#it's more complex than this because of the whole scrambled memories thing but still

[theophagie]

Give it up for Riku and sleep. Riku doing everything in his power to wake Sora up. Riku becoming a spirit and protecting Sora while inside his dreams. Riku dreaming a key to finding Sora. Let's go sleep boy

[bisexualbard-writes]

@kimchaybrainrot!! You had a birthday!! sorry it’s a day late BUT I have some soft kimchay headcanons JUST FOR YOU! 

When Chay starts staying at Kim’s place, when he wakes up in the morning he says “I’m hungry what’s for breakfast” and this sends Kim spiraling down through guilt memories. He decides then that he’s never going to ever ask Chay to make them breakfast. 

The problem is he wants to have a nice quiet morning at home cuddling with Chay, but he doesn't keep a lot of food on hand. He usually just grabs a protein bar on his way out the door and orders in for his other meals. So for that first day he orders them coffee and pastries from the cafe down the street, but any breakfast food more substantial than pastries always arrives cold so this isn’t a great long term solution. 

BUT fear not, Kim is a PROBLEM SOLVER. He decides he’s going to learn how to cook breakfast for Chay so that they can spend the mornings cuddling in their pajamas AS IT OUGHT TO BE. 

The problem is, he’s never so much as cracked an egg before. When Chay isn’t around (because gosh, Kim isn’t going to let Chay see him fucking up miserably when they JUST got back together) Kim gets a carton of eggs practices cracking them open and frying them. He’s not a disaster, he has to know how to have a delicate touch for both music and murder, but he still gets some eggshell in the pan and the yolk runs everywhere so he ends up with scrambled eggs. On his second attempt the eggs are burnt on the bottom and raw on the top. On this third attempt he gets it fully cooked, but then the egg is FULLY COOKED and not at all runny in the middle the way chay likes. 

That’s when he realizes okay, huh, this cooking thing might be a bit more of a skill than he anticipated. 

But he is COMMITTED to not CORRUPTING their newly flourishing relationship with BREAKFAST SINS. 

So he cracks his knuckles and loads youtube and gets to work. As it turns out, he has a lot to learn. He’s pretty good at knife skills already, but it turns out there’s a whole different kind of technique to chopping up an onion than there is to twirling a switchblade. And he learned enough chemistry to know what common bathroom cleaners he can weaponize and turn into harmful gaseous clouds, but the chemistry of just making some bread is a whole different level of complex. 

He still orders in breakfast for him and Chay while he’s learning and just deals with slightly cold delivery for now, because he’s not going to serve anything but the BEST for his boy. 

On the morning he finally feels ready, he slips out of bed early and gets cracking. When Chay finally wanders out he’s a little grumpy he didn’t wake up with his cuddle buddy, but then he’s quickly stunned by the feast in front of him. There are pans of sausages and bacon, and crepes loaded with freshly made whipped cream and fruit, and multiple types of freshly squeezes fruit juice, and then Kim is pulling a quiche out of the oven. 

Chay says something like “good morning P’Kim and also what in the world is happening?” and Kim responds “good morning my love I made you breakfast?” 

Chay gapes, and Kim realizes he might have gone a little overboard, but then Chay is kissing him and hoisting him onto the counter because Chay is overwhelmed with so much love, but Kim has to stop him because “i love you chay but I am NOT eating another cold and and soggy breakfast.” 

All the food is delicious and delightful - Chay would have been perfectly happy with a stack of pancakes to be honest, but the big spread of food is super awesome and Chay knows without Kim having to say it that this is another way of helping them move on from their turbulent start, so he extra appreciates all the effort. 

Kim watches Chay eat carefully and glows a little more with each compliment and when they’re done eating Chay pulls him back into the bedroom for more kisses and cuddles and a nap to sleep off all the food. 

( And then later Chay will show kim exactly how appreciative he is by bending him over the kitchen counter and fucking him slowly and thoroughly until kim is begging. ) 

From then on Kim makes them breakfast while Chay sits on the kitchen island still looking rumpled in his pajamas and demanding kisses whenever Kim passes him to use the sink. Kim loves it and despairs because sometimes they get a little too distracted and Kim burns things, but it always makes Chay happy, so its a sacrifice he’s willing to make.

[unseelie-robynx]

I know the answers here probably won’t be as deep as they where with the ask about the little brothers au but how would our Stepford Oblivion wives react to their clothing if they could theoretically be completely snapped out of it at some point?

So funnily enough, this is a question that had a canonical answer to it, at least for some of these wives. Because both Red Son and Huntsman did wake up, at different points. (And Shuyin went into this wide awake so she is happy to be dressed up however will make her ‘Lady’ happiest)

So when Red Son woke up, if we’re focusing solely on physical changes and not the whole, ‘oh shit I’ve been brainwashed and was forced to brainwashes someone else to keep my brainwashing intact’, then Red Son was actually mostly freaked out about his hair more than his clothes at first. Red’s hair in these AU’s is long. At first because Xiaotian didn’t think to cut it, and then because he liked being able to drag Red around by it, and then as a Wife because it was soft and pretty and both Red and Xiaotian enjoy it when Xiaotian brushes it out. But it was a big change and an indicator of how much time had passed, which got to Red.

Outfit-wise, Red is kept in slightly more traditional things, so that freak-out took a back seat to other things (freaking out about brainwashing, confronting Porty2.0 about said brainwashing)  but honestly wasn’t that bad. Red lived through the ear when ‘trousers’ were exclusively for those who rode horses, and, well...

Xiaotian liked him looking like this. Looking soft and lovely.

And by that point, even if there was brainwashing involved, Red did love Xiaotian.

(Which is what, coupled with his addiction and painful withdrawal symptoms, ultimately led to him asking to be put back down and turned back into ‘Wife’)

Now Huntsman? Huntsman BURNS the stuff he was put into. He hates it. It’s impractical and constricting and hard to move in, it’s overly cutesy and ridiculous looking, and it wasn’t even something Sandy liked. When he gets ‘rescued’ but is still technically brainwashed, he refuses to put on any of his old clothes, but ripping the dress off is one of the first things he does when he finally goes lucid (Right after he finishes flipping out about SQ re-dosing Syntax with more venom and wiping his memories)

For him the outfit is nothing but a sign of oppression, of how the psychotic child with the god complex reached into his head and tried to smother everything that was him and put a painted doll in its place.

Although interestingly, while he was able to fix his clothes, he still has panic attacks over trying to cut his hair, which ‘Shifu’ Red was forcing him to grow out to ‘fit the mold’ of what a Good Wife should look like.

Syntax waking up I think could be interesting. If it’s the Bad End where he’s constantly being hurt, the first thing he would be doing is scrambling to get the corset undone so he could breathe and not be in pain from his implants, but after that it would probably be a systematic shredding of the victorian gown he was in (possibly with said implants/mech-limbs if the pain isn’t to much or maybe in spite of it. He does end up with a terrifying pain tolerance in this ending just for the satisfaction of destroying the thing used to hide him with what they were trying to hide)

If it’s the Red Awakens ending, and things are softer for him, he’s still going to want to get out of that thing, but he’ll probably wait until he has something else to put on first, instead of wandering around in bloomers and nothing else like in the Bad End.

In the Bad End the outfit is designed as a constant punishment so getting out and destroying it is symbolic of breaking free and never deserving it a little bit, but in the Red Awakens end it’s more about keeping him sedentary and then matching with Huntsman. It’s still a symbol of oppression and having his identity stripped away, but there’s less of a visceral violent reaction.

Spindrax, if we’re counting her, could be interesting as well. In the Bad End she gets CyberPunked, which she would probably wake up with mixed feelings to. It’s not that much different than the things she normally wears (if more floofy and with lots of neon green) but it’s not... not bad. But also the being brainwashed ruins it, but since it’s similar to her actual stuff, she probably has a hard time with her normal clothes for a while, and either has to change her actual wardrobe up, or deal with a lot of triggers to try and fight through to claim her own style back.

(In any sort of potential Red Awakens Spindrax, if her outfit gets changed to that sort of gauzy dancer gear when she becomes a decorative pet, it’s only because she’s so broken that breaking her more isn’t possible and so Xiaojiao got bored of trying, and at that point, I’m not sure Spindrax could ‘wake up'. I’m not sure there’d be anything left to wake up)

[josiebelladonna]

i wish more of these sad bloggers (you know the ones: the self-deprecating posts, the ones who take prim and perfect selfies, like every other account on tumblr and elsewhere on the internet) would understand that sometimes all you really need to rid of your melancholy and your depression is a lifestyle change.

eat better. don't eat as much. stay hydrated. move your body and get sweaty (take this from me: i don't like sweating at all, but it's a good sign especially if you're dealing with something like anxiety). do your research. especially if you're anything like me and journaling only *sort of* helps at best and only makes you hate yourself at worst. why should i waste my time and tears venting through words and getting nowhere with it, when i could walk around outside and feel the sun on my face and the wind through my hair, and hear the birds singing and the dogs barking and the billy goats bleating (there's a house up the street from me with five billy goats and three dogs).

you also have to be open to it. i know. it's hard. it really is. i get it completely. i have been there before. i know depression. i know anxiety. i know eating disorders. i know being on the edge and wanting nothing more than the pain to stop, so believe me when i say i know what it's like to be numb and empty inside that you genuinely feel like doing nothing but veging out. i grew up feeling like there was something inherently wrong with me, and i still feel like this, too. but there will come a point in which you cannot afford excuses, especially if your mental health is on the line. your mental health and your physical health go hand in hand: when one side is off, the other is off, too. when you're doing something physical, your mind will feel it: i introduced more cardio into my workout routine this week and i've only done it for two days but i almost didn't even need my cup of coffee, it woke me up and energized me.

it should also be completely up to you, too. you should decide to do that for yourself: if anything, i should just serve as inspiration, no matter how vague or blatant.

that's probably the main thing that irritated me about that old friend who kicked me to the curb earlier this year was it didn't seem like they were genuinely trying to do anything for themselves. they seemed far more interested in complaining about everything and developing a victim complex (and being VERY tmi about it, too): it was really ironic because i have a very clear memory of them saying "i was born to stand up for myself" about 7/8 years ago. i finally snapped and i gave them advice because i literally couldn't take it anymore. and when i say they complained about everything, i mean they complained about EVERYTHING. like every two days every 10-15 minutes, there was a bunch of new posts from them. it went on for a long time but it got really bad in those last five months: it got really hard to follow really quick, and it got on my nerves really quick, too. yeah, of course i lost patience.

and then they had the nerve to make it into a gender thing (which had nothing to do with anything i said to them; they implied i'm a transphobe, when i'm obviously not i know in my heart that i'm not) and the whole thing blew up in my face. i called them a bitch and that was it. i'm not bitter about it, but that's nerve, though. accusing me of that twisting my words and making it completely beside my point to them, choosing their precious partner (and i saw them on ig a couple of weeks ago: their relationship ended. how ironic, but they'll never apologize to me, though) over me, someone who knew them when they were a kid, that's nerve. mental illness, the internet landscape, and being a hypochondriac scrambled their brain: in their mid-20s and they're acting like they're 15. it's all too common, too.

anyway, my point is no one can help you unless you're willing to help yourself and notice i said "help" and not "love": yeah, i, too, find "no one will love you until you love yourself" to be complete shit and useless and cruel. but the fact of the matter is you can vent all you want but at the end of the day, you're in the driver's seat. you're the one in charge of your mind, body, and soul, and it's imperative to take charge and take care of all three. and what you do is totally up to you.

[jaeminscoffee]

Daddy Issues | S. Jn

Pairing | Seo Johnny x Fem!Reader

Genre | Smut, fluff

Wc;type | oneshot: 3.93k [not proof read]

Warning(s) | Pwp, dilf!johnny, y/n's a pillow princess, daddy kink, overstimulation, teasing, edging, dacryphilia, slight voyeurism, degradation kink, heavy use of the words 'doll, princess, slut, pretty, angel', typical lyra smut, i made haechan johnny's son (i was about to write changbin as johnny's son but decided against it) age gap, unprotected sex ( the Reader's on pills. Remember this is a fiction, don't play the wrong card irl) filth.

a/n- i found this request buried in my asks and was tempted to write it. Sure, the warning looks intimidating, but i know you wanna read it, y'all whores (ily) shoutout to @bakugou-is-my-bae @cvntzennie and @jenopollo for helping me decide what to post first! @suhpersonic

Minors try not to interact! <3

Age is just a number, so surely, there's nothing to be ashamed or embarrassed of, right? 

There's no reason for you to not fall for the friendly neighborhood bachelor, well not so bachelor bachelor, since he does go around asking people who knows of his marriage to pretend it never took place. 

Johnny's hot, super hot. Has the build of a supermodel. Has the face that one can only imagine belongs to a greek god, as you'd jokingly tell him how he seemed to be god's favorite and how you loathe Aphrodite for showing favoritism (which would always end up with you getting a very sultry, teasing look from the lad) 

Johnny has the type of personality that women can only wish the entirety of the male species would possess. He's an absolute sweetheart, life of the party, definitely the center of attention wherever he goes. And oh god, does he have an immaculate fashion sense. 

But Johnny's also the father of Donghyuck. Your best friend. 

More than being ashamed about the fact that you actually fell in love with a man who has a child of your age, it was the fact that you had to fall for Donghyuck's father of all people. 

Donghyuck is a sweetheart, definitely got his personality from his father but he's also got that glare that could creep the Lord's of the darkness from his father. He's got so much from his father that the resemblance is uncanny. 

You'd not want to get onto hyuck's bad side since you've gotten first hand experience at stopping him from almost committing homicide to someone who spoke shit about his friends, more specifically, you. 

But Hyuck's not in town. So a little fun with Mr. Suh wouldn't hurt anyone, correct? After all, you're still only a human with desires and the want to take risks. 

You'd always not so subtly drop hints at Johnny and he'd always give you that look that would have slick collecting itself between your thighs. A warning look. 

A look that said, "cross the line and you'll get it" 

But that's the thing, you want to get it and will do anything to get it.

"Y/n." 

You'd ask yourself less than a million times if you want to do this or not.

Sure, you weren't this hesitant when you decided to sext your best friend's father knowingly when he was in business mode to irk him up but that's one thing. 

And having to confront the same father who left a message smaller than a sentence that completely disregarded all the obscene text and images to show that he's not the slightest bothered or suprised by your behavior for that matter was another thing.

"Tomorrow at mine." 

It's almost as though he deals with hormonal teenagers one as such as yourself on a daily basis and that thought kind of backfired at you considering the whole 'Let's piss Johnny off so that he'd finally give me what i want' agenda. 

Ironic, huh? 

"Mr. Suh." you start hesitantly, unsure of what to call him, scared of what his reaction would be after your inappropriate shenanigans last night. 

Your stiff demeanor broke down a little with just a hint of shiver passing down your spine as you watch his features contort into a subtle but cocky smirk, "So now you're being all formal,"

"Well, what else would you like me to address you as?" you inquire, feigning oblivion to his tone and what he's implying at. "You tell me, doll. You seemed to have a lot of names to call me last night," he takes a step forward, prompting you to walk a step backwards, further into the corridors of his apartment and away from the actual location. 

"I do not know what you're talking about.. " you let your voice shrivel towards the end, eyes wandering around the complex, finding interest in every small detail as you avoid Johnny's teasing gaze. 

"You don't?" Johnny takes another step forward, latching his hands onto your forearms to prevent you from stepping further away, "You must have had a heavy sleep to forget all that you did last night," his voice drops dangerously low as he begins to walk backwards and back into the safety of his apartment, all the while keeping his gaze fixated on you.

"That won't do, would it? How about we take a walk down the memory lane? And see if that rings any bell?" He brushes your hair away from its static position on your shoulder, allowing him to appreciate all those fine details of your shoulders and neck that are exposed from your selection of clothing, an off shoulder. 

"How about we don't...?" You ask with skepticism, jolting slightly when you hear the door shut behind you and at the new intrusion of personal space by the lad.

"Why are you acting all shy now, Y/n? Weren't you the one so eager to get into her best friend's fathers pants? Just be the whore you are, darling. Your facade's fooling no one." okay you definitely didn't see that coming. 

Johnny's expressions morph into that of mischief as he watches your eyes grow wide and mouth fall ajar, "Am i not correct? Are you not a whore?" he asks with an eyebrow quirked up in a questioning manner.

You don't reply, almost as though the question was meant to linger in the open and that it was a rhetorical one. What you didn't expect, however, was for Johnny's hands to find pursuit around your neck, not necessarily applying pressure, but there as a warning. 

"Answer me." 

"I'm not.." you answer with a feeble voice, internally cringing at how squeaky you sound which only added to Johnny's amusement. 

"Really? Because I don't think good girls go around drooling at a divorced man, her friend's father for that matter and definitely do not send lewd images and voice out their fantasies to a guy twice their age, still want to pretend you're innocent? Or you admit it and we cut down the chase?"

"Yes, I am." you breathe out when his fingers tighten around your neck, a triumphant smile making its way onto his lips. Yet, Johnny felt the need to keep pushing,

"you're what?" 

"I am what you said I am," you speak, trying to avoid looking at the scrutinizing look on his face which seemed futile as he had his arms wrapped around your neck, keeping your head in place. 

"I want to hear you say it, doll. I need to hear you say it." At this point Johnny's intent was to get you into a flustered puddle in his hold and it sure as hell was going in that direction, seeing how you can't even hold his gaze for more than a few seconds in a shot. 

"I am.. I am a who-"

The sound of a phone ringing loud cut you off midway through your sentence, to which you were absolutely relieved. Johnny only seemed to grow annoyed the more he heard the phone ring. With a loud huff, he lets you go, not before giving you a stern look, "Go to my room." he instructed, making his way to the study. 

You let out a breath you've been holding in unknowingly the moment he steps away from you. You watch his figure retreat from you with awe, only now realizing how messy you felt between your legs and how your knees keep buckling. 

"Oh Hyuck!" you hear Johnny exclaim into the phone the minute you step forward to follow his command. 

Your best friend is on call with the guy you're about to fuck. 

Your blood runs cold as you shakily make your way into the apartment and towards the bedroom, shrugging off your sling bag, hanging it behind the door as you place your phone on the bedside table to wipe your hands dry from all the sweat that had accumulated at the palm of your hands. 

"Yeah, I'm fine, about to eat to my dinner actually" you hear the moment to make yourself comfortable at the edge of the bed, looking over to the door where Johnny stood with his arms across his chest, the other holding up the phone as he leans his weight onto one shoulder, leaning into the doorframe.

You take the time to really appreciate his appearance. He adorned nothing more than a simple grey sweat and tight black tee but he seemed ready to walk down a runway at any given moment now. His long hair, slightly disheveled looking almost intentionally messed up, compliments his features. And oh his features. 

The everlasting smirk stayed still on his lips, moving as he exchanged words with his son.

You only come back to your senses when Johnny snapped his free hand in front of you, gaining your attention. He points at his own shirt, then points at you, mouthing 'off' while he listens to Donghyuck speak about whatever he's speaking. 

"Really? Jeno said that? Tell him I'm more than willing to welcome him as my gym partner, the lad seems strong" Johnny makes a quick move to remove the gadget from his ear, before holding it in front of him after placing the call on speaker mode 

Your eyes widen the moment you hear the disturbance in the background and Donghyuck's voice resonate through the room. "no?? Why would you want to work out with him? He'll only make you feel old, you know?" 

"Says the one who still can't beat me at arm wrestling. If anything, i think Jeno would make the perfect gym buddy for me," Johnny raises an eyebrow at your defiance, cocking his head towards the side, staring down at you with a predatory look, "Hyuck, you know, Y/n-" you scramble to take your shirt off at the mention of your name on the call, "-stopped by earlier" he lets out a silent laugh of disbelief.

"Oh? Oh yeah! I'd told her I'd give her book back before I left but I forgot, did you perhaps give it back to her?" Donghyuck questions. 

"I figured you must've forgotten so, yeah i did." Johnny replies, pushing himself off of the doorframe, now walking towards you. 

"Man, I miss her! I might facetime her after I end the call with you," Johnny sets down the phone beside you on the bed, leaning down, placing both his hands on either side of your lap, finding comfort at the crook of your neck,

"I remember her mentioning something about her cousin coming over? Maybe wait for an hour or so before calling her" his lips graze against your neck each time he spoke, you let out a tiny whimper at the so longed feeling, only to earn yourself a small bite at the earlobe, immediately accompanied by a hand over your mouth, "you need to be quiet, doll. Or my son would find out how much of a slut his best friend is," he whispers in your ear. 

"Yeah? Did she mention which one?" 

"No, not really, she kinda just stormed out after getting what she wanted" Johnny creates a trail of kisses all the way from your neck to your shoulders, down the collarbone while one of his hand worked to unhook your bra, "Yeah, she's weird like that," you hear Donghyuck let out a chuckle as you whine into Johnny's palm, your figure slightly trembling from the fear of getting caught all the while being excited about the risky situation he's put the two of you in. 

"Anyways, I'll call you tomorrow? The boys are coming over now so I got to go! Night, dad!" Donghyuck speaks up again, "Night, Hyuck." 

