#starting off the day on the right foot today lads

[cosmic-navel-gazin]

My sister just knocked on my bedroom door, she silentely entered and asked with the most earnestly confused face I've ever seen: Is that topless Jeff Bridges in the living room? Wha-why do you have that?

Me (an intellectual): aRhjslalfkjamahdjsk no! Humhmm I mean yeah!

Her: "Do it for him?"

Me: O-oh haha you never seen that? I-It's a famous simpsons meme! It's great I'll show you later. Wait wtf how did you find out it was him ?

(it's important to note here that I forgot my printer didn't have any black so the image that came out was a mishapen mess of pink blobs.)

Her: The curvature of the neck!

This is the og meme

This is what came out:

[cumikering]

Guitarist Gaz x reader

2k | fluff, teenage crush, late 90s You were in a band with Gaz

“You’re pulling my leg,” Kyle deadpanned.

“Really. My mum said I should be studying for my A-levels.” Jack hung his head as he tried to smear off the crusty mud from the side of his sole.

“But the gig is this weekend!”

“’m sorry, Gaz. She’s holding my guitar hostage. Said she’s going to sell it if I’m not home right away after classes.”

“You know we can’t do with only three members,” he said exasperatedly.

“There’s still a few days, I’ll help you find someone.”

After band practice sans Jack “mum-said-I-can’t” Wilshire, Kyle hopped onto the local forum with a grumble.

This was stupid. It would take a miracle for him to find a replacement for Jack in mere days. Regardless, he punched the words into his keyboard.

Sixth Form alt band looking for a stand-in guitarist for a birthday gig this Saturday

Later that night, his PC pinged with a notification.

Hiya, I’m interested in the gig. Where do you practice? I can meet tomorrow to see if I’m a good fit.

He breathed a sigh of relief. There was still hope. He didn’t have to cancel and embarrass himself.

Sweet. Here’s my college. See ya at the bus stop at 2 mate

The next day after classes, Kyle and his two bandmates waited at the bus stop.

“Gaz, how do you know he’s not a no-show?” Tim sat on the bench, twirling his drumsticks.

With his foot, Owen toyed with the overgrown grass under the bus stop sign. “We’ve been waiting forever.”

“Come on, lads. We need him, yeah?” He turned to them, trying to cheer up his mates. ”Let’s just hope he’s decent.”

Across the street, a bus alighted with a screech and a loud hiss. A few seconds later, it departed, revealing you behind it. You wore your college’s uniform, hair lightly tousled from the weather, your gig bag on your back.

“It’s a she?” Owen straightened up.

“Well, I assumed-“

Tim stood up, slipping his drum sticks in his back pocket as he walked over with a smile.

“No,” Kyle stood in front of him, trying to bite down his smile. “She talked to me. I go.” He marched towards you, ignoring Owen’s ‘or we could wait for her to cross the street’.

“Kyle?”

“Hiya.” He smiled, the most charming one he could muster. “Thought you were a bloke.”

You cocked your brow. “I thought the handle was obvious.”

Was it? He was too focused on the fact that he got a candidate (the only one so far).

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Okay, well let’s go meet the lads.”

You followed as he made his way towards his mates.

“This is Owen, our bassist.”  He pointed at the tall bloke with the blond buzzcut. “And this is Tim, our drummer.”

He nodded at you, his dark fringe bobbing in the air.

“And me, I’m the vocalist and lead guitarist. You’re going to be Jack’s stand-in as the rhythm guitarist. Is it okay if you play us something here? Apparently, we’re not allowed to bring non-students onto the campus.”

“Yeah, no worries.” You sat on the bench and took your guitar out. “Anything specific?”

“Nope, whatever you’re comfortable with.”

The familiar intro of Wonderwall wafted in the air. You were a little quiet at first but encouraged by the approving nods and smiles of the lads, you opened up. Kyle watched the way you strummed, fingers expertly dancing across the fretboard, chords held precisely. Your clean notes did the classic justice. They all sang the last verse together.

“Wow, that was real sweet.” Owen said.

“Watch out, Gaz, you might be the stand-in by the end of this.”

He gave Tim the side eye before smiling at you. “Should we start practicing today?”

Practice was at Tim’s the days leading up to the gig, as it always was. His spacious room was cosy and soundproof, plus his mum baked the best cookies.

How obvious was it that Kyle always wanted to sit next to you on the bus? Or let his mates walk ahead of the both of you, so he could have a little moment with you to chat?

But it was the next day that he only dared to make his move.

“It’s getting late. Would you like me to walk you home?”

You looked up as you zipped your gig bag close.

