you don’t, I understand. And that’s okay! I strongly encourage you to follow me on my social media platforms and subscribe to my website so that when I do make moves you can see what happens, but there’s no pressure.

Again, thank you all, especially those of you who have overwhelmed me with your kindness and your support. Those of you who might be struggling in your own right but take money every month to send my way, trust me. That does not go unappreciated. I know times are really hard right now and any time someone chooses to support me, I don’t take that lightly. But right now, I need to support me. I don’t… I don’t want to keep doing this.

So, I’m really bad at fucking saying good-byes so this is me not saying good-bye. This is me saying I will see you when I’m ready. And when I have something to show you.

[scuttle-buttle]

Chapter 11

WC: 2077

Rated: E

Chapter Tags: full on angst, discussions of emotional trauma, mild depictions of blood/gore, mentions of self h*rm & su*cide, mentions of child abuse, discussions of physical disabilities, institutionalization, some dialogue & plot canon to TV show, hurt/comfort

🧠

The rest of the conference went by much like the first day did. Both you and Laszlo bought a few books for your collections. An ease had settled over your conversations with the help of Sara and John's presence; you spoke more freely with each other. You tell yourself it is not because he's going soft on you or vice versa, but rather that you have found yourself in this imaginary bubble where you happen to get on well. It's inevitable that it will pop once you’re back at school and Laszlo will revert back to his usual callous state.

Laszlo. It still felt odd to think of him like that, rather than by his title. You couldn't lie, it gave you a sort of thrill. Even in your dreams you had only called him by his honorific. Thankfully you didn't have another dream after Friday. You couldn't escape the feeling that you'd said something incriminating in front of the man in question. So you chose to pretend it didn't happen.

Monday morning came and you headed to the train station. Once again he had secured a private cabin for the journey. This time you came prepared with a book since you had yet to replace your broken phone.

"Thank you again for inviting me to this, I really enjoyed myself. It was really nice of the department to foot my travel expenses, the hotel was really fancy. I may have helped myself to a mini-bottle or two," you joked.

"There is no need to worry about the department's finances; they were not involved."

You pause. He paid for you? Laszlo did say he would take care of the arrangements; but the four-star hotel, the private compartment train tickets, the admission to the conference, and every meal? Shit, that must have been a fortune, hundreds of dollars at least.

You don't know what to say, so you settle for an awkward "oh." A moment passes before you add "I appreciate that, um, I can pay you back. Might take some time but I can."

The professor is flippant in his reply. "There is no need, it was well spent for the research and knowledge acquired." He opens his book signaling the conversation is over.

You lick your lips. Fine then, I'll just consider it payment for emotional suffering and damages of the last eight weeks.

The first few hours of the journey were spent reading one of the new books you picked up at the convention. Occasionally you would peek over the pages at the professor. He was engrossed in his own selection; sometimes he would pause to write down a thought.

Around the seventh hour of your journey you had given up on reading anymore in favor of looking at the fields outside. The silence was comforting.

Laszlo had trouble concentrating on the book in his hand. He saw you as a conundrum. One minute you could be sociable and teasing with your comments, then next you were biting at his throat with your quick wit and fierce ideals. He decides that he wants to know what made you into who you are today. Now is as good a time as any.

His eyes on you cause a tingle up your spine but you ignore it. Laszlo breaks the silence; "may I ask a personal question?"

"You just did," you answer, still peering out of the large window. He huffed once, amused. At his following silence you face him. You raise your eyebrows to signal him to go on with his question. Curiosity grows at the thought of what he intends to ask.

"Twice now you have made implications of a traumatic past," he begins.

Bubble popped.

Interrupting, you snark "is this the part where you psychoanalyze me, doc? Because trust me, I've been through enough of that." You pick at the lint on your jeans.

Laszlo tries to choose his words more carefully the next time he speaks. "What I mean to say is, the first afternoon in the classroom where you defended that student you implied you had been witness to a trauma. You then displayed signs of anger and embarrassment before leaving prematurely. Yesterday you mentioned having entered a psychiatric facility. As an alienist I can't help but find myself curious about your experiences."

You slide your eyes to meet his from across the cabin. Your face is devoid of any emotion. "We all have our demons. Even you can't argue with that."

Your jaw clenches. Everyone had warned you. They all said he would try to worm his way into your head to figure you out. All the reviews, the gossip, everything. It was a big fat 'I told you so'. You give a pitiful laugh at the situation. "You know, everyone told me that you would pull this stunt."

He seems confused by your statement. "And what is that?"

"That you'd get inside my head and try to figure me all out or whatever. You already know I googled you beforehand, what everyone says about your methods. By now I assume you've done a little research yourself. I promise you there is nothing exciting here," you scoff and point to yourself.

"You would be correct in your assumption." You chew at your cheek as he starts. "I do know some of what happened in your past. Yet I also know that society likes to dilute the truth into something either more palatable, more entertaining, for people to consume greedily. What I want to know is what you have faced. How you have not allowed the experience to overcome you so much so that your humanity is erased like the characters I lecture on."

Eyes closing of their own volition you are thrown back in time to that night so many years ago. You didn't talk about it anymore. Bitsy knew of course, but that was the extent.

Laszlo waits. He knows this is likely to push you over the edge if your history with him means anything. Quite frankly, anyone would be tossed to their limit at his interrogation had they gone through what you had. John always told him that he needed to work on his bedside manner; that he had a habit of coming on too strong in his pursuit of learning the intricacies of the human mind. But your earlier comment about being sent to a so-called 'nuthouse' rubbed him the wrong way. It left a bad taste in his mouth. He needed to know. He needed to understand.

Laszlo can imagine the reprimand that he would receive from John and Sara for this. Just as he considers apologizing for his intrusion you open your eyes.

"She was fine. None of us suspected anything was wrong. I came home from having dinner with some… boy, and she had locked herself in the bathroom. She- she must have started over the sink and moved to sit on the side of the tub. She was hunched inside it when I got the door open. I pulled her out. Blood was… everywhere." Your voice is clinical as you explain.

"After, I shut down. So I checked myself into a psych ward a few days later when I couldn't get the feel of her blood off my hands. It's slippery, you know. And it smells. You wouldn't think so but it does." You clear your throat. "I did the therapy, took the meds they prescribed, all the standard treatments. Later I started watching true crime documentaries. I'd heard about exposure therapy so I figured the more I saw the gore, the less the image of my dead roommate would bother me. And it did help. The nightmares stopped after a while, I came back to school. I was better, just not the same.” You had watched the passing landscape as you explained. Turning to face him you speak again. “That's why those pictures didn't bother me. They weren't anything I hadn't seen before."

He contemplates you. The discovery and subsequent loss of your friend in this manner would no doubt cause lingering effects to your psyche. A stain that would forever remind you. "I offer my sincerest condolences. I do not presume to know what that would be like to experience, but I am glad you sought help afterwards. To make the choice to alleviate yourself of your own suffering where possible.”

As he says this he realizes that your anger towards the idea of being enslaved to unconscious impulse makes perfect sense. It explains why you focused so much energy on defending your belief in free will. That you have the power to choose how you carry your joy, your anger, your healing. It reminds him of how he held onto his own guilt and hurt, ignoring how it festered within him for so long. He feels as though he needs to share a piece of himself with you.

“I played piano as a child, quite well too. My mother hoped I would someday make a career of it. I vividly remember playing Mozart’s Concerto for Piano No. 20 in D Minor at a holiday party when I was seven years old. It was my favorite to play.... It requires two hands." You finally look at him. "My father...” He pauses to gather himself.

Now it is the doctor that cannot meet your eyes. As you listen you feel your confusion grow. How could he have been a talented pianist if he only had full use of his left hand? Unless..., the realization dawns on you just as he continues, his words slow.

“My father had two sides. One loving and the other brutal, the two often coexisting. It was something as trivial as putting me to bed, I recall... A game of tug of war. We were laughing…” He inhales a sharp breath. Already you can feel the tears begin to blur your vision. “I don't remember if he was drunk or if I said something that offended him. He must have pulled my arm behind my back.” Laszlo exhales shakily. “In small children, fractures can often affect…” he trails off, unable to finish. You can hear how he barely holds himself together.

Your heart aches for the broken man that sits in front of you. He never let on how much his arm bothered him, at least not within your presence. Suddenly you don’t see him as this rude, insufferable, obsessive man, but instead as someone that spends his life trying to protect himself. He projects his own anger and hurt so that he may, just for a minute, forget about his own demons. He wants to help others even when he feels he cannot bear to help himself.

But unlike you, he has to live with the physical reminder of his past every day of his life.

You stand and move to sit on his right side. Before allowing yourself to think too much of your actions, you place your hand atop his own, curling your fingers around his palm and squeezing delicately. You don’t bother wiping away the tears on your cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Laszlo;” the whisper is barely heard above the sound of the train. A second passes where you fear you have overstepped and offended him by touching the affected limb. When his thumb tightens against the backs of your fingers you know he is not. He holds you in place.

“You asked me how I kept my humanity. How does anyone really? We learn to take what we get and we carry it in a bag. Sometimes you have to drag the damn thing behind you. But eventually the weight gets less and less if you allow yourself to move forward, even if it’s still there with you all the time. I dealt with what happened years ago and it does still haunt me. It’s easier now than it was, but… I- I suppose I’ve learned from you too. Sitting in those lectures and hearing you talk. We can either let it haunt us for the rest of our lives… or we can accept it… and use the memory of our pain to help ourselves and others.”

“I’m not sure the choice is entirely in our hands.” His tone is mournful.

You turn to smile at him through your tears. His own eyes are bloodshot. “I disagree. If it weren’t, if we didn’t have the freedom to choose that, we’d all be murderers.”

Tag list

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[hotshotsxyz]

fundamental pieces

buddie (1.6k) (read it on AO3)

Eddie’s knees hit the ground with a dull thud that he doesn’t feel.

He doesn’t feel anything, actually. He can’t. Because if he feels something, he’s going to feel everything, and if he feels everything, he’s going to come apart at the seams.

He can’t look away from the smoldering pile of rubble in front of him. Dimly, he’s aware that there are other people around, people who could be hurt, people who might need his help. He’s frozen, though. Stuck on his knees, might as well be fossilized in amber.

Buck.

Buck is—

Fuck, Eddie can’t even bring himself to think it. The house was standing and now it’s not. The ground was stable and then it wasn’t. Buck was—

And now he’s not.

The flashing lights from the fire engine cast strange moving shadows across the debris. Eddie tracks each one of them, unable to stop himself. It can’t have been more than a minute — the dust from the collapse still lingers heavily in the air, and no one’s started shouting orders yet — but time is stretching and folding in on itself and Eddie’s pretty sure he’s going to be stuck in this moment for the rest of his life.

And then, his radio crackles to life.

“Buckley to 118, I could use a little help down here.”

Eddie can’t help the wounded noise that falls from his lips. His entire body sags, a marionette with strings cut.

He allows himself a count of three, then stumbles to his feet. Buck needs him. He shoves the past few minutes in a box he knows he’ll never want to open again. Buck needs him.

The next half hour is a blur filled with structural engineers and thermal cameras and half hearted jokes over the radio. Buck’s okay, just trapped in a pocket beneath one of the house’s sturdier beams.

It’s maddening, knowing that Buck is less than a hundred yards away and not being able to get to him. Eddie feels trapped in his own skin. He wants to say to hell with it and just start digging, but the engineers say that any wrong move could collapse the bubble that Buck’s in. So he clenches his jaw and waits.

His radio crackles again. “Hey Eddie?”

Eddie fumbles to press the button down so he can respond. “Buck? What’s wrong?” Eddie can hear the tension in his own voice, barely covering the panic that lies beneath.

“I’m fine,” Buck answers immediately. “I just… never mind. It’s stupid.”

“Tell me what it is,” Eddie says, as soft as he can manage right now.

There’s a long pause. “Can you talk to me?” Even over the radio, Buck’s voice sounds small.

Eddie lets out a breath. “Yeah, Buck, I can do that. What do you want to talk about?”

“What, uh, what’s Christopher doing at school this week?”

Eddie knows damn well Buck already knows the answer to that question, but he indulges it anyway, telling Buck about the history fair coming up and the diorama Chris wants to build.

“I’m pretty sure he’s going to conscript you for that one,” Eddie chuckles. It’s a little forced, but it’s the best he can do under the circumstances.

“Well someone’s got to help him with the papier-mâché, and we both know it’s not going to be you,” Buck says.

“Hey!” Eddie says, mock-affronted. “I helped on the last one! With the solar system?”

“Eds, you popped the balloon before the sun was dry. It looked like a weird yellow raisin.” The amusement in Buck’s voice is good to hear.

He’s about to defend himself when Bobby claps him on the shoulder. “We’re moving in,” he says. “Let Buck know.”

Eddie swallows. “Buck? Still there?” It’s a stupid question. Nothing’s changed in the last 30 seconds, but waiting for Buck’s response still feels like standing on a precipice.

“Nowhere else to go,” Buck confirms.

“We’re on our way to you,” Eddie says roughly.

“Roger,” Buck replies. “What do you need me to do?”

“Just hang tight and keep your helmet on straight,” Bobby says.

“You got it, Cap.”

—

Digging through the rubble is delicate, and frankly terrifying, work. They’ve got airbags holding up the points that the engineers identified as load bearing, but every time something in the structure shifts, Eddie’s breath catches. Eventually, though, they’ve got a path cleared right up to where Buck should be.

“Nash to Buckley,” Bobby says into his radio.

“I read you, Cap.”

“We’re right on top of you. Keep your face covered and don’t try to help.”

Eddie swears he can hear the cheeky smile Buck must be wearing when he says, “No help from me, got it.”

It’s another agonizing ten minutes, then finally, finally, Eddie’s got one of Buck’s hands clasped in his, and he’s pulling him from the house’s crumbled remains.

“Shit,” Buck says, surveying the damage. “You must’ve thought—“

Eddie unintentionally tightens his grip on Buck’s hand. It’s the opposite of what he should be doing, but he can’t let go. Buck squeezes back.

“I’m fine, Eds,” he says softly.

And Eddie knows, he does, but he’s not going to believe it until he’s checked every inch of him over himself.

—

“Thank you,” Buck says, out of the blue.

It’s a few hours later, and they’re back at the station. As intense as the call had been, Buck had gotten out of it without a scrape, so they’re all still on duty.

“For what?” Eddie asks.

Everyone else is asleep, so it’s just the two of them sprawled out on the loft’s couch. There’s some nature documentary playing on the TV, but Eddie’s fairly certain neither of them is watching it.

“For distracting me. Earlier, I mean. I, uh. It helped.”

Eddie gives up his pretense of paying attention to the hyenas on the screen and turns to look at Buck.

“I’m just glad you’re okay,” he whispers. It gives away far too much, but he’s so far past the point of worrying about that.

Buck swallows heavily, like he’s heard everything that Eddie didn’t mean to reveal with those five words. He shifts until he’s pressed against Eddie, ankle to shoulder.

“I was scared,” Buck admits, toying with the sleeve of the LAFD hoodie he’s wearing. Eddie wants to take his hand all over again.

“I thought—“ Eddie can’t bring himself to finish the sentence. “I was scared, too,” he says instead.

Buck looks at him. He bites his lower lip and frowns. “I just kept thinking that I didn’t want to tell you over the radio,” he sighs finally.

“Tell me what?” Eddie asks.

Buck looks away again. He’s starting to hunch in on himself the way he does when he’s feeling vulnerable. Eddie gives into his earlier urge and takes Buck’s hand in his own.

“Whatever it is,” Eddie says softly, “you can tell me. I promise.”

Buck’s eyes shoot back up to Eddie’s, searching. Whatever he’s looking for, he must find.

“I love you,” he says simply.

He can’t mean it the way Eddie wants him to. The way Eddie’s wanted him to for months, years probably. He squeezes Buck’s hand tighter for want of words.

“I’m in love with you,” Buck clarifies. “I just… couldn’t not tell you.” His expression is almost resigned.

Eddie’s frozen all over again, but this time he let’s himself feel it all. Because Buck’s okay. Buck’s sitting right in front of him. Buck loves him.

“Evan,” Eddie breathes, unable to keep the name from slipping between his lips.

The resignation on Buck’s face shifts to hope, and he holds Eddie’s gaze. Lit by the blue glow of the television, he’s never looked more beautiful.

Eddie can’t wait another second. He ducks forward and brushes a feather light kiss across Buck’s lips. His intention is to lean back, to assess Buck’s reaction, but then Buck makes a strangled noise and surges forward, capturing Eddie’s mouth with his own.

The hand that isn’t otherwise occupied lifts of its own accord to cup Buck’s jaw. Buck’s free hand fists in the material of Eddie’s uniform. It’s like no kiss Eddie’s experienced before, fire and passion underlined by aching tenderness, and over all too soon.

Eddie leans his forehead against Buck’s breathing harshly.

“Fuck, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” Buck pants.

“I think I might,” Eddie says.

Buck pulls back, just far enough to look Eddie in the eye. “You…”

Eddie wants to laugh. Even after that, of course Buck’s still not sure. Eddie’s not one for speeches, but Buck… Buck deserves to know exactly what he means to him. “Earlier, when I thought… it was like the whole world stopped. And I didn’t want it to start again, because I was terrified it’d be starting without you. I can’t do any of this without you. I don’t want to. I’ve been in love with you for so long it’s a fundamental part of who I am.”

It’s Buck’s turn to freeze.

“I love you,” Eddie says. He squeezes Buck’s hand.

The soft pressure must break him out of his stupor, because he lunges at Eddie again, this time throwing his arms around Eddie’s neck and burying his face in his shoulder. Eddie wraps his arms around Buck’s waist and buries his nose in Buck’s hair.

“I love you,” he whispers again, just because he can.

—

Bobby finds them the next morning, tangled together on the couch and snoring softly. He smiles, and resolves to make breakfast quietly.

[tendousthoughts]

Hewo! I saw that your requests are open and I really love your “hq boys calling their s/o clingy” series and I was wondering if you could do one with Akaashi, Tendou and Kenma? You don’t have to if you don’t want to! Bye and I hope you have a great day!

HQ Boys Calling Their S/O Clingy Pt. 4

Character(s) Included: Akaashi, Tendō, & Kenma

Warning(s): Foul Language (Cursing), Tendō grabbed your wrist hard.

A/N: Okay, so here goes pt 4! I’m sorry it took so long! I have a bunch of projects to do this week so I’m trying to finish them. To the author of this request, I’m so glad you enjoyed my series! Also, don’t worry about it, I’m glad to do it! Reblogs, follows, and likes are greatly appreciated! If you wanna rp please contact me! This might be the last part but the next series will be out soon! [hq boys thinking you left them after an argument!] If you have any requests please read my rules first! For my final notes, please if you just wanna chat and stuff my anon is on, character anons would be fun just to talk to, or emoji anons so you can stay hidden but I know that it is the same person lmao!

Song of the day: We Are The Crystal Gems - Steven Universe [btw I cried twice this week and both times this song made me stop soo perfect song to listen to!]

Where to find all the parts

Where to find all my content

Credit: @/teesumu

Akaashi

He was doing his work when you came up to him. He was tired and you could tell so you tried your best not to annoy him, but you saw him less and less so you felt lonely. Needing comfort you went to him.

“Baby.. are you almost rea-” he cuts you off before you can finish.

“Y/n not right now please..” He mumbled typing.

“Sorry I just wanted to know when we will be heading out for the date..?” You mumble.

“Can’t do today sorry,” he continued to type away.

“But you bailed for the last two week.. and you promised,” you whine softly.

“Stop acting like a child, please I need to finish my work. I can’t do today and I couldn’t do the last two weeks, get over it.” He hummed as he pressed enter crossing something off of this list of things.

“Can we cuddle for a bit then..?” You whispers

“Y/n are you just trying to be the most fucking clingy person in the world?” He finally looks up. “I don’t need you to go all childish with me right now, okay?” He started to raise his voice. “Your not that fucking important to be honest. You do nothing, you’re always at home whining or clinging or bothering me! I have to make the fucking money because your ‘job’ isn’t paying much.” He turned away.

You walk out closing the door crying softly. You call up Bokuto and his partner wondering if they want to hang out.

When you get to the restaurant they are there and you change how many people sitting down you guys laugh and just hang out in general. You’re extremely happy and they can see it, everyone can. Maybe it is because the relationship your in doesn’t really feel like a relationship..

“Okay well talk to you later..” you smile as you head to your car.

When you got home it was late. You rush in worried you’ll wake him so you head to the spare room. About twenty minutes later.

Knock

Knock

Knock

“Y..y/n?” He sniffles.

You pretend to be asleep as he walks in tears are flowing downs his cheeks as he takes in a deep breath of relief. He sits on the bed and just holds you for a minute. “Thank god your back... I’m sorry.. I know you’re asleep but I’m sorry.. I fucked up and you are not clingy and I missed you and I shouldn’t have said that. I was annoyed and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.. I’m sorry.. I’m so sorry,” he whispered. He lays down next to you sniffing softly.

“Keiji... it is okay don’t worry,” you mumble softly like you might have just woke up. You wrap your arms around him tightly combing through his hair comforting him. “It will be okay I got you.. you can sleep now I got you..”

“Y..y/n I thought you left for good I’m sorry I shouldn’t have done that I am sorry I am sorry...” he continues to whisper clutching onto your clothes, “I yelled at you for no reason and when I went to say sorry you were gone and..”