You hear the beep indicating the call has ended. Johnny let's his hand drop from your mouth and makes its way towards your hair, brushing through the strands before pulling at it with a firm grip, "I had my son on call and here you are making all these sweet noises, you wanted to get busted, doll?" 

"It's not my fault! You-"

"ah-ah! Don't talk back, angel. You're already in deep trouble, don't want to add onto that now, do we?" He makes a swift move to have you lying on your back, your torso completely exposed to him while he remains clothed. 

"But Johnny-" you whine, jolting when you feel his hands caressing the soft flesh of your inner thighs, "How do you think Hyuck would feel about this?" his hands travel further north, cupping your heat from underneath your skirt. "fuck, you're drenched"

"Now tell me, pretty girl, what are you supposed to be calling me, now?" 

"Johnny-, tha-that was a joke! I don't have daddy kin-" you try clenching your thighs close from the sudden attention your core was receiving. Johnny wholeheartedly lets out a laugh at your attempt to hide your true feelings, making a quick act of disregarding your soaked panties somewhere behind him.

"Darling, the more you deny it, the longer we keep going at it-" his thumbs at your clit, applying pressure but making no move to quench your needs. You let out a sigh of bliss at the feeling, your back arching off of the sheets at the sensation.

In any other situation, you'd be embarrassed at how sensitive you'd gotten just from all the dirty talking and looks Johnny passed you. But that's the catch, he's Johnny, the only one who can get you this sensitive while doing the bare minimum. 

"Say it, Y/n." 

"No, Johnny! It's-it's embarrassing.." you plead with your eyes, grinding your hips against his fingers, earning a satisfied, dirty look from the lad. 

"Very well.. I'll just draw it out of you"

Without warning, Johnny with little to no resistance, slides two slender digits into your wetness, setting a pace fast enough to draw loud chains of cries from your mouth.

"You hear that, doll? You hear how fucking wet you are? Hm?" he growls animalistically, the thumb that remained on your clit now moving in circles with a motive to get you undone in seconds. 

"Johnn-..!" you whine out, feeling your orgasm growing so close that you could almost taste it, "Still going at that, angel?" he questions, not really expecting an answer as he soaks up the pleasured look on your face. "Johnny- I'm close.. -" you fail to notice the mischievous grin growing on his face as he speeds up the movement of his fingers. 

"Of course you are, doll" He feels you clench around his fingers, back coming off of the mattress as you ready yourself for your release, waiting until the last minute to draw his finger out.

"Why would you-? Johnn-I was so close!" you cry out as you sense your core clench around nothing, whining about the incomplete orgasm. "Why would I give you what you want when you wouldn't comply, baby? That's not how this works." He shrugs, licking his fingers clean of your essence, moving up from the bed to remove the shirt that seemed to be suffocating now.

"Johnny, please!" you whine louder, rubbing your thighs together to create some sort of friction, all unsatisfactory as it did not meet the same intensity as that of his fingers. 

"Please what, doll?" He smirks, knowing the ball is in his court and that you'd had to give in any moment now. Johnny leans down once again, drawing lazy circles at your clit, using his other hand to hold himself up above and close to you, his minty breath which had a hint of coffee fanning your face as you whimper, finally feeling your high building itself up again. "Spit it out, princess, you know you want to." he speaks in a soft voice.

"Please..please" you beg for nothing in particular, getting all worked up again, "The begging's lovely, doll. But you're starting to anger me here, will you say it? Or should I leave you hanging again?" 

You mutter prayers under your breath, hoping he wouldn't actually leave you hanging again, "Fine-" he moves again to remove his fingers from you to deprive you of pleasure all over again when you finally latch onto his wrist, keeping his hands in place blurting out, "Daddy! I'm so-sorry.. There, daddy, please make me come" you give in, the name, the feeling and look of pure victory on his face as he grins like a cheshire cat only intensifies the heat growing at a rapid pace at the pit of your stomach. 

"Final fucking ly, princess. Daddy will make you feel good" He reinserts his fingers in, drilling it with desperation to see you come undone as he draws rapid circles on your now sensitive clit with the other hand, watching you squirm under him.

"Joh-Daddy i'm coming..!" you cry out weakly as you feel your orgasm hit you with much force, easily driving you into over sensitivity. Johnny's patient in helping you ride out your orgasm, not stopping until you let out a throaty sob and plead him to stop to allow yourself some room to breathe. 

Johnny, however, makes no move to stop, only speeding up his fingers, his gaze fixed on where his fingers disappeared inside of you while his other hand held you down with a vise grip, "Give me one more, doll. I know you've got one more in you. " he pants, the feeling of his girth in confinement only throwing himself to sensory deprivation as he feels himself twitch inside his sweats painfully. 

You shake your head, tears now flowing elegantly down your cheek, your lips puckered into a slight pout, your eyebrows drawn together as you let yourself melt into the pleasure Johnny was providing you with. "Daddy.." 

You whine, feeling your second high reaching you ridiculously quick as you see Johnny's face contort in concentration, 

"I need to get you nice and wet for me, princess, you're doing so well. Give daddy another one" you coaxes you with his sultry tone, words and actions, inevitably having you come undone under him for the second time that night. 

You let out a choked moan, finally having enough as you curl upon yourself the minute Johnny removes his fingers from you, full fledged crying at the overbearing feeling of sensitivity. 

Johnny groans at the sight, leaning down to press a soft peck on your sweaty forehead before getting off of the bed to remove his pants alongside his boxer at a slow speed, granting you some time to recover.

"Condom?" he asks, readying himself to reach into the drawing when he notices you shake your head a no as a reply, "I'm on pills.." you mutter weakly. 

You hear him curse out at the thought of doing you raw, flexing his muscles before climbing on top of you again. He takes his time to gently turn you back onto your back, pressing his tender lips against your irritated one for the first time that night, his hand ever so slightly moving to play with your clit once again, making you jerk, "Daddy!" 

"Sorry, doll. Daddy just needs to make sure that princess is ready to take his cock" 

Your whining intensifies at his words, wiggling your hips to move closer to his own, "But I am ready! Look, daddy! I'm so wet and ready for you!" you whimper, earning a chuckle from the lad. 

Just like all the other times that night, he aligns his cock at your entrance without a warning, the tip ever so slightly pushing through your walls, "Alright, big girl. Show daddy how much of a slut you can be for him."

Suddenly, Johnny detaches himself from you, moving further away as he leans by the edge of the door, smirking at you whining at the loss of contact, "Patience, angel" 

He grabs hold of your hips, manhandling your body into all fours as he enters you completely with no trouble once he's got you where he wants you to be.  

Something about having to take Johnny from behind was so sexy that you could almost immediately feel your orgasm grow, "Fuck baby, keep clenching around me like that and i won't last long," he grunts, moving in you with a steady pace, 

"I never expected my son to befriend such filthy sluts like you, Y/n. Look at the mess you're making on my sheets" He grabs a fistful of your ass in a tight squeeze, the sudden shift in his demeanor only serving as a whiplash as you feel yourself growing closer and closer to the sweet orgasm. 

"Jesus, doll, you're so fucking tight i can barely move" Johnny growls, talking to keep himself from coming too fast. 

"Daddy.. I'm close. M-I'm so so close" you cry as your arms give out and you fall face first onto the mattress, the new stretch in your back only encouraging his cock to hit you deeper, finding the sweet cushion that serves as extra pleasure for you. 

"Me too, princess, me too.. '' You hear him let out a whine, his thrusts growing sloppier as he does you slower but deeper. 

He reaches around your body to find pursuit at your clit for the nth time that night, rubbing rapid, messy circles to go with his deep thrusts, "Daddy!" you reach your high with a high pitched cry of his name. 

Johnny comes not too long after you as he couldn't resist the constant tight clenching of your walls around his cock. He thrust slowly to ride out his high as you twitch helplessly, face scrunched up in too much pleasure. 

You feel your body being manoeuvred onto your side as he whispers sweet nothings which pass right through your ears as you feel him softened inside you, the feeling ridiculously soothing for your used up walls, 

"You did amazing, darling." he kisses your temple, not making any move to remove himself from within you, which you silently thanked him for. 

You both lay in silence as you turned your body towards him, earning a hiss and a playful smack from him as it added pressure onto his sensitive member. You wrap your arms around his torso, about to nuzzle into his chest and just drift away to dreamland when you hear the familiar ring of your phone from the table beside the bed. 

You feel Johnny's body shift to reach out to get your phone, looking at the caller ID before handing it to you with a smirk that you knew meant that he was up to no good. "Oh! It's hyuck" you exclaim in shock, quickly accepting the call and placing it near your ear, moving to get away from him. 

But Johnny seemed to have other ideas, as he latched an arm around your torso to keep you from moving, "Hey-" you begin, immediately feeling Johnny experimentally thrust into you again, making you whine, "Y/n! I miss you~-oh hey, are you okay?" you hear Donghyuck's voice from the other side, 

You look at Johnny with a pleading and warning gaze to which you earn yourself a toothy grin from the lad, 

"Of co-course! Just a little.. peachy,'' You turn around to place a hand on his chest to halt his movement, "You don't sound just peachy.. I've heard you like this before!" you hear Donghyuck make those noises he makes when he's thinking as Johnny keeps thrusting lazily the more you look at him, you see him open his mouth to speak, "Oh fuck! You're getting laid, aren't you???" 

"Tell Hyuck daddy says hi"

[earnestly-endlessly]

hey!! Your fic recommendations are always elite–I was wondering if you had any kid fics, thank you <3

Hi anon. I have plenty of kid fics for you. Since you didn't quite specify what kind of kid fic you wanted I decided to divide it into fics where Charles and Erik are kids or get deaged and fics that involve kids. This is kind of a long list so I hope that there are plenty of new fics for you to read.

Cherik Kid Fic

--They are kids or get deaged--

Conspiracy of Kisses - Alaceron

Summary: Seven-year-old Erik needs to keep his telepathic best friend Charles from finding out that he wants to kiss him. But that's okay, because he has a plan - he'll put on a tinfoil hat.

Chasing After You - Alaceron

Summary: Charles isn't very good at tag. Erik helps

We’ll be the sum - afrocurl, ninemoons42

Summary: In between bouts of blanket burrito-ing and vegging out on movies, Charles and Erik figure out how they currently feel about each other.

Of course, they're schoolboys and they're on a sleepover and also Edie dotes on them both excessively, so things work out just fine.

Growing pains - ikeracity

Summary: Twelve-year-old Erik Lehnsherr is an angry, closed-off foster kid with trust issues and a bad temper. Ten-year-old Charles Xavier is a lonely kid in boarding school who just wants a friend.

Logan pretends he doesn't think they're both fucking adorable.

Valentine’s day – ikeracity

Summary: Kid fic! Erik waits impatiently all day at school to give Charles a card for Valentine's Day. Maybe Charles has something for him too...?

Now You Know You Know it Now – luninosity

Summary: Erik’s not sure why he keeps glancing at the other boy. Not as if Erik likes other kids, or other people in general, for that matter. But still—he finds himself looking. Again.

This Family Comes with Batteries - Fishwrites, lynneh

Summary: An orphaned Charles Xavier goes to live with his Godfather: Tony Stark. This story is a tale of what would have happened to the events of MCU, if Tony was raising a six year old telepath in Stark Tower. There is also the matter of Charles' robot AI manny/bodyguard/tutor/only-friend, David.

You’re Not Doing This Alone – flightinflame, Lynds

Summary: What's meant to be a simple recruitment mission leads to both Erik and Charles being de-aged back to thirteen years old. Terrified and out of their depth, the boys try to hide their situation and help each other until they can work out what is going on.

Charles Xavier, A Retelling – Extra_fried_noodles

Summary: An attempt to reverse his paralysis goes wrong, and Charles is de-aged into a 2 year old toddler. While Hank scrambles to fix the situation, the whole gang is here to help. Through a mix of selective memory, they watch Charles relive his childhood, revealing some deeply hidden and painful truths.

Protective Instinct – Groovyhornbill

Summary: Charles and Erik were testing Cerebro’s new prototype when things went very wrong.

Divergence – Lynds

Summary: Universes and timelines collide, dropping two younger versions of Charles Xavier into the midst of the hunt for Sebastian Shaw. Now the newly formed X-men have to deal with a strangely quiet and self-reliant six year old, and a sixteen year old covered in bruises.

Erik, in particular, has to accept that the man he loves hasn't had the kind, happy upbringing he wished for him. But these children are here now, and Erik's not going to let anyone hurt them this time.

--Where they have kids--

Sink or Swim – endingthemes

Summary: Erik is a struggling single dad of three kids with a burning hatred for Sebastian Shaw, the man who wronged him years ago. He’s tried to move on with his life, but a run-in with Shaw’s rude, spoiled omega, Charles, drags up old anger. When Charles ends up in the hospital after an accident, Erik goes to confront him only to find that Charles has amnesia. In the confusion, Charles mistakenly assumes that Erik is his mate.

Erik knows he should clear up the misunderstanding, but how can he pass up this perfect chance for a little revenge?

(An Overboard AU)

Rumor Has It - blueink3

Summary: "Did I hear the doorbell earlier?"

"Yeah, but I'd steer clear if I were you. It seemed a little tense. I don't know what's going on, but there's a kid out there who looks freakily like the prof."

Nearly six months after Cuba, Charles' life is turned upside down for the second time. Though he's slowly learning to adapt to the first, he's not sure he can handle the second. Luckily for him, there are a few people out there more than willing to help.

Words and Pictures – pocky_slash

Summary: When Lorna's powers manifest early, Charles Xavier's mutant picture books are the perfect teaching tool. Erik just hadn't expected the author to be so young. Or attractive. Or available.

Write this number down (you can call it anytime) – pocky_slash

Summary: When Erik upsets his children, they have a habit of running away from home--and straight to Charles' school for cookies and consolation. Charles doesn't mind the visitors, but as they appear more and more frequently, he realizes that sooner or later, he and Erik are going to have to talk about what happened on the beach and what it means for their future and the future of Erik's children.

Dress Your Family in Plaid and Skinny Jeans – cygnaut

Summary: Erik and Charles meet at the mutant playgroup/parenting support circle and they instantly hit it off. And so do their kids, Lorna and David.

Not What I was Expecting (So Much Better) – lazulisong

Summary: Erik, the single father, hires Charles, the grad student with the slightly shady past, to be his manny.

Heli Cases – Black_Betty

Summary: "Heli Cases" is a program on PBS whose aim is to educate on the rapidly increasing occurrence of genetic mutation in the general populous by breaking the complex science down into palatable, easy to digest pieces.

It is also the only thing that helps Erik get his fussy daughter to fall asleep.

(Featuring Dadneto, baby Lorna and the struggles of single fatherhood, and Charles as the host of a late night show about genetics.)

Doing Something for Yourself – Pookaseraph

Summary: Erik is a hard working engineer and single dad, Charles runs a local Community Center where Wanda and Pietro spend their time after school. Erik accidentally makes Charles' acquaintance one Wednesday evening when he's running late from work. Erik has no idea if he stands a chance with his new acquaintance, but that isn't going to keep him from falling for the guy.

A Good Dad – listerinezero

Summary: Ten years later, Magneto has left the Brotherhood and Raven asks Charles to help her find him. Charles discovers that Erik is the single father of five year old twins Wanda and Pietro, and he is doing everything he can to keep them safe from his former enemies.

Take a Chance (On Me) – Ook

Summary: In which Charles, terrorised by his abusive ex, takes his young son to a small town in America, where they both settle down and make friends with their neighbours. Particularly the town mechanic, Erik, and his foster son, Alex. Requester stated they wanted to "drown in H/C. "

Can’t Buy Me Love – niniblack

Summary: Erik's a single dad struggling to make it work and nab the promotion he's been waiting for. The last thing he needs is to get involved with politician and notorious playboy Charles Xavier.

(The Maid in Manhattan pastiche that no one asked for.)

Ohana – royal_chandler

Summary: Erik's children are absolute hellions. If by hellions, one means children who are incredibly protective of their new family unit and won't let a few household mishaps get in the way of keeping it together.

One Second and a Million Miles – magneto

Summary: Between being a parent to the best baby in the history of man-kind and co-running a Mutant Center in Hell's Kitchen, Erik Lehnsherr has his hands pretty full. Too full, certainly for romance; something that has never really been on his radar to begin with.

All that changes, however, when he meets Dr. Charles Xavier. Handsome, intelligent, capable, kind, an Omega level telepath, and one of the best pediatricians in the state, he's everything Erik didn't know he was looking for. But he's also Lorna's pediatrician which means, of course, he's off-limits. Except how is Erik supposed to try and forget his crush when he and Charles keep running into each other as if fate is trying to tell them something? When, as Charles says, they seem to want the same thing?

Her Only Mutations Were Her Blue Eyes and Her Auburn Hair – Pookaseraph

Summary: While sneaking back out of Russia, Erik and Charles stumble across Anya, Erik's presumed dead daughter, and it changes quite a few little things along the way. Fluffy, self-indulgent, fix-it.

Despicably Yours – Cesare, veryorangecat

Summary: Erik Lehnsherr, AKA Magneto, is a supervillain without equal... except maybe one: Charles Xavier, AKA Professor X, AKA Erik's next door neighbor. When their competition heats up, Erik decides the only way to get ahead is to adopt four mutant orphans to infiltrate Charles's mansion.

Things don't go as planned.

The Wrong Impression – Rosawyn

Summary: Charles is trying to balance the responsibilities of his career with his responsibilities as a single father to a tiny baby. It's not something he ever thought he'd have to do, and it's not as easy as those women on the internet make it look! He does't have much of a social life (unless talking to his sister on the phone and attending a parents' class where he's the only guy count), and he doesn't even have time to think of dating. He's just trying to keep his job - and keep his son fed and healthy.

Marrying a Mob – Ook

Summary: Charles is a teacher at a very exclusive school. When armed men burst in on the trail of two children, of course he stands up to them and gets hurt. The children are Erik Lehnsherr's children (of course); a "prominent businessman" or, less politely, "mobster".

Erik is grateful to Charles for saving his children's lives at the cost of his kneecap. So very grateful.

Naturally he tries to reward Charles for his actions. Equally naturally, Charles will be having none of that.

Azazel finds the whole thing unspeakably hilarious. Naturally.

[alienaiver]

Half the Battle, pt. 1

Kuroo Tetsurou x gn!reader

find part two here!

warnings: slight angst about childhood/parents fighting/divorce, one (1) bottle of wine is opened, someone is betrayed in Mario Party, NOT beta-read! apologize for any mistakes! (lmk if there’s any warnings i missed!)

wordcount: 5.5k

content: soulmate AU, mild angst, fluff, post-timeskip but slight canon divergence (i haven’t read the manga yet so this is loosely based off of their canon timeskip lives), gender neutral reader, reader is a video editor, reader is bad at eye contact but the details as to why are vague/up for interpretation!

notes: this was made for @gg9183 ​ ‘s wonderful birthday event, a soulmate collab! (go read the other wonderful works!) happy birthday once again, gray!! this was meant to be a 2k one shot but.... plans and inspiration changes sometimes, right? 🥺 so this ended up as a 5k part ONE lmfao i hope thats alright w u!!! part2 will be up asap, i promise!! i hope you enjoy this!!!! 

—————————

Not meeting his soulmate was fine, Kuroo often found himself thinking. The odds of finding your soulmate’s way too low to be realistic anyways, he supported the thought. It’s illogical to spend so much time fretting about it, he finally added for good measure.

Soulmates were a natural part of life, always had been. But with the big wide world filled with over seven billion people, meeting yours wasn’t completely unheard of. But given the powers of soulmates even existing, it wasn’t unrealistic to also believe that some kind of fate would pull you towards each other throughout your lives so that you would meet each other. Kuroo however, prided himself in not caring about soulmates. His life was rich enough. People explaining their feelings about “something being missing until they finally meet them” was incomprehensible to him.

Kuroo had lived for 29 years without being able to see color. And you know what? His life was damn well fulfilling enough. He had a beautiful apartment, an economy that flourished, an adorable cat named Cucumber and good people around him. What would he really need a soulmate for? He could ignore his friends comments on how wonderful the world was in color, if only he would just start looking for his soulmate, how much meaning it gave life. Just because the people in his closest circle had all magically met theirs – not to mention how many of them had already met in Goddamn high school, Kuroo scoffed and was always able to move on.

Even though a lot of people actively made eye contact with everyone they met, even people on the street, to make sure they would meet their soulmate, Kuroo kept his eyes down. He wasn’t insecure, come on, he was perfectly happy! He just didn’t need to be late for a meeting because he got eye contact with some stranger, you know?

His life was in perfect balance as is.. Until yesterday, of course. It had turned out there was mold in his apartment complex so they had to evict it for a month while a crew would go through everything to remove it. He didn’t want to go to his mother’s place, that was too far from his work, but he wasn’t in the mood for a hotel, that was way too expensive, so he turned to his best friend of many years with the biggest set of puppy eyes he could muster and the prospect of making every dinner while he lived there.

“Fine… but don’t get in the way,” was all Kenma had to say.

And so Kuroo spent his last weekend in his own apartment packing things down to make it accessible to the cleaning crew. Cucumber hated other cats with a passion so he couldn’t bring him to Kenma’s, where three cats already happily lived, so his mother would pick him up tomorrow afternoon.

__

He sat on his couch, scrolling his phone mindlessly with Cucumber on his lap who had been stressed with all the packing down, sensing something was up. He was being extra cuddly towards Kuroo who, honestly? Didn’t mind at all. He loved when Cucumber was in mood for cuddles, though it wasn’t very often. He had been told his cat was orange and while he didn’t have a measure for what that color actually looked like, he was happy with his gray cat.

His mother was supposed to arrive any minute now, so he should have gotten up and put the cat in his carrier but it was easier to get him in it if you had two pair of hands. He scrolled through Instagram, reaching a photo put up by Tsukishima of his soulmate, the light-haired manager of their high school volleyball club, with a tooth-eating grin on her face and proudly showing off a ring on her finger, the caption said, This smile makes me wanna brag. Kuroo could physically hear the provocative tone of his voice, knowing he was one of the first in his circle of friends to actually plan a wedding. Kuroo clicked his tongue with a smile on his face and double-tapped to like the picture.

He didn’t know if it was the combination of that post and the fact that his mother was on her way but memories of his parent’s wedding flooded his mind. For a lot of people, weddings felt obsolete in the face of the whole “you already got your soulmate and you know this” thing, so a lot of couples were happy not getting married but just being together. But there was also the benefits of marriage in the practical sense, so some people did anyways, some hosting parties, some not. His parents weren’t married when he came to, but after he turned five they decided to do it so he would be protected by both of them, in case of any emergency.

It had been a small wedding, only the closest family and friends but Kuroo was vivid, so excited about being part of that whole romantic ordeal, even helping his mom find a dress and everything. He had been a huge and important part of the wedding – if he did say so himself. Everyone had been glowing at the day, the food was delicious, there was laughter, song and cheers and everyone had brought so many presents – even some for little Tetsurou, who had been very excited about his new train tracks.

But when Kuroo was seven years old, it wasn’t as romantic anymore. His parents were fighting a lot, he wasn’t entirely sure why or about what because they would never tell him about it, no matter how much he asked. When he tried to listen in, the words he heard didn’t explain anything to him because even though they were yelling at each other, the important words were always whispered, as if they knew Kuroo was listening in.

When he was eight his mom had come into his room, hugged him and with tears in her eyes and said that they were going to move away.

“Where are we going?” he asked simply, no emotion to be read on his little face. He was exhausted from his parents being this way – they were soulmates, right? Why did they fight like that?

“To Tokyo, just you and me, my love.”

That’s when he met Kenma. He had been very closed-off and shy back when they met, he reminisced. He had been a regular kid when he was younger but the way his parents split up – his soulmate parents – had closed him off pretty bad, so it was a miracle he met Kenma and started opening up again.

Kuroo smiled to himself bitterly before scratching Cucumber’s ear. He supposed this was also why he wasn’t interested in his soulmate. So many people had romanticized the whole soulmate ideal so a lot of people forgot that relationships still took work, took effort and just because they were made for each other, didn’t necessarily guarantee that they would stay together. His mom and dad didn’t officially talk anymore, but when he asked his mom as a child whether or not she still saw color, she said that she did. He also found long letters in her bedroom when he was nine, letters from his dad, so he supposed they still talked together, though Kuroo wasn’t let in on it – nor was he particularly interested. And he definitely we wasn’t interested in ending up in a relationship with someone who would end up not wanting to put in the effort for the relationship to flourish.

After Cucumber had been picked up by his mom it was time to leave for Kenma’s place. He carried the last boxes of valuables down to his basement and locked them in before trekking down to the subway with his suitcase and sports bag.

_____

You were late for work, so you scrambled to pack your things. It was Wednesday afternoon and you were supposed to meet in at 3PM, because that was around the time that Kodzuken had planned to finish his recording, he told you yesterday. You were a video editor and had met Kenma through your old part-time job in his favorite convenience store quite a few years back, back when he had first bought his house when he was 24. You remembered talking to him about video games in the store since you also played some, and after a good while of polite customer service and talk about new games, you had started hanging out outside of work as well. When you had then told him you were actually a freelance video editor but just didn’t get many jobs, he had almost instantly hired you to do his YouTube videos for him and general editing and set-ups of his streams. I know video games, not recording equipment, he had told you so many years ago.

Your original thought had been wary, because working for a friend might get messy but Kenma cared a lot about keeping it professional when you were on the clock, which you appreciated very much. In his house, down by his game room, there was a room next door with screens and all the best editing software just for you to play with. Your pay was higher than average for such a “simple” but regular gig but when prompted about it, he simply shrugged and told you it wasn’t up for negotiation and no one was being treated unfair – and who were you to go against such a good pay for a job that you loved doing and wanted to do full-time? With Kenma being a famous streamer and gamer, he often made lots of different videos for various sites so your job hours resembled a nine to five job, easy, even if the hours were off from the more conventional jobs and you usually came in later in the day and sometimes finished off late in the evening – some of his videos had a time limit for a release date of a game, so there was also days where you were extremely busy and scrambling to get the video done right for a release of a game.

As you closed your bag and ran out the door towards the subway, you checked your phone for any updates. If he’d finished early, he would’ve texted you about it, so you put your phone in your pocket and hurried towards his house.

When you arrived you immediately rang the doorbell before catching your breath, you were used to Kenma spending a few minutes before reaching the door and opening it, so when the door opened almost instantly you took a step back before looking up. The one opening the door was taller than Kenma and in a loose dress shirt that was unbuttoned at the top - that’s all you saw before your eyes darted down to your feet.

“...Hi! I’m uh… Where’s Kenma?” was all you got out while fidgeting with your purse strap, it certainly wasn’t his boyfriend Hinata opening the door today.

“Oh, hey! You must be his video editor, right? He told me about you!” The man said, pointing to himself with his thumb,

“I’m Kuroo Tetsurou! Kenma’s childhood friend! Sorry to intrude, I’ll be living here for the next month, I promise not to get in your way!” As he finished his introduction, he moved aside so that you could enter. As you took off your shoes you heard Kenma’s feet shuffling towards you, “oh hey, welcome, you’re early,” Kenma said with his usual deadpan expression but you could clearly hear the teasing in his voice.

“At least I’m here now, right?” You smiled back, instantly relaxing at the sight of your boss and friend. You turned to Kuroo again, bowed and introduced yourself before taking off your coat and putting it on a hanger, while Kenma and the guy named Kuroo seemed to bicker a bit about whether or not Kuroo should answer the door while he lived there.

“I’ll go set it up, have you transferred the video files to the hard disk?” you asked Kenma as you moved towards ‘your’ office, sending Kuroo a polite smile while keeping your eyes on his neck.

Eye contact was hard for you, it always made you extremely uncomfortable and you didn’t really have any before you felt comfortable with the person. Your mother had often scolded you, saying you’d never find your soulmate at this rate, which you always acknowledged with a hum or a simple yes without starting a discussion.

You honestly weren’t sure whether or not you cared for a soulmate. Your biggest argument to wanting to find one was so that you could see colors, because it’d help your career. Kenma already had his soulmate, so he was the one deciding the color scheme for his videos and helped with the color-related editing, which worked fine as of now, but you would probably appreciate to be able to do it yourself. You had also spent some years coming to terms with your struggles with eye contact and accept that this was just how you functioned. If you missed your soulmate in a random supermarket thanks to it one day, well, you’d be none the wiser, so you felt sure you’d survive without one, but you also couldn’t deny that the sound of a soulmate sounded really nice and comforting. That someone out there existed to fit you, that you were born to love someone who was also meant to love you. You were sure that finding your soulmate wasn’t a dance on roses, it was sure to still be hard, frustrating and maybe even painful sometimes, but you also couldn’t just have all the good, there was a balance that was sure to exist within soulmates as well.

After hours of going through the raw footage from his video game play and slowly editing while watching it, you popped your shoulders and stretched your arms for a moment, yawning as you did so. Your hours were always a bit intense, but that couldn’t be helped when you had six hours of raw footage to work with. Looking at the clock you saw that it was 5.30PM which meant that soon Kenma would wake up from his pseudo-sleep (which was more like a nap in your opinion) to look at your process and ask what you wanted for dinner.

Soon after a soft knock was heard followed by the door opening slowly, Kenma standing in sweats and a hoodie with bags under his eyes, “do you like hotpot?” he asked, and you smiled at him, “sure, are you cooking tonight?” he yawned while he shook his head, “Kuroo is. He insists on a ‘fulfilling meal’, whatever that means.”

You giggled before beckoning Kenma in to see some of what you’ve done so far and making minor adjustments along the way. “Now, something smells delicious and I’m thirsty,” you stated after the two of you had talked a bit about the rest of the video’s plans. As you went towards the kitchen you could hear the sound of of a nameless tune being hummed, pans sizzling from something being cooked and kitchen utensils being used.

Inside, the table was already set with plates and prepared ingredients lying ready for the pot that Kuroo was just about to put on the table. It seemed he had made an endless supply of different side dishes and really put in a lot of work for it, so you looked really forward to eating it and it smelled delicious. You grabbed a glass from the set table and went to the sink to get some water and just as your hand reached it, Kuroo had extended his hand as well to the sink and you accidentally touched.

You both recoiled as if you had been burned and you couldn’t stop the gasp that accidentally left your lips. A feeling was rushing through your body you hadn’t experienced before and you immediately apologized to Kuroo and went back to the table, foregoing the water. You didn’t notice how Kuroo was frozen in place from when he touched you before Kenma called out to him and he immediately started moving again.

You ended up eating shortly after, Kuroo serving the food and talking animatedly about him and Kenma’s childhood, making you laugh quite a bit at their (or more, Kuroo’s) antics and their volleyball days. Kuroo was the type of person to make you relax in his presence and have fun which you didn’t even notice until you got home later that evening and really thought about what a great time you had had. You found yourself surprised by how easily you clicked with Kuroo, a total stranger. It must be his charm, you thought to yourself before going through your night routine. You had to come back tomorrow and finish work, after all. You estimated the video would take you a few more days to finish but that would end up fitting well with the weekend coming, so as you went to bed you felt yourself more relaxed than you had in a while.

_____

“What are they like?”

It was Friday and it seemed you had finished Kenma’s video and therefor you weren’t here for dinner – for the first time in a few days, which did let down Kuroo just a tiny bit. He had talked a lot with you during dinner preparations when you came out from the office and during dinner as well and while you did answer all his questions (which, he admitted, there were quite a few of them) and follow up with your own for him, it still felt… off… talking to you – and Kuroo didn’t like not knowing why. “What do you mean?” Kenma asked, taking another bite into his mouth.

Kenma swallowed a piece of meat before looking up at Kuroo who was stabbing his plate with his fork in what seemed like a useless purpose. He knew he was being a little weird but meeting you was weird, even though he had no reason to explain why.

“I mean, is this how they usually act?” He didn’t even know what that question meant or why he was even asking it, nothing made sense! But he had a desperate feeling that he needed to get to know you – he was afraid of what that implied and what suspicions he needed to hold onto, but he was sure it was his gut telling him you were dangerous for Kenma to be around – that had to be it! Kenma was his best friend, his childhood friend, it had to be a gut feeling meant to protect him!

“Who knows, they’re being more polite than usual, I think. But that makes sense,” Kenma replied calmly before adding, “I mean you are a stranger who’s really intent on being social with them over our dinners, they were a bit shy as well when I met them,”

Kuroo nodded and finally took a bite of his own food. He didn’t notice Kenma’s raised eyebrows or the questioning look that was sent his way, so Kenma decided to let the subject rest.

Not seeing you today felt weird to him too and he couldn’t help the irritation building up inside him – you had just met a few days ago and only in the evenings when he was done with work and ready to make dinner – and yet, the thought of you kept invading his mind. He had gotten through work today thinking you were going to be there for dinner so when he came home and found out you wouldn’t be there, the first seed of irritation had been planted – why was he suddenly looking so much forward to seeing you? Had it been like this yesterday too? Why was it suddenly important that you weren’t there? He ended up sitting in front of the laptop in the guest room for the rest of the evening, the document left open and completely untouched.

Kuroo, however, didn’t let the subject rest in his head for the rest of that evening. Hinata was in town, having time off after a big game yesterday so Kuroo was left to his own devices – which really wasn’t a problem considering he had to make the paperwork for a promotional deal for a meeting Monday morning that he had procrastinated making – which wasn’t like him at all, he usually never pushed assignments to last minute and he then realized the reason he wasn’t done yet was because he had spent so much time over the dinner table with Kenma and you, talking even after dinner had been done for a while. You always offered to help him with the clean-up so you also spent some time talking there, drifting off to various subjects far passing the cleaning duties and sitting down again with a glass of water.

He enjoyed your company, it felt... easy, somehow, the sensation that something was off was there but it didn’t really settle in his stomach until every time after you left, as if it was left to grow a bit from a small sensation to a problem, which worried him – Kuroo prided himself as an impeccable people-reader, he was captain for both the volleyball team in high school and college, he knew how to act around business relations so well because he could read them so flawlessly – so the feelings he got from you was unsettling and unreadable and it took some control away from him – and Kuroo always felt uneasy when he wasn’t in control.

____

Kuroo heard your name and almost got whiplash from how fast his head moved towards Kenma, “what?”

“I asked if we should invite them? To game night? Being three is a little annoying in Mario Party.”

“Oooh, that’s a good idea! I’d love to see them again!” Hinata happily exclaimed before taking another bite of the lasagna Kuroo had prepared tonight. It was Saturday and Kuroo had been in a daze the entire day, first at the office for a quick meeting with his boss about a potential partner he might be able to reel in soon and then doing his laundry at Kenma’s and continuing to try and make the stupid paperwork but ultimately failing before he had to make dinner.

“Isn’t it a bit late to invite someone? I mean, they could have plans already...” Kuroo tried, knowing what a pain it could be to be asked to something an hour before it happened and he didn’t want to let you go through that – that’s what he tried to tell himself, at least. In truth? He was a bit afraid of seeing you again, afraid of his potential reactions, since he had spent his entire Friday in a stupor just thinking about you. His thoughts didn’t mean much for Kenma and Hinata though, who was already texting you to ask.  “Oi, no phones at the table, have you parents taught you no manners?” Kuroo chided and Hinata immediately shrank back and apologized – Kuroo smirked, yea the Chibi-chan still had respect for his seniors. But he was quickly pulled back to thoughts about you by Kenma’s phone lighting up again, “they’ll be here in an hour. They’re asking if they should bring anything?” Kenma looked up to gauge Kuroo’s reaction, having noticed something about his friend had been off the past few days. He immediately made a funny grimace before turning it into a smile. “Yea, they can bring a bottle of white wine, if I have to beat you all at Mario Party, I would very much like to be a tiny bit buzzed,” Kuroo said, and Hinata looked at him with wide eyes, “you drink wine!? So grown up!” Hinata exclaimed, to which Kenma just muttered, “or just an old man…” Kuroo didn’t hear that though, too busy to fidget with his hands under the table, suddenly feeling nervous that you were showing up.

Hinata plopped down between Kuroo and you with a controller in hand, “I’m gonna beat you all in this Mario Kart!” to which you laughed loudly, “good luck since we’re playing Mario Party.”

“Huh? Is there a difference?” Hinata asked, making Kuroo belt out a loud laugh as well, holding his stomach, “you just told us you’d beat us but you don’t even know what we’re playing!” Kuroo couldn’t contain his laughter for a bit until he noticed how you were looking at him and instantly retracted his laugh, sitting up straight with a cough, and apologizing for being loud, which confused him to no end. He had never been self-conscious of his own laugh! He knew it could be obnoxious and loud, but he also liked it himself, and-

“That’s a really cute laugh.”

The comment earned you the stares of the century from the three other people in the room, with Kenma in genuine shock – he wouldn’t say he disliked Kuroo’s laugh, just that it was… special.

“Uhm… Uh. Thank you?” Kuroo could feel that his blush went all the way to his ears but he hoped that the light in the living room wasn’t bright enough to catch it. “Yeah uh! Sure! Mhm,” you awkwardly coughed a bit as well before reaching for your glass of wine.

You had brought a bottle of white wine for Kuroo on the promise that you’d get a glass too, saying he was your first friend who also liked wine. The word ‘friend’ had dumb-founded him and he’d just answered “you can have it all,” to which you had laughed and said it’s fine with half, you weirdo.

The game was about to begin but Kuroo was still sitting stuck on the fact that his laugh was cute – cute? Had anyone else found it cute before besides Bokuto and his mom? He wasn’t sure – he sure couldn’t pinpoint them right now anyways. He tried to shake it off and focus on the game, though quite a bit of time was spent explaining the rules to Hinata who apparently had thought they were just playing Mario Kart.

When you were 12 laps into it, it seemed that you were set to win with your four stars and 121 coins. Kenma was right behind you with three stars and Hinata and Kuroo had been left in the dust with zero stars. You had stolen Kuroo’s first (and only) star early in the game, so he was plotting his vengeance in quiet but was getting afraid that the game would end before he could do anything to you – but just as his hopes were at the smallest during the last round of the game, you were put in the same team as him in the last mini game.

Kuroo had a wide smirk when you cheered and said, “this’ll be easy then!” because no, it would not be easy for you. If he had to go down in order to take you down a notch, then so be it. He’d rather Kenma win than you did with stolen goods!

The last mini game was “Tow the Line” where two players were put in a sewing box shaped with nine dots as a grid and two players tied together with a string and the objective was to make the shape with the string as shown in the middle of screen. As soon as the whistle sounded, Kuroo lowered his hands and stopped using his controllers, all with a big grin on his lips.

“Kuroo, what the fuck! Get moving, we’ve started!” you yelled at him as Kenma and Hinata won the first round, signaling the next round began, Kuroo started whistling and looking away from the screen, to which you got up from your seat, “fine, I’ll just take your controller and do it myself!”

Kuroo put his arm with the controller behind him, “nah-ah-ah! You’re not winning this, fiend! That’s what you get for stealing my star!” He grinned up at you with his eyes closed as you stood with your hands on your hips, “come on man! I stole that star in the fourth round! Kenma stole a star from me as well!” you tried, “maybe he stole the one that was yours, who knows! Get over it so we can win!”

But as soon as you’d said that, the third round had just been won and you sighed and flopped down on your seat again, “not cool Kuroo, not cool. I’ll remember this!”

You both laughed as the game made ready to announce the winner, Kenma and Hinata entertained by your antics.

“You can’t avenge something that I avenged in the first place! I only did it because you did me wrong, you know!”

“You can’t use logic on me, it doesn’t apply!”

To no surprise, you won the entire game, even winning one of the two bonus stars given at the end of the game.

After the last sequence and a bow from you there was a quick break before you decided to play some Mario Kart for Hinata’s sake, since his argument was that he lost due it being Party instead. You played quite a few hours and after another toilet break you had switched places with Hinata so Kenma could cuddle up against him. You yawned, drinking the last of the wine in your glass and said, “I should head home, I have a friend coming over for lunch tomorrow.”

Hinata and Kenma both started to get up to say goodnight but you waved at them with a smile, “I can walk out myself, it’s fine!” But Kuroo had already gotten up from the couch as well, so you walked with him towards the hallway where you put on your shoes. There was a comfortable silence between the two of you, which Kuroo noted and scowled a bit - he might have only known you for less than a week but for some reason he felt like it had been a lot longer, like you were old friends – it felt strange, to be so close with a stranger. He didn’t know anything about you, really. He knew your name, your job and how you liked some of your vegetables and which meat was your favorite, he knew you also loved cats but didn’t have one (he couldn’t remember if he knew why) and he felt pretty sure he would recognize you in a crowded area – why it was so intense, he was unsure of, he hadn’t tried meeting someone this way before. It had also seemed like having this game night had made you considerably more relaxed in his presence, even joking around with him instead of being polite, which made Kuroo somewhat giddy, though it didn’t really make sense to him as to why.

“I hope you had fun,” Kuroo said awkwardly, as if he had been the host and scratched the back of his head.

“Yeah, I did! I’m sorry I stole your star, though,” you laughed, buttoning your jacket.

“Nah, no worries, as they say, all’s fair in love and war, right?”

You giggled and picked up your bag from the dresser while Kuroo opened up the door for you. As you exited, you turned around with a bright smile, “well, thanks for toni-”

Everything ended up a blur, too bright, too much, too noisy, too… colorful? Kuroo was still looking into your eyes as all that went through him, completely blindsided. As he took a proper look, he could see that you looked just as surprised as him, your eyes wide but still never leaving his either.

“Is… Is this? Are you? Is…” You asked after what felt like both days and milliseconds, I could stare at them so much longer, he thought to himself, the colors only making your face more clear to him. Had you really not had eye contact at all? Had you seen each other for several hours – more than a few times, without looking each other in the eyes at all? Kuroo was more baffled by this happening so late than the fact that it was happening.

He was about to say something, anything, when you promptly turned around, nervously yelling, “I-I uh, I gotta go! Goodbye!” as you hurried out of the driveway and down towards the subway.