You kiss his cheek, “relax baby it will be okay..”

Tendō

When you walked in, Tendō was already making jokes about you. You were just there to surprise him but, maybe you were being way too sensitive or maybe he was being oddly mean. Then he said it.. the one fucking thing your extremely insecure about, “ no seriously,” he laughed a bit before continuing, “she never fucking let’s go of me. She is amazingly clingy, like lice when you have them there are only two ways to get them out. Pull them out which takes hours, or just shave your head.” He laughed with his team.

Your eyes filled with tears.. you muttered under your breath, “I’m sorry..” before leaving. He didn’t know you were there and quite frankly you didn’t wanna be there anymore.

When he got home you were already packing. “Hey baby..?” He called out. No response. Walking over he saw tears in your eyes while you packed more of your stuff. “Where are you going, my paradise?”

You laugh to yourself, trying to fill the scar that he left. You were more then just fucking lice you were his fucking partner. “I think..” you mumble not strong enough to say if you get up. “My stuff will be out by tomorrow. I just need to call a few people and pack a few more things before I leave. If you don’t mind.. I’ll stay on the couch you won’t have to worry.” You mumble before getting up.

“Wait what?” He follows you as you go to the next room. “Why are you leaving?” You start to pack more. He grabbed your wrist. Hard. Then freezes when he sees the pure fear in your eyes. “Fuck. I’m sorry” he lets you go, you look away now crying again. “Y/n.. I’m sorry please look at me.”

You look over, “mhm..?” Your voice is shaky, you have your legs and arms closer to you then usual. You seem.. uncomfortable.. scared like you are too worried about something.

“Hey baby..” he slowly looked down at the box. “Can you tell me what you’re doing?” He bit his lip.

“Moving.” You answer before leaving.

The night was cold without you by his side. He tried to think about what he might have done or why you were hurt but every time he tried to think about it.. he felt terrible.

When the morning can you were already packing, he had tears in his eyes as he walked over.. “please don’t leave me.. I’m sorry.. please,” he whispered looking at your back.

You snap.. “your sorry? You don’t even fucking remember yesterday do you! Seriously, how much do you say shit about me, that you can’t remember laughing to your colleagues about how much I cling to you? YOU RELATED ME TO FUCKING LICE! HOW FUCKING DARE YOU NOW COME BACK AND SAY HOW MUCH YOU WANT ME TO STAY.” You took a deep breath wiping your tears.

“What..?” He looked shocked.

“Oh now you want to play dumb?” You wiped your tears, “I’m smarter than you think..”

“I’m so sorry.. please let’s just talk..?” He whispered

“Talk? Talk?! You wanna talk now?” You looked at him, “isn’t that what we are doing? But soon I’m leaving so I guess we got to wrap this up.”

“I was stupid. I am stupid. I am an ass. I wanted to be part of their stupid group, and I thought that would get me in. They were all talking about how annoying their partners and I thought that I could be part of something. But you heard and fucked everything up. I am stupid and dumb and I hurt you and I shouldn’t have. Now I’m the idiot crying for you back when I fucked up. I could’ve just shut up I could of just stay in my own area but I fuck it up. I always fuck it up. You’re not clingy and I feel disgusted that I referred to you as lice, not to mention call you that. It shouldn’t have happened and I’m sorry..” He was crying hard.

“W..we can talk about this I think... just for now let’s lay down..” you held him carrying his to your room. He looked like a mess. You held him tight.

“Y/n... I love you..” he mumbled holding on tight, hopeful that you might say it back.

“I love you too, Tendō..” you whisper, kissing his head.

Kenma

“Hey baby it is getting late be you should get ready for bed..” you smile walking in noticing he is on a livestream.

“Can you stop bugging me?” Kenma mumbled a bit. “FUCK ON MY LEFT! MY LEFT!” He screamed. He hit his head. Turning towards you, annoyed.

“I’m sorry..” you mumble.

“No, no it is always okay when you come into my room when I’m doing something! I mean really it is okay to not listen and fuck up so much,” he said sarcastically.

“I didn’t mean too.. I just thought you should sleep..” he mumbled.

You leave the room crying making your way to the guest bedroom.

An hour or two later he had come out of his gaming room tired and ready to snuggle with you. “Babe..?” He looked around.

You were asleep in the other room so when he came in he was relieved to find you there. He tapped your shoulder softly, “babe..?” He mumbled.

You moved over letting him in. Falling asleep with his arms around you.

In the morning you wake up first to make breakfast for yourself and when he comes out he sees you cleaning clearly you had just finished a meal. “Morning..” he mumbled. No reply.

You walk past him with no reply, and you do that all day. Ignoring him and not responding. Finally he had enough. “Y/n.. please stop ignoring me..”

You ignore him then you hear soft sniffles. Turning around you see him crying. “What? Can we talk later?”

“But I wanna hang out please..” he mumbled.

“Can you do something useful and just stop being stop fucking clingy?” You reply, words hurting like knives.

Finally he realizes, “I’m sorry.. I was playing and my teammate wasn’t doing anything and then you came in, and I took it out on you when I shouldn’t have.” He looked up. “You are the best thing that has happened to me and I shouldn’t treat you like that..” he sniffs.

“Come here..” you open up the blanket him gliding in. You hold him softly rubbing his back. “You can’t do that to me.. I was just trying to help and it isn’t fair to me.. so please don’t, okay..? You weren’t on mute and everyone heard you yelling at me, and that is just embarrassing for me. To be ridiculed in front of everyone. I felt like you didn’t want me, okay? So please don’t do that, and I’m sorry for not checking before coming in. I should’ve not bugged you when you were playing.”

“Okay.. I’m sorry and I won’t ever do that again.. I love you..” he mumbled softly.

“I love you to babe..” you rub his back slowly he stops crying and falls asleep, and you follow after.

Follows and likes are appreciated! Please reblog if you enjoyed it so more people can find my work! Thank you all for your support! Stay safe, and have a good rest of your day!

[woeisme-iamwoe]

an absolutely massive Haikyuu!! fic rec pt. 3

KageHina AND KuroKen because I’m very picky with these ships so there’s not a lot :/ 

KageHina:

The Cure for You (is You), by tsunderei (6k. T. canonverse) 

Brooo...cute shit

Kageyama knew they would separate after graduation. He knew he was going to miss Hinata. He just didn’t know he’d still be here, three years later, nursing an old crush that now seems more or less ruined by time and distance and stupidity. 

discovering the smile of one kageyama tobio, by emleewrites (8k. T. canonverse)

Innocence, pure innocence. Those are synonyms, shut up.  

Kageyama blinks once before a grin of his own spreads over his face. Shouyou’s breath halts in his lungs at the sight, and he wills for time to stop, just so he can drink it in. He sees it sometimes, when they’re playing - Kageyama’s fierce smile when they pull a combo off just right, when they show their opponents how possible the impossible can really be. But then there’s another serve, another rally, and the moment is gone.

'Shame', Shouyou thinks to himself, as he lets his eyes roam over Kageyama’s stupidly happy face, taking in the creases that are from joy rather than frowning, for a change. 'It’s a really nice smile.'

-

In which it's their third, and final, year in high school and Hinata has only one goal: to make Kageyama smile outside of volleyball.

 room to grow, by Mysecretfanmoments (6k. T. canonverse)

Third year Kageyama is considerate, careful, doesn't grab Hinata's hair. Hinata's still trying to figure out how he feels about it. 

where the night goes, by bigspoonnoya (20k. M. canon-divergence)

This one is very popular, and for good reason! It's beautiful. 

When their bond loses the immediate context of volleyball, they're left to consider why it's still so vital and important.

Meeting again, by chance, six years later.

 thirty-three days of mist and mountains, by tinygumdrops (curryramyeon) (36k. T. canon-divergence)

Kageyama, that’s a lot of paper, sir. I sure hope you recycle, god damn. 

Tobio runs by himself every day. Even though he can't shake off that awful feeling that something's closing in on him, he still does it. It's habit now.

When he gets a phone call that Hinata Shouyou is thinking of coming to Italy, Tobio feels like he has to run even faster.

(Or: Tobio has a month to prepare himself before his high school rival comes to visit him. They haven't spoken to each other for two years, and Tobio can't even remember what food Hinata likes. He's got a lot to think about.)

 soft serve, by tothemoon (9k words. T. canonverse):

Alternatively, the fic that made me immediately go out and buy a pint of ice cream after reading. So cute and fluffy! We’ve got a socially awkward Kageyama and, if I may, a little bit of a subdued Hinata.  Cute, cute, cute. Want ice cream. 

"I'm gonna run you over with this truck," Kageyama says, with only half of his usual conviction.

(Because frankly, he's still flabbergasted that Hinata would remember his favorite flavor.)

Or, in which Kageyama and Hinata drive an ice cream truck for a week, the former struggles with a crush, and the latter dares to eat the popsicles without paying.

 Fake it, Make it, by zadderlee (50k words. T. canonverse. Unfinished):

Ah yes, the classic fake dating that causes real feelings to arise. Here for the trope, will always be here for the trope. It is an unfinished fic, but it's still worth the read. Actually hilarious and Suga had me rolling. I take back what I said about only feeling safe alone with Iwa, I’d feel safe with Suga (lets be honest, with almost all of the Haikyuu boys. But not Atsumu. Rat bitch (I love him so much). 

"Because Kageyama is already dating someone!"

"Really? Who?"

“Me!” Hinata shouts suddenly, grabbing Kageyama’s hand as an afterthought and grinning triumphantly, like he’s somehow missed the implications of what he’s just done. Kageyama is going to kill him.

 touch, by buu (3k. T. canonverse)

Pure, young love. COVID-19 doesn’t exist yet. (WASH YOUR HANDS, DAMMIT)

Hinata doesn't notice it at first, really. It's small things, natural things, like when they sit together at lunch and Hinata ends up hooking his ankle over Kageyama's and he doesn't move away; in fact, he seems to not notice it, and go on eating his lunch like nothing's different. 

 we are the sparks that never fade, by thecivilunrest (4k. T. injury au)

A Kageyama injury fic and I never realized how painful that could be until I read this work. 

The first thing Hinata tells him after seven years is, “Toss to me.” 

 confession, by buu (3k. T. canonverse)

Just a really short, sweet school-boy love fic.

“You've been an ass to me for three weeks!” Hinata blurts, and finally the weight of it is pushing down on him. He's been trying to ignore it, telling himself it's just Kageyama being Kageyama, but this isn't like him, this is weird, and Hinata hates it. He's miserable.

 kisses, by buu (3k. T. canonverse)

So many smooches! So pure! 

There's a blur and Hinata remembers warm lips, surprisingly soft from someone who frowns all the time, and Kageyama's terrified face when he pulls back, and the electricity running through Hinata's entire body, heating his cheeks to match Kageyama's.

Kissing, it turns out, is as good as volleyball.

 Never More Cruel, by dawnstruck (3k. T. canonverse)

How have you not read this?? I know you haven't, so read it and smoosh in sweetness with me.  

Hinata starts fading away from him, and Kageyama tells himself that he doesn't mind.

Kuroken: 

teach me the way home, by icespyders (22k. T. canonverse)

WHY DOESN'T THIS HAVE MORE HITS?? 

Don’t go far off, not even for a day, because —

because — I don’t know how to say it: a day is long

and I will be waiting for you, as in an empty station

when the trains are parked off somewhere else, asleep.

Kuroo and Kenma grow up in transit.

 Good Calls, MemeKonHQ (MemeKonYA) (4k. T. canonverse)

Captain Kenma, captain Kenma!

His first morning practice as a third year starts with a blur of gray and red moving fast towards him on his peripheral vision the moment he sets foot inside the gym, and then a pair of lanky arms gracelessly falling over him as Lev contorts himself in all sorts of ways to properly envelop him like some sort of octopus.

“Kenma-san!” He basically screams, thankfully far away enough from his sensitive ears that it doesn’t outright hurt. Lev puts his chin over the crown of his head and Kenma sighs, “Kenma-san! I am so happy! Some of the other second years thought you would bail on us! But you didn’t! Now you can keep tossing to me.”

(Or: Kenma's third year. Or part of it.)

 even if you're ahead for a bit, i will catch up, by ghostpot (4k. G. canonverse)

Kuroo sticking to it. 

Kuroo first confesses when they're sticky-fingered, wide-eyed kids, and subsequently every day after that. Kenma takes a while to come around. 

the golden route, by astersandstuff (12k. T. canonverse/road trip au)

Why is it so hard to find good kuroken fics? This is so good, though. Kenma and Kuroo in a van, on the road, kisses, and mackerel pike. 

“It’s a three-and-a-half hour walk,” Kenma points out, on the subject of the cat’s home in a town inside Ama District. “Why aren’t we taking the train?”

“That cancels out the point of a road trip,” Kuroo argues.

“Railroads are roads.”

“We’re currently leading a frugal existence.”

-

Or, in which two childhood friends go on a road trip and Kenma builds up a quest.

 love's not the way to treat a friend, by girltalk (8k. T. canonverse/post-canon)

How sweet! To be each other’s life lines. Drunk Bokuto is the best boy. 

There’s really nothing quite as revelatory as the silent minutes spent in bed during the aftermath of a wet dream involving you and your high-school best friend. 

 the walk home, by skiecas (42k. T. canonverse) 

Gorgeous. Author writes kurokens dynamic growing childhood through adulthood absolutely wonderfully. 

Kenma reluctantly spoons vanilla into his mouth, watching the sun set. And when everything is dusted in stripes of pale orange and purple and gold, he glances at Kuroo’s profile muddled in the shadows of the descending sun, and wonders whether he had somehow accidentally made friends with an impressive sort of boy. The ice-cream melted under his thumb feels maddeningly sticky, like he’ll never wash it away thoroughly enough and it would leave its mark wherever he touched before he could.

Kenma has never really thought of anyone as good-looking before, never really cared enough about these things to notice them. But Kuroo is objectively so, in this light, in this angle—maybe all the time.

(A Kuroo and Kenma life story, told in five acts).

[thran-duils]

Use All of Me (P.5)

Title: Use All Of Me (Part Five) Summary: Fem!Reader x Dark Mob!Steve Rogers. The Avengers are heroes saving the world but in this AU, they are also permitted by the powers in charge to have less than favorable business underneath their guise of mere superheroes. Steve and Tony are at the helm, keeping their empire’s wealth in check, both devious and perilous if crossed. Steve takes a liking to the reader at a party and it may be her undoing to her autonomy choosing to go home with him. Words: 2,889 Warnings: Dark AF, angst, emotional/mental abuse, smut, breeding, death Author’s Notes: This relationship is going to go ~downhill~ from healthy really quick. Please do not read if that is going to offend you.

Part Four || Part Six || Masterpost (mobile) || Fanfic masterpost

You ate in silence at your dining table. Tears still stung at your eyes, no matter how you tried to hold them back. Your mind was racing, trying to still make sense of what had happened. Steve had never been that aggressive with you. Sure, he had been heated outside the club when he had found you flirting with Joseph. But he had not frightened you; he had not become an imposing shadow, stealing away your ability to speak what you felt.

He had not mentioned children more than a handful of times, commenting he wanted them. It had seemed harmless enough; wanting children was a normal ambition for people. But the way he reacted… he was showing a completely different side. Domineering. Maybe that is who he truly was and your defiance to his desire triggered it.

“That going down all right?” Steve questioned, genuine care in his tone, interrupting your thoughts.

“Obviously,” you muttered before you could stop yourself.

Steve stilled for a moment, tossing a scrutinizing look over at you. You ducked your head again, taking another bite. He waited a few moments, still studying you. When he turned away, you felt the tension relax in your frame.

You excused yourself to bed after finishing your soup. It was only 8:30pm but you just wanted to sleep. Steve informed you he was staying the night – not to your surprise.

He came up behind you, his strong arm wrapping around you. You sniffled and he peered over your shoulder. “Hey,” he said gently. His fingers came up underneath your chin, turning your head to look at him. “Oh, doll. I know you’re scared. But I’m right here. I promise.” He was calm, caring just like you knew him to be. And that made the situation even more confusing, more tears overflowing. He leaned down, shushing you quietly, laying soft kisses along the side of your face. “You’re going to be okay. I’m not leaving. Okay?”

You licked your lips and whispered, “Okay.”

<> <> <>

Thankfully, you had Fridays off having a four ten-hour day schedule, so you did not have to suffer the embarrassment of calling in for the fourth day in a row. You did not think it was possible for you to keep yourself together if you had to explain to your boss why you were not coming in.

You slept in past 8:00am. How you had managed to sleep almost twelve hours was surprising but you amounted it to the stress.

When you came out of the bedroom, Steve was standing in the living room, staring out the window, on the phone. You saw there was a plate of pancakes and bacon – that is what had initially roused you from your sleep. You were a little queasy but the carbs might help make you feel better.

Steve heard the floor creak and he tossed you a smile in acknowledgment. “Yes, exactly. On Monday would be perfect. We can get everything packed up over the weekend.” You stilled, your eyes moving to his back. “And how much is that going to be? I can have the money wired or if you need a card the day of, that works too.”

You slowly sat down grabbing an empty plate and taking some of the pancakes slowly, focusing most of your attention on his conversation.

“Uh huh. Yep, that’s the address, correct. Steve Rogers.” He paused and chuckled. “Yes, I am. No. No, it’s not my place. It’s my girlfriend’s. Mhmm.”

You realized you had poured too much syrup on your pancakes, not paying attention. You swore under your breath quickly upturning the bottle to place it back on the table.

“Perfect. Thank you.”

He hung up, turning around to face you. “Oh, good. I made that for you.” He began texting.

“What… who were you talking to?” you asked.

“Moving service.”

“A moving service?”

Steve did not spare you a glance as he continued to type, “Yes. I want you to move in with me. It would make me feel more relaxed having you close.”

“I can’t move in with you.” That caught his attention. You swallowed sharply seeing the look on his face, but you pressed on, pointing out, “It’s too far away from work. That is a long commute for me.”

“You don’t have to worry about that. You quit.”

Astounded at his nonchalant attitude about your career, you protested, “I don’t want to quit, Steve. I can still work. I’m pregnant, not disabled.”

“I’m sure you can,” he responded. “But I don’t want you to. And you don’t have to worry about doing it yourself. I already visited your employer this morning and let her know you wouldn’t be coming back. So, like I said, you quit.”

You felt like the air had been kicked out of you. You thought he had meant that you should quit, not that it had already been done. And done without your consent.

“You did what?” you asked in disbelief after a few moments of staring at him, gaping like a fish.

He stopped typing again and locked eyes with you. He explained slowly, “I went to your employer and explained to her you wouldn’t be coming back in. She understood.”

“She ‘understood’? What did you do?”

Steve narrowed his eyes, his hands dropping a little. He asked tensely, “What is that supposed to mean?”

Holding back an accusation of him being forceful, you instead switched gears to hopefully garner sympathy. “Steve! You… you probably just ruined my chances of getting a job again in this field. Word travels! I can’t just… quit! After being out of the office for three days. It’s not a good look!”

“This is how it was going to end up anyway. It just happened faster than planned.”

“How what was going to end up?”

“You were not going to be working forever. You don’t need to. Not if you’re married to me and we have children together.”

A scoff escaped, “I don’t remember being a part of that conversation. You’re taking everything away from me! And I’m sorry, marriage?”

He stalked over to the table, tossing his phone down. He placed his hands on the back of the char across from you, leaning on it. “Taking away from you? Y/N, I’m giving you everything!”

“How? By forcing me to have a child I am not sure I want? Or using your power to just up and quit my job – especially without my agreement? Making me move in with you – AGAIN, without my agreement? You’re making all these decisions about my life without speaking with me!”

“About our life, Y/N. This isn’t just about you. That’s a very childish way to think about it.” Your mouth fell open at that, him calling you selfish. He pointed at himself, “I am making all the hard decisions because you’re demonstrating to me you only want to take the easy way out. Is that how you solve problems, Y/N? I thought you more mature than that, but I have been proven wrong. It’s frankly disappointing.”

Scornfully, you asked, “Well, if you think me so immature, then why are you insisting we go through with this? I mean, what immature person could take care of a baby?”

“You’ll have help,” Steve said, piqued. “Pepper is giving me recommendations for nannies.” You scoffed again, looking away from him, trying not to cry from your frustration. Steve growled, “You should be grateful. With how loose you have shown yourself to be, it could have been anyone that knocked you up.” You snapped your head back to stare at him, hurt. He shook his head seeing your expression, his eyes cold. “Even after you showed you were all too ready to move on quickly and have another cock between your thighs as if I meant nothing, I forgave you. I had already fallen for you. I couldn’t let you slip away – I won’t let you slip away.” He pointed at you aggressively. “You should be thanking me, not backtalking me. I won’t tolerate it. Not from you. My patience is wearing thin, so drop the damn attitude! You hear me?”

You said nothing, glaring at him, biting your cheeks.

Steve said more forcibly, “Y/N, I expect a damn answer.”

Tightly, you got out through gritted teeth, “I heard you.”

The tension in the room could be cut with a knife.

“Good,” he said tersely. “You should think about what I said. I’m doing this for us.” He stared at you for a few more moments, as if he was waiting for you to retort something. You were past that, knowing it was not going to help you right now. He seemed satisfied with your silence, pushing away from the table and grabbing his phone. “Eat your breakfast.”