“W-wait!” Kuroo belatedly and unhelpfully yelled out as you turned a corner, too late. You were gone. A hand was dragged down his face as a sigh left him, what the fuck had just happened? He obviously needed to talk to you about this, but he also needed to gather his thoughts about all of this, so he slowly closed the door and went back towards the living room, greeted by Hinata and Kenma who looked up at him curiously, “why did you yell?” Hinata asked with his head tilted.

“I think I just found my soulmate.”

[cherryyharryy]

i have an idea for a request (it’s totally ok if you don’t want to do it) like an angst-> fluff where one of harry’s songs accidentally gets leaked bc of y/n like she has something on a flash drive and the song is on another and they get mixed up and obviously he’s really mad at y/n and they have a fight he’s super snappy with her but something happens to her like she gets into a really big accidental or something and he forgives her bc he cares about her more tha the leaked song

WC: 2.7k

***

Damage control wasn’t even an option. 

Y/n sat there, staring at Harry’s laptop, numb to everything except the blaring desire to go back in time just two minutes. Two minutes is all she would need to undo possibly the biggest screwup of her life.

And the worst part is that this mistake ultimately doesn’t affect her. At least not in comparison to how it will affect Harry. And his band. And his team. Basically everyone involved with his career. 

Her mind is equally begging for her to shut down and come up with a plan—an excuse—something, Is there anyway this wasn’t my fault?  

She checks the time, her heart sinking to her stomach when she realizes Harry and his team will be back any minute. Any minute and she’s done for.

They’ve only been together for five months, officially. She’s still new to most everyone. She’s that girl Harry’s dating.

“I told you he played in that movie.” Jeff’s voice echoes outside the studio. Y/n closes the laptop and prays for strength. 

“I have him confused with someone else.” Harry bustles through the door, a small crowd of people filing in behind him, back to the spots they left an hour ago. “Hey darling,” he greets, “finish your paper?”

Y/n’s frozen, morbidly wishing he had found out about his song leaking on his own so she wouldn’t have to tell him. “Uh, almost.”

He kisses the top of her head and hands her a cup of frozen yogurt. “Your favorite.” 

“Thanks.” She sets it on the table she’s sat at while Harry pulls up a chair beside her. “Aren’t you guys still working?”

He waves in the direction of his band, “Mitch’s gotta fix his guitar.” He snickers, and slides his laptop out from under y/n’s hands. “Had a bit of an accident in the car.” 

Y/n’s head tingles with what must be nerve damage, her place in this world, her place in this room, decreasing in value as Harry opens his computer.

“It’s gonna melt.” He nods to her yogurt.

“I’m not hungry.”

He furrows his brow. “You alright?”

“Mhm.” She looks around the room, everyone busy getting back to work, light chatter passing among them. “Uh, actually, I uh, I have to tell you something.” Y/n tries to swallow the lump in her throat with no luck.

“Okay…” He shuts the laptop and gives her his full attention.

“Okay, um—”

“What the fuck!?” The room freezes as everyone turns toward Jeff. “Harry someone’s got a hold of your song!” 

Harry scrambles to his manager, complete shock on his face as they both stare down at Jeff’s phone. “Fuck.” They start to play a video, the sound of a girl screaming, with Harry’s unconsented voice playing in the background, fills the room. “How the hell did this happen?” He’s gritting through his teeth, neck red, veins bulging in his hands as he rips the phone out of Jeff’s hand. “HOW? Someone answer me!”

Y/N considers keeping quiet. Playing innocent. What good will it do to confess anyway? It’s not like it’ll undo what she’s done.

Sarah chimes in from across the room, “It looks like it happened half an hour ago. That’s when this video I’m looking at was posted.”

Y/n’s staring down at her lap, holding her head up with her fingers pressed into her temples when Harry slings himself back into the chair next to her.

“All that work, all that fucking work,” he nearly growls, “for some cunt to spread my unfinished song around for a buck.”

Y/n peers up to the room, a completely different picture compared to five minutes ago. Now there’s talk of lawyers and pressing charges while everyone shuffles around. Jeff slams the door as he steps out with his phone to his ear, and y/n knows she can’t claim denial, it’ll only make things worse.

“Uh, Harry?”

“What is it?” He doesn’t look at her, eyes glaring at his phone while another video plays of a group of people reacting to his song. “Glad they fucking like it.”

“Harry?”

“What, y/n?”

She shrinks under his gaze, mouth dry as she forces her confession out. “I uh, this is all my fault.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m so, so sorry. And I’ll do anything—I know I can’t fix it—but...”

Harry’s tongue presses against the inside of his cheek, his eyes narrowing in on her as a morbid silence forms a little bubble around them. “Go on,” he whispers with grit, “finish what you were gonna say.”

She stutters, desperately trying to figure him out. “I’m just sorry. It was an accident.”

“An accident? How did you even manage to do this?”

“I—”

“Do you have any idea what this accident means, y/n?”

She reluctantly shakes her head no.

“How the fuck did you do this?”

“I—I don’t know...I was taking a break from my paper, and, I don’t know Harry.” She’s in tears now, warm and salty as they spill down her cheeks. Her mouth wobbles around another apology, but no sounds make it out.

“Fix it.”

“What?”

He stands up, yanking his laptop off the table, pausing to glare at her one last time. “I said, to fix it.” With that he storms across the room, slinging the door open just as Jeff reenters.

“Harry, your attorney—”

“Forget it.” He turns around and points his phone towards y/n silently sobbing in the corner. “She’s gonna handle it.” He takes one step out into the hall and stops, spinning on his heels to face the studio. “Don’t speak to me until you do.”

Mitch’s guitar that was fixed and propped against the wall, crashes to the floor when Harry slams the door. 

Chatter passes around the room one more time, only now everyone seems to be in agreeance—that girl never should have been allowed in the studio, and maybe, Harry should break up with her.

***

Early morning rain fell outside Harry’s apartment. It was still dark, street lamps burning through the fog in the city below. His home fills with coffee as he pours his fifth cup; the prior four never offering more than a few sips before he had abandoned them somewhere, the counter, mantle, bookshelf, because he can’t talk without his hands.

Y/n sits on his couch. It’s velvet and pink and too big for one person. She hated it the first time he invited her over. If he breaks up with her, she’s going to tell him how ugly it is.

“I don’t know what you expect me to do.” She’s exhausted. She hadn’t hesitated to drive over when he finally responded to one of her hundreds of texts in the week since the mishap. But now she regrets it. They’ve been going in circles with the same argument for the past four hours. She’s convinced he invited her over just to be mean. She sighs, rubbing her temples. “I said I was sorry. You know that I’m sorry. And you know that I never, ever in a million years, would have done something like this on purpose.”

“I’m allowed to be angry with you. I have every right to be.”

“Do you, though?” She straightens up on his ugly couch and looks at him leaning against the doorframe that leads into the kitchen. “Aren’t you a little tired of hating me? God Harry, everyone else in the whole world has moved on except you.”

“It’s not everyone else’s song, is it? It’s not everyone else’s months and months of hard work. It’s not everyone else’s unfinished art? Nobody else is having to deal with a girlfriend that is so careless, so thoughtless, that she actually managed to leak my song!”

“Stop raising your voice at me!”

“You had no business snooping around my computer anyway! I told you you could work on your fucking paper, not to go prying around my personal shit!”

“You know what,” she scoffs, shooting up off the couch, “this argument is so pointless. You didn’t want me here so we could talk. You just wanted to torture me because you’re mad that people don’t love your stupid song.”

“What the fuck did you say?”

She brushes his shoulder as she passes by him, and a drip of his coffee spills onto his hand. He curses, and follows her into the kitchen where he lays his final cup down on the island.

“You’re being a baby because people aren’t fawning over you like they usually do.” She shrugs and slings her bag over her shoulder. “It’s not your best song, Harry.”

The veins in his neck strain against his flaming skin. His cheeks are sucked in, and if he bites down on the skin any harder he’ll puncture his face. “Get the fuck out.”

“I was already leaving, dumb ass.” She strides by him once more, practically feeling the heat steaming off his body. When she gets to the front door, she pauses with her hand on the knob. “Your couch is hideous, by the way. Just because you’re rich doesn’t mean you have to buy shitty looking stuff.”

When she slams the door behind her, the apartment shakes, and cold coffee spills from each cup.

***

It’s nearing five a.m. when y/n backs out of the complex. Her wipers race across the windshield, but do nothing against the downpour wreaking havoc in the city. She does her best to stay on what she assumes is her side of the road, swerving to the right each time headlights blind her.

“Shit.” Nothing is open, and she can’t even see where it would be safe to pull over to let the rain pass. But her home isn’t that far, and traffic isn’t too bad. 

She comes to a stop at a red light, only to realize she missed a left turn she should’ve made a minute ago. “Damn it. Fucking hell.”

As soon as the light turns green, she spins the wheel to make a U-turn, and if it hadn’t been for the rain, and her own clouded mind, and Harry’s voice echoing in her ears, she might have seen the truck who didn’t even try to avoid her.

***

It’s the headache from hell that wakes her up. And it’s the sterile smell of hospital that jogs her memory. And it’s a nurse not much older than y/n that says something about you’re lucky to be alive. 

She’s poked and prodded and asked a thousand questions before her IV is adjusted and a pill to ease one of the many pains scratching her body is handed to her in a small plastic cup. A police officer repeats half of this process, and somewhere in the mess of her reality, she learns that the other driver was sending a text to his wife when he plowed into her car. He’s at home and she’s here. Lucky to be alive.

She made calls to her mom and friends, and even managed to type out a decent email to her professors for her upcoming absence in class.

When she automatically pulled up Harry’s name on her phone, the last text he sent, the one inviting her over so he could make her more miserable than she already was, sat there in all its taunting glory.

What is she even supposed to say? Hey, I know you hate my existence right now, but I’m lying here in a hospital bed with bandages wrapped around my head. It’d be cool if you stopped by.

It’s not long before the sun pops up and reminds y/n of just how early it is. The clouds part, and it’s like it had never even rained, like it had never even been dark for hours, and if she closes her eyes, y/n can pretend that the past week hadn’t even happened.

***

 “How are you feeling today?” The nurse checks y/n’s IV, humming after her question.

“Just sore. Ready to get out of here.”

“We’ve started the paperwork, so shouldn’t be too long. Who’s coming to get you?”

Y/n blinks, feeling stupid she hadn’t thought this far ahead. She doesn’t even have a car anymore. The nurse looks over the computer monitor, waiting for a response.

“Uh, my friend.”

“Awesome. Dr. Kirby has to come check on you one last time before you leave. I’ll go see if he can stop by now, if you want to let your friend know.”

As soon as the nurse is out the door, y/n scrambles to turn her phone back on, and once it is, her lock screen is filled with missed calls and unanswered texts.

She’ll respond later; gives her something to do in the car to occupy her in front of Harry. 

She can’t call him. Harry’s not a monster, although the past week doesn’t exactly prove her case, but she knows he wouldn’t refuse to come get her. If anything, he’ll be annoyed she didn’t tell him about the accident sooner. But she’s too emotional to deal with hearing his voice.

She types out a text recounting her last 24 hours, along with the name of the hospital. He immediately reads it, and a moment later he’s trying to call.

To: Harry

I’m too tired to talk rn

She lies. And it works.

From: Harry

I’ll be there as fast as i can

***

“Baby?”

Y/n cracks her eyes open, irritated she never quite fell asleep. Confused as to why Harry’s calling her baby. Angry that she cares. And the next words out of his mouth are ones she’d been predicting.

“Why didn’t you call me? I would’ve dropped everything. You’ve been here all alone, shit. Are you okay? What hurts?”

He’s hovering over her, fidgeting, unsure if he can touch her.

“I’m fine now. Just sore. And tired.”

“Fuck I can’t believe this, I—”

“The doctor already said I can go. I’m not allowed to walk out on my own, so, you need to let the nurse know you’re here. She’ll take me down in a wheelchair.”

“Baby I’m so sorry-”

“No, Harry. You would still be busy hating my guts right now—”

“Hate you? I don’t hate you?”

“Well you did a great job this week making me feel otherwise.”

Harry sighs, gripping the bed frame and dropping his chin to his chest. When he looks back up he has tears brimming his eyes. “I’m sorry,” his voice cracks. “I know I’ve been an ass this week. I—you were right. I took out my anger from no one lovin’ the song on you.”

“Well it’s not no one. A lot of people did. And it’s unfinished anyway. You wouldn’t enjoy a meal if it was only cooked halfway.”

He nods, but y/n knows he’s only accepting her words because of the situation.

“You mean so much more to me than a leaked song. I’m sorry I treated you like shit. And that I—I made you think I hated you. You have every right to hate me.”

“You annoy the hell out of me, but I don’t hate you.”

His lips twitch, but a few tears slide down his cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

“I know.” She takes his hand off the rail and smoothes her thumb across his knuckles. “You can make it up to me by getting me out of here.”

“I can do that.” He kisses the top of her head and hits the remote to call for the nurse.

“You can really kiss me, y’know. I’m not gonna break.”

He’s hesitant, but slowly lowers his head to press his lips to hers. He’s timid, and his lips are still damp from tears, but it’s more relieving than either of them would ever admit.

The nurse ends their moment when she pops in the room, pushing a wheelchair in front of her. “Hi, you must be y/n’s friend.”

“Friend?” He peers down at y/n, suggestion lacing the word. “Care to explain?”

“Not really, I’m so tired.”

“Mhm.” He clicks his tongue, supporting her arm as she swings her legs off the bed. Once she’s standing and steady, he tucks her hair behind her ear and bends down so his mouth can graze her lobe. “Since we’re just friends, I guess you’ll have to sleep on my ugly couch.”

[youalexturnermeon]

Chasing the Past Pt. 2 (Johnny Lawrence x Reader)

Click for Part 1 

Request by Anon: Could I please get a Johnny Lawrence imagine where he and the reader (who is daniels sister) are secretly dating. Maybe like an old flame back in the 80s and now they reconnected?

A/N: In the first part (Y/N), Daniel LaRusso’s sister,  came back to LA after five years of being away. She reconnects with Johnny and wakes up in his apartment after getting drunk at a party. In this part (Y/N) and Johnny have to face Daniel and his rage hahaha

Warnings: swearing(!!!), mentions of alcohol, angst, fluff and maybe a little bit of slight smut

Wordcount: 2473

Johnny’s face is almost doubled right in front you, but you see it as a good thing, twice as much of Johnny is great. Four bright blue eyes are much better than just two. But then there are two again. He has you close to him, his strong hands resting on your hips, slowly making their way further down to your ass and he is twirling you around. You dance. “I missed you, Johnny” you slur and cup his beautiful face, on it the dirtiest grin you have ever seen. He doesn’t answer, just squeezes your ass and suddenly kisses you. Almost too much tongue, red lipstick on his face, sloppy kisses on the neck and the jaw. You are melting under his touch.

Blurry way though the dark, you are laughing, Johnny and you still dancing together through the night. In his hand a bagged bottle, you don’t care what’s inside as you take a sip. You stop for a heated make-out session, he presses your back hardly against the wall of an apartment complex and his hands are already making their way under your sweatshirt. The bottle slips out of his hands and breaks on the ground. “God, I’ve been thinking about doing this for five years!” Johnny grunts and almost violently kisses you. “Get a fucking room!” someone shouts angrily in the distance “Get away from here, you fucking pervs!”

White sheets, clothes everywhere, naked bodies, Johnny’s hands all over you, moans. You are enjoying yourself. Johnny’s messy blonde hair.

____

“Fuck”, you said again, almost in disbelief but this time you were smiling. Out of the sudden, Johnny moved. Your heart started beating, you didn’t know if you were ready for any conversation. You didn’t even know if Johnny would regret this or not. You most certainly didn’t, you just wished to remember a little bit more of the steamy night.

“Good morning, princess”, he whispered, voice all raspy and sleepy, he yawned and stroked your hair, “Did you sleep well?”

“I feel like shit” you admitted and sat up, dragging the covers over your bare chest, which immediately stressed how your head was still heavy and spinning. You almost wished you didn’t sit up in the first place, you wanted to lay on Johnny’s chest again. But you didn’t and just stared at him. God, he was still so beautiful. You then signed over to his naked torso, “Did we…?” You still had to reassure yourself that this amazing night actually happened.

“Oh yeah” Johnny answered proudly and sat up too. You were surprised when the first thing he did was kissing you. This Johnny you didn’t know, you caught glimpses of him, but he never fully showed himself. Then he got out of bed, put on some clothes and turned to you.

“I’ll get you an Aspirin and then I will make you breakfast”

“What is it with you Johnny?” you asked, completely perplexed, “You never made me breakfast, you never cared the next morning” Johnny shrugged: “And you see what it got me, the girl who finally made me get over Ali and the fight with Daniel, who made my life a little less miserable just disappeared on me for five years without a trace. I don’t want you to disappear on me again for god knows how many years this time”

Without a trace was a lie, he still could’ve gone to Daniel LaRusso, ask him about his sister, ask for her phone number, her address. But when you went to college you made it perfectly clear that Daniel would kill him without having second thoughts for banging his sister and if he didn’t manage, you would’ve killed him yourself. And after all this time Johnny asked himself why he cared about that, why he was such a pussy and cared about what Daniel would think and do, above all. Now he didn’t anymore, he had no fucks to give about it anymore. As long as you were by his side for a little while, he could live with Daniel hating him more than he did already.

“Glad, to have been at your service, you asshole” you said rolling your eyes but still laughing.

“You’re welcome. So, are you saying we keep that going or what?”

You shrugged.

“Does that mean you are staying in Reseda?”

You shrugged again, it kind of did but you’d never know for how long. Thankfully, Johnny dropped the topic after that. Just like you, he really wasn’t the type to talk relationships. Maybe you two would’ve taken a different path when he had been the last time but that was again, ancient history.

____

The breakfast was simple, Johnny wasn’t the greatest cook, but that was okay, you weren’t either. It was more about the time you spent together. It was fun, it felt amazing being with him in his tiny kitchen, just talking about the old times and joking around. It was even fun when he flunked a spoonful of scrambled eggs directly in your face. You ate, you took a shower you scrubbed off all the remaining make-up from last and you felt a little bit better. Johnny enjoyed having you over. Normally, he didn’t let his girls stay that long, he usually made them go home very quickly, not so with you. He’d even be okay with you staying the whole day, hell, even another night or two. But as soon as you got of shower his hope vanished.

“I need to go home now” you announced shyly.

“So soon?” “Yeah, Danny is probably worried sick, I also promised him, we go out for sushi today, just us two.”

Johnny rolled his eyes and hugged you suddenly, almost a little too tightly “Don’t you want to stay?”

“To be honest, I do, but I also want to spend some time with my big brother.”

“I guess, I’ll drive you home then” “Only if you want to, I can walk or get a cab”. Fortunately, you didn’t manage to lose your handbag at the beach, so you’d have enough money.

“That is out of question. I always drive my babes!” Johnny said proudly which was a big fat lie, he didn’t always bother but with you, it was another situation.

The car ride was not as bad as you had expected, you didn’t get sick which you were afraid you would do because you still could remember well enough how fast Johnny drove. Yet, it was great to sit in his red Pontiac Firebird again, it shot your memories straight back to high school when you secretly hung out with Johnny for a couple of times. Sadly, it was over too soon. Johnny pulled up in the driveway to Daniel’s apartment building. He quickly got out of the car to open the car door for you before you could reach the handle yourself.

“Wow, I don’t know if like that new Johnny” you laughed and nudged him, “Far too nice!”

“Yeah, would you like me doing that instead?” Johnny’s eyes darkened and you remembered also seeing that look last night and out of a sudden he pinned you between the red Firebird and him, his face very close to yours.

“Do you like me being a bad guy instead?”, his lips brushed over you when he talked. And you wanted to say yes or even nod but you breath quickened; your hart started beating a faster rhythm.

“Thought so.” he whispered into your ear sending shivers down your spine on that hot summer day. He was just about to kiss you, maybe you should go back to his place after all, you thought, when you were instantly interrupted.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Lawrence!?!?!?” a scream echoed through the whole block, “Get the fuck away from her!”

Johnny promptly jumped to side but as soon as the realized who that was coming from a dirty grin appeared on his perfectly shaped lips. Daniel, face almost grey with fury, was running towards them, eyes all wild, hands clenched to fists.

“Oh fuck”, you gasped but couldn’t hold back a laugh, that was too absurd, “Maybe you should’ve dropped me off a few blocks away”

“Nah, this is going to be fun”

But you thought otherwise, this was going to be anything else bun fun. Comical, but definitely not fun.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, (Y/N)?” Daniel yelled pointing a finger at you when he finally came to a halt right in front of you.

“Nothing’s wrong with me, I’m completely fine, thanks for asking Danny”

“Don’t you fucking talk back to me like that!” “Jesus, Daniel, watch your filthy mouth, you didn’t swear that much since forever.”

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Daniel kept on, ignoring your sarcastic remarks, “You did not come home the whole night, I’ve got no call, nothing. I didn’t sleep, I was waiting for you, I was so fucking worried and then you finally decide to come here with him and you’re talking to me like I’m the bad guy?” Daniel pointed at Johnny without even looking at him.

“Ok, mom, calm down”

“Don’t you mom me, (Y/N). You smell like a fucking distillery; you look like shit and where the fuck are your shoes?” You looked down on your bare feet, then at Johnny who had protectively placed a hand on the small of your back and you two suddenly burst out laughing. Your drunk ass simply lost them at the beach.

“How dare you even make a sound?” Daniel shouted, this time at Johnny. It was getting embarrassing, even some neighbours were now watching how Daniel took a threatening step towards Johnny. He still was a few inches smaller than him, but he managed to compensate that with his glance. A little bit more wrath, you thought, and he would be shooting sparks out of his usually warm brown eyes.

“Damn, LaRusso, don’t wet your pants. You look like you are about to die from a heart attack” “Shut the hell up, Lawrence” Daniel growled and came even closer, so close the tips of their noses almost touched and Johnny just kept on smiling, he didn't even flinch “You think you’re so funny, huh?”

Johnny shrugged, he did.

“What the hell is my sister doing with you?”

“She just likes me a lot more than she likes you” Johnny’s grin kept getting dirtier and dirtier with every word leaving his mouth “Actually, she always liked me a lot. When I was beating your ass in high school, (Y/N) always has been hanging out with me instead of pitying you. While you were training with your weird-ass sensei, I gave her rides all the time, we were friends. When you won in ’84 she didn’t go with you to celebrate your illegal kick, she stayed behind and cared for me. Dragged me out of the parking lot and brought me into a hospital together with Bobby and Dutch. She just never told you because a delicate little flower like you would simply die from that. And when you were trimming trees, I fucked her every goddamn day until she went away”

Your eyes widened and you looked at Johnny in shock then at Daniel who needed a second to process everything that had been said. That was about it, Johnny dropped the bomb, he told Daniel everything that was kept secret from him and everything that he needed to know.

“You did fucking what?” Daniel asked through clenched teeth, his hands shaking, he was barely holding himself back and you knew, some whit was about to go down real quick.

“I fucked your sister LaRusso, five years ago and tonight and she liked it”

And you couldn’t even say anything against it, every bit of it was true. And when Daniel gave you a quick look he knew exactly. And then, very unlikely for Daniel he threw his first punch, Johnny immediately blocking it. He shoved you to the side so wouldn’t get between them. Both stood in fighting positions and then everything happened so fast. There was a lot of fists and legs and kicks and punches, too rapid for your eyes to grasp it. And you couldn’t believe it. After all these years, these to very still ready to kill each other. But you had enough, you had enough of this stupid rivalry, you had enough of them hating each other for no reason and you definitely had enough of being their recent motive for fighting.

“Stop!” you yelled, they ignored you, “Stop it! I’ve had enough of your stupid Karate bullshit! I’m sick and tired of you two always fighting. I can’t deal with being dragged into it! I fucking hate this. Why is this the first thing that happens to me after being back after five fucking years? Why you always have to be such a drama queen, Daniel? Why are you the only person you care about, huh? And you” you turned your shouting towards Johnny “why do you always have to keep the fire going why can’t you just let it be for once?”

Your screams were much louder than Daniel’s before, but the fighting enemies still ignored you.

“If one of you throws another punch, I’m gonna call the cops and you two can sort it out in a prison cell! I don't want you to kill each other just because you see me as an object that can only belong to one of you. I'm not, I like both of you. You're my brother and I love you. And I fucking love him, Daniel”

These words worked magic on Johnny who immediately let his arms sink and whilst he looked at you, worry written into his face, he received one last kick in the guts for losing his concentration. You threw yourself at Daniel and tried to hold him back from doing more damage, for a second you were afraif he was about to kill Johnny. But with you holding him, he did not dare to keep on fighting. He didn't want to hurt you. And yet he tried to free himself from you.

“Please, Danny” you cried “Please stop and let me be!”

Daniel remained silent and calmed down, you let him go. You went over to Johnny and embraced him, he hissed under your touch but couldn’t help himself than to press you closely to his chest. His face was beaten, his lip was bleeding, and a fresh cut crowned his brow.

“I’m so sorry, babe!” he whispered into your ear and kissed your cheek. He never apologized for fighting. Until now.

“No, I’m sorry!” you said and stroked back the sweaty hair from his forehead, then you turned to your brother, “You better be sorry, too”

“I am.”

“LaRusso is sorry?” Johnny wondered and spat blood on the ground, “That’s new”

“Shut up!” you shushed him

“I am sorry, (Y/N), I didn’t know you liked this jerk that much.” “To be fair, me neither” Johnny admitted “But I fucking love her, too, LaRusso, you know?” Daniel nodded, maybe for his sister’s sake he was ready to give his last enemy up.

[mediocre--writing]

after starcourt billy and el get closer, and he introduces her to the things that make him happy (rock music, basketball, etc, etc)

and el isn’t quite sure what to give back. billy has shown her so much new stuff about the world, she wants something to give to him.

she finds his mom. she goes into her little trance and finds the blonde woman she’s seen in billy’s memories. she’s living alone, has a cat or two, and is in a small apartment... in new york.

so she talks to steve. he recons they can find her in the phone book, but when asked for a name, el blanks. she doesn’t have a name to put with the face.

so she goes back into her head, waiting for someone to say it or something, then something catches her eye.

piles and piles and piles of papers on the dining table and all the chairs but one. there are even some discarded on the floor.

el walked to them, reading the best she could (she’s gotten pretty decent at it over the months she was at hoppers cabin and billy has been helping her, too)

‘Custody Agreement,’ one reads. a californian address is in the middle of a few letters, addressed to a ‘Neil Hargrove.’ a half written letter reads:

‘Sorry, ma’am, but we’ve just bought this house and don’t know a Neil, but we’re sorry for your situation.’

there’s bills and payments overdue to the apartment complex, as well as an attorney. letters dating back to 1978 that are worn and read over and over.

there’s pictures in one binder, opened to approximately the middle, showing a boy and the woman—billy and his mother— on a beach eating ice cream. it’s dated 1976.

there’s another picture of billy—cowboy hat on and a funny sheriff pin on his shirt—dancing around a small, but homey, living room.

the final picture on the page, blurry and sideways, shows the woman smiling, a cut on her cheek that was still bruised, but the caption (written in a sloppy, childish font) read: ‘taken by w.t.h. 1975’

the woman is sleeping on the couch, a journal open on her stomach and pen still in her hand, breathing slowly.

the journal is open to a page, one of the last in the book, and has a scribbly font to match the other writings in the kitchen.

they’re addressed to billy, and signed with a heart. there’s ink smeared in some spots, presumably from tears, and el thinks that this is one of the saddest things she’s ever had to see.

but she looks to the woman once more, eyes trailing along the diner costume she has on, a hideous blue/green color (that faintly resembles billy’s eyes) and sees a name tag.

she has a name for steve.

Carrie

she’s not positive of a last name, but she assumes hargrove is a good bet, and, low and behold, there she is.

Carrie Hargrove and her phone number are listed right there in the phone book, and as lucky as that is, el doesn’t know what to say.

this doesn’t feel like a quick-phone call situation. this is a big deal.

carrie has been looking for billy for years, since the week she left, it looks like, and she’s been writing to him, the billy she remembers, and tells him about things in the city he would love. little thinks people she waits on say that remind her of him. how she imagines he looks and acts now. how she wants to murder a son of a bitch named neil hargrove.

(oh, don’t we all)

the hard part starts now, though, because how do you tell a broken mother over the phone that you know her son and, somehow, know her phone number?

you can’t. it’s just not right.

so steve does it. he takes a short, weekend trip out to new york. tells the party he’s going to see his parents since they’re in nyc for the week and he’s gone.

el doesn’t know what happens between the friday steve leaves and the sunday he gets back, but he returns no different than how he left.

el hasn’t been able to ask him about it yet, she hasn’t seen him and she can’t exactly pull him to the side during party outings because that would be a little strange to to without questions.

plus, billy and max are always around. like always.

but it seems that el won’t have to ask steve any questions, she finds the next weekend, when the party rides their bikes over to steve’s house and see a car, ratty and old, sitting in the driveway.

it’s a familiar shade of blue and has a new york license plate hung on the back.

the kids assess the car but el makes her way to a window, peaking in to see steve quietly talking to a woman, the beautiful woman who is still wearing that atrocious diner costume with her hair a mess, and they seem to be arguing quietly.

not long after el peeks in, the boys come around her to look through the window, and that’s when steve sees them. they try to duck but they’re caught.

the boys are asking steve who this lady is and all other million questions they have and the woman—carrie—is still sitting at the dining table, looking ready to bolt back to her car and drive all the way back to new york.

their conversation (interrogation) is interrupted by the roar of an engine—max and billy are here.

billy is here.

max comes through the (open) door first.

“who’s car is in the drive way? steve, i thought your parents were rich?”

but she stills in the doorway when she sees steve looking more guilty than usual, the boys irritated at their lack of answers, and el, standing near a woman, who max remembers from photos—albeit a few years younger.

“woah, that’s—“

billy’s footsteps are heard before he’s seen, and he bumps into max, still standing in the door, while he’s trying to put his cigarettes in his jacket pocket.

“the fuck,” he murmurs as he grabs max’s shoulders to keep her upright

“steve won’t tell us who the lady is!” dustin yells, because of course dustin had to open his big mouth.

“lady?” billy asks before looking around the room, analyzing steve’s face (guilty), the boys (irritated and confused), then els face (hopeful and worried).

his eyes move to behind el, to the dining room, where a mop of blonde hair, not dissimilar to his own, is sitting there, staring at him.

the same eyes connect across the room and both their hearts drop to the floor.

billy takes a small step foreward. stands still for another moment, then walks quickly towards her.

she’s scrambling to get out of the chair and, for a second, this looks like a threatening scene, but then they’re going towards each other and embracing so tightly you couldn’t tell where one started and the other ended.

her name tag was poking into billy’s chest and his boot was partially over her foot, but they had their eyes closed as they breathed in and out, simultaneously calling down and getting excited from the others presence.

el didn’t realize before, when she’d seen carrie in the void, but they had all the same features. their curly, dirty blond hair, their bright blue eyes surrounded by darkness, their hands that kept readjusting and grabbing tighter onto the things they didn’t want to lose.

the way they both had their noses scrunched up while trying not to cry, the way they both didn’t move much as if that would break the trance they got drawn into.

“so who is she?” dustin asked, not so quietly.

“why don’t all you brats go outside for a few minutes?” they didn’t look happy with that idea, but followed steve outside like little ducklings, leaving carrie and billy alone.

they still didn’t break from the hug, not even when the sliding door slammed and the kids’ voices were muffled.

as carrie started moving her arm, rubbing gently across billy’s back, he finally let go of the tears that had welled in his eyes.

“i missed you, my boy,” she croaked out, leaving billy to choke out a sob, holding her tighter—if that was possible.

“missed you too, momma,” billy mumbled into her shoulder, feeling her hug him back tighter as well.

they pulled away, only when billy’s back was beginning to ache from bending down a bit just to feel small in her arms. and maybe it was because he was a kid, but he always thought he remembered her taller.

“i’m so, so sorry, it—“

“why did you leave?”

“i didn’t. no—i mean, i did, but you were gonna come with me, billy. i moved our stuff, in small amounts, to my sister’s place, maggie, you remember her? right?” billy nodded “i was gonna slowly get us out of there, but neil realized, he knew what i was doing and i—i couldn’t stand it and i—“

her throat was burning with anguish as she tried to explain, to the best of her ability, how she could have done something so despicable.

“i didn’t leave for long, i didn’t know he knew, but i was moving some stuff to maggie’s, was gonna stay the weekend, it was after that one big fight, and it was the last load of stuff i had to bring, but i came back sunday night and everything, the whole house, it was empty, i—“

billy remembered that weekend. he noticed how things around the house had been moved or were missing, then how his mom left for two days, his dad told him she wasn’t coming back.

billy didn’t believe him. didn’t want to believe him. neil promised that everything would be ok, that they would stay with grandma and grandpa for a week or two, just to get back on their feet, since they wouldn’t be able to afford the house with only one income.

billy believed his dad. believed the lies he was fed about how his mom didn’t care, left him for crap, got out while she could, stole from his dad just to get out.

in the back of his head, he always knew neil was lying, but if that were true, why did she never come back for him?

he remembers one night, while they were sitting outside, billy and neil and his grandparents, the phone rang, and billy offered to answer it.

and the voice on the other line was his mom, and he begged her to come get him and cried for her to love him again, not realizing that she’d never stopped.

neil had heard the tail end of the conversation. they moved out of billy’s grandparents within the week.

billy wanted his mom back, knew that someone had made a mistake when she’d left, that someone as pure and amazing and loving as she was couldn’t just leave a kid like that.

it all made sense now. why they moved so much. why neil was always angry and going over papers from lawyers or shredding letters that never got opened.

why they moved so far away, all the way to hicktown, indiana (among other reasons).

“neil is a piece of shit,”

carrie choked out a laugh at the off handed comment that came from billy—her boy. she nodded, though.

“that he is,”

they were both a little uncomfortable, but held an underlying relief of seeing one another.

“you know,” billy’s head turned to her, “my apartment, in new york, is filled with pictures of you and i. i was going to bring them, but i couldn’t take all of them and i wasn’t sure which ones were my favorite. but—“

she walked back over to where she had been sitting at the table, reaching into her satchel and pulling out a worn leather book, handing it to billy.

“i thought you should have this.” billy opened the book, the spin cracking with movement, and noted how every single page was filled to the brim with words. “i wrote to you, at least once a week. things that made me think of you, on your birthday and holidays, other occasions. times when i missed you a lot and times when i knew you might need me.”

billy, both listening to her words and reading the first page, was dissolving into a mixed state of joy and sadness.

his mother had thought of him just as he’d thought of her. every day and holiday and situation was filled with thoughts of the other. she didn’t leave him in the dust and start a new family.

she was still searching for the one that was taken from her.

[pollylynn]

Title: Admixed WC: 1100 Episode: After the Storm (5 x 01)

It’s hardly morning when she wakes, wondering what the rest of her life will be like. It’s a very Kate Beckett moment in some ways. In others, it's not a Kate Beckett moment at all. She has the covers pulled up to her chin, for one thing. His covers. She has her toes pointed and her body stretched long and taut with excitement. She’s grinning up at an unfamiliar ceiling as hard as she can in an effort to beat back the positively girlish sound that’s trying to race right out of her mouth. None of that is very Kate Beckett, but wondering in the first place—thinking long term, when she could be occupying the hell out of this hard-won, singular moment—that’s pretty Kate Beckett. 

She’s mostly okay with that. She is relieved, and maybe proud? She is, in her head and her heart, a bunch of things that she’s mostly happy to sort out later. But she comes down on the side of okay with that, because she likes the idea that she can be her and have this, which means that all the either/ors she’s been resigned to for so long haven’t entirely come to pass. She is still, fundamentally, herself but the circumstances all around her have radically changed, and she can’t help wondering what that will be like. 

It might be like a screwball comedy. That’s how things start out. Because she’s going for something steamy. Not, like, scrambled soft-core porn on the crappy TV in a high-school friend’s back room or anything. Nobody is fixing anyone’s cable or delivering anyone’s pizza, so to speak, but she certainly wouldn’t say no to some artsy, high-class genre that just happens to involve quite a bit of morning-after skin. That’s her genre of choice. It’s what sends her rooting through his closet in search of the perfect shirt to slip on. 

And she finds it—white-on-white with a subtle, satiny stripe and French cuffs. But then she realizes that coffee is integral to her artsy, high-class directorial debut and white is just asking for some kind of espresso explosion, which she doesn’t realize until she’s already in the middle of things. So she shucks the shirt, and making coffee naked is not just asking, it’s demanding some kind encounter with a high humiliation rating. 

But the world is smiling on her this morning. She figures out his mind-bendingly complex coffee set up  without benefit of clothing. She slips the shirt back on and struts back to the bedroom just in time to see his jaw gratifyingly hit the floor. But they’re not two minutes into the tasteful, high-brow smut of new-and-improved Kate Beckett’s dream when screwball comedy comes knocking. 

It comes knocking her right off the bed. It sends her back to the closet, entirely against her will. It unleashes his blasé mother, his hungover daughter, and it for damned sure makes the most of all the wackiness inherent in the tragically open-plan loft that, until forty-five seconds ago, she had truly loved. And she has to laugh, because she has thrown her lot in with Richard Castle, so how did she think screwball comedy was not going to be the defining genre of her life from now on? 

But she misses screwball comedy before too long, because Ryan is at the door and this is a thriller she wants no part of—not any more. She finds his eyes, not much caring in the moment if their Number Two Son uncharacteristically clues in to what’s going on between them. She finds his eyes and lets him see that she is belatedly fearful about what it means that the man who almost killed her got away. She lets him see that she is overwhelmed by the idea of facing that reality without benefit of badge and resources and a functional team. She lets him see that she is in no way tempted by this—that she is anything but the veteran eager to be pulled in for one last case. 

She is not at all tempted, but the old Kate Beckett does try to rear her head for a moment. She cannot abide the turn the rest of her life seems to be taking. She cannot abide the idea that the rest of her life will be running, looking over her shoulder, endangering everyone she loves. And the old Kate Beckett rears her head and hisses that this is why she had to go at alone all this time. She quirks a smug eyebrow and folds her arms and says, See? It is either/or. It’s always either/or. 

He’s watching her, though. He’s watching out for her, even as he roots around in memories he’d rather not be caught up in at the moment, trying desperately to be useful to Ryan. He keeps his eyes on her the whole while, and he seems to know what it is she’s struggling with. He believes that she is not tempted. He is visibly relieved and brimming with pride and awe and all the things she’s gotten used to seeing written plainly on his face, but he knows she’s struggling, too. 

And he is sweet about all of it. He is eager and fights back his own adventure-seeking tendencies, even as he gently guides her to the realization that they’re going to have to play this out a while. They’re going to have to go back in together for this one last case. 

And so they do. They go rogue. They come at the enemy from outside the system. They come at him together until she has to go after him alone. She has to, not out of some abstract, gnawing need, but because he said it himself: They don’t have a choice. She doesn’t have a choice. So she goes after the enemy solo, but he is with her. It’s his play she makes in the end—she bluffs. She bets on the fact that Bracken doesn’t know the second file was destroyed. She orchestrates a detente, because she is not interested in a leading role in a thriller that’s gone on more than a decade too long already. 

She tells her life how it’s going to go from now on. In an elevator as the doors are closing, she offers a demonstration of what she plans to do in the meantime. She shows him, in no uncertain terms what the defining genre of his immediate future is going to be . . . 

A/N: Genre bending is the directorial technique that most lacks morphousness. 

image via homeofthenutty

[wkemeup]

By Any Other Name (Prologue)

series summary: When Special Agent Bucky Barnes is tasked with infiltrating the notorious gang Hydra and gathering evidence against its leader, Brock Rumlow, Bucky finds himself drawn to the woman who doesn’t seem to belong in this world of violence, the wife of the head of Hydra... you.  pairing: bucky x reader chapter word count: 2.3k warnings: bucky and sam being little shits, setting up the backstory 🌹series masterlist // series playlist

If there was one thing to know about Bucky Barnes, it was that he didn’t back down from a challenge; certainly not one from a former fighter pilot with a superiority complex and a loud mouth.  

Bucky stared down the end of the ring, circling with careful, steady steps as he sized up his prey. Sam Wilson rolled his eyes, a slight shake of his head, because he didn’t know quite yet the humiliation he was about to experience.  

It had been a while since Bucky had knocked Sam’s ego down a few notches and it was about time someone did something about his less-than-charming attitude. Sam was starting to talk a big game in front of the rookies and, well, Bucky couldn't have them thinking Sam was some kind of Bureau legend.

“You gonna make a move or what?” Sam jabbed, throwing his arms out to the side dramatically. He let out a groan that echoed through the rafters of the training gym. Always the dramatic one.  

Bucky snickered under his breath, patient, as he continued eyeing up Sam from the distance. 

His left arm was clasped behind his back, wrapped with tape meant to secure his fist in the ring, and he stretched the fingers in his right hand against his hip. A soft cracking released the air between his joints.  

Sam was the one with the brilliant idea to make a bet, in front of a cafeteria full of agents, that Bucky couldn’t get an opponent on the mat one-handed. It was a foolish mistake he was about to regret.  

Bucky charged at Sam, catching him off guard as he let out a grunt from the impact of Bucky’s shoulder diving straight into his stomach. Sam kneed him up into his chest and shoved Bucky off of him, full force of both hands straight to his collarbone, and sent him spiraling to the ground.

“Not so easy, huh?” Sam taunted, winking over at a the young female agent with strawberry blonde hair sweeping down her shoulders as she watched from beyond the ring. Sam didn't seem bothered in the slightest when she rolled her eyes at him and passed a few dollars to the agent on her left, nodding towards Bucky.  

Meanwhile, Bucky was back to his feet, jumping around on his toes, loosening his muscles and got back into position. His only free hand was held in front of him on the offense, his feet positioned slightly more than shoulder width apart, and he bent his knees, giving him the flexibility of movement and agility.  