<> <> <>

Feet tucked up underneath you on the couch in front of the large fireplace, you texted Natalie.

What do you mean you quit?

Steve insisted I don’t have to work. I’m going to be taken care of.

So, you’re throwing your career away because you got pregnant? You do realize you can have both, correct?

Your instinct was to text back that you knew that, but you were afraid to. Because you were unsure if Steve would ask to see your phone and be irked by what he saw.

I know. Having some time off might be good during this though.

It’s going to be more than a year, Y/N. You’re going to lose a lot of time!

I know. But I’ll be fine. I’ll figure it out.

It had been tense with Steve for the last few days, you feigning sickness more often than usual. You thought he could see through the charade but he did not call you out as a liar. It was going to come to a head at some point; his lust seemed to be insatiable. He had told you as such that he was craving you and could only handle so much time apart.

What you told Natalie was true, you were going to figure it out. It was too much at once. All these thoughts had been rushing through your mind. Was what he said right? It had gotten under your skin. At least in the sense that you were immature? There had to have been many people in your situation faced with this decision and so many sucked it up and grew up. Were you afraid of growing up and being a mother? Steve had taken you to the doctor earlier this morning to check on everything. You were over a month along, which means you had gotten pregnant very quickly.

You sighed, thinking for the umpteenth time that day if being pregnant with Steve was actually the end of the world or if you were making a bigger deal out of it than you needed to.

Bucky strolled into the room and you straightened up, quickly tucking your phone underneath your thigh. He noticed and cocked an eyebrow in curiosity. You gave him what you hoped was an innocent smile. Before, you would have welcomed his company with open arms but now you knew you needed to be guarded with them all. They were Steve’s friend’s, not yours.

“Steve around?” You shook your head. “Hmm, he say when he was gonna be back?”

“No,” you answered quietly.

Bucky was eyeing you and you tried to be calm underneath the scrutiny. You were not doing anything inherently bad texting your friends, but Steve had made it clear he did not want you divulging too much. You were sure the other Avengers were aware of this and agreed with him; their livelihood was at stake if you spoke or knew too much.

Coming over to the couches, Bucky sat close by, leaning back, arms draped over the back of the couch.

“How are you settling in?”

You shrugged, “Fine, enough. I guess.”

“You guess?”

“It happened really fast,” you offered.

Bucky hummed in acknowledgment, nodding. “Seems that’s how it goes most of the time.”

You did not like it moving fast, that was the problem.

“I’ll give you an update after it’s over,” you sighed.

“You sound miserable.”

You just averted your eyes, giving a slight shrug.

“You’ll get used to it, Y/N,” Bucky said reassuringly. “Steve cares a lot for you. And he’s always wanted a family. This is perfect for him, so he’s going to be a little intense. He’ll chill out. Trust me. I’m his best friend and all.”

Being bold, you locked gaze with him and said coolly, “I just wish I had some say in it. It is my body after all if everyone somehow forgot.”

Let him tell Steve that. Maybe it would sink in differently if it came from Bucky.

Bucky instead of looking taken aback, actually looked impressed. “There it is. That fire Steve said you had.” You were unsure if you should take that as a compliment or not. He shifted forward, his elbows resting on his knees. He pierced you with a serious look, “Some advice though… you did give yourself to him the moment you got in bed with him. He’s going to have final say, and as I’m sure you know, he doesn’t like pushback. And I’m sure not especially from you.”

Wasn’t that the truth.

“I would realign that fire to becoming the wonderful mother we all know you can be rather than resisting him. It won’t end well that way. He’s not a man to cross.” He paused before adding, “He’ll give you the stars as long as you do as he asks.”

You were quiet, letting what he said sink in.

Bucky sat in silence was well, watching you closely.

Was this going to just be your life now? Living in this large house, waiting for your child to arrive and then continue staying here, rearing children for Steve? Bucky’s point was clear: you were not leaving here, let alone him, unless Steve gave you permission to.

“I need time,” you said stiffly. “It is a lot to take in.”

“I’m sure. But you are in perfect hands.” He got up from the couch. “I’ll go wait in his study so I don’t continue bothering you.” His gaze flicked to where your cell phone was hidden for a split second.

You nodded in acknowledgment, electing to stay quiet as he walked past you towards the stairs.

<> <> <>

As soon as Bucky was in Steve’s office, he shot him a quick text.

She’s being sneaky about her phone.

It did not take long for Steve to respond.

Don’t worry about it. I’ll see if she says anything I don’t like. She’s being good so far.

Bucky snorted reading the text. “Sneaky bastard,” he muttered.

<> <> <>

A week later, Steve was at it again. He came up behind you in the bathroom mirror, his arms wrapping around you as you dried your face after your face scrub. His hands played with the hem of your short robe.

“Don’t,” you said, pulling away from him.

Steve’s face darkened and he grabbed your wrist, stopping your forward motion. He yanked you back to him and you winced at the tug. His hand came up to grip your other wrist, holding them in between you.

“What did we talk about, Y/N?”

You tried to pull away again and he held fast. You pleaded, “Steve. Please. I just want to sleep.”

“You had all day to sleep. And you’ll have all night after I’m finished,” he told you, pulling you closer. His forehead rested on yours, his eyes closed. “I haven’t seen you all day. But you didn’t leave my mind, baby.”

You swallowed sharply at his intimate confession.

His hands left your wrist, finding the ribbon on your robe instead and undoing it. He pushed the robe from your shoulders, letting it fall to the ground. He hummed in approval seeing the babydoll you were wearing; it was the pink, satin one you had put on when he had brought you home from your first date.

“You look gorgeous,” he murmured.

You gave in, letting his tongue slip past your lips. Steve’s hand ghosted up your thigh underneath your babydoll and in between your thighs. He groaned against your lips, his fingers delving past your folds. His thumb caressed you, working you up, despite your initial disdain about being in his arms.

Steve picked you up, your legs wrapping around his waist. On your back on the bed, he slipped inside you. He did not draw it out, going right for it, panting and groaning above you. Steve always made sure you came before he did, his stamina being superior to yours. He held you close as you tightened around him, your legs quivering. When he came, his head fell beside yours, resting on the pillow. You were pinned beneath his immense weight for a minute before he pushed away from you, hovering overhead.

Steve trailed kisses down your abdomen, causing you to shiver.

“Can’t wait to see you heavy with my baby. You’ll look perfect,” he husked against your skin. “I love you so much.”