He didn’t give Sam another chance to provoke him before threw a hit to the side of Sam’s jaw, enough to get him off balance, but not to leave bruising. Bucky knew better than to throw full force with a friendly in the ring, no matter how much of a pain in his ass Sam was, but it would certainly give him the advantage he needed. Maybe leave a red mark for an hour or so. Just enough to make him regret betting against his own teammate.  

Sam stumbled back from the impact of the hit and Bucky made a quick turn for a roundhouse kick where he’d usually use his left hand for additional damage. Sam grunted, knocking away Bucky’s leg before it could land and rushed at him. He got in a good hit on Bucky’s left side, but that was an easy move – some might say, a coward’s move – as he was defenseless on his left.

Though when Sam attempted to get him on that side again, Bucky turned his shoulder, blocking his left side from the attack and grabbing Sam’s wrist midair with his right. Sam looked at him with wide eyes, in shock, before Bucky simply smirked and kicked his right leg to the back of Sam’s knees.  

He let out a yelp as he knees buckles and it sent him tumbling onto the mat with a heavy thud. Bucky quickly took the advantage and threw the full of his bodyweight on Sam’s back. He settled in, purposely digging his tailbone into Sam’s spine and pushing as much as his weight onto him as he could.  

He sat there, whistling to himself as Sam started to scramble under him. The rookies were laughing under their breath as they watched in hoards beyond the edge of the ring. Seemed Sam’s challenge made rounds in the rumor mill and the new recruits wanted a front row seat to the Bureau’s top agents facing off in the ring.  

“You gonna get your fat ass off of me, tough guy?” Sam grumbled, trying to pull himself from under Bucky, but it was no use.  

“I don’t know, man, are you gonna apologize for thinking you had any chance in beating me in the ring, even with one arm tied behind my back?” Bucky taunted, grinning ear to ear as he glanced up to the ranking board hung from the rafters from their year in the academy. Sure, he was listed at number two, but his ego wasn't big enough to believe he’d ever take first when the All-American-Golden-Boy Steve Rogers was in play. At least he wasn’t sitting at fourth place like a certain incapacitated agent he knew.  

“Bite me, Barnes!”

“Maybe I will, don’t temp me.”

“I’m going to kill you. I’m actually going to kill you.”

“What in the hell are you two doing?!”

Bucky looked up to find Steve pushing his way through the hoard of rookies gathered off the side of the ring watching the match with handfuls of cash passing between pockets. Steve shoved his way to the front of the crowd, hands on his hips as he saw the two of them at the center of the ring. He slumped his shoulders, a heavy sigh on the exhale.  

“Do I have to ask?” he rolled his eyes, gesturing to Bucky’s hand tied behind his back and Sam’s constant wiggling around as he tried to escape from under Bucky’s weight. “You realize you’re acting like children, right?”

Bucky shrugged. “It’s not my fault he can’t keep his mouth shut.”

“I am going to mess you up so bad,” Sam threatened under his breath, but it was loud enough Bucky could hear it, so he leaned further against Sam’s back, adjusting his position as he wacked Sam on the back of the head. It pulled another groan out of him, at least, as he continued to try and crawl his way out. 

“Hey dummies,” another voice called, low and sultry, carrying over the rafters in an echo and sending a hush through the rookies despite the calm nature of the tone.  

Red hair tossed in a bun at the nape of her neck with loose strangles hanging out the sides, Natasha Romanoff eyed Bucky and Sam amusingly before she turned to Steve with raised brows. He shook his head in response.

“What’s up, Nat?” Sam asked nonchalantly as he propped his chin up on his hand, as if he wasn’t currently pinned under one-hundred-and-eighty pounds of muscle.

Nat smirked, lips pushing out as she leaned against the ropes of the ring. “Fury’s looking for us. We’ve got a new job.”

Steve started to break up the crowd as Bucky pulled himself to his feet. Sam, he noticed, was rather dramatic as he used the ropes for support and clutched onto his back as he walked, sending glares in Bucky’s direction.

“You gonna help me get this tape off my arm?” Bucky called after him, rather annoyed at his current predicament, but Sam only scoffed.  

He ended up roping some doe-eyed recruit from the Naval academy to unwrap his wrist and unwind the tape trapping his left arm to his side. The kid’s hand shook nearly the whole time.

***

Fury noticeably wasn’t pleased when he found Bucky and Sam shoving at each other like teenage brothers as they made their way into the conference room. Natasha was already seated at the front of the table, closest to the Director, and Steve was leaning against the wall, arms crossed as he sent them a warning glare.  

Bucky nudged Sam one last time and sent him a short wink before escaping to the chair closest to Steve. Sam slid in beside Natasha and they turned to the Director. He only had one good eye unobstructed by the black patch that sat over veined scars protruding from underneath and even still, Bucky could tell Fury had enough.  

“Now that we’re all settled,” he started calmly, though there was an accusation in his tone. Sam slumped into his seat as Fury slid a series of folders down the table, one for each of them. A projector lit up against the wall, displaying an image of an octopus-like creature with a skull for a head and six curving tentacles emerging from the center.  

“Hydra?” Nat questioned, surprised as she grabbed one of the folders from the middle of the table.  

Fury nodded, hands on his hips. He was proud, it seemed, like he’d been waiting on this one for a while.  

Bucky flipped open the file, a name listed in the top corner that was not his own, unlike the rest of his team sitting around him. Under it, an entire lifetime’s worth of history, of family memories and previous employments, of likes and dislikes. Bucky glanced over it, taking note of the important bullets, like the one that said he had a meeting with the head of Hydra in one week’s time.

It wasn’t the first identity he had taken on and he didn’t suspect it would be the last. Bucky Barnes had spent more of his time since his discharge from the Army and recruitment to the Bureau playing the part of a criminal than as himself.  

He had an exceptional ability to compartmentalize, to lock himself behind the walls he worked tirelessly to build. It was the reason he was able to so easily lose himself to any identity handed to him; read the file, learn the backstory, become someone new. It was refreshing, in a way, to escape from himself and into someone else entirely.

No strings. No commitments. Only the case. Only the end results.

Damn the collateral damage.  

His first cover was in an underground sex trafficking ring a few years back in Atlanta where he operated under the name Brian Victor. He worked his way into the system, posing as a John, walking amongst the likes of vile and heinous men, and dismantled the entire system from the inside, rescuing near sixty-seven young, terrified girls who had been kidnapped and brought across state lines.  

After that, he was employed on a weapons manufacturing plant in Alaska where he took on the role of Alex Smith, a low-level crewman on the shipment yard where mariners were importing illegal bumps and accessories from Russia. That job took him nearly a full year to complete but he didn’t mind that much. He’d liked the locals, poor suckers who found themselves roped up in a scheme far greater than any of them realized. He’d been sure to advocate for their release when they were taken in with the higher-ups.  

Only a week after the final trial, Bucky was given a new identity; one named Chris Roswell, a street seller for an extensive drug trafficking operation in Santa Barbara. Part of his identity was to infiltrate a crew of gang members on the west side that recruited vulnerable kids who shouldn’t have been out on the streets in the first place. He didn’t care for Chris Roswell much and he was happy to be rid of the character once the supplier was taken off the streets.  

In his most recent job, he spent few months as Noah Crestal, a wealthy businessman with an inherited trust fund, who ran with spoiled rich kids and call girls and disassembled an entire underground gambling ring in Baltimore.  

But he was never alone.

While he was on his own in the field, he had a team who kept an eye on him, watched his back, hacked into security systems, and made sense of the evidence he retained.

There was Steve Rogers, the team leader and Bucky’s best friend since childhood. An asthmatic, lanky sort of kid with a startling knack for trouble who grew up to be twice his own size. He finally learned to fit his reckless attitude into a body that could support a few punches and currently held the physical training course record at the Bureau.  

Then, there was Sam Wilson, a grade A pain in Bucky’s ass and a damn good fighter pilot in his air force days. Sam was responsible for making sense of the evidence Bucky brought back from his undercover meetups and monitoring for talk on Bucky’s identity, to ensure his cover was secure. When he wasn’t relentlessly mocking Bucky and flirting with the rookies, he was a decent agent and a better friend. He was a brother in arms and off the field. Fought like one, too.  

The last of the crew was Natasha Romanoff. A woman with more fire power in the tips of her fingernails than most men had in their entire body, Natasha was an ex-KGB agent who defected to the US following a shitshow of trauma and general maltreatment by her home country. She was the primary tech god in the Bureau and spent most of her time these days behind a keyboard. She’d spent enough time in the field and she wasn’t eager for more.  

This team was what allowed Bucky to take on new names, to dive deep undercover into new identities without fear of losing himself completely. There was always a hand stretching out to him to pull his body back to the surface when he needed it. He’d seen a lot in his years in undercover work, been asked to do things to protect his cover he’d never talk about again outside of his debriefings with Fury, and it was easy to forget who exactly Bucky Barnes was under all those lies.

His team kept him in track. It’s what made them so successful, how they were able to go from one city to the next, throw Bucky into a criminal underworld with a new name, and bring massive operations to justice.  

New name. New city. New criminals to take down.

James Karpov was just the next name on the list.

“Rumlow’s down a hitman,” Fury explained, clicking the remote on the slide as a man with dark brown hair and cold, brown eyes appeared on the screen.  

Bucky had seen that face before. He'd heard about the infamous mafia boss Brock Rumlow and his extensive team of lawyers who have been able to get him out of every charge the NYPD has been able to throw in his direction.  

He saw to the distribution of fentanyl laced drugs to the street of New York, the manufacturing of assault weapons, and the ordering of dozens of executions in the last month alone. He was a monster by anyone’s standards and Bucky could already feel the eagerness churn in his stomach. This was a job he was going to enjoy.  

“This is Jack Rollins,” Fury said as an image of a mug shot appeared next to Rumlow’s. “He was Rumlow’s last enforcer before he had the unfortunate luck of actually being arrested for his crimes. Damn field day down at the DA’s office when they finally nailed him.” Fury clicked to the next image as a crime scene photo displaying a very discolored Rollins lying with his eyes open, arm handing off the side of the bed. “He was also conveniently murdered in lock up while awaiting trial just a few days ago.”

“Bummer,” Sam snickered, nudging Natasha’s shoulder and earning a smirk in response. Rollins was behind dozens of murders under his time in Hydra. It was no real loss.

“This is our opportunity to infiltrate Hydra,” Fury continued, ignoring Sam’s remark. He leaned further onto the conference table, black leather of his trench coat swinging at his knees. “Barnes will meet with Rumlow next week to take on the role of the enforcer.”

“So, like a job interview?” Natasha raised an eyebrow, clearly amused.  

Fury shrugged. “Yeah, I suppose.”

Bucky thumbed through the file, skimming at the pages of information on Rumlow and his known associates; glancing over decades of monstrous crimes and gruesome crime scene photos. It was all pretty standard, nothing exceptionally out of the ordinary, except for Rumlow’s inflated ego and knack for theatrics. 

The pages were filled with crimes he’d been arrested for, crimes he’d been suspected of, and the all the ones in between. Each with their own summary as to why he was never brought it, why the charges were dropped, or how witnesses suddenly went missing hours before the trial, how evidence disappeared from lock up before it could be submitted to the court. Brock Rumlow was an entitled piece of work, it seemed, though that was no news to Bucky. 

Then, towards the back of the file, Bucky stumbled upon a single page nestled into the binding, one that took him by surprise because the image in the top right corner wasn’t that of a mugshot or one taken from a surveillance camera, it was an employee ID from Columbia.  

A bright, vibrant smile and eyes that lit up on the page, it seemed incredibly out of place amongst Rumlow’s rap sheet. Below the image, accomplishments were listed of various degrees held, charity functions hosted, employment at a prestigious university teaching courses in literary fiction and writing composition. All of which seemed to come to an abrupt halt three years ago.  

Bucky wondered if the page had been put in his file by mistake. That was, until he saw the last name listed in the top right corner.  

Y/n Rumlow. Wife of the head of Hydra.

Fury straightened his back, glancing down at his team as they absorbed themselves in the files, Steve already making notes in the margins as Natasha pulled out her laptop and the small clicks of her keyboard filtered through the concentrated silence. Sam was on his phone, calling up a contact from his former air force days who might have had some knowledge of the Rumlow family, but Bucky... Bucky was still stuck on the last page, the page with the woman who didn’t seem to fit in this world of crime and violence.  

“Get acquainted with your new identity, Barnes,” Fury ordered. “We’re taking down Hydra.”

[silence-burns]

Please Hate Me //part 50

Fandom: Marvel

Summary: Based on: “Imagine having a love/hate relationship with Loki.” by @thefandomimagine​ Who would have thought that babysitting a god could be so much fun?

Genre: slow-burn, enemies to lovers, banter, smut

Living in an apartment so full of various enchantments that you couldn't move without bumping into one certainly had its perks, but your favourite was the space enhancement that made sure the apartment could actually fit everything you wanted it to.

In their original state, both floors of the apartment weren't small on their own, but as your moving in progressed, you quickly realized that the amount of both your and Loki's belongings overran the space you'd been given. 

The solution was pretty standard and required bending only a few minor laws of physics and logic.

Whoever dared venture into your apartment now would get quite the surprise in the form of rooms that felt a little too big for the kind of space indicated by the building's construction, and doors leading to places that absolutely shouldn't be able to fit so close together and yet stubbornly did. But however much you loved the whole apartment in general, you couldn't deny that your absolute favourite part of it was the giant monstrosity of a bathtub that Loki was absolutely uncompromising about.

Laying in it now, you couldn't blame him.

The passage of time was forgotten as the two of you soaked in the scented water, kept warm for what felt like hours, and might've actually been that long. If it was up to you, you would've stayed there forever and enjoyed Loki's firm, warm body, the pleasantly dimmed lights and the few bottles of whatever Loki had hidden for special occasions.

Well, the bottles weren't there originally, but as your clean up progressed and both of you started to feel like something other than a walking biological disaster, a need for celebration rose. You weren't sure how the things progressed from the first bottle to the small pile of them on the floor by the bathtub, but you found yourself straddling Loki's lap, completely drunk and unable to move despite one of your legs going completely numb.

"Remind me to never drink with you again," you mumbled into Loki's neck. 

"I did."

"Then be more convincing…"

With your cheek plastered to him, you felt rather than heard Loki's chuckle. The rumble did unruly things to the contents of your stomach.

"I'm gonna puke."

"Please save the last of my dignity and at least aim away from me." Despite Loki's words, he didn't move a bit and if you didn't know him any better, you'd guess he was feeling similar sensations. 

With his head leaning on the tub's edge and his eyes closed, Loki was indeed fighting against the world spinning around him. The warm embrace of your body pressed into his and the water scented with jasmine were his only anchors in the chaotic mess his head tried to sort out. Truth be told, he had forgotten the full potential of the Asgardian alcohol, and especially the type he had stored for a perfect occasion. It was like a blow to all his senses, and as much as it was fun, Loki was starting to worry about his ability to ever walk out of that bathtub again. He certainly wouldn't attempt such an insanity now, with you weighing him down, so comfortably settled on his lap that you felt like an integral part of him. 

Loki tried, and failed, to convince himself it wasn't an excuse, and a pathetic one too.

"Do you think we're gonna get in trouble?" You asked, as if you knew you were on his mind.

"As petty as Odin is, I don't think he's going to execute us for stealing some alcohol…"

"I meant the stuff Thor was talking about. We kinda messed up the Moon, didn’t we?"

Loki hummed in a way that was definitely not an answer. One of his hands roamed over your exposed back, enjoying the soft curve and warm skin. The other stirred the water, making the soap bubble again and the temperature stay unchanged. Loki had to concentrate more than usual, which was partly because of the amount of alcohol consumed, and partly because his mind was slowly drifting away on soft tendrils of sleep.

"No one knows you there, and I wore my brother's face," Loki finally murmured, leaning his head back. "It'll be fine."

It, unfortunately, didn't know about those predictions, which was why It was interrupted by a certain boy's voice.

"Hey guys, are you okay?" Peter asked from the other side of the door, having let himself into the apartment. Again.

Loki groaned, even as he could feel your smile pressed to his chest. 

"We're fine," he said, louder than necessary. He winced as the sound seemed to erode his skull. 

"What about Barbara, though?" Peter was insistent. "She's scratching at the window from the outside… and I think she wants those pickles from the table?"

"You locked her outside?" You hissed, trying to look at Loki's completely innocent face, but the sudden movement only resulted in the world tilting to the side dangerously fast.

"I have no idea what you're talking about. I love that bird dearly." Louder, he said to the boy, "She's only allowed to eat them outside!"

"Okay!" The answer was quick and cheerful and mercifully moving away as the boy grabbed the open jar and went outside.

Loki took a deep breath. The blessed silence once again enveloped the apartment. Through the cloud pressing on his hazy thoughts, Loki considered locking the apartment altogether. 

Another chilled bottle appeared in his hand, delightfully full and heavy. As much as he had tried to get drunk on Earth's alcohol, only the Asgardian kind seemed to do the job.

The drink burned his throat in precisely the manner he needed. It'd been so long since the two of you had a moment to yourself and could just relax without worrying about a thousand responsibilities. On most days, Loki enjoyed the kind of life he had somehow managed to secure himself. If he decided to be honest, Loki was still rather uncertain how it had happened. 

The long, curvy, and annoyingly labyrinthine road that started on the day the Avengers had decided to put him under your wing somehow ended up leading him to where he was now. Not literally, of course - as much as he loved the grand bathtub he had insisted on, Loki had in mind something grander spiritually. A place of comfort, but without the boundaries of a physical space bound to certain conditions and limitations. 

A home, but only if it could be a person. 

Loki supposed it could. Even as he drank again from the bottle, mudding his thoughts further, the philosophical conclusions he came to still felt right. 

Revelations such as these were worthy of sharing, lest they might be forever lost in one's memory. Loki wanted to share the wisdom granted to him by the unholy amount of Asgardian cider, but he had found you plastered to his chest, asleep. And drooling. 

Loki made sure the water didn't run cold as he too decided to join you in the dreams' escape. The quiet popping of the soap bubbles and the lavender scent hanging in the air lulled him quickly into a state of complete and utter comfort… 

"Brother, where are you hiding? 

…from which a rather brutish, and definitely unwelcome voice dragged him away. 

Loki started. The contents of a forgotten bottle escaped into the water. 

As the heavy steps sounded outside of the bathroom, it was clear the apartment was being searched through again. 

You swore. Loki agreed. 

"I'm going to," he hiccuped, "change him into a frog." 

"Barbara would devour him whole."

"Let them fight. He always prided himself to be a warrior."

Fortunately for Thor, even though he was not aware of the small mercy of the universe, Loki found himself too drunk to act on his words, despite his best attempts at conjuring the transformative spell.

But when his brother's thudding steps neared the bathroom again, with clear intent of dragging Loki out in whatever state he was, Loki was forced to make a very dire decision very quickly, or lest his quiet evening suffer a bitter end.

So Loki did what he had always done best, and spiced the world up with a tiny little trick.

You heard Thor approach the door, but you didn't have it in you to move and at least cover yourself up. The doorknob twisted and you heard it very well through the slight creak it always gave. Then you heard the door open - but it didn't.

Living in an apartment complex had its perks, and being able to hear your neighbors on occasion certainly wasn't one. Still, your gaze turned up when you heard a high-pitched scream and Thor's booming voice coming from the apartment above yours.

"He's going to kill you for that," you said.

"Given the vigor with which he was looking for me, I think he had a hefty list of reasons prepared already."

"That's fair."

As all good things have in common, they always come to a saddening end when you least expect them to. The conclusion that life was utterly unfair in its precipice was a natural one to come up with, even in the state of drunkenness. 

"I think it's time for us to go," Loki sighed.

A groan escaped you when the world tilted to the side. Getting out of the bathtub while completely, embarrassingly drunk was a feat that almost resulted in one broken neck and three broken limbs, but somehow both of you managed to scramble your way out. While you searched for clothes that had an annoying habit of duplicating right in front of your eyes, Thor's roars of fury sounded clear through the many walls separating you. 

You wondered if any of the neighbours would connect their unexpected guest to you.

You gave up on your search for the other sock and decided to only wear one. Trying to put it on was already hard as it was. "If you spelled all the doors in the building to lead astray, how are we getting out?"

"Don't worry," Loki hiccuped. "My brother dearest is too stupid to notice I didn't touch the windows."

You had never loved anything as much as you loved the walls in your apartment, their quiet support helping you get through the endless expanse of the living room. For reasons you elected to ignore, the swaying of the world only increased as you progressed, bumping into every single piece of furniture some idiot (most likely you the day before) had decided to put there.

"I don't think this is a good idea," you slurred when Loki opened the window, pickleless, owlless and impossibly high.

"Your intuition, my love, is right as always."

Loki managed to put his leg over the windowsill on the second try, which he deemed a great success. He also managed to get down on the other side with no life-threatening injuries, which was just as surprising.

His pride was short-lived when you tumbled down, knocking him off feet.

The few half-melted snowmen seemed to have a good laugh. The little garden was still winter-bare, and no grass cushioned the fall. Barbara, perched on top of Peter's head, hissed with obvious joy. 

The boy blinked. "Are you...sneaking out?" 

"No," Loki grunted in the same moment you said, "Yes."

Barbara ripped another pickle from the boy's hand. Life was short, especially after you died once, and there was only so much time she deemed worth looking at the two of you. She had far more pressing issues, like the impossibly narrow jar into which her head just wouldn't fit, and so left her reliant on the boy's nimble (and tasty) fingers.

"...are you sure?" The boy watched the two drunkards scramble to stand up. 

"We're just out for a walk."

"A long one."

Glass broke upstairs, followed by raised voices and what was undeniably a string of curses.

Loki looked at you. You looked at Loki. Another Loki looked at you. Unable to choose which to make eye contact with, you squinted and the two Lokis merged together—damn you were never drinking again. There was no way all of you would sneak out in time.

Barbara ripped another pickle to shreds.

"Hey, Peter," you cooed sweetly. "Do you happen to know a quiet little place to lay low for a while, my darling?"

Peter, the darling, did.

*****

A/N: Hi! I'm sorry for no chapter last week, my university is going to kill me with that graduation paper I have to work on and reasearch and realize how little do I actually know about the subject I have to get a 70-pages long paper done. Heh.

But don't worry, this story is slowly nearing its end, and even though I have little time to work on new chapters, I'm doing my best and hope you'll enjoy them. Well, my life's pretty busy right now, and it stresses me out, so I'm not sure how regular the updates will be, but I promise, I'm not giving up on this story. I'm so happy about all the support I have received for this story, and grateful for all the comments it got! Hope you enjoyed this chapter too!

[chaseatinydream]

pirate king (48) || atz

It’s well past midnight when a strange noise startles you awake.

The sound starts off soft, barely rousing you from your slumber as your sleep addled mind tries to convince you that it’s nothing, cajoling you back to into your dreams. Embarrassingly, you almost let it pull you under for a short moment before the sound gets louder and louder, unrelenting and interspersed with high pitched cries. A sleepy frown pulls at your face as you try to figure out just what the commotion is without opening your heavy eyes, before horror strikes you and your eyes fly open of their own volition.

It’s the sound of Yunho moaning in pain.

Fear jolts through you and you jerk upright in the bed, rubbing at your eyes even as you scramble to Yunho’s side, nearly tripping over when your legs get caught up in the sheets. Catching your balance, you rush to the bed opposite yours, glancing over at Yunho’s face.

He doesn’t seem to have awoken yet, to your confusion, but he’s flailing around in the blankets as if he’s trying to reach for something, whimpering with his eyes squeezed shut. There’s unintelligible noise falling from his lips and you lean down to hear him more clearly, but your heart sinks in your chest when the word repeats itself in your ears over and over again.

“Gunho… I’m sorry, Gunho…”

You stare upon the pale, ashen face of Jeong Yunho as he calls out softly for his younger brother repeatedly, the very same person who had stabbed him in the gut without a second glance. Even after being betrayed, even after being backstabbed, even in his feverish, weakened state...

He still won’t stop reaching out for his brother’s hand.

Anguish, so raw that it almost feels real, claws at your insides and you find yourself reaching out for Yunho’s outstretched hand, wanting to provide comfort to him in anyway you possibly can. Yunho’s fingers close around your hand in a vice like grip, clutching at you desperately like he’s a drowning man and you’re some sort of lifeline in the middle of an endless ocean. It hurts, but you can’t bring yourself to pull your hand away.

Then you freeze.

Because Yunho’s eyes are open.

You almost fall off the bed in a shock, even though your master had warned you beforehand that his anaesthesias tended to have a weaker effect on the older battlemaster, you had never expected it to wear off so quickly. Recovering from your surprise as fast as you can, you wave a hesitant hand in Yunho’s face.

“Yunho? Yunho, can you see me?”

But Yunho doesn’t respond, merely blinking up at you as his eyes wander back and forth, flitting about like a dancing butterfly before they finally settle on the spot right at your left shoulder and a wide, joyous smile blooms on his pale face. You frown as nerves start to creep up in you, uneasiness settling deep in your gut. What’s happening?

“Gunho… you came back to me.”

Every muscle in your body turns to ice at those words, your hand tightening on Yunho’s unconsciously. He thinks you’re his brother.

You search his eyes carefully like your master has taught you, finally recognising the signs that you see there. The hazy, unfocused gaze, dilated pupils, shallow breathing and incoherent mumbling, seeing something that isn’t quite there. They all point towards the same thing.

Yunho is hallucinating.

There’s nothing you can do for him. If you had to guess, the poison in Yunho’s bloodstream was probably some sort of hallucinogen that’s finally starting to show its effects, and without a proper antidote, there’s no way that you can help him in any way. What you can do is to merely keep Yunho calm and his heart rate under control, preventing further spread of poison through his body.

So, even though every part of you is screaming at you not to do it, you squeeze Yunho’s hand back.

“Yeah, I did, hyung.” The words leaving your mouth feel so filthy, you’re assuming the identity of that terrible, twisted man who had laughed as his brother crumpled to his knees in front of him. You’re lying to Yunho, you know, but what else can you do? “I did come back.”

“Ahh… I so happy to see you alive… that you escaped that hellhole.” Yunho raises a weak hand to stroke your face, the action so painfully gentle that it brings tears to your eyes. “I missed you so much, Gunho. I thought that you… that you were dead.”

Your breath catches in your throat and you desperately wipe the wetness rolling down your cheeks as you search for something else to say. Yunho, in his poisoned haze, must obviously not remember what had led him to be in this state in the first place. “But I’m not. I’m here with you now, hyung.”

“Are you here to kill me?” Yunho murmurs with that same, heart wrenching smile and for a moment you’re so stunned that you can find no words, merely staring at him like you’ve been struck on the head with a hammer. “I wouldn’t blame you if you were here to finish the job… I just hope you do it quickly.”

Your mind is completely scrambled as you try to make sense of Yunho’s words. Yunho thinks that Gunho is here, in the infirmary with him, waiting to kill him, but he’s merely accepting death with open arms just like this?

There’s something growing inside your chest, a numb fire that you don’t know whether is fury or horror. You want to scream at your crew mate, slap him, throw him overboard and demand right this second that he fight with every bit of his effort for his damn precious life. But the words are lodged deep in your throat and all you manage is a soft ‘oh’, a simple wisp of air that escapes your mouth as a deliberately vague question.

“I don’t deserve to live after I broke that promise to you, Gunho… I promised that I’d save you from that place… and I failed to do it… I failed you.” Yunho’s voice cracks a little as the hand holding yours squeezes a little tighter, the raw, vulnerable emotion in his voice yanking at your heartstrings. You try and fail to hold back more tears, but Yunho doesn’t notice, staring intently with such a warm, pained gaze at the empty space above your shoulder that you can’t help but want to tell him that his brother isn’t really here, that it’s just you and that he deserves the whole world, much less his life. “I was too late… When I returned to the arena… they told me you were dead, you know? Dead and gone from the fever.”

Agony rips you apart from the inside. You don’t want to listen to another word of this story, how Yunho had believed this painful lie his whole life only to get stabbed in the back by it. But you can only sit there, with tears silently streaming down your face as you grip his hand tight.

You’re utterly helpless in this situation.

“I wanted to die so badly… but Captain… Captain told me that my life belonged to him.” Yunho’s smile is so agonizingly joyous now, his eyes clouded over with hazy, hallucinated memories of long ago. “He said that as his crew, I was his to take care of, and that I needed to live for him.”

You can’t tear your eyes away.

“He saved me. I found another family on board the Treasure, even after you left, Gunho. I wish it could have been you in my place.” Yunho whispers softly and you watch as a single tear falls down his cheek, heart throbbing with pain in your chest. “So please… if you want revenge, just take it out on me. Don’t hurt them, please…”

A sob wrenches it way from your throat as you try to stifle your weeping.

“But I can’t do it… I just can’t say it…”

Wiping your eyes the best you can, you sniff and try to get your emotions under control. “Say what, hyung?”

“The main mast is still better than the mizzenmast… I can’t lie to you, Wooyoung...”

Something between a shaky laugh and an anguished sob leaves your mouth, tears now flowing freely from your eyes. Yunho’s grip on your hand slackens and he returns to mumbling indecipherable nonsense, eyes still shut blissfully in sleep as you cry silently next to him.

Luckily for you, the door that leads to your shared bedroom with San creaks open before you can dwell any more on this. Instead, you focus on wiping your eyes as you turn to face your master, who tries to give you a weak attempt at a wan smile. He can very clearly see how puffy and red your eyes are, it would have been obvious even from across the ocean, but he makes no comment on it.

“How are your tests?” You croak out weakly as your master takes a seat next to you, a soft sigh of disappointment escaping him.

“This poison is a lot more complex than I thought.” San murmurs to you as he reaches over to take your hand in his, the gentle weight of it comforting you more than you can ever thank him for. “I’ve discovered quite a few components in it… it seems to be an addictive and a poison all in one.”

You flinch a little and curl into your master’s side, pressing your face into his arm as if it could shield you from the painful memories of earlier. “Yunho-oppa was hallucinating just now. He thought I was Gunho.”

San stiffens slightly under you, tensing and relaxing before he begins to speak again. “I made a discovery earlier. Something that scares me.”

At his words, fear runs through your veins and you glance at your master in horror. Did your master just find out that the poison is a fast acting one and that you might not have the time to save Yunho? But the words that leave his mouth are far more terrifying than that.

“I detected sorcery in the poison. Something dangerous… something powerful. A sort of… magical trace.”

For a split second, you don’t know whether to laugh or cry. Yunho has already been stabbed in the side, poisoned by his own brother, and now there is a person with sinister intentions who was using sorcery to hurt him? At this point, you wish so desperately that there could be something you could do to save Yunho, but unfortunately, there’s nothing you can do in the least.

It eats away at you from the inside.

Obviously knowing the internal struggle going on in you, San rests a gentle hand on your shoulder and pulls you to your feet. You stumble a little, not expecting your master to do that, but he simply steers you towards your bedroom in response to your questioning gaze.

“Go to sleep, Chin Hae.” He instructs you and when you turn around to protest, fully intent on telling him that you can’t just leave him alone here with Yunho when he should be researching the poison, but your master gives you a simple, reassuring smile. All your protests die on your lips.

“I know you’re worried about Yunho, Chin Hae. But you aren’t any help to me like that, half dead on your feet. Go get some rest so that you can watch over Yunho tomorrow, alright?”

At the mention of rest, you suddenly realise just how weary and drained you are from the events of today. Too much has happened, too much for you to process, and honestly you feel a little dizzy, as if your brain physically can’t handle all this new information. But Yunho. You glance back at his still form, something in you terrified that when you wake up the next day, Yunho might be...

“But-”

Your master presses a quick kiss to your forehead. “Leave things out here to me. Go to bed and just sleep right away, alright?”

When he says the word ‘sleep’ again, exhaustion washes over your whole body and you find yourself too debilitated to continue arguing anymore. So with one last look at Yunho, you turn around and step into your bedroom, staggering over to your bed and plopping down on it heavily. Your vision seems to be swimming a little, causing you to feel a strange, nauseating sense of vertigo, but you chalk it up to the events of today and your desperate need for sleep.

You just need to rest.

So, without bothering to think any more about it, you simply close your eyes and fall back onto the comforting, familiar softness of the mattress.

You’re out of it the second your head touches the pillow.

The very instant you fall asleep, dark shadows swirl in your mind, warping and taking on strange, hazy shapes that you can’t tell head or tail from. Blackness surrounds you once more and this time, that crimson eye looms into your dreams again.

“Run…”

Your mouth opens to ask it a question, but no words come out except for a little cloud of bubbles, rising up in the water to the surface. Your hair drifts about you eerily as you try to form the words to the question that you need to know.

Colours and shapes blend together in front of you, voices and sounds bombarding you from every direction as your dreamscape shifts and churns, before it finally settles on a single sight.

The sea waves crash against the shore as you walk along the beach, smiling at the expanse of blue before you. There’s something so relaxing about the ocean, how powerful and wild nature is in comparison with a mere mortal like you. The sound of the ocean fills your ears and you close your eyes, glad to finally get some peace when you see something on the otherwise empty beach.

It’s a small, baby turtle, probably just hatched, struggling to get to the sea as it crawls along the beach. You can’t help but smile as you watch it continue on its path to the ocean from a short way off, cheering the creature on inside your heart.

Suddenly, from out of nowhere, a large bird swoops down from the sky and in the next second, the baby turtle is in it’s claws. It wriggles about, trying to escape, but its efforts are futile... the bird swoops off into the air, cawing loudly, the baby turtle no doubt its next meal.

Horror rises in you and you almost cry out in anger, but a cool hand on your shoulder stops you. Panic rises in you and you whirl around, only to be met with a sight you thought you’d never see again in your lifetime.

It’s the green eyed man once more, but this time instead of the usual, gentle smile he’s gives you in your dreams, his mouth is pressed into a thin, grim line. He doesn’t look at you, iridescent green eyes focused on the bird that’s soaring away from the beach.

“Blame not the predator, for this is merely the way of the natural world.” His piercing green eyes then bore into yours, seemingly burning holes right into your very soul. “The strong consume the weak to gain strength... this too might come to be your fate.”

Terror wells up in you at his ominous words.

“What?”

“Hurry.” His face blurs and fades into the darkness once more, but his voice lingers on. “It’s failing soon. You don’t have much time left. Hurry and *** for your own sake, Choi Chin Hae.”

What?

You’re plunged into icy cold water once more, flailing about in the water. Above you, there’s a muffled sound of a cannon shot, reverberating in your ears like a roll of thunder.

“Run!”

“Run from what?”

But before you can say anything, you choke on the water surrounding you.

For a second, you’re terrified. This has never happened in all your dreams before, even in those nightmares in which you had always been submerged in water, not needing air in the least, not needing to breathe. It was a dream after, not in the least connected to real life. But this?

You cough and cough and cough, the darkness around you distorting around you as you catch glimpses of a table in the corner, a jar of preserved herbs, a teapot. Then you’re thrown back into real life, eyes wide as you try to hack up the liquid lingering in your throat, the sensation all too real to be just a dream.

Something warm and wet splatters onto your palm.

“Shit.” You curse silently to yourself, stepping out of bed as you move to get a rag to clean the water off your hand with. How the hell had this happened? Not once had your dreams ever caused you to actually be physically affected in real life. You guess that you had somehow choked on your own saliva when you were asleep, embarrassing as that sounded, causing you to feel like you were choking and wake up from your dream.

Sighing, you move to the desk, opening one of the potholes at the side to let the moonlight stream in as you search for a clean rag. Spotting one at the tabletop, you reach for it, wiping your hand and mouth clean with an exasperated shake of the head.

“I should clean it tomorrow.” You muse to yourself, as you stretch and prepare to return to bed, setting the rag down on the table.

But the second you do, all thoughts of sleep flee your mind at once, overcome with sheer, numb shock. You simply stare at that innocent piece of white cloth, the moon’s rays shining upon the fabric as if mocking you, laughing at you, jeering at you.

A choked gasp catches in your throat and you fail to catch yourself, sliding down to the ground on weak legs as a single image sears itself into your mind like a branding iron.

The sight of that white handkerchief stained with blood.

[notyourdayrdream]

Summer’s Almost Over (So Come Spend it with Me)

Day Thirteen, Side A: Wry

(read it here on AO3)

A/N: this is the second part to yesterday’s chapter, so it would make more sense if you read that one first!

Blaine was getting the feeling Kurt wouldn’t call.

The hours ticked by; eight, nine, ten, eleven. He did everything to distract himself, from looking through his song journal to facetiming Leslie and wishing her grandmother a happy birthday in person. He showered and was about to tuck his knees under himself and accept his fate when his phone rang. It scared the shit out of him.

He scrambled to find it, of course he left it on the kitchen island. He nearly tripped over his feet, and in the whole spectacle he missed the call.

“Shit.” Blaine dialed back almost immediately, pacing back and forth his apartment as he waited for the line to pick up. “Hey, sorry I missed your call, my phone was…Kurt?”

The other end was muffled on the other end, the sound of moving fabric pressed its way into Blaine’s ear. “Yeah?”

“Are you crying?” Blaine asked, pulling on a pair of dark jeans. He always felt so underdressed around Kurt. He grabbed his keys and slipped out of his apartment.

Kurt sniffed. “Yeah. I’m outside the complex. On the steps.” Blaine nodded to himself and took the stairs two at a time.

He was there when Blaine opened the door, slim body leaning against the rusted railing. Blaine had to admit he looked gorgeous; light skinny jeans and a brown bomber jacket. But he didn’t give himself too long to indulge when Kurt turned around and his eyes were puffy.

“Hey,” he said, eyes a mix of surprise and relief. This was the first time Blaine had ever seen him nervous. “I, um. Hey, Blaine.”

“I’m guessing this meant it went bad?” Blaine asked, mainly to make him smile.

Kurt gave a wry smile, his nose scrunching up. “You could say that.”

“C’mon.” Blaine wrapped his arm around Kurt’s and led them down the street. “Let’s go out.” Kurt followed him and they walked in comfortable silence. He wondered if this was what having a boyfriend was like.

It had to be twelve thirty when Blaine opened the creaky doors to a twenty-four hour diner a few blocks away. The linoleum floors were chipped and the neon sign had been broken long before Blaine moved into the neighborhood. It was empty save for an old man, who read a newspaper with a date of 1969.

As he and Kurt slid into opposite ends of a booth with cracked pleather seats, a woman in an off white uniform came up to them with a notepad and pencil.

“Well if it isn’t Blaine Warbler,” she smiled with her eyes instead of her mouth. “And a friend!”

“Hello, Ms. Donna,” Blaine said, blushing from the nickname. “This is Kurt, he’s a friend of mine.” Kurt waved hello and went back to peering at the menu.

“It’s so nice to meet you! You know, Blaine doesn’t ever bring people here with him.”

“Is that so?” Kurt smiles at Donna and then at Blaine, mirth dancing the blue ocean of his eyes.

Blaine blurted, “How’s your granddaughter?” As he moved to kick Kurt under the table. He missed terribly and stubbed his toe on wood.

“She’s just lovely, she misses you.” Donna smiled and placed a hand the color of black coffee atop his. Her touch was warm and papery. “You’ll be back for piano lessons soon, right?”

“Of course! I’m out of school for the summer, so tell Destiny I can’t wait to see her.” He knew the girl had a little crush on him, and he just didn’t have the heart to tell her he liked boys. He thought it was sweet.

She smiled and jerked, as if remembering she was at work. “Now tell me what you two would like,” she said, pulling her short pencil from his wispy gray curls.

They ordered coffee and a water, and Donna winked at Blaine as obviously as possible on her way to the bar. He didn’t know how much more red his face could get.

“She’s nice,” Kurt said, taking his coffee with a ‘thank you’ after Donna placed their drinks on the table. “I didn’t know you played piano.”

Blaine shook two sugar packets, enough to make his drink just sweet enough. Kurt, on the other hand, poured at least for packaged creamers into his, until the drink was the color of caramel. “Yeah, it’s the first instrument I learned to play.” The only one his dad said was acceptable for an Anderson to learn. It was classy and gave you the right kind of character. Blaine still didn’t know if he played it out of spite or not.

Kurt’s eyes went wide. “First? You can play more?”

Blaine went over the list in his head. Once he learned piano and violin, the other ones fell into place. But he didn’t want to brag, so he just said, “Just a few more.” And kept the brag humble.

He tried to move on and get the subject off him.

“So how was your date?”

To his horror, Kurt’s nose scrunched up like he was trying not to cry. He looked up at the ceiling for a moment and then back down, his eyes glassy when he did. “Could we not talk about that right now?”

Blaine’s eyebrows knitted together. He reached out for Kurt’s hand. “Yeah, of course.” Even if he wanted to know who hurt him so badly, he didn’t want to pry.

Kurt’s lips turned up; a half smile, half gratitude. He blew his nose on a scratchy napkin. After a moment, he smirked and said, “So, I’m the first person you’ve brought here?”

Blaine felt the blood rush to his face. Something about being with Kurt made that happen more frequently. “Shut up,” he said in feigned indignation, more embarrassed than anything. Kurt laughed, deep and unabashed and absolutely gorgeous. Blaine couldn’t help but laugh too.

Blaine also couldn’t help but think of it as a coincidence when the older man slid fifty cents into the crackling jukebox to play “Can’t Take My Eyes Off You” by Frankie Valli, and they way Kurt’s eyes traced the outline of his lips when he thought he wasn’t looking.

The sky was dark blue and stormy by the time they exited the diner. It wasn’t close at all to sunrise, but Blaine liked to imagine the sun peeking out from the horizon.

Kurt tapped his shoulder and handed him an earbud. He looked happier now, his date hopefully forgotten. Blaine popped the earbud in and relaxed his shoulders when the soft melody of a Motown flooded his senses.

“So what’re your plans now that you’ve graduated?” Blaine asked. It was a silly question, sort of like something a parent would ask. But it had occurred to him he didn’t actually know Kurt too well.

Kurt sighed. “I actually don’t know anymore.” He jogged to make the pedestrian cross signal countdown. He grabbed Blaine’s wrist to pull him forward, who was mercilessly dragged behind. Stupid short legs.