He meant it too. He did love you. And that did not bode well for you for whenever you did escape.

~~~

Tags: @imsonick , @alexakeyloveloki, @kvzctam, @ironlady1993, @taintedgenre, @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters

[vergess]

@autismserenity​ said: Your tags are the most American thing I’ve ever read, we are truly so screwed here   

May I interest you in a more complete, and more excruciating, explanation of what I spent the last 18 months doing?

It is, I need to emphasize, fucking nasty. Don’t feel obligated, especiallly if you’ve already had A Day(tm).

There’s a lot of disease, a lot of worker abuse including sexual and racial abuse, a fine portion of letting people die for not being white enough for real medical care, all leading to homelessness.

For NDA reasons, because my former employer was just as vile as any tech company has ever been, I cannot be super specific about who I worked for. However, I can say that we handled the records and patient contact for all COVID testing for several states, as well as 2 of the 5 largest metros in the US, and several dozen smaller ones ranging from the approximate population of San Francisco, down to little towns, as well as the testing for several public school systems and at least two government agencies that I am not at liberty to disclose.

I tell you this for a sense of scale. When I say shit like, “my boss was more than happy to let thousands or hundreds of thousands die” I am not exagerrating for effect. We handled hundreds of thousands of tests a week.

Again, I need to emphasize, government agencies. Ones you would know if I named them. Ones everyone in the country knows.

And we were in charge of getting their test results from the already over swamped labs back to the patients, who often were not allowed to quarantine while awaiting results.

The fastest we got our turnaround time to on any consistent basis was about 30 hours. Often it ballooned well into weeks.

There were a number of factors for this, but the big one was always understaffing.

The staff we did have were treated like trash. One of the big selling points of this company is how “trans friendly” it is to work there. That is a lie. Every trans employee on payroll had their dead name displayed to all other staff, and until I personally changed the system setup on my arrival, patient facing trans people’s dead names were displayed to patients.

Remember that thing about “hundreds of thousands of tests a week”?

I was able to change the way patient-facing names were displayed. I was not allowed or able to alter the way internal systems displayed trans people’s names. But I was assured that it’s fine, because once you get a legal name change, you’ll be given new system accounts with your new name!

Your old accounts with your dead name would still be displayed and associated with the new ones though.

This is the “trans friendly” working environment. We were allowed to be out of the closet, as long as we were willing to put up with that. And any attempts to get it altered were the result of those nasty little transgender ingrates not being thankful enough.

Meaning that by asking to use our own fucking names we were already in the disciplinary shitter.

Another big selling point is the ~racial diversity~. The CEO was a man of colour, and so were like four other people on staff!! Wow!!!!!!!

This, too, was laughable.

Once numbers started coming in about the care gap for COVID between English and Spanish speakers, and our Southwestern US service area began to have a separate and brutal backlog just of Spanish speaking patients, my employer encouraged me to interview potential hires who speak spanish.

Fair enough! We all wanted to do our part to help close the already massive mortality gap.

So, I found candidates, did interviews, hired them, trained them, etc. But I don’t speak Spanish. As a result, I appointed 2 assistant managers who do speak Spanish to assist me in managing, you know, like the job name.

So when my super contacted them directly, completely skipping me on the chain of command, and told them to stop all of our Spanish speakers from translating helpful simple messages to send to patients, and instead start translating medical and legal documents, they very reasonably assumed I was in the know and went ahead with it.

TO BE CLEAR, that could have ended my life, theirs, basically everyone involved. Everyone in the company would have been completely fucked. At that point, my subordinates, the people for whom I am wholly responsible, were doing everything from practicing medicine without licenses, to encouraging spanish speaking patients to enter contracts that no one on the fucking executive tier could even read.

The moment I found that out, I and the A.M.s immediately started trying to get actual medical translation services to do our documents. We collected them in a neat folder. We queried translation services. We got quotes. We contacted my super and the CEO, about this over and over again for months. In the late autumn, we received approval for one of the translation services.

The CEO decided at the last minute that having people with no medical or legal training draft medical and legal forms was fine and good actually, and refused to sign the contract or send the documents for translation.

The excuse I received was that the COVID emergency HIPAA relaxations would protect us.

That’s not how that works.

Throughout all of this, Spanish speaking employees were told to either keep doing medical and legal translation work, or lose their jobs.

Oh, did I mention everyone was working between 30 and 80 hours a week, and all of us were marked as “contractors” so the employer could tax evade? Don’t worry, we filed complaints with the labour bureau.

So the entire department was let go, and “rehired” as temps through a temp agency, which because it was a temp agency could keep them marked as contractors regardless of the facts.

This change was presented to all of us, myself included, as the company getting a new accountant to handle payroll.

So if you’re keeping score, we’ve covered racism, queerphobia, medical negligence, fraud, and a frankly uncountable number of deaths.

Let’s talk about the sheer negligence towards employees ourselves. If you’ve worked in near-death medical care before, or any number of emergency services really, you know that the standard benefit suite includes either a dedicated therapist for your staff, or access to peer support groups with other emergency and medical servants through your employer’s benefits program.

Do you know what our mental health benefits were for this company?

The CEO got on a fucking zoom call with us all one (1) time, and said that if we were feeling suicidal or traumatized by the work, to talk to him about it, and he would be our therapist.

Do you know how many people per fucking day we had to contact only to be told they had already died because our understaffing delays killed them? He doesn’t. He never listened when we told him.

But let me put the cherry on the “Oh baby, you can talk to me, oooh” sundae.

Anyone who “looked” or “sounded” female, regardless of actual or assigned gender, was subject to constant flirtations and slimy, overly personal compliments about our appearances. Fortunately, at 3 levels removed from the CEO (Executives > Department heads > Managers > Employees), most of the people under my management had relatively little contact with him.

I was not nearly so lucky.

The CEO of this company has a watersports (urination) fetish. I know this, because he told me so and attempted to get me to join him in it. I have no idea how many other people in the company he did this to. I mean, what the fuck was I supposed to do, risk losing my job to find out? I have a fucking family to support, people.

Not that it mattered.

Eventually, all of these abuses became too much for my subordinates. Productivity fell off a cliff. Delays were getting worse and worse. In a medical emergency like this, delays=deaths.

So, like a fucking idiot, when the department heads reached out to me to ask what they could do to improve productivity, I shot down their frankly insulting suggestion of raffling a $20 amazon gift card to patient facing employees, and instead suggested a very simple, “enroll us with a peer support group, every single person in this department has PTSD from working in this pandemic.”

They were confused by my assertion of PTSD. I was asked to compile a document of complaints, concerns, and weaknesses in our patient facing services.

I and the A.M.s did so. It was roughly 40 pages long, with each page given a known problem, the reasons why it was a problem, and some potential solutions that might inspire further solutions or be able to be implemented. We submitted it. There was no response.

A week passed.

I had been working 80 hour weeks for most of a year. I hadn’t even been able to take weekends. I took my first sick day, in a company with “unlimited vacation days.”

I received a call at 3PM.

I had been fired for “differences in communitcation.” If you’ve ever seen that “Problem Women of Color in the workplace” chart? Yeah.

So had most of my department, including every transgender member of the department, and several of our extremely limited in supply Spanish speakers, who were presumed to be “on my side.”

Some of them, I barely even knew beyond the formalities of the job, and they were punished anyway.

I lost my insurance, and as a result I lost access to my medications.

But the real problem? I lost my house. And not due to lack of payment.

I lost my house, because when I got the job we waited 6 months for stability’s sake, and then readied to move out of the area. I got a mortgage on the basis of my employer’s written guarantee to the bank that I would continue to be employed for the next year at a minimum.

With the mortgage approval in hand, we entered a sales contract on our existing home.

We got and accepted an offer just days before I was fired. To keep our house meant paying a 25,000 dollar broken contract fine. We didn’t have that. We had a 10% down payment for a modest fucking place in a cheaper area, which is less than half that.

But without a job, my mortgage approval was also voided, meaning we couldn’t buy a house either.

All of a sudden, we were homeless during the plague, because my employer wrote and signed a letter to a bank guaranteeing my future employ, and then changed his mind when too many people died due to his own negligence.

Oh yeah, one last thing: the job paid less than Pandemic unemployment Assistance.

...After that, well, it’s homelessness until just last month. I... if you’ve never been homeless it’s.

It blurs. Everything is happening constantly, except for all the ways in which you are endlessly, mind breakingly bored. Bored, overloaded, and always uncomfortable.

Obviously my health would have declined regardless. Malnutrition, stress, everything.

But I was also unmedicated.

It was hell. I was in hell. I don’t know if I can recover from it, to be honest.

I bounced back from being homeless as a child. Children are as resilient as they are stupid, and the monstrosity of homelessness was little more than a vaguely remembered loathing and a panicky fear that it would ever happen again.

A child who is dying is worthy of sympathy, even if it is meaningless coos from passers by. If they have family, they may be able to rely on them too.

An adult with the indignity to die homeless and crippled, according to the average passer by, is worthy only of disgust and perhaps even punishment for being such a worthless waste.

My reward for nearly killing myself in a desperate bid to help stem the tide of COVID was the destruction of not only my life, not only my entire family’s lives, but the lives of every single family of every single employee who worked with me.

And you know what’s worse?

Each one of us still did more to limit the lethal impact of COVID than the entire united states government.

It breaks something in you, going through that.

It makes you realize that hope is a fool’s game.

But, I have ever been a fool, and so, I continue to play.

[yuzukult]

—saccharine

pairing: seokjin x reader word count: 2,319 prompt: seokjin doesn’t believe in love at first sight. so... what’s this feeling that’s churning in the pit of his stomach when he meets you for the first time? warnings: none. minor cursing. fluff attack. a/n: to celebrate my follower milestone! thank you all for supporting and reading my fics, it means a lot to me!

Everyday is a continuous, recurring cycle. 

First, the alarm rings. Then, he slams the snooze button on his phone before resuming into a light sleep for another eight minutes. The annoying horn sings again, and a wash of regret hits from never changing it out of the default, so he finally accepts this by getting up and sliding his feet lazily into a pair of slippers by the side of his bed before making way into the bathroom.

His hair is a mess. But it’s a mess everyday. Life has gone to the point that even brushing his teeth has become a dreadful chore. Shuffling through his bin of hair products, he finds the mousse he consistently loses and finds on repeat and then slaps a boatload of it onto his head.

This is basically a day-in-the-life of Kim Seokjin. Except it’s everyday. It’s never ending. It feels like one of those time loop movies where when he ends his day, it starts back off exactly like it did yesterday. 

To be fair, he can’t complain. He’s got a roof over his head, an apartment all to himself (that means without a roommate), plus a well-paying full time job. It’s hard to whine and cry about how his life seems to have no excitement, other than the occasional meeting with his friends, but contrarily… there’s not much to look forward to.

It’s the same mundane activities. Opening the cabinet above his kitchen counter as he usually does at this time, he grabs his favorite Cheerios. Good starts with happy hearts, as their commercials say, but Seokjin isn’t entirely sure that’s true. 

He’s a “cereal first and milk last” kind of guy. Not that he judges those who do it backwards, but he thinks if anyone does the routine in the opposite order, they might actually be backwards. It’s a condition—he makes it seem, and it’s a rather controversial topic for the guy.

Nonetheless, he enjoys his bowl of breakfast goods. He reads the news on his phone, and when the reminder on his watch dings, Seokjin rushes to put his dishes into the sink and hauls himself down the hall, in direction to his walk-in-closet that evidently is just too big for it being only himself. It’s a constant indication that he’s alone. 

By the time it’s 8:30AM, he’s dressed in his suit and tie, hair slicked back, and has a satchel slung over his shoulder in preparation of yet another day at the office.

But maybe he’d stop by that new place this morning. Change of pace. Maybe it’ll liven up his day and give him something to look forward to. Maybe he’d like it.

The place is around the corner, less than a three minute walk the moment he leaves his apartment building, and if he timed himself, it probably takes longer to leave his home and out of the building. The shop is cute; decor stickers are laid out delicately along the windows, the walls are painted a pretty blush pink, and there’s smiles on all the workers’ faces as if they enjoyed being there.

There’s a smile on your face in particular that captures his attention.

Seokjin is a relatively kind guy, or so he thinks he is. He’s never pinned over girls like those shows he’s seen on TV, but he’s had his fair share of relationships. He’s not shy, but he’s also not outgoing. He has an abundance of friends but only a few are ones he trusts. 

And the girlfriends he had were great but… no one really appreciates his generosity as much as he’d like.

He thinks he’s crazy at this moment, quite frankly, because he doesn’t believe in love at first sight. It’s this theory and idea that writers of a romance genre film and story that people whipped up together to make it seem more appealing to their audiences. But he doesn’t actually think it’s true.

Or is it?

Hair up in a messy bun, there’s a swipe of flour that coats your one cheek, and a smile that dresses your face so beautifully. You’re in a simple outfit that’s a combination of a white tee and blue jeans with the shop’s apron on top, while running around to keep up with all the orders coming through. He has hearts brimming in his pupils and he can’t seem to stop the way his chest tightens the second he lays his eyes on you. Is this what love at first sight is?

Seokjin doesn’t only regret not changing the default ringtone of his alarm this morning. He also regrets not asking for your number.

When he reaches his office, he realizes he forgets to ask for cream and sugar at the bakery. The dark, warm liquid glides down his throat with some difficulty; the bitterness layering his tongue but the memory of you sparks sweetness from within. Who were you? He doesn’t even know you and you’re on his mind like crazy.

Now, Seokjin has seen How I Met Your Mother. He’s watched the nine seasons, totaling out to two-hundred and eight episodes, so needless to say, Seokjin knows what goes on in that show. And ironically, he hates Ted. The guy is a hopeless romantic that thinks every girl he has his eyes on is ‘the one.’ Seokjin refuses to become like Ted, and he would be caught dead replicating those same actions.

Then why the fuck is he caught up on a girl he’s seen once? 

The second time Seokjin comes by the bakery, it’s a hell of a lot less busy. In fact, it’s only three people that man the storefront, rather than the six that he saw the first time he stopped by. He has his fingers crossed behind his back as he waits in the queue patiently, hoping you’d be the one taking his order this time around.

Luck must be on his side because you’re greeting him with those pearly white teeth. “Good morning, nice to see you. What can I get for you today?”

Abort, abort! He can’t talk. He swears that his heart has found its way up into his throat, and he can’t get any words to come out.

You blink. Those gorgeous long lashes brush your cheeks so deftly, and it swells his heart that’s now lodged in the path of his airways. “Sir?”

Seokjin swallows. “Oh—yeah, sorry sorry. Uh, can I get a medium hot coffee? Cream and sugar, please. Forgot to mention that last time and I almost died from the bitterness.” Was that an appropriate comment to make? Did it make you laugh? Or were you offended that he just insulted your workplace’s coffee

He cheers in success on the inside when a soft chuckle escapes from your lips. “Aw, I’m sorry to hear. I guess we should have also done our part and asked if you wanted any. Did you want to order anything else?”

Ah. Was the conversation already ending? But it’s so soon! He barely held the dialogue for a couple seconds, and since he’s got your attention, he can’t let go now. Quickly, his eyes skim the menu and the display case full of baked goods. “Uh, what do you recommend?” He asks, gesturing to the sweets. 

You wave your hand for another coworker to take the next customer’s order. Walking over to the sweets, Seokjin trails over as well, observing your expression. You’ve got your brows furrowed, deep in thought with a quirk of the side of your lips, engrossed with the plentiful of options. “Do you like tarts?”

—

Seokjin is a regular now. 

Whenever the clock strikes 7:30AM, he’s already in his work attire, hair at its best, and has checked his face in the mirror for the fiftieth time. Then, he’s on route to the corner bakery.

He wants to look good before he meets you. Handsome guy for a pretty girl. It’s only right.

The bells at the front door of the shop ring loudly the moment he enters in, and immediately his ears are filled with that beautiful laugh of yours, but you’re not alone. It’s accompanied by someone else’s, a voice that doesn’t match any of your other coworkers and his jaw clenches at the thought. Who is this male that claims to be the purpose of your giggling with a mop he calls hair on the top of his head?

“Oh!” You beam, lifting up the cup of hot coffee in hand. “Seokjin! Come here, I have a new pastry for you to try, and your daily caffeinated beverage to pair it with. Plus, I want you to meet my friend.”

His name is Taehyung. The freaking guy looks like a model, strutting into the café like it’s his runway, and when his gaze meets Seokjin’s, it makes Seokjin feel small.

Seokjin likes you, if the amount of times he comes in a week is evidence for it. He doesn’t just do that either; he often stirs up a conversation, asks how your day is going so far, and even goes out of his way to remember small details so he can bring it up next time. But he can’t help but wonder—do you have a boyfriend? Are you being kind only because Seokjin is a customer? Or are you normally this sweet as those raspberry filled pastries you set him up with? 

And those questions are only emphasized when Taehyung smiles, extends his hands and offers Seokjin a firm shake. “I’m Taehyung.”

Seokjin’s entire work day has gone to shit. All he could think about was who Taehyung was and why you were so adamant about Seokjin meeting him. 

After taking the last bite of the delicious pastry you packed for him (free of charge, too), it hits him. 

If Seokjin liked you, he should just confess his feelings, no matter what the consequences. Instead of sitting here with his shoulders slouched, eating this treat you gave him with a pout upon his lips, he shouldn’t continue waiting around and feeling sorry for himself anymore. Why would he make himself suffer like this when there’s a way to end this vicious cycle? 

Seokjin concludes that he’s going to confess tonight. 

—

What Seokjin learns about you is that you are by far not close to his ideal dream girl. 

You’re the “milk first, cereal last” gal, and he believes you’re ass backwards. You like consistency, and your favorite ringtone is the sound of those stupid horns he has for alarms in the morning. You enjoy the first few hours of your day, basking in the routine that you’ve put together yourself, including the one that had recently involved seeing Seokjin’s face. 

And although you’re not his dream girl, you’ve become it.

“I like you,” He finally confesses, a bouquet of flowers in his hands that match the decor stickers plastered on the shop's windows. “Would you… go out with me?”

Seokjin isn’t here in the mornings like he normally is, opting that since this is definitely a change of pace, he might as well go all out. Maybe this will be different. Maybe he’ll be happier.

Stunned, your mouth drops open. You’re stuttering over your own words, practically malfunctioning like a machine. “Wha—Like—what? Like… you like me as in like… a woman? More than a friend? You want to take me out?”

“Uh,” Seokjin scratches behind his ear anxiously. Was his plan backfiring? “Yes? I… like you. As in, I come here in the mornings for coffee, yeah, but I mostly came to see you. I enjoy hearing your laugh, seeing your smiles, and listening to you talk about these pastries like they’re your world and I—“ He pauses, inhaling a sharp breath, “—then you introduced me to this really good looking guy named Taehyung and I didn’t know what my chances were with you anymore, so here I am. Confessing.”

You’re silent. Truthfully, Seokjin’s not feeling good about this. His palms are sweaty, his heart is racing, and you still haven’t said a word and he’s sure that over thirty seconds have already passed by.

“What—“ You start again, quickly stopping yourself with a shake of your head. “Thank god, really.”

The front of Seokjin’s brows dip in confusion. “I’m sorry?”

You laugh, combing your fingers through your loosened locks. “I’ve been trying to tell my coworkers that I had this stupid crush on you since you first came in. You’re such a great listener, you’re handsome, and fun to talk to. They think you’re too good to be true, so they thought you wanted to be my gay best friend. Hence… the Taehyung test.”

“The Taehyung test?” Seokjin reiterates. 

Chewing on your bottom lip, your eyes are swirls of apologies. “He’s cute, right? Either you’d get jealous that a guy like him has my attention and you like me, or you like him and you’re jealous that he’s making me laugh instead of you.”

Seokjin’s shoulders drop in relief. “So… does that mean you’ll go out with me?”

You smile softly. “Of course, Jin.”

He doesn’t think those mundane activities he identified before are boring anymore. No, not with you, they’re not. He doesn’t mind watching you pour milk instead of cereal first in the mornings because he’s glad he gets to be the one who pinches your side teasingly and call you a weirdo. He doesn’t hate the sound of the horns—okay, a lie, he hates it so much, but they’re bearable when you’re around since you don’t hesitate to shut it off the minute it rings, and immediately hop out the bed, without using the snooze button. Brushing his teeth is a delight, especially when he sees your toothbrush sitting in your own designated cup on your side of the sink.

Everyday is a continuous, recurring cycle. 

But Seokjin doesn’t mind those things if it’s done with you. 

[petri808]

Pranks Are So Revealing Sometimes…

@itafushiweek One bed prompt

After everything had finally settled and damages were assessed to Tokyo jujutsu high following the Kamo incident, the faculty decided it was time for a full renovation. They would fix the damaged areas but also update other undamaged parts. Including the dorms according to their teacher. The students were given a schedule of when each of their rooms would be worked on and given boxes to pack their belongings for temporary storage.

“Don’t worry,” Gojo grinned. “Shouldn’t take more than a day or two per room.”

“Yeah, okay,” Megumi stared back up at his teacher after reading the information. “But where are we supposed to sleep if our room is being renovated?”

“Oh, well since the unoccupied rooms will also be renovated during this process…” the man tapped his chin. “Got it! You bunk with Yuuji, then switch when it’s his rooms turn.”

“Cool! A sleepover!” Yuuji pumped his fists in the air. “We can hang out and watch movies and eat junk food and just crash from a food coma.”

Megumi swallowed thickly with a groan. “I’d rather you give me your credit card,” directing his comment to Gojo, “so I can get a hotel room.”

“No, can do buddy. Come on, it won’t be that bad.”

Yuuji threw an arm over Megumi’s. “It’ll be fine,” his brilliant smile causing the man’s cheeks to redden. “Movies and food, we’ll have fun.”

Megumi looked away and crossed his arms over his chest. “Ugh! Fine!”

“Good.” Gojo patted his student on the shoulder. “Now that’s settled, get packing young Megumi. Tomorrow we’ll be starting with your room.”

With Yuuji’s help, it didn’t take long for Megumi to pack up his belongings. There really wasn’t much, fitting everything into 3 medium sized boxes. Mostly clothes, some books, and minor items. He packed a bag with just enough to be displaced a couple of days, and if the renovations took longer, he could probably just borrow clothes from Yuuji. They were roughly the same size anyway. The boxes were then taken to Yuuji’s room and stacked in a corner out of the way.

But the full toll of the situation didn’t really hit Megumi until the morning of the renovations. He was awoken around 7 am by Gojo, letting him know the construction workers would be there in 15 minutes. Great. So, he dragged himself out of bed and walked into Yuuji’s room planning to get a couple more hours of sleep. It should be fine considering Yuuji rarely got up early on a day off.

The problem was— ‘Only one bed…’ Megumi groaned internally as he swiped his hand down his face. Duh! How could he have missed this detail?! And there was no way to fit a second bed in the room since they were only designed for single occupancy.

“Ugh…” Megumi shuffled back out of the room in irritation. Guess he’ll just go get breakfast and figure out what to do next!

Look, he didn’t have a problem sharing a bed with another person. It’s just sleeping on a bed instead of the hardwood floor, what’s the issue with that? If it was anyone else, Nobara, Toge, Maki, Yuta, whatever— no problem. The PROBLEM is it’s Yuuji. Maybe one of them will let him stay with them? Megumi put his head down on the kitchen table with his arms over his head in frustration. No… that would be weird to ask. Gojo already made all the arrangements between everyone, so if he suddenly had an issue with it, they might find that suspicious and he really didn’t need them asking questions, or worse teasing him about it.

He could hear it all too. What’s wrong with Yuuji? You worried something might happen? Too afraid to confront your feelings. Wink, wink. Aww that’s so cute you’re embarrassed. But Yuuji’s a good catch. Yada, Yada. Maki’s monotone, “just man up” tone was not something Megumi wanted to hear. ‘It’s just a night or two… no big deal. He’ll sleep on one side; I’ll sleep on the other. What could go wrong?’

“Morning!”

Megumi’s body immediately went stiff at the sound of Yuuji voice. Damn guy was like a cat this morning, he never heard him come in! Or did he just miss it because he was too wrapped up in his mind?

“Yeah… morning,” Megumi responded as he sat up in his chair and pretended everything was fine. “Sorry, I didn’t make coffee or anything yet.”

“Nah, it’s fine. I can make breakfast. Want some?” Yuuji responded in his chipper way.

“Sure, since you’re offering.”

“I see they started working on your room. That’s what woke me up.”

“Huh? Oh yeah, That’s why I’m up too. Gojo kicked me out at 7.”

“Oh, if you were tired, you could’ve just gone back to sleep in my room.”

“Nah. I’m fine.”

“You still look tired.”

“I’m fine.”

“If you say so,” Yuuji placed a plate of food in front of his friend, then sat down across from him with his own. “So, got any plans for today?”

“Not really.”

“I was thinking of grabbing some snacks from the store for tonight.”

“Something happening tonight?”

“Movie night! Remember?”

“You were serious about that?!”

“Of course! We rarely have time to relax, so this is a perfect opportunity.”

“Well, since I’m stuck in your room… what movie are you picking?”

“You can choose. I don’t really care. How about I’m in charge of snacks and you grab the movies.”

“Fine. I’ll dig something up.”

The pair part ways for the rest of the day. Megumi felt it best to keep himself occupied so he wouldn’t think about that night. So, after breakfast he got some training in with Yuta and Maki who between the two really kept him on his toes. The construction work on his room sounded a lot more extensive than Gojo had relayed based on all the noise coming from within. Someone had placed a “do not enter” sign on the door, and so when Megumi walked past it, he didn’t bother peeking. By the time he returned from shopping around 5pm, it was silent. ‘Guess they’re done for the day.’ But since the sign was still up, it wasn’t finished. ‘Ugh, it better be done by tomorrow night.’

“Hey, Megumi!”

Megumi froze in place. Damn it with Yuuji sneaking up on him! He turned around. “Yeah?”

“I got food!” Yuuji held up two plastic bags stuffed full. “Dinner, snacks, drinks. Did you grab the movies?”

Megumi pulled three DVD cases out of his shopping bag and showed it to his friend. Three movies would kill about six hours, which meant sleeping right after they were finished, equaled less dead time to worry about.

“Sweet! Let’s get started!”

The moment of dread was upon Megumi the instant he walked into Yuuji’s room and laid eyes on that single bed. And as the dorm mate puttered around oblivious to his nervousness, he just watched quietly as the man plopped the bags onto the bed and grabbed a laptop from the desk. This was it, no turning back now.

“Why are you just standing there?” Yuuji questioned with laughter in his tone and patted the bed. “Come on, before the food gets cold.”

Megumi rolled his eyes as if nothing was wrong, but his heartbeat picked up the pace with each step towards the bed. He should be happy that Yuuji was so oblivious to emotions, and yet a part of him was annoyed… maybe disappointed… Megumi quickly shut those thoughts down as he sat on the edge of the bed.

“So, just to get it out of the way. How is this gonna work? Like which side do I sleep on?” Megumi questioned.

Yuuji stopped fusing with a food container and looked over. “Oh, hmm, doesn’t matter to me. I can sleep on either side.”

Well since he was already on one side. “I’ll just take this side I’m on then.”

Yuuji gave him a thumbs up. “Pass me the first movie.”

The first movie… all the movies he’d chosen were just action types. Megumi wanted something with as little romance as possible and knew Yuuji didn’t mind action or horror. Frankly, he thought it was funny his friend still loved horror after becoming a jujutsu sorcerer. Don’t they see enough of it in real life? Between the movies and the eating, he was pleasantly surprised to find that Yuuji became so engrossed in what was on the screen, it helped his anxieties stay lowered.

Megumi had taken up a position with his back against the wall sitting upright, and legs stretched out in front of him, while Yuuji was next to him with about a foot of space between them. Mid-way through the third movie, Megumi was genuinely paying attention since he’d never seen it before, when he felt a pressure against his shoulder. His eyes flared, cheeks heated up, and adrenaline spiked his heart rate. Yuuji had fallen asleep against his shoulder. No kidding this guy could fall asleep anywhere! Versus him who was too wide awake now to even think about it.

The last thing he wanted to do was awaken the sleeping man and make things even more awkward. So, Megumi tried to gently push his friend away to simply rest against the wall. His first several tries failed, but on the fourth, success… briefly.

“Mmm,” Yuuji stirred without waking and shifted on his own to curl up in Megumi’s lap instead!

‘Fuck, my life!’ Megumi screamed in his head. Things just went from bad to a disaster!

Again, Megumi tried to shift the man away, but every time he tried Yuuji would whine.

“Stop moving…” Yuuji mumbled and wrapped his arms around Megumi’s waist, snuggling his face deeper into the man’s leg.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Megumi gritted out in a muffled anger. By now, his whole body felt like it’d been stuck in a furnace and was being roasted alive. Ugh! Yuuji had turned into a damn octopus clinging to its meal! And yet… Megumi had to admit the man was cute as he slept. Geez, he even smiled in his sleep!

Not much he could really do, Megumi exhaled in defeat. So, he did his best to turn off the laptop screen using his foot and shift it close enough to reach. He then grabbed it and placed it onto the nightstand next to the bed, leaving them in a darkened room with only the gentle breathing of Yuuji as any sound. Okay, fine! Megumi counseled himself. Just ignore the fact there’s someone attached to you and try to get some sleep. The faster he went to sleep, the faster the nightmare would end. So, he shifted his body to lie down, then turned over onto his side hoping Yuuji would also readjust.

And the man did, just not in a way Megumi wanted. Yuuji simply snuggled up to his back and weaved an arm around his torso like he was one of those giant stuffed animals you win at a fair! He pushed the arm away, but it sprang back into place.

Megumi screamed in his head. He was so tired… ‘just ignore it, ignore it, ignore it…’

The sound of birds chirping caused Megumi to rouse the next morning. Perfect, his torture was over, it was time to get up— ‘Why was the pillow so hard—’ his eyes opened in a panic as his hand felt the unmistakable sensation of muscle beneath clothing. Without moving an inch only his eyes shifted over and saw the outline of Yuuji’s body lying on his back and he was curled up against his side! ‘Oh, fuck!’

Fight or flight kicked into overdrive as Megumi sprang from the bed like a cat and bolted out of the room. Every nerve ending along his skin was on fire and his mind freaking out, praying Yuuji had slept through it all. ‘This is gonna be so awkward if— What the?!’

As soon as he made it out of the room, Megumi almost ran right smack into Gojo. The man had one hand on Megumi’s bedroom door and the other carried a cursed doll, like the one Yuuji had trained with to practice energy control. “What is that for?”

Realizing he was busted, Gojo slipped the doll behind his back. “Nothing. I was just gonna check on the progress.”

“Uh-huh…” Megumi’s eyebrow raised, instantly suspicious. “Well, let’s just check,” he opened the door himself and walked in. “What’s going on?!” He whipped around. “Are they finished?” Because his room looked exactly like he’d left it the morning before. And he meant exactly!

“Really?!” Gojo pretended to be surprised. “That was quick! Looks like you can move back in. Well, see you at breakfast.”

Gojo turned to leave but Megumi grabbed his shoulder.

“Oi! What the hell?! There was no construction was there you prick?!”

“Nonsense! They must’ve finished yesterday.”

Megumi narrowed a menacing glare at the teacher. “That damn doll was the one making all the noise, wasn’t it?”

“Um… no…”

“And you were about to plant it for a second day!”

“Of course, not! I’m just carrying it around…”

“You’re such a shit liar!”

“Careful Megumi, might wanna keep your voice down lest wake up Yuuji.”

“What do I care if he wakes up now?”

“He’ll find you missing and the bed empty and be sad.” Gojo grinned defiantly then took off in a sprint, cackling like a mad man down the hall.

Bastard pranked him! Megumi screamed as he took off after the man. “I’M GONNA KILL YOU!”

[mrepstein]

The Beatles Book Monthly (No. 5, December 1963)

‘A TALE OF FOUR BEATLES’ by Billy Shepherd

PART IV (PART I // PART II // PART III)

Part IV opens in June, 1961 and charts Brian Epstein's early involvement with the Beatles.

And so the Beatles, with two experience-garnering trips to Germany behind them, got back to Liverpool. A swingin’ scene... and they were very much a part of it. It was the end of June, 1961.

But though they liked having more money to spend, they hadn’t the foggiest idea of just how much they were worth. The offers came in. Anything between £6 and £14 was the pay-packet, to be shared between Messrs. Lennon, McCartney, Harrison and drummer Pete Best.

“We just didn’t know,” admits George. “We loved the work, the excitement. We didn’t realise we were often being exploited. But it was hard work and somehow we didn’t seem to have much money in the kitty after we’d kept our equipment up to scratch...”

July, 1961, could go down as a summit meeting in Merseybeat history. A steamy, summery, shimmery night at Litherland Town Hall. A young promoter named Brian Kelly announced his attraction: The Beatmakers.

George Harrison was on lead guitar. Paul McCartney on rhythm. John Lennon on piano. Drummers were Pete Best and Freddie Marsden. Les Maguire operated on saxophone, Les Chadwick on bass guitar - and Gerry Marsden nipped on and off behind a big grin to take the vocals.

Gerry and the Pacemakers and the Beatles had linked up. For one night only and for a fee which is the smallest fraction of what they’d command for such a show now.

It led to friendships between the group members... but it didn’t seem to be leading to that pot of gold at the end of the rainbow for the Beatles.

Says John: “We went on knocking ourselves out night after night but somehow there was a bit of frustration creeping in to it all. It didn’t seem to be leading anywhere.”

But the audiences were greatly appreciative.

Says Paul: “We started accepting dates further south. We got pretty near London on some of them. No change of material for us - still the stuff that went down so well in Germany. But we were veering away from the leather gear. Don’t make this sound big-headed, but the fact is that a lot of other groups were copying the way we looked on stage. So we changed to more ordinary clothes for a while.”

But in September, depression set in. Paul and John took themselves off to Paris for a holiday. They remember being flat broke. Remember having to search through every pocket to rake up enough francs for a Coke. Now, of course, they can go where they please and not count the cost.

And George and Pete stayed on in Liverpool, virtually lost to the Beat scene. Ray McFall, owner of the Cavern Club remembers seeing Messrs. Harrison and Best around the lunch-time sessions but they seemed dispirited. They took a lot of persuading even to join in on the impromptu roar-ups.

Let well-known Liverpool show compere Bob Wooler fill in the background to this black spot in the Beatles’ history.

“I’ve known the boys since the early days. I’ve been a long-time admirer. What they really needed was a manager in those far-off days. They seemed content not to argue about the fees they were offered. And they didn’t seem to realise that they were pulling in crowds on the strength of their own name and performance.

“After all, they had to live. They had to look after their equipment - and they often had travelling expenses to pay. It’s all very well being popular and enjoying your work, but you should be paid what you’re worth as well.

“Ray McFall at the Cavern was different. If the crowd was good, he upped the fee. That’s why the boys have always been so loyal to the Cavern. But you can understand them being puzzled at the lack of hard cash from their other venues where they were so often doubling the attendances.”

Paul and John were meanwhile spending a lot of time on their song-writing. You’ll see how much they’d already achieved in this direction as the story pushes on to the first recording days.

John and Paul could never sit down and simply write a song to order. They admit: “We have to wait for the ideas to arrive. It can happen anywhere. On a bus, or a train, or backstage at a dance-hall or theatre. Sometimes the title suggests itself first. Then we get going on the words and music. Sometimes we’ve finished a very successful seller in less than an hour.”

But their most pressing need was for a manager. Paul has told me “When we first started on paid jobs, we honestly thought we weren’t manageable. We thought nobody would want to bother with us. We were a pretty off-beat bunch of characters, to say the least. And we had a sense of humour which somehow involved us all and which was hardly in the interests of discipline. So, for a long time, we just didn’t take any notice of the advice that we should be properly handled. ‘Who’d WANT US,’ was the way we thought...

“And that’s where we were wrong...”

A MANAGER. Liverpool man Allan Williams took on the chore for a while... he now runs the Blue Angel Club on Merseyside.

But the man who was to make show business history with the Beatles knew nothing about the group in that September of 1961. That man, of course, was Brian Epstein, one-time drama student, member of a family which owned a chain of furniture and radio-TV stores in Liverpool.

He was not exactly WITH the beat scene. But he WAS in touch with the public taste through his work in the record department of the stores. He’d been there for five years, building up the business, enlarging the staff roster and increasing the turnover.

And in September, 1961, he was a puzzled man. Fans kept approaching him with: “Have you any records by the Beatles?” Brian mused. Pondered. Wondered. One young lad was particularly persistent in his demands. Brian dug deep into the record-lists. And found reference to that “My Bonnie” single, recorded in Germany, on which the Beatles played a strictly supporting role to guitar-star Tony Sheridan.

“I became Beatle-conscious for a while,” he says. “I always tried to work on the theory that the customer was right - and if they wanted the Beatles, well... I’d do my best to supply the Beatles. Eventually I traced the source and ordered some 200 copies for the record-stores. They sold quickly...

“Then out of the blue I heard they were Liverpool boys, had a rapidly-growing following - and were actually playing in a club near the store. It was a place that I’m sure I’d visited before, a sort of teenage gathering-place, but I really didn’t know much about it.

“After a while, I thought I’d better pop down there and see what all the fuss was about.”

Brian Epstein went to the Cavern. Met the Beatles. And things really started happening for the ambitious but not-too-sure group.

There are two ways of looking at this near-historic meeting. Brian Epstein’s. And the Beatles’ viewpoint.

Beatles first. Said George: “He started talking to us about the record that had created the demand. We didn’t know much about him but he seemed very interested in us and also a little bit baffled.

“He came back several times and talked to us. It seemed there was something he wanted to say, but he wouldn’t come out with it. He just kind of watched us and studied what we were doing. One day, he took us to the store and introduced us. We thought he looked rather red and embarrassed about it all.

“Eventually, he started talking about becoming our manager. Well, we hadn’t really had anybody actually VOLUNTEER in that sense. At the same time, he was very honest about it all - you know, like saying he didn’t really know anything about managing a group like us. He sort of hinted that he was keen if we’d go along with him...”

Brian, quite honestly, thought that the Beatles looked a mess. He wondered what exactly they thought they were trying to be. Their strange jackets, the rather scruffy jeans, the hair-styles, which could only have been styled on something called “chaos.”

“But there was something enormously attractive about them,” he recalls. “I liked the way they worked and the obvious enthusiasm they put into their numbers. People talk about the Liverpool sound but I sometimes wonder what exactly they mean. These boys put everything into their routines but they didn’t use echo. That struck me as being a very good thing.

“It was the boys themselves, though, who really swung it. Each had something which I could see would be highly commercial if only someone could push it to the top. They were DIFFERENT characters but they were so obviously part of the whole. Quite frankly, I was excited about their prospects, provided some things could be changed.”

And Brian told his friends: “This could easily turn out to be the biggest show business attraction since Elvis Presley.” It’s a tribute to his foresight and intuition that that is precisely what has happened.

Brian decided to get the boys together at a round-table conference at his store. A time was fixed and the boys agreed. But Beatles are not always the easiest of people to organise. Brian sat waiting... and waiting... and waiting. He was trying to cope with the vastly complex figures of Christmas orders for the store and minutes were precious to him.

Eventually THREE Beatles arrived. George, John and Pete. No Paul. Story goes that Brian got George to ring through and see what had happened to the left-handed guitar-star. And that Paul admitted he was still in the bath... but wouldn’t be long!

Brian was rather on his high-horse. He felt it was not the right thing for someone who wanted to talk business to be kept waiting. He pointed out that Paul, the cherubic one of the four, would be extremely late. “Yes,” said George, forcing back a grin. “But he’ll also be extremely clean.”

Says Brian: “That sense of humour is invaluable. You could hardly feel annoyed at their lack of business ability. They were just four individual and off-beat characters.”

Prior to Brian taking such an interest, there was great concern among Cavern people that there was a chance of the Beatles packing in all thoughts of show business careers. Bob Wooler had tried hard to get BBC television producer Jack Good interested in the group. Jack had produced beat shows, like “Six-Five Special” which had been the stepping-stone to success for artistes like Cliff Richard. But Jack was also in demand in the States... and he’d gone there to further his own career long before Bob could get any decision from the telly-folk.

Brian, having eventually assembled all four Beatles in the same room, put his propositions to them. He went through a process of brain-washing, though he did it all very tactfully. He didn’t like their manner of dress. Wasn’t knocked out by the unruly hair-cuts. Was singularly unimpressed by the way they casually drank tea on stage while in the middle of shows.

He pleaded with them rather than ordered them. He knew they were a valuable property and he was knocked out at the way their personal following was growing through the Merseyside area.

Said John: “He’d tell us that jeans were not particularity smart and could we possibly manage to wear PROPER trousers. But he didn’t want us suddenly looking square. He let us have our own sense of individuality.”

He added: “We respected his views. We stopped champing at cheese rolls and jam butties on stage. We paid a lot more attention to what we were doing. Did our best to be on time. And we smartened up, in the sense that we wore suits instead of any sloppy old clothes.”

It was a master-plan. A long-term plan if necessary but it was aimed at making the most of four young men who clearly had that star quality in them... even though a recording contract was still more than nine months away.

Obviously, Brian Epstein’s main job was to get the group on record. He knew the strength of their popularity in Liverpool and he felt it wouldn’t be a hard job to interest some of the London companies. But that was where Brian was wrong.

He even delayed any sort of action until the results of the 1961 “Mersey Beat Poll” were announced. That came up at the end of the year. And the Beatles were high and dry in top place in this important survey of how the public felt about the myriad groups operating in the scene. Said Brian: “I thought this was the ‘Open Sesame’ to the recording scene. I felt that Liverpool was important enough to have London executives falling about to sign the boys. I was wrong...”

Brian, though technically still in charge of important parts of the family business, threw himself into the job of getting the Beatles known nationally. He had the backing of the Beatles’ parents and it was to be no holds barred for the major break through.

He started visiting London. Hopefully. Optimistically. But record executives showed an alarming tendency to register non-committal gloom. Brian had to keep reporting apparent failure to the boys - by now riding higher than ever in popular acclaim in Liverpool.

Cont’d next month in No. 6

[icollectyoursins]

Kishibe Rohan x Reader SFW + NSFW

Anon said: “Consider Rohan sfw and nsfw hcs? And in nsfw Rohan could be a top,,? Prrtty pleade hhh, since there is only one work of Rohan ;;”

I hope these are good, not too familiar with Rohan, so I hope you like it!

Wanna know what I’m willing to write? Rules here!

Have a character, but no idea? Prompt list here!

Looking for more? Master post here!

WARNINGS: Making out, stands used in inappropriate ways, fingering, voyeurism, dildos, fucking machines, spanking, hand jobs, blow jobs, oral, face fucking, cock warming, nipple play, nude modelling. 

Word Counts: 2201

SFW

Rohan is a jackass who cares. In the beginning, he’s very private and stand-offish, but he does warm up to you eventually, though he’s still nicer in private than he is in public. He claims this is because he’s a “celebrity” and can’t have his fans see you too close together yada, yada. It’s bullshit and you know it, but you have the feeling it’s because he’s not used to people being close to him. 

Yes, he does have a binder dedicated to paintings, drawings, sketches, etc. all for you. Some are a little on the artistically lewd side, but most of them are of your hands holding something or your smile, your face and shoulders. Some of them he asked you to model for, others he quickly sketched down while you weren’t paying attention and then finished later.

When he’s not holed up inside, he enjoys walking down to either parts of Morioh where he can people watch or down to the park where he can study wildlife (and maybe draw you playing with ducks). 

You are literally never bored in his house. He has every book under the earth and so many loose painting supplies that he painfully lets you use to fool around. (Though let’s be honest, He likes that you take an interest in his job and would be more than happy to give you tips.)

You know what? Rohan is a backseat artist. He watches every stroke you make over your shoulder and tells you maybe you should move the hand this way to make it more natural or add some light shading here to make it dynamic. It may come off as a little pretentious at first, but if you keep with it, he’ll notice the improvement and (occasionally) tell you how good you’re doing while being a total blushing mess.

    You sat in the window seat, knees up with your back against the wall. Resting on your thighs was a sketchbook. Currently, you were just idly drawing lines of shading onto a face. Rohan himself was also busy colouring in his most recent page, though every now and then he would catch himself looking up at your silhouette, lit up by the light in some kind of halo effect.

     Finally, he caved in to his curiosity. Setting down his pencils, he strode over to you. You didn’t notice until his face manifested itself over your shoulder. Startled, you jumped, causing your pencil to make a long line on your artwork. 

     “Jesus, warn me next time.” You said, grabbing your eraser.

     “Have you been struggling with the nose?” He completely ignores you, still staring at your drawing. The paper was clearly marked up by the eraser with deeper marks from where the pencil was.

     “Yeah, actually. It’s either too big or too small. Kind of just gave up.” You carefully tried to erase the long line but wound up taking away parts that you were actually happy with.

     “Be more gentle with the pencil, it’ll make it easier to erase.” He suggested with a monotone.

     “I tried-”

     “And then you got frustrated and pushed harder. I admire your persistence, however, if something isn’t to your liking, walk away and come back. Remember to look at the picture as a whole, not just the nose.” You rolled your eyes, gently tossing your pencil onto the window seat. As much as you wanted to appreciate the advice, you had heard it all before. You were getting sick of it, frankly.

     Rohan took note of your agitation, studying your face carefully. “You’ve improved, though!” You looked up, a little shocked. What? “The eyes are well done and your shading is very even. Good job.” 

     What? Your cheeks grew hot. That was the first bit of praise you had heard from him. About your drawing, at least. He looked down into your eyes, then felt his own face getting hot. He turned away. “Go take a break. I’ll help you when you get back in an hour. I’ll be timing you, don’t be late.”

Like I have said, he’s not overly fond of affection in public (in the beginning), but he can’t deny that holding your hand or feeling you on his arm makes him feel pretty good. The first few times, he’s internally a mess, though he won’t show anything other than a light tint of blush on his cheeks. But when he’s relaxing at home, he enjoys having you under his arm, leaning against him or with one of your heads in the other’s lap. He’s not used to people and even less so used to affection, but can be worked up to being more comfortable with stuff like kissing in front of the Morioh gang and the like.

When he’s comfortable, he is so cocky. Like, boarder line makes out with you in front of literally anyone just to prove you’re his S/O. This always makes you blush so much (unless you’re into that.) More often than not, he’ll have an arm around your shoulders, hand in pocket, looking so smug and proud and cool. 

Pet names? He can either go one of two ways, depending on his mood. Either it’s just your name or babe OR it is every teasing name under the sun. Oh, darling can you do this for me? Oh, baby, oh, honey, oh, my love, oh, my flower. It’s usually used to get something from you or to get you to do something a little out of the box.

I can see Rohan as being the kind of person who is very strict about his bath time and hates when people interrupt him. On the rare occasion, he’ll let you in with him with the promise of either massaging him or something else *wink, wink*

NSFW (Dominant specifically)

Rohan literally does not shut up during sex. Praise, degradation, mocking, you name it! As a writer and an artist, he knows how to stitch words together in a masterful way that never fails to make you hot in the face.

Uh, yeah. He’s used Heaven’s Door on you before. Did he do it to learn your kinks? Maybe to put some kind of loose control over you in certain situations? Looking for people you find attractive for potential erm... art inspiration (voyeurism)? The world will never know.

Staying-on brand with HD, he absolutely uses it to learn everything that you enjoy in the bedroom. He knows how to make you squirm, where to push to make you scream, how to make you beg. He knows everything.

Particularly enjoys using this “power” to finger you, pressing into every sweet spot (that he made more sensitive with HD), licking over the edges of your hole in a way that just makes you dumb (either hole, not picky!)

     A delicate finger was trailed up your twitching hole, making you shiver. Rohan had already stretched you open enough for it to easily slip in again. You were so sensitive from being teased over and over again, but with no relief that you cried out, tears threatening to burst forward.

     He curled his finger up into a particularly sensitive bundle of nerves, slowly pushing into it more. You groaned and whined, blabbering out his name along with various ways to beg. He shushed you carelessly, sounding annoyed by your desperation. God, you wish you could move! You would give anything to be impaled by him right now. Or anything for that matter.

     He removed the digit quickly, then promptly smacked your ass with a flat hand.

     “Quiet.” You had no choice but to listen to him, involuntarily shutting your mouth and stifling your whimpers. “If you want something, be polite about it. Do you know how to be polite?”