He continued once they made it to the other side of the street. He hadn’t let go of Blaine’s wrist, and it occurred to him that he didn’t want him to. “My friend, Rachel, she’s on her Broadway run as Fanny Brice,” he smiled fondly, as if remembering a distant memory. “She’s brilliant. Meanwhile I’m playing Peter Pan and Prince Eric at preschools and nursing homes.”

“I just don’t know if this thing I put my whole life into is something I want anymore.” Blaine had noticed that Kurt had this amazing talent of not sounding bitter or jealous, even when he had every right to be. “Do you ever feel like that?”

He thought about it for a moment while the song ended. “All the time,” Blaine admitted for the first time out loud. “I’m good at singing and acting, I always have been. I was in show choir because it was safe. Now it just feels stagnant.” He had been doing the same thing since high school. Singing, dancing around a stage, being one of the few gay men in his classes able to play ‘manly’ roles. Because he could hide. Blaine was so tired of hiding.

“What if I want to be a teacher, or a doctor or something?” He exclaimed. It was an exaggeration, but still. He wasn’t only a theatre nerd. He didn’t have to only be that.

Kurt laughed. He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. A New York Never, but there was nobody on the quiet suburban streets anyway. He turned so they were facing each other, and once again his face was filled with this anxiety Blaine couldn’t pinpoint. “You’re full of surprises, Blaine Warbler.” Blaine met his eyes, and instead of backing away, he stared right back. “You’re a wonder.”

They walked the rest of the way home in silence, hands swinging slightly between them.

“I had a lot of fun,” Kurt said, wrapping his earbud wires around his phone. He and Blaine stood on opposite ends of the door to their complex. “Thanks for getting me out of my funk.”

“It was my pleasure,” Blaine offered lamely. His pleasure? What was he, an eighteenth century gentleman? “I mean, it was no big deal. I’ll see you later, okay?” He held back a yawn and opened the door to the dark foyer.

“Wait!” Kurt cried, a lot too loud for the two of them. He was rocking on his heels. He was nervous?

“I um, liked doing this with you, and I was wondering…God, why is this so hard?” He cut himself off abruptly. It was sort of freaking Blaine out to see him like that, but he was more confused than anything.

“Kurt—”

“Would you like to go out again sometime?” He blurted, eyes screwed shut. “At a place a bit fancier than a diner?”

Oh.

“Yes, Blaine breathed out way too quickly. “I mean, if you’d want to.”

“Really?” Kurt asked, as if there was a possibility he’d say no. His eyes lit up. “That’s cool. I’ll text you or something.” He tried to cover up his excitement by biting his lip, to no avail.

“Yeah, yeah,” Blaine nodded until he gave himself whiplash. “Well, goodnight.” He moved to shut the door. Oh the embarrassing celebration dance he was going to do when he got upstairs.

“Blaine?” Kurt called out again, a chuckle at the edge of his words. “Could you hold the door?” He pointed, and of course. Only Blaine would be living in the same complex as his crush.

[theluckyyyoneee]

Guise

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Genre: Angst / Fluff

Word Count: 4.1+k

part 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 |

SoulmateAU! Where he hides his soulmate tattoo from everyone, especially you.

It was an awkward silence that surrounded the two as they sat on Yoongi’s couch after coincidentally meeting each other on the street, after embracing each other in a moment of spontaneity, after hesitantly asking you if you would like to visit his apartment to talk privately, Yoongi had led you back to his small one bedroom complex, trembling fingers holding onto your hand in a firm grip, afraid you’d disappear into thin air just as quickly as you had suddenly appeared. 

You sat on the edge of the neutral colored seat cushion, just fiddling with your fingertips with your bottom lip tucked between your teeth, but to him you looked like a daydream he never wanted to wake from. He had realized how lonely and alone he really was, and this insane trance he somehow came up with, that he would wake up and be alone once again in his bed, he didn’t believe this could be real, but could believe his imagination would torture him with something like this.

The nightmares he suffered through on a daily basis were too cruel.

Though this one, where he had hope given to him instead of suddenly thrust out of his reach, would destroy him when he woke.

Somehow the dreams of sweet domestic lifestyle he envisioned were worse than drowning in quick sand, his inaudible bellows unheard. 

It was a peek of what could have been, if only he’d been better, been more expressive and open, more.... unlike himself. At first, it was easy to fool himself to thinking he wanted nothing to do with you, but when he finally thought deep and realized the problem lied within himself, it was too late. 

You were without a doubt better off without someone as dreary and as closed off as him.

But nonetheless, he would take what his visions threw at him.

Committing every detail to memory, he stared at your silent form, meeting your dark gaze every once in a while as you glanced at him nervously. Your thick strands were loose and hung around your shoulders and down the small of your back, your frame dressed in casual attire, having left your shoes near the front door upon entering and he couldn’t help the small tug on his lips as he eyed your cute design of animated pigs on your sock clad feet. Still convinced this was a daydream he dreamt up, you being so close to him but yet so far away, he decided to make best of the situation before he ultimately awoke.

You visibly tensed when he rose from his spot on the adjacent couch and took a seat a hair widths away from you, and tensed even more still when he maneuvered himself so he lay on his back, sprawled across the couch and pulled you gently so you rested on his chest, his heart rapidly thump thump thumping in your ears as he wrapped his arms tightly around your frame. 

“Let me just hold you for a bit before I wake up,” he mumbled to himself, wondering if he would actually be able to fall asleep in a dream itself, but found that it didn’t really matter if he got to hold you like this. You were soft and warm against his lank form through the thin material of your clothing separating your skin from his, and the comforting smell of your shampoo that smelled like coconut relaxing his muscles as he fell into a sleep that was peaceful for the first time in weeks, missing your confused expression as you took in his odd statement.

Splaying his large hand along your shoulder blades, the warmth of his hand seeping in through your light blouse, he slowly placed a pale knuckle underneath your chin and tenderly brought your own gaze to meet his and his dark eyes flickered all over your face, noting to himself every little detail he was able to finally spot from being this close to you, realizing just how long and thick your eyelashes were, and that tiny freckle you had where they hit your skin whenever you blinked. 

You were more beautiful than he remembered. 

Gently sweeping stray strands from your face and clasping your jaw in his palm, he brought you closer as his lips connected with the skin of your forehead, just above your eyebrows before letting your head rest back on his chest, tightening his hold on you once again as he slowly fell asleep as the last bit of tension left him.

He didn’t notice your wide eyed expression, already in a deep sleep, your own heart rapidly thump thump thumping in your chest as you blinked at this unexpected series of events. You had wanted to talk a bit, but couldn’t make the words leave your mouth as the warmth continued to further envelop you, you figured you would have lots of time to work things through after a quick cat nap, not noticing how tired you were until now, that empty feeling, the sense of incompleteness you’ve been having to endure slowly vanishing with every inhale of his detergent and body wash, further lulling you to sleep, your cheek pressed close to his chest, catching the way his once rapidly thundering heart beat had now calmed down to a steady and soothing lullaby meant for your ears only.

There was a strange weight and a restrictive hold on Yoongi as he awoke from his surprising peaceful slumber, a pleasant warmth enveloping him. Considering how brightly the sunlight beams were peeking in from his blinds, he decided he couldn’t have been resting long, but damn if he didn’t feel refreshed and energized, the most he’s been for the past few weeks. He hadn’t even had a nightmare this time around, either, he pondered to himself as he stared at the empty space of his ceiling.

The dream he had with you was one he wished he could visualize every time he closed his eyes, that way he wouldn’t fear going to sleep at night every day. He had actually gotten to hold you without you gazing at him with a condescending and indifferent expression. You instead gazed up at him with an expression of wonder, that blush painting your cheekbones as he dreamt he had given your forehead a kiss before embracing you in his arms.

A rare genuine smile graced his lips for the first time in a very long time and shifted onto his side, or at least attempted to. That was when he noticed that he was not alone, and that his daydream may have not been a fiction of his imagination after all, but a very peculiar and amazing reality.

His breath caught in his throat as he gaped at your still peacefully dozing self, still closely curled up into his frame, your hands clasped in front of your chest as you snuggled your face closer into the crook of his neck, your warm breaths you released hitting his suddenly scorching skin made him shiver involuntarily. 

He soon grew to regret not settling down a bit to savor this moment, because he fully believed this would be the only time you would want to be this close and intimate with him, but he couldn’t help the way he sprung up in complete utter surprise at this not being something he had imagined. Heat began to creep up his neck up to the very tips of his ears, he was sure his whole upper frame was a fiery red from his embarrassment as he recalled his past actions of abruptly sitting down next to you and pulling you down in a sleep dazed embrace when he foolishly believed it was fictional. 

No, of course it had happened in real life and okay, as long as he had some time to gather his thoughts it would be fine - oh no, you were waking up, because of course you were, that was the way his life went, apparently. 

Yoongi gaped with silent horror, a grimace on his anxious face as he stood restlessly near the end of the couch as you dazedly studied your surroundings, no doubt still feeling a bit sluggish from your sleep. Just as he noted it took you a little while to wake up from your rest, he noted just how frustratingly adorable you were when waking up. It was a sight he could wake up to everyday. 

Your face a bit puffy from sleep, furrowed brows and pouty lips had Yoongi’s fingers twitching by his sides with the urge to pinch your cheeks and play with your hair as he lulled you back to sleep, drooping eyes you had difficulty keeping open for a long period of time had him cooing internally.

Until you made eye contact with the awkwardly hunched male, eyes widening in conjunction as you scrambled into a sitting position, pushing yourself up with your arms and plopping up a bit comically, running your hands through your slightly mussed hair and over your face, trying your best to rid yourself of residual drowsiness.

His fingertips twitched once again with the desire to be the one feeling the strands of your hair between his fingers, to caress the smooth skin of your cheekbones with the pads of his thumbs, no doubt the callouses on his thumbs much rougher than the skin on your cheeks, to have you give him an infectious grin as you snuggle more into him.

But of course none of that happened, Yoongi was too embarrassed to move from his current stance until you sent him a grin that seemed just as shy as he felt, his guard lowering a bit as he saw he wasn’t the only one feeling a bit apprehensive in this novel situation, you were just better at hiding it.

When you quietly asked if you could use his bathroom, he nodded at once and led you down the hallway and hurried and set down some cold drinks on the table for you and him, knowing that once you came back there would be things to talk about between the two of you. 

If what happened earlier hadn’t been a daydream his subconscious had conducted, and it wasn’t just his wishful thinking, that you had come to find him, and ran to him like your life depended on it and had told him that you missed him... then what did this all mean?

Had you come to possibly grant him another chance?

Or were you lulling him into a false sense of security and rightful longing before letting him down easy?

What about Namjoon?

Hearing the familiar sound of a door being opened and shut brought him back to reality as you slowly stepped into his line of vision, your posture tense as you looked around the apartment quietly, seemingly as lost in thought as Yoongi.

“I, uh...” you started hesitantly, mumbling cutely with your eyes downcast as the both of you avoided eye contact with the other person, “wasn’t planning on taking a nap this afternoon.” Your words made Yoongi feel even more sheepish than he already did, but was put slightly at ease by the easy grin gracing your lips.

“Yeah, sorry about that.” He replied with an awkward laugh, not knowing what else to say other than he was really sorry, and rubbed the back of his neck nervously. He glanced at the drinks and quickly jumped at the change of subject. “I have some water or some juice if you’d like some?”

Thanking him softly with another small smile, you moved to sit across from him at the circular table, your hands wrapped around the clear container. He wanted to unwrap one of those hands and place it in his, but that would just make you even more uncomfortable than you already were. 

He had a pretty decent clue as to what type of conversation you would think of, at least he thought he did, maybe.

“I’m sorry-”

“It’s okay-”

Yoongi’s brows furrowed as he took in your sudden apology, the silence enveloping the room as you two started to speak at the same time and halted to let the other person speak, but instead were too busy trying to grasp the meaning of each other’s two word sentences. 

What were you apologizing for? Did you really mean to let him down easy and accept Namjoon’s feelings?

Though he couldn’t really blame you for wanting to do so, the very high percentage of probability of that actually happening made his insides feel queasy.

Your own brows creased in confusion to his out of context consent but shook your head, leaning forward from your chair, your hands grasping the drink more desperately now, tighter and more firm. “I don’t know what you meant to say, but... do you mind if I go first? If I don’t get it out now, I’m afraid I never will.” 

Expression making the transition from puzzled to anxious, your big brown eyes looking into his for the longest time today, your mouth parted just a bit as you awaited his answer. 

Yoongi nodded after a while, silently bracing himself for the inevitable words that were to soon leave your lips.

“I know we both decided to just pretend this never happened, but I still feel like we should have closure before I pursue a relationship with someone I actually want to be with.”

The phrase didn’t have to be expressed or spoken verbatim, but it was along those lines that he fully expected to be hit with and instead was blown into a stupor at:

“Can we start over?”

Those four words rendered him speechless, frozen and completely astonished. Never had he dreamed of this outcome, elation quickly encompassed his entire being, his body warming up as his vision clouded over with unshed tears that entered his eyes as he allowed himself to imagine the future he could experience with you, believing it too heavenly to be true. “If this is a dream, it really would be too cruel,” he spoke more to himself than anyone else, but you seemed to hear him just fine.

Eyes wide, you stared and examined his teary eyes quietly, your own expression turning into mild alarm at the sudden change in demeanor, noticing your own hand twitching in his direction. “What do you mean a dream?”

Realizing you heard him, he felt his face flush and he hurriedly wiped away any tears he might have left on his cheeks, his face flushing more than he thought possible and decided to just be truthful. “All my dreams revolve around you.” His voice was more hoarse now than earlier, but it always was after crying.

He watches as you blink some more and look down, a small smile on your face and Yoongi decided not to clarify that he’s had mostly nightmares involving you to continue to gaze upon your smiling expression a bit longer. You lifted your head and shyly told him, “Mine too.”

It was his turn to blink as you slowly reached across the table to grab hold of one of his hands in yours, and his attention was snatched from your face to notice how small your hand was in comparison to his, how soft and warm your skin was against his, the pleasant feeling enveloping him just by having this small physical contact with you.

He tightened his fingers around yours once and took in your words, assuming you were lucky enough that your dreams must’ve not been as damaging and disturbing as his were by the slightly dreamy tone you used as a smile also tugged on the corner of his lips, grinning back at you for a moment before he remembered. 

“What about Namjoon?” He asked, leaning back in his chair and away from you, pulling his hand from your grasp to return it to his lap, missing your touch already. He read the hurt on your face as he did so and his heart squeezed in his chest at causing you pain, but he had to be sure about what you were asking him, even if he was ready to jump at the thought of getting a second with you.

Brows furrowing as you quickly masked your sullen expression to look quizzically at him. “Namjoon? What about him?” 

He couldn’t bear to say it out loud, but for reason you were acting as if you had no idea what he was trying to hint at. Did that mean you meant to sweep it under the rug and preferred not to tell him? As much as Yoongi would absolutely love to just take your words as they were, he needed to know. “You know,” he started quietly, “about his romantic interest?” His eyes were trained on the wood of the table in front of him as he awaited your answer.

It was silent for a bit until he heard you ask, “You knew about that?” Your face was shocked and you had leaned forward in your seat again as you stared at him with wide eyes.

He raised his eyebrows and nodded slowly, a bit thrown off by your reaction. Your shock he understood, but it was a pleasant kind of surprise you showed him, you looked entertained in a kind of way he did not understand.

 “Wow, I didn’t think news of him and Jungkook being soulmates would spread that fast.”

Once again, he was in for a surprise at your words and asked you to repeat your previous statement. You eyed him a bit strangely as you repeated your words, nodding along to your own words and proceeded to add in more details so Yoongi understood completely what transpired at the apartment complex a few days ago, while he just sat there. Figuratively he comprehended the story but it was just happening a bit too fast.

“So Namjoon didn’t have anything he wanted to tell you?” He asked, a million more questions running through his mind, but that was the question he was most interested in.

You pondered for a bit and nodded. “Oh yeah, he did tell me he had something he wanted to talk to me about later, but then it got so crazy we both kind of just forgot about it.” You shrugged, seeming like it wasn’t something that really interested you too much and Yoongi relaxed.

His guess was Namjoon had planned to tell you after the meet-up with this Jungkook character, but had gotten a soulmate of his own. He didn’t know whether to feel good about Namjoon working it out with his own soulmate, who was a total sweetheart person by your impression of this Jungkook fellow-he would have to take your word for it, he had never met the person before-or relieved that Namjoon was apparently no longer going to take you away from him.

All the while he was contemplating this, he hadn’t noticed your position that had slowly become more comfortable slowly tense back at up at his silence, your expression turning into a dejected one the longer you two sat there.

“So I um,” your quiet voice threw him out of his inner turmoil, bringing his eyes from the spot on the wall he had been concentrated on back to you, his own form tensing a bit at how down you were. “I guess the answer to my question is a no, then? Since you haven’t answered...” you mumbled the last part in your chest, but Yoongi heard it just fine and straightened in his chair, panicking. 

“Of course we can start over!” He all but screamed in his haste to assure you what you were thinking was wrong. How could you ever think he would refuse you?

You brightened at once, a small ‘really?’ leaving your lips as you smiled wide, his lips mirroring your smile subconsciously. His smile slipped some as he remembered the words he once told you.

“You think this makes sense? Us? That you’re my soulmate?”

“Look, we have nothing in common, and to be honest, this whole soulmate shit is really fucking unfair.”

It wasn’t that he was particularly lying when he uttered those words to you, but it came out a lot harsher and the implications much worse than he ever intended. It didn’t make sense, still doesn’t, why the universe paired him with someone as wholesome and sunny as you, but now he was determined to embrace it instead of running away like he once did.

How foolish of him.

But he never meant any of the other words he said, had only wanted to seal the tiniest cracks by appearing as the most disgusting and vain man you’d ever seen. 

Your expression of hurt rang clear in his mind even now and he realized he had never even apologized for saying those words to you, knowing he was hurting you while he was doing it, but choosing to go through with it. 

“I’m so sorry,” he breathed into his hands, feeling incredibly mortified, unable to look into your lovely brown eyes with his past words rendering him unable to life his head. “Are you sure you want to start over? Even after all the horrible things I’ve said to you?”

He couldn’t see your expression, but he heard your soft inhale of breath and tensed, awaiting your response. Your hands gripped his in a soft, but firm tug and brought them away from his face, Yoongi opening his eyes to see you gazing at him warmly, feeling lighter already that you weren’t looking at him with pity or condolence. 

“You have nothing to apologize for.” Tone completely soothing and gentle, your stroked tiny designs on the skin of his knuckles with the pad of your thumbs, very effortlessly luring him into a much calmer state than he was just a few moments ago. You looked away, teeth catching the ample flesh of your bottom lip as a sigh escaped you.

Yoongi followed the movement and was immediately sidetracked with fantasies of his teeth biting that lower lip instead, his hands running along of the expanse of your soft and bare skin that would leave tingles on the nerves of the skin of his palms, your sounds of pleasure being swallowed by his kiss-

“Well, it’s not like I’ve been the nicest to you, either.” Your sudden continuation startled him out his unexpectedly steamy reverie that brought his body temperature rising at alarming speed, blinking flatly as he regained his composure - or tried to, at least. You were still eyeing him innocently, albeit a bit guiltily as he comprehended your words and silently disagreed with them, he also relaxed a bit knowing he didn’t let his inappropriate thoughts become apparent to you.

He didn’t even know if you saw him that way, you could be proposing a solely platonic relationship with him. Which was fine with him by all means, platonic relationship existed all around the world and were just as strong as any other relationship. He’d be happy any way you wanted to be with him. 

“But, these last few weeks away from you and everyone, I think I realized how important our bond is, and how the problem never really lied with you, but with me.” You continued, your eyes flitting over his face, gauging his reactions to your words. “So I just want to say that I’m also really sorry for hurting you and that I would really, really love it if we could give this another shot.”

Your face scrunched up so unbelievably endearingly it made his heart constrict in his chest at the sight of it, your eyes squeezed shut with your lips pursed ever so slightly. Not being able to resist any longer, the words you were spewing were exactly the identical thoughts he had over the course of the last few weeks, he sprung up from his chair, realizing that you two had never released the hold you two had on each other’s hands and used them to pull you up and into his tight embrace.

A small noise of surprise escaped you as your smaller stature collided with his, his arms wrapped firmly around you, not wanting to let you slip away ever again. “If anyone should be begging for a second chance it’s me,” he mumbled into the crook of your neck, inhaling the soothing scent of coconut, a scent he never knew was so appealing until today, a smile creeping onto his lips as he felt you holding onto him just as tightly as he was.

“I would love to start over.”

You exhaled and relaxed more in his hold, nodding as a breathy giggle left your lips. 

“Okay.”

work has been hectic as usual which left me with a lot less time to write but i got it done! again tysm to all of you who are continuing to read and i love and treasure the comments of appreciation and encouragement you all leave me, it makes my day and makes me feel so love <333 hope you enjoy and if you’d like to be tagged just comment down below or send me a message!!:)

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