     You nodded your head, a single tear trailed down your cheek. Your hole was teased again, repeating the same process as before. Rohan was such an asshole, but god if you didn’t love it.

If you have established a relationship where he has complete control over everything you say or do, he will abuse it so much. Just, tells you to sit still, turns on a wand or vibrator and just tortures you to the point of tears. You can talk, he didn’t take that away (mostly because he wants to hear you beg), but the position he put you in on top of the order. It’s too much for you. 

He’ll do the same with a dildo, a fucking machine, his own dick, does not matter! Once you give him that power, RIP to your organs.

Alright, now. Voyeurism. This man is a freak and does not try to hide it when it’s under the guise of “art.” Again, if established, he will hire random people to do whatever he wants to you. If you’re okay with it, he’ll record it for later research. 

Rohan is a weird jealous type, so he checks out every person you meet and makes sure they’re perfect (ie. not competition and someone you’ll enjoy). Very rarely does he let you pick out the people. Like I said, he’s a weird jealous type. Likes to see you with other people, but not with other people, you know?

There is only one person who he considers competition that he wants you to fuck at least once and it’s Jotaro. Are we surprised? No. Dude is built like a god and has the goods to match. Even Rohan can’t deny it. He would probably want to join in as well, but Jotaro would never do anything like that.

Mmmm, punishments for being bratty? Ooooh, yes. Smack my ass like a drum! Makes you count, absolutely. If he’s in a bitchy, lazy mood he’ll use a paddle or something like that, other than that, he uses his hands. 

As you’ve probably surmised, he likes having control over you in the bedroom, so it’s no surprise he also enjoys tying you up and has a particular fondness for swings where he’ll hang you up and tease you until you can barely walk. 

I mentioned baths in the SFW section, now let me elaborate. Doesn’t like sex in the bath, he hates when the water gets everywhere, but loves when you worship him while scrubbing him down and will allow you to work him up with a light hand job. This usually leads to a blowjob of some kind whether it’s gentle or rough.

Speaking of! His favourite part of sex is probably oral. From sucking bruises into each other’s necks, rough kissing, right down to holding you against the wall and choking you with his dick. Or a dildo, if he wants something a little more adventurous like mirror sex with him taking you from behind and making you watch yourself choke over and over again.

Cock warming is only ever used as punishment for being too needy, but he will keep you in his lap until you’re in tears. He is absurdly patient when it comes to sex.

     You whined, grinding yourself onto Rohan’s dick. He chuckled before letting out a theatrical sigh. Your grip on his shoulders got harder and you buried your face into his neck more.

     “What’s wrong, (Y/N)?” He trailed a soft, teasing hand up your thigh. “You wanted attention, yes? Then, why are you complaining? Now, up, I need another look at my reference.”

     You sighed, tired and riled up at the same time. With new vigour, you sat up, leaning back to show your artist his latest obsession. He hummed in appreciation, taking a minute to admire his muse before licking a warm stripe up your sternum making you gasp. He stopped, giving you a look of warning.

     “Don’t move.” You gave him a curt nod, trying your best to follow your command while he returned his tongue to your chest, exploring your skin’s taste. He flicked over your nipple with the tip, testing your resolve before wrapping his lips around it, sucking harshly. A moan fought its way through your throat as he became more feverous with his suckling. 

     Rohan hummed with you, theatrically mulling over the saltiness, then switching to the next one. Satisfied with the redness around your nipples, he pulls back, looking you over once again. A lightbulb seems to go off in his head and he reaches for his sketchbook which only made his cock shift inside you, rubbing against your walls in a delightfully painful way.

     “Rohan-sensei,” you moaned out. Admittedly, you didn’t like calling him that, but he insisted you call him sensei during times like this. 

     “Stop moving, you’re ruining the picture,” he chided. “Go back to the way you were, darling.” He leaned back, rolling his hips into you to punctuate his words as well as tease you. 

Model nude for him. Whether you like it or not, he will ask you to do it and, if he’s in a sexy mood, you will be asked to do uncomfortable positions that will definitely leave you sore the next day. “It highlights how the muscles work for a new character I’m drawing” or so he says. Other than that, he’ll just let you pick somewhere comfortable and sexy to lie down. 

[featherthiefdean]

Bruiser and the Yellow Bee Bin

Inspired by this hilarious video where a bulldog tackles garabge cans. Also, check it out on AO3 here.

It had been Sam's idea to adopt a dog.

"You'll need someone to come home to when I move in with Eileen," Sam said.

"I found a cute bulldog that would be perfect for you. Bulldogs are low energy and need like one walk daily max. I’ll even come over and walk him on your Saturday shift," Sam said.

"Dean, he has already been returned to the shelter twice. It can't hurt to go meet him," Sam said.

Sam talks a lot.

And that was how Dean found himself at the local animal shelter four months ago, face-to-face with Bruiser the Bulldog.

Bruiser was 60lbs of low-to-the-ground mass. A white stripe went down the left side of his face which offset the snaggle tooth poking out from his underbite on the opposite side. He breathed loudly, snorted often, and waddled like a pregnant penguin. About 2 minutes into meeting Bruiser, he flopped on Dean's feet with a big huff. Drool trickled out of his mouth onto Dean's shoe. Bruiser wagged his stumpy tail as both Sam and Dean bent down to give him belly rubs.

Dean hadn't been sure what to think of Bruiser but Bruiser clearly liked him.

When Sam asked why he had been returned twice, the adoption counselor grimaced.

"He has a lot of... quirks," she had said.

She was right. Bruiser had a LOT of quirks. The first night Bruiser huffed, snorted, and barked until Dean lifted him onto his bed. Satisfied, Bruiser plopped his basketball-sized head on to the pillow next to Dean's, smearing drool across the pillow cover. Bruiser apparently liked comfort.

On the second day, Dean found out that Bruiser would take a mouthful of food out of his bowl, spit it out two feet away, eat the pieces one-by-one, and then go back to the bowl to repeat the cycle.

Bruiser wouldn't eat treats that were green Dean found out on the fourth day.

Sam discovered when he came to visit on the fifth day that Bruiser had stolen Dean's used work socks and hid them under the couch. Unfortunately, the way he found out was when he went to retrieve the ball they had been playing with from under said couch and pulled out one of Dean's crusty socks instead. Dean thought Sam's face and screech of despair was hilarious at the time until he discovered the other 9 socks hidden under the couch.

All these quirks were manageable and, frankly, a little cute if Dean were being honest. Sam and Dean had discussed them each at length and they couldn't believe Bruiser was as much trouble as the shelter seemed to think he was. Dean didn't understand how two families had returned Bruiser after less than two weeks in each home.

Until Day 6: Trash Day. Then, Dean understood.

"Dude, you need to come over after work. It's Bruiser. I don't know how to explain it."

"Is he hurt?"

"No, he seems fine now."

"What happened?"

"This is gonna sound crazy."

"Just tell me, Dean."

"He attacks trash cans."

"He attacks trash cans?"

"Yes dude! We were walking on the sidewalk and then out of nowhere he hurls himself at a trash can and knocked it over. Like a full body slam. I pick it up and put it back just thinking that was weird and a one time thing but he did it three more times before I dragged him back home."

When Sam came over three hours later, Dean was waiting onside on his front step absent-mindedly scratching Bruiser's head with one hand and holding his leash with his other. Dean silently handed Sam the leash when he approached and held up 1 finger as a signal to wait. Dean dragged his large green recycle bin from it's location in the garage near the Impala to the middle of the driveway.

"Try to walk past it."

Sam thought his brother had been exaggerating but when Bruiser went to pass the recycle bin by something shifted. Bruiser rushed forward, tugging at the end of his leash, and launched himself at the container in what could only be described as an All-American football tackle. The bin toppled over a few feet from where it sat originally and Bruiser continued on like nothing had happened.

That "quirk" was the reason Bruiser had been turned into the shelter the first time and returned both times the receptionist told Dean when he phoned the following morning. His first owner thought it was hilarious when Bruiser did it as a puppy and encouraged it for a long time. When Bruiser reached 60lbs, it apparently lost its charm and took him the shelter when he wouldn't stop. Both of Bruiser's adopters thought that this quirk was just too much on a list of weird quirks and brought him back after short stays. The shelter receptionist said they didn't know how they were going to get him adopted at this point with his track record.

When the receptionist asked Dean when he would like to return Bruiser, Dean said he wasn’t planning on it. That was the truth. He never planned to return Bruiser to begin with but he had called the shelter looking for answers. After hearing more about Bruiser’s life, Dean knew he couldn’t abandon the poor guy like all the people did before.

Dean enjoyed snuggling on the couch with Bruiser after a long day at the fire station. Bruiser didn't destroy the house or have accidents when he went to work. Bruiser waited by the bathroom door for him every night while Dean showered before stretching out beside him on the bed. Sam adored him and Eileen loved his slobbery kisses. They loved coming over Saturdays to walk him while Dean worked his longest shift of the week. Sue him, he grew attached to the big lug and his quirks.

And wouldn't you know it, the neighborhood grew attached to Bruiser and his quirks too.

Every Wednesday, neighbors would move their trash cans and recycle bins to the curb for trash day. Every Wednesday evening Bruiser would tackle every trash can and recycle bin he would come across on his evening walk. Dean would hastily collect anything that fell out (trash and recyclables were collected in the morning thankfully but sometimes one or two were accidentally skipped) and right the trash can. Well, as much he could anyway. Bruiser would tackle it immediately once it was upright again.

Three weeks after adopting Bruiser, the neighborhood kids would gather to watch Bruiser demolish trash cans. Some would even walk and chat with Dean to witness the destruction up close.

Two months in and it was practically a weekly neighborhood event with Bruiser and an embarassed Dean serving as entertainment. Neighbors would come out to their front steps to watch Dean and Bruiser on their path of destruction. It was unusual but most people seemed to enjoy watching the bulldog in his element.

One of his neighbors even painted a bullseye on the side of his trash can.

Dean did try to avoid the bins at first but both sides of the street were lined with cans and bins. He tried every trick and tip he found online but Bruiser could not be swayed, bribed, or persuaded not to tackle. Dean even tried walking down the middle of the street which caused him to have to pull/drag his slow-moving bulldog out of the way every time a car came and Bruiser would tackle the closest bin anyway.

Only once did Dean not take Bruiser on his evening walk on trash day and it was then that he discovered another one of Bruiser’s “quirks”. When the bulldog had figured out he wasn’t getting a walk that evening, he started screaming bloody murder and did not stop until Dean picked up the leash.

Four months after adopting him, Bruiser found his sworn enemy at a newly purchased house just four doors down from Dean. The flimsy, yellow recycle bin with yellow bees and the quote "Bee Friendly!" painted on the side deserved the wrath of God Bruiser had decided. Bruiser didn't just want to tackle this bin. He sought to destroy it.

The first week, Bruiser tried to drag the recycle bin from the curb after tackling it. Dean fought to extract it from Bruiser's mouth and had to carry Bruiser away much to the delight of everyone watching.

The second week, Bruiser did the same but this time he tried to run away with it and Dean had to trap Bruiser between his legs to free the poor bin.

The third week, Dean walked on the other side of the street but Bruiser still growled as they passed.

The fourth week Bruiser succeeded in his mission. Which is how Dean found himself in his current predicament.

Dean would never let Bruiser destroy someone else’s property on purpose and steered clear of neighbor's trash cans and recycle bins who didn't enjoy Bruiser's antics as much as the rest of the neighborhood. But today had been a practically long day at the station. He had been called in for an emergency hours before his shift was scheduled to start. He is more tired than usual on their evening walk and isn't paying attention as Bruiser plows through the first neighbor’s plastic trash bin with glee. He didn't even change out of his station t-shirt because he had made plans with Sam and didn’t want to miss Bruiser’s evening walk.

It was only after Bruiser launches himself at the yellow bee bin and manages to crush it with a single, well-placed tackle that Dean remembers Bruiser’s hatred for the thing. Bruiser, satisfied his foe had been vanquished, picks up a large piece with his mouth and starts walking away like he had just successfully hunted a gazelle on the Serengeti.

Dean knew that something like this would happen eventually but did it have to be with a neighbor he hadn’t even met yet? He feels his pocket for his wallet and prepares mentally to write a check to replace the bin while apologizing profusely.

Dean checks his watch and realizes that he was going to be late to meet Sam back at the house. Sam had arranged a blind date/double date with Eileen, Dean, and a mysterious stranger. According to Sam, he doesn’t get out and date enough. Spurred by the success of getting Dean to adopt a dog, Sam had decided the next thing he would fix is Dean’s love life. Sam talks a lot so it didn’t take him long to secure him a date. Dean shoots off a quick text telling Sam what happened and promises to be home soon.

He stalls for a few more minutes while he thinks about what he wants to say. It’s probably going to be something along the lines of Please don’t call the cops on my asshole dog. He likes to tackle trash cans because his first owners were idiots. Here’s a check for 100 bucks.

Finally, Dean can’t avoid it anymore. He gathers the remains of the yellow bee recycle bin and walks Bruiser up the pathway of the two-story family home. After knocking on the front door, Dean is greeted by a pair of bright blue eyes and messy hair.

Dean stands there staring at the man in front of him. The man had obviously just gotten home from work because he is wearing a tan trenchcoat and suit. His tie is backwards and pulled down away from his neck. The man glances down at Bruiser and seems to notice what the dog was carrying in his mouth. He then smiles at Dean and Dean feels his brain short circuit.

"Hello, Dean. I take it you’re here because your dog was finally able to destroy my recycle bin?"

Dean is shocked. He has never met his new neighbor so how did he already know his name? Dean would have remembered meeting someone that looked- well like that.

"Yeah," Dean starts, clearing his throat, “Sorry, about that. I-um- well Bruiser- wait no- I’m sorry that my jerk of a dog-”

The man continues to smile as Dean fumbles through his apology. He steps onto the front steps and closes his door behind him with a soft click. He is only a few inches away from Dean as he bends down to say hello to Bruiser.  

For as much as Bruiser hates the man’s yellow bee recycle bin, he sure seems to like this guy. Bruiser sits immediately within the man’s reach and happily leans against his leg to get attention.

“My name’s Castiel by the way but you can call me Cas. It’s nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you from Sam.”

“You know Sam?”

“Yes, he and Eileen stop by with Bruiser to chat on Saturdays when I am working in my front garden. I’ve heard all about Bruiser’s escapades including his hatred of my recycle bin.”

Sam never mentioned meeting his new neighbor but then again sometimes Dean didn’t always listen the best after his double shift. Usually, Sam would drone on and on about how great Bruiser is, the boring cases at his law office, and that Dean needed to get out more. Most of the time Dean would try to listen before zoning out and nodding occasionally.

“Cas, I really am sorry about all of this. Please let me pay for the replacement.”

“I have a better idea,” Cas says as he stops petting Bruiser and straightens up. He meets Dean’s eyes with an intense stare before continuing.

“You can buy me dinner tonight instead.”

Yep, Dean’s brain is well and truly fried.

“Yeah sure, I can totally buy you dinner. Wait not tonight. I kinda agreed to this thing with Sam... So raincheck maybe?” That was as smooth as crunchy peanut butter, Dean thinks to himself.

Cas smiles even wider, “Good to know you weren’t going to skip out our date tonight. Sam warned me that you were unsure if you wanted to go at all but now that you owe me dinner, I’m almost positive that you’ll show up.”

“You’re my date tonight?”

“Yes. When I mentioned I was single last weekend, Sam asked if I would be interested in joining him and Eileen on a double date with his ‘single, firefighter brother who has a cute dog.’ You can, of course, back out if you are uninterested now that we’ve met.”

Dean had only recently come out as bisexual but trust his little brother to ally-up right away and secure him a date with the first single, attractive man he stumbled upon. Not that Dean is complaining.

“Cas, I would love to buy you dinner tonight and not just because of Sam- or Bruiser.”

Cas accompanies Dean and Bruiser for the rest of their walk after disposing of the remains of the murdered recycle bin. Bruiser carries his stolen piece of the yellow bee recycle bin with great pride and only knocks the occasional trash can over as they make their way back to Dean’s house. Conversation flows easier the more they talk and they seem to hit it off. Cas laughs as Dean works to straighten up the bulldog’s path of destruction and Dean laughs when Cas recounts Sam’s first loud conservation in his garden.

Sure, Sam talks a lot but Dean doesn’t think it’s quite so bad now that it got him a dog and a date.

[sukiglycerin]

call it fate (or a christmas miracle) || katsuki bakugou.

* pairing: bodyguard!katsuki bakugou x earthbending quirk!reader (gender neutral!)

* genre: bodyguard!au, fluff, some angst, fake dating, aNd thEre wAs OnE bEd

* words: 10.3k (help)

* warnings: swearing bc bakugou, too much backstory, idk what bodyguards even do, there’s a fight scene (in a similar lieu to the sports festival arc), hunter x hunter? no this is tsundere x tsundere, i want to hug bakugou, yes i imagine mr. tanaka to be the tanaka from kuroshitsuji, christmas is a very minor aspect of the story (but the title was too good to resist)

* original request from @apexqueenie​: Hnnnnnnnnnnnngh can I get a Bodygaurd Bakuboi x bratty reader who don’t like to be watched like a hawk cuz she wants to do fun things pretty please? // and from anonymous:  if it's ok, can I request Bakugou with a reader who has a quirk like earth bending please? // and from @killkurzyackerman​: ÒWÓ UR REQS ARE OPEN can u do a bakubabe with like lil sassy bad bitch vibe reader bc ive seen a lot of fics that sorta like softie or angel type and no offense theyre great but ya know sumthn diff this time please

* a/n: this is a very long fic, to say the least. i combined these three requests! though reader’s quirk doesn’t appear often, it conveys my thoughts on how bakugou would go about with that quirk. moreover, i hope this reader is badass? i realize that that characterization is quite hard for me. so, i hope you don’t see reader as super soft! i made them fight back against bakugou (literally, too) and kinda bratty hehe. i got to explore a lot of new things with this fic, so i hope they reach you well. this is a repost because it originally did not show up in the tags!

* synopsis: things had gotten boring with bakugou as your bodyguard. it was only until an interesting proposal by the man that things would change. well, maybe a little too much would change...

you, to be quite simple and honest, were getting tired of katsuki bakugou. he'd been your bodyguard for years (years! much longer than any other you'd hired!) and he was getting boring. dull. plain. any synonymous word would fit. he was boring like a 24 hour session of watching paint dry, monotone like a professor’s droning that never failed to put you to sleep. (perhaps he was even more spiritless than professor sato at the academy. he caught you sleeping no less than thirteen times in his class. the number didn’t even account for the times he didn’t catch you.)

to the untrained eye, katsuki bakugou is vibrant. he's aggressive, unruly, and ruggedly charming (somehow). he's a wonder in a suit-and-tie and the epitome of an oxymoron with his harsh words, rough hands, and crisp suit. it was that very reason you’d hired him; his personality excited you. it seemed unpredictable and it was a challenge.

like all other challenges, bakugou was not impossible. once the challenge was overcome, time flow was stagnant; you watched the ticking of a clock as the day passed by you. you’d gotten used to him and he’d gotten used to you. these days, he watched you like a hawk. you could never slip past those sharp eyes anymore, no matter what you did. he was not fazed by any of your antics (ticked off mildly, sure, but he could live with it).

“leave me alooooone,” you whined for the fourth time in an hour as you exited a mall. bakugou's hands were full of shopping bags filled with everything from clothing to the latest technological invention. you weren’t sure how he was supposed to protect you in that condition. though, to be candid - in the first place, you didn’t need protection. you attended a private institution designed to maximize the use of your quirk as a child and graduated with absolutely flying colors. on top, you’d taken various martial arts outside of school. you didn’t know why your parents were still concerned about your wellbeing. you handled it fine. around 99.9% of the time, you could easily beat your bodyguard in a fair fight. it was a regular practice for you; so common that there was a reward if a bodyguard could last longer than six months working for you. not that any of them liked to be called bodyguards.

“sweetheart, i would if i could,” bakugou gritted through his teeth. “pay’s too good to- goddamn, what did you even buy?” he’d stopped behind you to adjust his grip on one of the bags.

you hummed pleasantly, continuing at your same, leisurely pace. his question was a rhetoric; he watched you buy everything with your black credit card. you watched as a car pulled up in front of you.

“there’s our ride,” you said, brushing bakugou’s shoulder as you stepped into the car. he grunted in response, loading the car with your purchases.

“fight me with your quirk when we get home,” you said during the ride. “you have, what, a boom boom quirk?”

he made a noise in his throat, voice hard. “my quirk’s explosions. nitroglycerin.”

“dangerous,” you said through a smile. he’d never used his quirk around you, but you were already starting to see possibilities of strategies you could use.

“so says the master earthbender,” he retorted sarcastically.

you clicked your tongue. “we’ll see who wins in the fight, explodo-boy.”

“finally brave enough to challenge me, eh?"

“i was always this brave.”

“oh, give it up already, bakugou!” you directed another wall of rocky terrain toward bakugou, who blew up the land and sent rocks flying. his stance was hunched slightly, forehead matted with sweat. the sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up to his elbows, coat long abandoned on the rugged terrain.

“tired already?” he snarled. he put his hands together, preparing for a bigger explosion. you didn’t let him have this opportunity, slinging a large rock to absorb the impact of the explosion. he dodged swiftly, to your disappointment, but his attack seemed to be subdued.

you used his delayed reaction time to try to trap him with terrain under his feet, but he was somehow a step ahead of you. you heard a popping noise; bakugou was propelled through the air, your rocks blasted already and a cloud of dust forming. you cussed under your breath, already moving yourself away from his estimated landing spot that was too close to you.

he sent crackling explosions to the bottoms of your feet, but you easily dodged them. you created a temporary platform of elevated ground to protect yourself from the small explosions, jumping off it and rolling away. he was already aiming a larger blast toward you, presumably expecting your escape route. you figured it’d be a directed blast to pierce through a wall. you knew that the explosion would be unavoidable. to counter, you created a line of walls resembling dominos. they acted as stairsteps; you quickly ran up to the highest you could conjure in the short time you had before bakugou hit them. you grabbed the closest piece of rock that you could and leapt as bakugou’s blast made contact with your steps, chucking the rock at him and aiming to kick him when you landed. you knew he had no power to counter, being unable to react quickly due to the powerful nature of the blast he’d conjured.

you were about to win when the door to the training facility opened. you froze, literally, in midair and frowned, turning to look at the intruder.

“fighting, young-?” one of the butlers, tanaka, said. he was an elderly man with a gentle voice, but his eyes always seemed to glint with a clandestine humour in it.

“you can call me by my first name. please put me down, tanaka,” you said, no malice in your voice. he nodded, and you softly landed on your feet next to bakugou. you’d known tanaka for far too long for him to use honorifics with you. he’d practically raised you as a child.

“you haven’t fought in a while,” tanaka commented. he conjured a water bottle (you never knew how he had the right things for the right occasions) and walked toward you.

you made a noise of acknowledgement. “and it seems i was just about to win.”

he smiled tenderly. “i’m sure.” he handed you the water bottle, which upon further inspection, you saw was ice cold.

“thank you,” you said, gingerly accepting the beverage. the water flowed soothingly down your throat, easing the aching that had formed due to all the dust you’d kicked up in the fight.

“mr. bakugou?” tanaka asked, offering another water bottle (seriously, where did he get that?).

“thanks,” bakugou took the bottle. he drank feverishly, quickly finishing the bottle in what must’ve been two seconds flat. so undignified.

“y/n, you have an appointment in 15 minutes with-” tanaka said as you capped your water bottle.

“oh, yeah,” you said, waving off the matter. “i got it.”

you brushed off the dust on your clothes and started toward the exit. bakugou was quick to follow you, nodding politely to tanaka.

bakugou stood outside the door during the meeting you had with your father. you were not a minute too late or too early when you stepped into your father’s office, freshened up and dressed in clean attire, the dusty clothing from your fight with bakugou long discarded. the smell of leather and mint enveloped you, reminding you of the days you’d play in your father’s office in your youth. the room was always dim, the light on your father’s desk being the brightest object in the vicinity when the curtains were pulled down. when you were younger, you liked to pretend the room was made of chocolate, as the color was so dominant on the interior. your father was not pleased to find five-year-old you trying to bite the corner of his desk, to say the least. 

the sight of his office was ever-so familiar to you, and once held a feeling of endearment in your heart. that was then; now, you only ever entered the room for a business-related matter. your face was blank, lips held in a thin line -  you anticipated the topic of the meeting since your father first scheduled it a week ago. it, quite frankly, was inevitable; you could be neither opposed nor favorably disposed to it.

“i’ve found a compatible match for you, y/n.” your father sat at his desk, eyes intensely trained on you. “they’re from a well-off family with a strong quirk.”

compatible. it didn’t mean they got along with you or would be a good partner; no, it meant that they matched the superficial criteria set by your family.

“yes, father,” you said indifferently. he nodded, as if already expecting the answer.

“you’ll meet them soon. we’re arranging the date,” he folded his hands on the desk. “tanaka will alert you of it when it’s finalized. that is all.”

you nodded, taking your cue to leave. giving the room one last glance, you started to push the door open, then paused. door halfway open, allowing outside light to stream into the dark room, you looked back at your father. it was now or never to ask, you guessed.

“father… we wouldn’t happen to be having a family gathering anytime soon, would we? for new years or anything...” you hadn’t had any in the recent years, but you’d figured you’d ask. the scent of homemade food and the comforting chatter of the gatherings always made your heart swell.

he grunted, not looking up from the papers he shuffled around in his hands. “no.”

“ah. okay,” you said, sighing quietly. you knew better than to get your hopes up for such things. you turned back to the light, where bakugou was awaiting you, and shut the door behind you with a thud.

you walked in silence.

“so, no plans for the holidays?” bakugou asked bluntly.

“eavesdropping, i see,” you deadpanned.

“shouldn’t’ve had the conversation in front of the whole damn world.”

you rolled your eyes. “what about it?” you asked. “my lack of plans, i mean.”

“well-” he coughed awkwardly into his sleeve, averting his eyes. “that old hag- my, uh, mom, somehow got under the impression that i’m no longer… single. probably because of my profession - she thinks it’s ridden with scandals like a damn drama - but, uh… she’s expecting me to bring… company home for our christmas dinner…. and i can’t ask any of my friends, ‘cause she knows them… i wouldn’t damn ask you if i had no other option…”

“thanks,” you interjected. you held your tongue from making a comment about how little friends he probably had. “anyway, why don’t you tell her no?”

he slouched. “have you met her?” he grumbled. “the hag won’t listen to me. trust me, i would’ve, but… you can’t refuse her, once her mind is set on something… she’s too stubborn for her damn good.”

“like you,” you remarked, earning a small shove from the man.

“pl-” he choked, “pl - ah, fuck - please can you go to the dinner with me? it’s just for a night and morning, i need you to fake being my date. i can tell her we broke up later or whatever, i just really need…”

your lip curled. a desperate bakugou was a rare sight, and you wanted to relish in it for as long as you could. you feigned further consideration.

“but there’s so much i would rather be doing…” you whined. it was a lie. all you wanted was some variation in your life; a dinner didn't sound too bad. perhaps there was a dark secret within the bakugou family you could exploit. 

“like what, wasting money?” bakugou muttered bitterly under his breath. you shot him a dirty look.

“fine, please?” he asked again. “there’ll be some damn good food… and, uh…” you tapped your foot with false impatience.

he cussed under his breath. “i’ll do whatever you want, damnit, just go with me! please!”

you cocked an eyebrow. “whatever i want?”

“yes, for a day,” he groused. “only a day.”

“alright!” you pumped your fist up. your father’s business training came in handy sometimes. “when’s the dinner?”

“this weekend,” bakugou said. “we also need to, uh, figure out how to act more… coupley.”

“...right,” you said. business class had not prepared you for that. “how the fuck do we do that?”

as it turned out, you two were not the best pair to fake a relationship. neither of you had actually been in a relationship prior to this. you didn’t really have time to date on top of your studies and such; you didn’t need to, anyway, because all of the people who were romantically interested in you bored you. their personality traits either consisted of rich or doormat. as for bakugou - well, he was bakugou. you couldn’t see anyone wanting to date that brute.

“i’ll pay,” you said upon entering a cafe. it was a big cafe, nestled in the midst of an even bigger mall. your tone was firm; there’d be no way bakugou would be paying. you looked up at the menu and said to him, “the usual?”

he was silent for a moment, and you almost thought he hadn’t heard you. he cleared his throat. “uh, yeah, sure. the usual.” weird.

you ordered yourself a drink and bakugou his usual order, a decaf iced caramel macchiato with light ice. he looked at you with a strange emotion on his face when you handed him his drink.you practically shoved it in his hands while he was too starstruck about god-knows-what.

the two of you settled at a booth (“table,” bakugou had argued. you eventually won the debate).

“so… trivia about each other, right?” you asked. “i guess we’ve got to get to know each other more.” he nodded. “well, first, you need to stop being so quiet. right now, you’re not my bodyguard or anything. we’re, uh…. dating. we’re partners. datemates. lovers.”

he choked on his drink at the word “lovers.” he sputtered, then gained composure. “yeah.”

“okay, i need to you to be more casual.”

“tch, who said i’m not casual right now?!” there it was; this was the bakugou you’d known when you first met him. he was awkward and amateur-ish, stumbling on his words and failing miserably at being polite. it was a fond memory. overtime, he’d obviously polished himself up (but only in the presence of you and your family).

“that’s more like it,” you said.

“tch.” he sipped his coffee, unrelenting to admit that you’d won.

“well, let’s cover basic facts. your birthday is april 20 and you like spicy food.”

he coughed again, setting his drink down. “yeah.”

“are you okay? d’you need water, or something? are the lights in here too bright?”

he shook his head, eyes still dazed with a certain unclarity. “‘m fine, idiot.”

you weren’t convinced. “...whatever you say.”

he took another sip, closing his eyes then continuing as normal. normal, in the standards of bakugou, of course. “i-i think i know damn well enough about you. don’t need to prove shit,” he grumbled the last bit.

“a little bit too well,” you muttered saltily. “well, this is a learning experience for me, take it or leave it. we need to get along at the dinner, don’t we?” you drummed your fingers on the table, eyes darting around at the cafe. the decor was pretty. 

he made a grievance under his breath, but nodded. “there’s my dad and my mom - the old hag - and me. i’m an only child.” figures. he continued, “they both work in fashion… yeah… my dad’s more quiet than my mom, she’s loud… apparently we’re a lot alike - don’t comment - but yeah, she’s my mom. they live in shizuoka, and it’ll be just them at the dinner. you’ll need to stay overnight...”

“seems… intimate,” you commented offhandedly.

he whistled. “you think?”

the gears in your head turned as you stared into the space over bakugou's shoulder at a large poster of some featured drink. it was all small talk to you, but you saw this meeting for what it was. an opportunity. it was your break from the uniform days plaguing you for the past week's - he wouldn’t need to watch over you, now your fake lover. lovers were equal. 

love - what was love? you didn’t know, but it didn’t matter. feigned or not, it was different. couples were moody, from what you could gather. one day they’d be hanging off each other’s limbs, and the next, they were bickering their heads off. it sounded fun, to be a couple with bakugou rather than his employer. you could say goodbye to normalcy and tedium.

you felt your lips turn into a smile as a plan developed in your mind, tapping the table at an increasingly faster tempo. who cared about the dinner? you were a fake couple! you could break away from the norm and find the things that made bakugou tick. you could gain a one-up over him. you could pick his personality apart piece by piece until it broke the monotony of daily life. you watched bakugou’s expression grow puzzled and frustrated. you pretended to be deep in thought, aware that bakugou was opening his mouth to make a snarky comment presumably about how the smile on your face was getting unnerving to him.

you didn’t let him speak, instead cupping your face in your hands and leaning in towards him. “how do you think we should become more intimate, kat-su-ki?”

you think you got soft over the years. when you first met bakugou, he was a rough little thing. being the same age as you, he was far less qualified compared to the other candidates to be your bodyguard. he looked out of place in his suit identical to everyone else. call it fate, or what you will, beckoning you towards him. when you first met him, you could’ve never imagined how far into the future you’d be stuck with the boy. all of the bodyguards you’d hired prior to bakugou’s appearance in your life didn’t last long. it wasn’t their fault; no, no, they were very competent. extremely competent - to the point it was boring, scrutinized under their meticulous gaze. you could do absolutely nothing under their watch, and where was the fun in that?

so, long story short, you hired bakugou for his incompetence. you’d low expectations for how long he’d last. you were surprised he could even put on a tie properly. from the way his hair spiked in every which way (“undignified!” your father had complained to you) and how his feet shuffled against the nice, newly polished cherry wood floors (“the scuff marks…”), bakugou was far from the epitome of a bodyguard. he couldn’t sit still and constantly made weird crackling noises (which you later learned were small explosions, not the concerningly incessant crack of his knuckles). the cherry on top to the disaster pie called bakugou, however, was his speech. he was polite, at face value, but also incredibly rough at face value. if you transcribed his words down, they’d be all standard formalities. it was the quirky way in which he presented his words; gritted out like somehow had forced him into this job. actually, scratch that, it was like this job was the be-all or end-all of his life. he was like an extremely tsundere shounen protagonist. he needed to win (“win what?” your father had laughed in disbelief) and be the very best. you'd… appreciate the sentiment more if you were his mentor in becoming a pokemon trainer.

of all the things bakugou was at the time, he was not a stoic old man nor a cold, indifferent boy who looked down on you snottily; he got the job. much to your father’s chagrin, of course. you’re pretty sure he had a backup bodyguard during the first month or so of bakugou’s employment, in case bakugou dropped out mysteriously for any reason. 

surprisingly, bakugou was competent, but not infuriatingly so. he had snark, and under any other employer he would’ve been fired in the first week. he did his job, and that was all. it was fun to tick him off, too, and so easy. it was - dare you say it? - cute. you wanted to watch him fall apart and leave, as so many others had. you waited for the day he’d get used to you or vice versa, when you’d wake up with nothing to look forward to. in the end, no one ever stayed with you. you could usually figure that out within the first week of a bodyguard’s services.

these days, you started feeling that way. bakugou was just becoming everyone else you’d ever hired. he was becoming everyone else. for some reason, though, you still clasped onto the thread of hope that maybe he was different, and that led you down a series of events trying to convince yourself he was different.

at the same time, you told yourself he was like everyone else. did you want him to stay or not? you didn’t know anymore. maybe fate would spin something good out of this, or maybe he would. you didn’t want it in your hands anymore.

being flirty was definitely not the best route of plan, but man, it was efficient. what better way to fake being a couple than organically develop that relationship? that was your bullshit reasoning to the logical part of yourself (when it was obviously far from the truth).

yeah, it was definitely not the best plan. you bored of it quite quickly, but couldn’t shake off the lasting feeling of fluttering in your stomach. you supposed it was because it was the most reaction you’d gotten from bakugou in months. you’d never seen him so disgruntled.

he was very, very blushy. you didn’t know how you hadn’t learned of it earlier. his cheeks were dusted strawberry red, matching the hue on the tips of his ears. ah, tsundere bakugou had returned for a short period of time. you wished you could've taken a picture of him.

you tapped the tip of his nose and he hissed at you, cheeks darkening a shade.

“a boop?” he scoffed indignantly in disbelief. “who calls it that? a five year old?” but you could tell that he really enjoyed it on the inside.

“what- what are you playing at, dumbass?” he swatted your hand when you tried to boop him again.

“c’mon, couples need to do coupley things, katsuki,” you cooed. “like overly affectionate pda~”

you didn’t know someone could get so red.

“since when did you call me by my first name?” he grumbled, unable to form any other type of response.

“since we started ‘dating,’” you teased back, realizing that watching bakugou become more and more uncomposed was more fun than you’d expected. he'd never become so open around you; after all, you'd had a strictly professional relationship prior, so bakugou never expressed any hint of a personality other than his behavior when he was first hired. it was a good change, in your eyes.

then, as you did of most things, you bored of it. sure, flustering bakugou was fun because he was so outwardly tsundere, but your attention span was short. he was already starting to recollect himself in record time, face cooling from a startling scarlet to pink and remarks becoming increasingly cohesive.

you're not even sure if he was aware of your gaze resting upon him as you half-assed responses and watched the gears in his head furiously turn. when he got real worked up, he pouted when speaking and occasionally slurred words together. his eyes tended to veer away when he thought of a response and he always got fidgety. 

eventually, you stopped teasing him. by this time, the ice in his drink had already melted and you were dangerously close to kissing him on the cheek (it was an impulse thing! you were not catching feelings!).

if there was one thing you learned, it was this: bakugou was truly a sight in his emotional state, though you could argue his unassuming state was equally, if not more breathtaking.

you noticed it as morning light illuminated him through the window of your room, hitting the silky fabric of your bedsheets around him. he was reading some book, dressed in comfortable attire that felt oddly domestic. maybe it'd be the most casual you'd ever see bakugou.

the thought struck a chord in you, making you wonder what'd happen after the dinner. it'd be awkward, for sure. it dawned on you that these moments with katsuki would vanish and things would go back to normal. they'd disappear into thin air, like nothing had ever happened. you weren't well educated in horology, but you were pretty sure that the time you'd spent with him would vanish as well, not to be spoken of or referenced ever again. time would keep trudging forward and you'd only be able to stare back as it disappeared on the horizon line.

you wanted to grasp the time that flooded your hands, encase the moment in glass and hold it in your palm forever.

"oi, idiot, what are you staring at?" and maybe it was the first time you truly heard bakugou's voice. it was rough on the edges with a soft core, you realized. maybe, after these couple of days, bakugou had started to care for you.

"nothing, stupid," you mumbled, returning your attention to your phone, but you couldn't shake off the newfound feeling that holed up in your heart. bakugou didn't care about you, you told yourself. you had a strictly professional relationship with him, and that was only broken for the time being because he needed a favour. 

right. this was all for a favor.

nights spent testing each other on the most miniscule of facts and afternoons spent telling each other stories about each other - it was all nothing. it wasn't a big deal, you repeated to yourself.

still, you couldn't help but to look back up at bakugou and let your imagination run. he wore a black shirt and sweatpants, a complete 180 turn from the typical three piece suit he normally wore. maybe this is what he'd look like in the mornings if you were a proper couple, not client and bodyguard - maybe in another universe. you could imagine his bedhead, hair all messy and eyes still worn with sleep, vastly different from the professional persona he had around you.  you'd wake up inhaling the scent of caramel and feeling his warmth surround you, feeling secure merely in his embrace. it'd be him and you in your own little bubble, unperturbed by the entire world.

wait, caramel? you wondered. where did that come from?

"you're staring again, dumbass," bakugou grunted, not looking up from his book.

"zoned out on the blandest thing i saw, sorry," you replied.

you sat in silence like that for a while. you weren't not exactly sure how it was bonding time for the dinner (were you sharing telepathic waves?), but it was comfortable like a fluffy comforter on a frigid winter day. it felt secure, like a home you never had in your own bedroom. every now and then there was the sound of a page turning from bakugou and a tap on your phone from you, and things never felt so normal. it was too short an eternity for you; before you knew it, you had some event to attend to for your father, solely there for the image of his company.

you didn't see the bittersweet look on bakugou's face as he watched you leave, or how he hadn't even finished a chapter of his book during the hours he'd sat with you. as his eyes followed your disappearing silhouette, bakugou wondered if he'd ever be able to see you like that again.

a foreign giddy feeling filled your chest as you got ready for the dinner with bakugou’s parents. you’d brought a bag for light travel packed with essentials (pyjamas, toothbrushes, and things like that), having planned ahead. you were typically indifferent to gatherings of any kind, having attended so many for your father. besides, this was a favor for bakugou. you weren’t sure why you were being so indecisive choosing an outfit for the dinner, or why your heart felt light as a feather, fluttering about in your rib cage boundless. this was no big deal, you told yourself. it’d only be bakugou and his parents; you’d spoken at gatherings of far more people with less nerves. you penned it down to only being excited for the food which was so coveted by bakugou. his mother, mitsuki, was apparently an outstanding cook (bakugou was apparently good as well), and you had to admit, you missed the heartening scent of homemade dishes. her specialty was spicy curry - your mouth watered at the thought. 

yes, you reassured yourself as you walked out of the door and met the fresh, winter air outside, you were only in it for the food. you had an abnormally fast heart rate and a spring to your step (as noted by bakugou) solely for the food. 

shizuoka prefecture was two hours away from your hometown, tokyo, and you forced bakugou to drive. the trip didn’t really feel like two hours, anyway, in your opinion. according to bakugou, that was only because you were sleeping the majority of the time and he was stuck with the dull task of driving and only the low hum of the radio to entertain him. 

“well, this is it,” you said to bakugou, approaching his parents’ home, bag in hand. it looked quite elegant on the outside, snow thinly blanketing the well-kept greenery in the front. you turned to look at him. his suit looked nicer than usual, on full display because he refused to wear a coat despite the frigid air biting at any bit of bare skin unsheathed on your body. (“just the perks of having a great quirk like mine,” he’d said. you punched his shoulder.) you huddled closer into the warm padding of your coat, watching your white breath dissipate in the air.

“it is,” he belatedly said. his face was atypically solemn, eyes downcast and seemingly lost in thought. you didn’t comment on it. something about the nippy winter air numbed the atmosphere, as if all warmth had subsided only to your coat. 

“do i look alright?” you asked him, trying to wipe away any last bits of drool you might’ve had on the corner of your mouth.

“yeah. you look… really nice,” he commented quietly. you didn’t mention that your bulky coat was covering the entirety of your attire. a heavy silence fell over the two of you.

anyway, the mood was quickly relieved by the presence of mitsuki bakugou, who greeted the pair of you at the door with her husband, masaru. bakugou really was a spitting image of his mother, sharing the same spiked blond hair and annoyingly clear skin with her. they also had similarly loud personalities, you observed later on. they’d often bicker with no real malicious intent. they were both much different compared to bakugou’s father, masaru, who was a gentle, soft-spoken man with brown hair and glasses. 

mitsuki met you with enthusiasm, eagerly asking you questions about yourself and your relationship with bakugou. it was strange to see bakugou so quiet; though, at some points in the conversation, he looked like he was going to be sick. you didn’t have time to ask him about it, occupied by his mother’s unending but well-meaning questions. you’d expected to fib for most of them, but the truth easily slipped from your tongue. even compliments about him were half-truths. 

"when we first met, he was like a fish out of water!" you recounted to mitsuki. "he stumbled on his words and my father didn't approve of him as my bodyguard. but, i pushed through, and here we are! right, katsuki?"

"r-right," he coughed, unable to look you in the eye and fidgeting nervously.

"it amazed me, too," mitsuki admitted. "i'd never seen our katsuki looking so polished before - it used to be a trouble getting him to even wake up at a decent time." she smiled at you. "you've brought a blessing on him."

bakugou cleared his throat. "don't talk about me like i'm not here," he grumbled.

"oh, katsuki," mitsuki cooed, pinching bakugou's cheek. "masaru, let's prepare dinner." she looked at you and bakugou. "the two of you don't need to worry about a thing - oh, you still have your bags! i’ll put them in katsuki’s room."

upon the absence of bakugou’s parents, the two of you sat beside each other without a word. 

“are you… feeling alright?” you asked suddenly, breaking the silence. “you don’t look so well.”

“fine,” he grunted. “i’m fine.”

“are you sure?” you teased in an attempt to lighten the mood. “not nervous meeting the parents?”

he cracked a small smile, but his fingers still nudged each other in his lap. you touched his shoulder, first in an attempt to comfort him, but soon realized that he was very toasty. you scooted towards him; he stared at you with an surprised, indecipherable expression. you linked his arm with yours and leaned into him, inhaling his cologne and bathing in his warmth.

“what?” you mumbled. “you’re warm.” you intertwined his fingers with yours. “warm,” you happily cooed, eyes slipping shut. 

“jesus christ,” bakugou hissed. “you’re freezing. is it humanly possible for your hands to be this cold?” his other hand enveloped your hand (still being held by his), rubbing his thumb soothingly on the heel of your palm. a bubble of warmth fizzed inside you, heart effervescing like a carbonated beverage. he held you long after your hand had passed room temperature, and you sensed that maybe the fuzzy feeling jittering about you wasn’t his quirk. it was like some sort of low fire, crackling deep within you. you hadn’t much time to dwell on the thought when your eyes jolted open, smelling really, really good food wafting from somewhere near.

“look at the lovebugs,” you heard mitsuki murmur, standing in the doorway connecting the kitchen to the living room leaning on her husband. “dinner’s ready,” she softly said upon noticing your eyes on her. 

your eyes widened, looking down at the hand entwined in yours, and you look at the man next to you. bakugou was sound asleep, tranquil slumber having sheathed itself around him. his head leaned against the top of the couch, mouth slightly agape and chest falling rhythmically.

“hey,” you whispered. reluctant to let go of his hand, you used your opposite hand to tap his shoulder lightly. “hey, sleepyhead.”

bakugou groaned, eyes still closed and body unmoving. “five… more… minutes…”

“sure,” you said easier than you expected. you immediately let go of the man’s hand (he reached out toward you blindly at this) and stood up. “i’ll just eat all of that food you've been looking forward to by myself…” mitsuki and masaru looked at you fondly.

“nice try, dumbass,” he said gruffly, standing up and putting a hand on your shoulder. his eyes were lidded with torpor and his voice was an octave deeper. it sent shivers down your spine - you hadn’t ever heard his voice like that - and a part of you wanted to hear it again. sadly, the effects of sleep passed him quite quickly; by the time he’d said “let’s eat, dumbass,” and made his way to the dining room, his voice was back to normal.

dinner consisted of scrumptious-looking (and tasting!) chicken katsu, curry, and even more conversation. your mouth watered as you spooned yourself the perfect ratio of rice, curry, and chicken in one bite. you politely raved to bakugou’s mother about her heavenly cooking, and bakugou never looked so proud or embarrassed in his life. masaru discussed fashion with you, mitsuki occasionally chiming in and offering to show you pictures of young bakugou modelling. you courteously declined for the fear of bakugou’s face getting any redder than it was already. 

“y’know, katsuki really wanted to be a pro-hero when he was younger,” mitsuki reminisced. “he even was accepted at that really prestigious hero school, ua.”

you looked at bakugou with questioning eyes, and he shook his head dismissively, hesitant to the topic. you wondered what he was doing here, as your bodyguard, rather than the hero he aspired to be. it wasn’t like he’d be unable to become a sidekick once out of ua, so what happened…?

at the end, you seemed to have gotten the approval of mitsuki and masaru. your heart twisted in pain realizing who you were and why you were here; this was asked of you, nothing real. you pushed the thought away, returning to the dining room after washing your hands. 

“oh, my!” mitsuki exclaimed as you entered the dining room. “it’s getting late.” she turned to you. “we don’t have a guest bedroom, so you’ll have to share a room with katsuki, if that’s alright?”

you looked to bakugou, who seemed lost in his own thoughts. “sure, i don’t mind,” you replied. 

“i’m sure you’d love to see bakugou’s childhood room.” this brought bakugou abruptly to his senses; his eyes rounded, face looking like a deer caught in headlights. 

a smile tweaked your lips. “i’d love to.”

you didn’t know what you were expecting when mitsuki opened the door to bakugou’s room. certainly, though, you were not expecting this. his room was decorated from head to toe with all might merchandise, carefully collected through the years. it could’ve been worse, you admitted to yourself, but bakugou’s interest in all might surprised you. the level of admiration bakugou had for the former symbol of peace was clear, plastered on the wall posters and figurines which dotted his bookshelves. 

“of course,” misuki said, “this is all really from his middle school days. he had to move to a dormitory system in high school, and i’m afraid he didn’t take much along with him…”

you tilted your head at bakugou, who’d taken particular interest in the ground with his hand sheepishly on the back of his neck.

“it’s cute,” you reassured him gently.

“though katsuki’s bed is pretty big, we could pull out a futon if you’d like…” 

“it’s alright.” shit. why did you say that? noting the bewilderment on bakugou’s face, you added, “we are dating and all…” you mentally smacked yourself for assuming bakugou would be comfortable sleeping in the same bed as you. “yeah,” bakugou said, much to your shock.

“that settles it!” mitsuki smiled. she winked. “don’t stay up too late.”

after mitsuki and masaru bade you goodnight and closed the door behind them, you were left alone with bakugou.

“hey, is that a picture of you?” after looking around the room, your eyes fell on a framed photo sitting on bakugou’s dresser. you reached for it, recognizing a familiar spiky haired blonde boy proudly holding a trophy.

“wait-” the frame was already held in your hands.

“aw, you were such a cute kid.” you teased, “can’t say the same about now.”

he huffed, ears reddening. “there’s a photo album on the bookshelf,” he mumbled, pointing to a thick looking book on his bookshelf. you eagerly plucked it from the shelf, holding it like a precious treasure in your two hands. he shoved his hands into his pockets and rested his chin on your shoulder, watching you open the photo album. 

the first photo was a baby photo, of course, and you could feel that it was taking every part of bakugou not to rip the book from your hands and scorch it all out of embarrassment. the first few pages were those of baby bakugou, eating food with his hands or playing with his parents. as the book progressed, you watched him develop a quirk (blowing up a vase) and become interested in pro-heroes (clutching an all might doll to his chest with a big smile on his face). the photos became more scarce as bakugou grew, but he seemed to grow happier. paging through photos of him in high school, the man’s gaze seemed to grow softer and fonder. his high school pictures consisted of him either standing in front of the famous ua or making an indifferent face with a group of his friends, who looked vaguely familiar from somewhere. upon further inspection, it dawned on you. you could recognize them all - they were young versions of the pro-heroes red riot, pinky, chargebolt, and cellophane. they regularly appeared on your newsfeed for one heroic deed or another, so it came no surprise to you that they attended the famed ua high. 

as for bakugou, though? you couldn’t understand what he was doing there, or rather, here. if he graduated ua, he’d be right on track to become a pro-hero, not a bodyguard. 

bakugou already sensed your revelation, shutting the book and putting it down. sitting on the bed, he squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“i know what you’re thinking,” he stated. he took a shaky breath. “i’m- i’m not ready to talk about it.” 

“okay,” you replied. “i think… we should get some sleep. you have to drive back tomorrow.”

he snorted. “me?” 

you nodded like it was a given.

the night was long, dragging in the same manner that you’d trudge through deep snow with weights on your ankles. it wasn’t that bakugou’s old bed was uncomfortable; it was surprisingly plush. you laid awake, though, as the clock ticked by and the house went silent. you felt as stiff as a wooden board, staring at the dark ceiling and thinking about everything and nothing.

your thoughts first strayed to bakugou’s childhood, and how he’d seemed the poster child for an aspiring pro-hero. how could he have given that up? he had friends, dreams, and a path open to his aspirations. yet somehow his life had deviated into this, pretending to date you for his parents’ sake.  

it felt strange to lay in his bed in his parents’ house and not to really call him yours. not that you wanted to call him yours outside of this scenario. definitely not. it was just the guilt gnawing at you that impaired your proper judgement - your conscience felt pity. you pulled off a large lie to bakugou’s parents that you were dating when in reality, you’d never even gone on a proper date with the man; for all you knew, he could be a terrible person. he could have terrible dating manners and leave to the bathroom when the check comes in an attempt to force his date to pay. it was hard to imagine, but hey, you reasoned to yourself, it was a possibility.

“can’t sleep either?” bakugou’s deep voice startled you. you thought he’d fallen asleep hours ago.

“yeah,” you snorted. “and here i thought you were in the habit of always sleeping early,” you referenced his mother’s stories of him in middle and high school. you turned on your side to face the man.

“kinda hard with five different all mights staring at me,” he joked, gesturing to his plethora of all might-themed decorations.

you imitated all might’s larger than life voice. “i am here! … to watch you sleep!”

bakugou first snickered, which then transitioned into a full-blown, unrestrained (yet somewhat hushed) laugh. you couldn’t help but laugh too, watching his features crinkle and gummy smile widen. your heart felt peculiar in your chest, but you couldn’t figure out the feeling. in the years you’d known him, you’d never seen him so relaxed or open. you knew you’d miss moments like this in the morning, when you’d drive back and the deal would be over. it sent a bittersweet pang to your heart - why couldn’t moments like these last forever?

you woke up to find bakugou gone, leaving you alone in the bed with only a warm indentation next to you letting you know he’d just left. you rubbed your eyes groggily, sitting up and pushing the covers aside. you swung your legs over the edge of the bedside, standing up and making the bed once again. you padded out of the all might-furnished room to the kitchen, where you could hear quiet footsteps and the sizzling of a frying pan.

“someone’s finally awake,” bakugou’s husky voice remarked. he was standing at the stovetop, wearing an apron over his nightwear and frying eggs. sleep had worn his voice deeper; you swooned at the domestic sight before you. no, it wasn’t swooning, you told yourself. just… appreciation. you really wanted to make a comment on his muscles, bulging from his short-sleeved shirt.

“that looks really yummy,” you said, in no way whatsoever referencing his biceps and definitely referring to the egg in the pan.

“i’d like to pretend that was an innocent comment, but the direction your eyes are looking at beg to differ,” bakugou deadpanned. you looked away, flushed.

“so, whatcha making?” you said, plopping yourself on a chair. 

“eggs, rice, natto, miso,” he said. “but nothing for you until you change and brush your teeth.”

you stuck your tongue out at him. “who are you, my mom?” you continued, “i used to hate natto when i was younger.”

“it’s good for you,” bakugou said, moving the egg onto a plate of steaming rice.

“you sound a lot like my mom,” you replied. “but i like natto now, just not too much of it.”

“i liked natto when i was younger,” bakugou said.

“really? all of my friends hated it. they complained about the smell.” you reminisced about your childhood days, when your biggest worry was whether you had homework or not.

“speaking of smell? your breath. go brush your teeth.”

“wh- i’m so far from you, there’s no way-”

“no hygiene, no food.”

“who even says that?” but you were already out of your chair and heading towards the bathroom.

“oh, by the way,” bakugou said as you were halfway through emptying your plate with rice in your mouth, “what do you want?”

“wha?” you said, chewing the egg-natto-rice mixture in your mouth. “what?”

“the deal,” he said. “before my parents wake up.”

“the deal-?” you racked your mind for any deal you’d made in the recent days, as you weren’t much a gambler, then it hit you. the deal. in an attempt to convince you to pretend to be his date, he’d said he’d do whatever you wanted for a day in exchange. you hadn’t thought about it at all.

“um,” you said intelligently. what did you want? you wanted to spend more time with him, but there would be no way…

“take me ice skating.” he choked on his rice.

“what?”

“i really want to ice skate…” you lied. “i’ve never been.” another lie.

“you want to go ice skating with me?”

“pay for me.” you could’ve paid for yourself. “and, you have terrible dating skills. how are you supposed to get a real partner? consider this beneficial for yourself.”

he blinked, taken aback. “...okay,” he agreed, dumbfounded. you hoped he couldn’t see through you. “when?”

“today, duh.”

by the time you finished your plate, bakugou’s parents had woken up to bid the two of you farewell. hours later, you found yourself at an outdoor ice skating rink in tokyo.

the rink was decorated festively; surrounding trees had been wrapped in golden lights and there was something in the atmosphere which bustled with cheer. those skating were either children or couples, laughing and skating together. you told yourself not to pay too much attention to them, but there was something about the way they looked so happy that made you yearn for the same.

you clumsily clomped toward the entrance of the rink itself, clad in four layers of warm clothing and worn rental skates. cold air nipped at your cheeks and your breath was a snowy white before your eyes. patting your cheeks in an attempt to half hype yourself up and half warm yourself up, you tensely stepped onto the frozen water. clunk. clunk. 

“you look like an idiot,” bakugou said as you made your way onto the ice with slow clunks. he was surprisingly cocky about his skating prowess once he’d gotten his skates on, despite his lack of experience on the ice. he was unaffected by the chilly weather, wearing a thin jacket and denim jeans despite the vast majority of other skaters wearing winter coats. 

“it’s cold,” you responded. slippery ice beneath your feet, you suddenly felt a great deal less confident in your ice skating abilities. it might as well have been your first time skating, in the eyes of bakugou. you took baby steps on the ice, both hands gripping the side rails while bakugou glided breezily past you. 

“c’mon, idiot, loosen up~”

easy for him to say. “i’m- trying,” you gritted out, attempting to copy his fluid motions. 

“hey, dumbass, take my hands.” bakugou stopped in front of you, both hands outstretched for you to hold. you looked at him warily, then accepted the offer, his hands replacing the railings. 

“don’t hold them that hard,” bakugou said. “i’m not going to drop you. relax.”

you nodded, gulping as you released your death grip on his hands. starting to skate backwards (an incredible feat in your eyes), he slowly guided you along the edge of the rink. you spent most of the time staring at your own feet, trying to keep your balance and rhythm in time with bakugou’s. once you seemed to get the hang of it, he sped up ever so slightly, loosening his grip on your hands.

“just like that,” and his voice was much gentler than you’d ever heard it. you looked up to meet his soft gaze. your heart leapt and he quickly averted his eyes. “um,” he coughed awkwardly. “i think you’ve gotten the hang of it.”

“okay.” you started to let go of his hands, testing your balance skating without anything to hold onto. in small amounts at first, you start to let go, allowing your strides to become longer and longer. bakugou matched your pace beside you and eventually, the two of you fell into conversation. you’d both forgotten your own words about how this was for him to gain dating experience; it felt too real to be practice.

“the truth is, i was really, really close to becoming a pro-hero,” he confessed, “but i was injured in my third year. i had to take a break for a year or so, but by that time, i was too rusty for the job.” 

“but-” you said, almost stumbling on the ice at the revelation, “didn’t you do all that training-?”

he shrugged. “it’s the reality of it,” he said dismissively, a momentary shadow crossing his face. he recomposed. “i’m over it now.”

you had the slight suspicion that his words didn’t ring quite true, but let go of it. still, you couldn’t help but think about all of his all might decor - he must have idolized the man, only to fail at his dream. his room was like a memento to everything he wanted yet couldn’t reach. “you wouldn’t have met me if you hadn’t become a bodyguard,” you said cheerily in an attempt to distract both him and yourself.

“true,” he smiled. then, almost to himself, he added, “i don’t regret that.”

the two of you skated a couple more laps around the rink. conversation faded and your feet became more and more sore after skating for so long. a chill had settled itself onto your bones as the sky tinted in anticipation of the evening to come.

“we should get going now,” bakugou said. “before it gets too cold.”

“yeah-” your phone buzzed in your pocket. “hang on, give me a second.”

it was tanaka, telling you that you had a date scheduled by your father in two hours. it took you a moment, it really did, to remember who you were and what your priorities truly lay.

you made it a point not to tell bakugou what the call was about on the way back. you told him it was about a business deal, and he pretended to buy it. the car ride was desolate, lacking all warmth despite the heater blasting. you felt guilty; why had you lied to bakugou? you and he both knew you were lying about the business deal. was it pity? why had you felt the need to protect him?

you could only amount it to the fact that maybe bakugou was becoming a friend. maybe bakugou was becoming someone you never wanted to hurt. your thoughts were the only thing you could hear over the buzz of the car’s heater. you looked to the sky with imploring eyes as if some cloud on the lavender-tinged atmosphere listened and could provide you an answer. 

you weren’t sure if it was the clouds’ doing or some star hiding behind the sun’s light that washed a sense of solemness by the time you returned to meet tanaka at the gates. it was almost enough to make you forget the sad feeling you held whilst looking at bakugou one last time before stepping out of the car to greet your old butler. the feeling was unfathomable to you; in your daze on the ride back, there’d seemingly been no reason for such a feeling to linger in your heart. why had you felt so much guilt, so much sadness for this man you were supposed to be strictly on business relations with?

not that you’d done this, anyway. your business relationship with bakugou ended the minute you agreed to that favour he’d proposed, and was further broken when you ice skated together. you wondered if he felt the same as you, or if things would return to the way they had been after this date tonight. somewhere deep in you hoped it wouldn’t - hoped he wouldn’t forget it all. (“stay here,” you’d told him when you stepped out of the car. his stare was vacant; would he? you weren’t sure why you even asked.)

“tanaka,” you said stiffly. the air was frigid around you (when had the temperature dropped so suddenly?) and a breeze wrapped itself around your legs. an impulse told you to turn back, look at bakugou, and tell him the things you left unsaid - but you didn’t. 

“y/n,” he nodded. it was like a wake-up call. this was who you were, truly. your father’s pawn, his company’s pawn. you were a face used for business and nothing more. you traded your feelings for your father’s wealth - that’s who you were.

yet it was the past two days that made you feel more like yourself than ever before. the time spent with bakugou, of all people, made you feel genuinely happy. he made your name feel more like yours than your father’s. it seemed it was he who could only coax this feeling out of you. you, certainly, couldn’t imagine it being anyone else. there was something unlike anything you’d experienced before which bakugou gave you. but you couldn’t let your father down, could you?

“y/n, we must go now,” tanaka urged. 

you didn’t look back.

bakugou watched you leave with an inscrutable expression. as soon as you vanished from his sight, he let out a deep sigh and bashed his head on the steering wheel, then rubbed the spot of contact. that would leave a mark.

he wished he could pretend he didn’t know what your sudden meeting was about. he couldn’t. what kind of bodyguard was unaware of his client’s schedule? you were going on a date, on account of your father’s absolutely superb matchmaking skills. he wanted to strangle the bastard. 

god, he was an idiot to have gotten his hopes up about you. just like countless other things in his life, you were unattainable. he was constantly in pursuit of the impossible, it felt, yet none of his endeavours’ ends had quite felt like this. it started when he was a child with a newly developed quirk. constant words of praise fluttered around his ears, all applauding his strong quirk and natural intelligence. it continued when he entered school, winning academic and athletic awards for what everyone called his talents. (he remembered looking up the definition of “talent” in a dictionary in his elementary school’s library and being sorely disappointed. no one had seen the hours he’d dedicated to practicing and studying after school - all of that couldn’t amount to what everyone else had called natural talent.) 

in doing so - winning all those competitions - he’d somehow earned the approval of all those around him. it was never something he’d wanted or aimed for, but it soon started to fit him like a custom-tailored outfit. somewhere along the way, he started to seek out the approval of others, flaunting his accomplishments to do so. however, as years went by, one thing became apparent: the tactics used on his peers and teachers would never gain his parents’ approval. he so yearned for a tad of his parents’ praise or satisfaction; even an “i’m proud of you, katsuki,” from them would’ve sent katsuki to the stars and back. he never was quite sure, as a youth, how to gain this prize, so to speak. and so, for the sake of his parents, he became stronger and stronger and thus began his journey to attain the first impossibility in his life.

high school, at once, came knocking on his door in the midst of this endless journey. with it came izuku midoriya, the boy katsuki had bullied in middle school. this time, though, it was izuku who was stronger; katsuki had so wanted to atone for all that he’d done to the boy, but it proved something impossible. on the physical level, izuku had already forgiven him and moved on. it wasn’t enough for katsuki, who’d really done nothing to deserve izuku’s kindness. so katsuki set off, trying to truly deserve the boy’s forgiveness and make up for everything he’d done. in katsuki’s mind, there would be nothing he could do that would balance out the weight of his actions to izuku. hence unraveled the second impossibility katsuki set up for himself.

the third impossibility found itself in katsuki’s third year at ua academy. he was working for his parents’ approval and atonement for izuku; this impossibility, though, would send everything crumbling down. impossibles, unlike any math equations covered during his schooling, could not be cancelled out the more brought into the equation. it was perhaps katsuki’s only salvation and lifeline, his passion to become a hero. fate snatched this very possibility from katsuki’s hand, snapping the lifeline and dangling it just out of his reach. all of it was cruel - the sympathetic words spoken from recovery girl’s lips and the weeks katsuki had to sit out of hero training. even worse was how katsuki watch his grade drop from one of the top in the class to only passable in general studies, no longer sharp enough to qualify for a pro-hero. by the time he healed, he was rendered unable to rejoin the hero course. his goal was thrown away easily, becoming another impossibility.

katsuki trained himself physically for a new job. an acquaintance had introduced him to being a bodyguard, and katsuki figured that was close enough to being a hero. not that he particularly enjoyed the notion of waiting on someone’s every beck and call. but through and through his countless impossibilities and misfortunes, he had to move forward. he was tired, so tired - hearing his parents’ disappointed voices on the phone and looking up to see a billboard of the newest top pro-hero, deku. when he foolishly and naively got his hopes up about you, the logical part in him knew it was doomed. he knew that as he stared at you, illuminated by a golden light in your bedroom, it was ill-fated. you were a miracle opening up a new life to him - but miracles weren’t real.

of all the impossibilities in his life, you were the most painful. why was he cursed in such a way? where had the happiness in his life gone, if not with you as you walked away from him? he stared at his suit cuff, suffocated in the stupid attire. he should never have taken this job. 

a knock. another knock. three more rapid knocks, and he finally looked up to see your eager face looking at him from the passenger side window. he hastily unlocked the car door with a click.

“finally,” your exasperated voice said to him, tinged in a happy hue that he’s confused by. 

“wh-where’s tanaka?” katsuki stuttered. “your date-”

“i did it, bakugou.” you beamed at him. “i refused. i said no.”

“wha-what? you refused what?” 

“the date, duh!” you laughed. you grew quiet. “i realized something. i realized that all i want is you, and it’s… it’s about time i start taking control of my life.”

katsuki cracked a smile. a real one, not painful like so many others he’d faked before. “you’re a dumbass, you know that?” and it was endearment, bringing you close to his heart. 

maybe fate had decided to bless him. maybe it was all the impossibilities in his life that had cancelled each other out to give him you. 

“oh, and by the way,” you said, changing the topic. “i’ve been thinking a lot about it recently. we need to have a rematch for that sorry excuse of a fight we had the other day. i will have an undisputed victory over you.”

“you’re on, moron.”

it was definitely fate that brought katsuki to you.

[anxiouspotatorants]

About that medieval fantasy AU for underdog quartet... I have ideas:

- Rory is the bastard daughter of an excommunicated princess (Lorelai). Lorelai ran away to a neighbouring kingdom to not get punished/lose Rory, and she raised Rory as a commoner (a commoner who is more literate than some great scholars in her country, yeah, but still). Christopher’s parents put a curse on her so that if she ever sets foot back in the kingdom the whole land will descend into magical chaos. The AU might start with her and Lorelai already having entered the kingdom again (Kingdom of Hartford?) and trying to find a way to break the curse and reunite with their family.

- Paris is a high ranking lady within the kingdom. She wants to take her lands to new hights and make the history books as the greatest lady they ever had, and has therefore set out on a solo journey to learn as much as she can about the kingdom and how to best run it. She’s loaded with gold, quills and self defense taught by her local knights.

- Lane is a commoner who ran away from home to join a troupe as a musician. Some outside conflict separated her from the troupe and now she’s wandering as a lone bard in search of her band of brothers or her mother’s house (whichever she finds first as she misses both dearly). She has no magic or fighting skills, but she’s good at stealth and catching gossip.

- Jess is a rogue wizard who’s never really belonged anywhere. His mother dragged him from village to village with little ability to plant roots, and eventually left him with her long lost brother before joining a travelling merchant on his route. Jess quickly left his uncle’s care and has travelled on his own, stealing to survive and sticking to himself. He’s seen the instability of sell-sword groups and criminal collectives, and frankly doesn’t trust anyone enough to share a bonfire with them.

- Approximately thirty seconds after Lorelai and Rory set foot back in the Kingdom of Hartford the curse sets in. This signals their return to both Emily and Richard and Christopher’s parents, who both send troops and notices to find and collect them. Lorelai and Rory are thus on the run across the kingdom trying to find a way to break the curse before the soldiers find (and possibly kill) them. At one point they end up in a village called Stars Hollow and seek refuge in Luke’s tavern. But they are spotted by a group of soldiers hired by Emily and Richard, and Lorelai gets caught but manages to help Rory escape. They assumed that the soldiers were from Chris’ side of the family, as their soldiers are more prevalent and up front.

- Like I said both sets of grandparents seek out the Lorelais, but in slightly different ways for very different reasons. The Haydens want to imprison the Lorelais and possibly execute Rory for the crime of cursing the land (a curse that they made but that’s not relevant!). They’re the ones who make wanted posters and dispatch troops all over the land. Rumours and legends spread about the bastard princess who has cursed the kingdom with her return. Emily and Richard, on the other hand, want their daughter back (partly because they do love her and partly because she’s their only heir) and want to find a less violent way to break the curse. They don’t announce their hunt for the Lorelais out of fear of starting conflict with the Haydens, but dispatch undercover groups and sellswords to find and bring back the long lost princesses.

- Alone and afraid, Rory returns to Luke’s tavern and hides there for a while. One day both Paris and Lane make their way to the tavern — Paris in schedule for her educational roadtrip, Lane finally finding her home village and preparing to reunite with her mother. They end up talking and bickering downstairs while a shadowy figure sneaks by them and up to Luke’s quarters. Jess was just supposed to steal some food and pay in gold he found in a dead dragon’s den, but instead he finds a blue eyed stranger. Rory thinks she’s caught and runs downstairs. Jess is curious and follows, breaking his stealth from Luke. Rory crashes into Paris who starts interrogating Luke about the tavern being a secret whorehouse, and the five are descending into verbal chaos before Rory spots Hayden guards and hides behind the cupboards. Lane picks up on the danger and makes an impromptu distraction with Paris while Jess sneaks her out the back. Once outside he asks Rory what’s going on, and he’s soon followed by Paris and Lane. Rory brings up a cover about being cursed by someone and the soldiers hunting her in relation to said curse. The other three buy the story and decide to join her on a quest to cure her.

- It honestly takes so little time before Rory breaks and explains that she isn’t cursed but rather is the curse. Paris is angry at the lie, but little else changes but the motivation to help Rory. Jess goes from «I’m bored and directionless» to «I really like this girl and could finally do something that matters». Lane goes from «I’m procrastinating on facing my mother» to «I’m helping my new friend and have a new chance at adventure (and still procrastinating on my mother)». Paris goes from «This could be relevant for my future occupation» to «This could be even more relevant to my future occupation, also I have a friend now».

- Paris gives Rory the cover of one of her stewardesses, but most of the time the four travel by foot or bought horses as unknowns. Jess does scouting and trap laying for threats while the girls alternate on getting food. 

- When it comes to gathering information, Lane and Paris are the best at gathering intel from other people - Lane through gossip and Paris through interrogation. Jess is great at breaking and entering and stealing important texts for research, and him and Rory are the best at deciphering the texts (much to Paris’ frustration). 

- The key to breaking the curse could be something like “when substance stronger than blood is spilled for the unworthy”. Rory actually gets found by Emily and Richard before they can break the curse and there is a short period where the four are separated and Rory thinks maybe the lands will have to live with the curse unless she sacrifices herself. Then Lane overhears a plot to assassinate her and warns Jess and Paris. The three storm in just in time to warn king Richard and queen Emily, but the accusation of two commoners and a lady against the royal Haydens is obviously considered a crime. They declare to strip Paris of her title and are about to execute Jess and Lane when Rory steps in and stops the axe. She gets deep cuts in her hands and bleeds. It is revealed that her choosing to spill her own blood - which becomes the symbolic substance of her love for them - for commoners (who royals deem “unworthy”) is what breaks the curse. 

- So the happy ending: Paris gets her title back and she, Jess and Lane are pronounced heroes of the kingdom. The Haydens apologize for the curse and get no consequences because that would mean a war declaration and oh boy do we not have time for that. Rory is legitimized and becomes next in line after her mother. 

- Lane gets the title of “royal bard” and returns to Stars Hollow to finally face her mother. Mrs Kim must admit that she is proud of her daughter but has most of all missed her, and after the mandatory bickering the two reconcile. She has also reunited with the troupe at some point before the climax, and they are now a full troupe with tight connections to the crown. 

- In addition to her title and hero-status, Paris gets a place in court. She makes mentors of the king’s advisers and now works to become a royal adviser to both Lorelais.

- Jess is offered knighthood but declines. He tells Rory that he needs to go on a journey of his own and leaves. He returns to Stars Hollow and Luke, and gives Luke a whole chest of gold and the title to Lord of Stars Hollow (courtesy of princess Lorelai). He goes dark for some months, then appears at night in the castle on Rory’s window-ledge. They talk for hours until the sun rises and then agree to make Jess an official scout for the kingdom, travelling around and figuring out the magic and creatures of the land. 

- Rory’s first move after the reunification of her family is to get to know her estranged relatives and upgrade her education through the royal masters. After Jess returns she convinces her mother and grandparents to let her join Jess as an ambassador for the kingdom. She uses Paris’ argument of wanting to truly know the country she is supposed to rule one day, and the whole band gets back together for new quests.