“I live closer to you than her and you never offer to walk me home,” Owen chided, making Tim cackle from the other end of the room.

He pretended not hear anything, his eyebrow rose instead as he rapidly lost his cool.

You stifled a laugh. “Okay,” you said.

Kyle beamed, flipping Owen the bird before he shut the door on his way out. He left his guitar because ‘we’ll be back tomorrow anyway’ and helped you carry yours instead.

“You hungry? That chippy is good.” He pointed at a busy shop on your way to the bus stop.

“I am, actually.” Your steps slowed.

After a bit of queuing, the both of you sat in the cramped corner of the shop.

You took small bites of your piping hot chips. “What are you doing after Sixth Form?”

“I’m enlisting in the army,” he said with pride.

You smiled. “Your parents must be so proud.”

“They are. I’ve always wanted to do this and I’m glad they’re supportive.”

“I wish you the very best, Kyle. I think you’d be a wonderful soldier.”

He beamed. “Thank you.”

The conversation continued to what you were going to study in uni, and how the both of you got into music. He told you all about his heroes and seeing how you lit up in recognition of the names made him gooey. You get me.

After the meal, you waited at the deserted bus stop, pedestrians passing occasionally.

“Can I play?” He gestured at your guitar.

You nodded and he took it out of the bag, skilfully picking the strings to Iris. You smiled in recognition of the song and couldn’t help singing along. Engrossed in the little concert, none of you registered the bus was approaching.

His hands slowed, and you turned behind you.

“Oh, need to go, need to go!” You laughed, grabbing the bag beside him, scrambling to the edge of the pavement.

He smiled behind you as you boarded. The bus had no empty seats left, and the both of you stood there facing each other as he held your guitar, resting it on his shoe.

You didn’t seem to want to meet his eyes, but he found it cute. You had a sweet smile and an even sweeter laugh. He appreciated your openness to spontaneity, loving the twinkle in your eye as you sang with him just a minute ago. You were a breath of fresh air.

The next day, Kyle offered to walk you home after dinner again. You let him, even had his hand brush against yours a few times. The next, since he finished his classes early, he asked if he could pick you up in front of your college.

He waited at the bus stop, head on a swivel, worried that he’d miss you among the sea of students. But you soon approached with your friends who giggled as they eyed him.

He smiled at the refreshing sight of you, hands pulled out of his pockets. “Hiya,” he breathed, barely glancing at your friends.

You stood in front of him as you chewed on your lip, smiling but not meeting his eyes. “Hi,” you mumbled.

One of the girls nudged you with a teasing smile before walking along.

“Oh, uh, see you on Monday, babes!” you called out to them.

“Good luck for your gig!” the blonde said.

“I hope I’m up to par for tomorrow,” you said to yourself.

“You are, trust me. We don’t need Jack anymore.”

You laughed.

“Here, let me just…” he grabbed the strap of your gig bag.

“You’re the sweetest, Kyle.”

He smiled, pulling the straps over his shoulders. I’m trying! “I got you this.” He pulled out a packet of gummy bears from his pocket.

“Thank you so much!” You tore the packet open, popping a bear into your mouth, before offering him some.

At the bus stop, he sat next to you just a little closer than a friend would.

“Oh, one of my girls let me borrow Jagged Little Pill for the weekend.” You grabbed your Discman from your bag, handing an earphone to him. “I wanted to listen to it with you.”

How did you not expect him to melt at that? When each of you had an earphone on, you hit play and he wouldn’t be mad if the bus never came. With you, this was the perfect afternoon.

He should have got more gummy bears.

You and the band played through the setlist flawlessly as the party went on. It was the most fun Kyle had had at a gig that he didn’t realise the hour was up. When Owen and Tim went off to grab food, without missing a beat, he strummed More than Words.

Kyle barely took his eyes off you as you sat across him with your guitar throughout the gig, a sweet smile on your face. If he kept playing, this would never have to end, right?

Your arms paused in the air as you took your guitar off before setting the strap back and smiling in recognition. You sat back down, your foot tapping to the gentle rhythm before joining him in singing. The crowd gathered and sang together, and you both couldn’t help dueting a few more mellow songs as Owen and Tim cheered on.

By the end of the night, Kyle was holding your hand. It was nice to not be insecure of his calloused fingers. Yours were too, like a shared secret. As you neared home, his arm grew stiff. Was this his last time walking you home?

“We don’t have anything else coming up, but you’re always welcome to swing by anytime.” He handed you your guitar. He insisted to help you with it even when he had his too. “We can just jam together.”

“What’s going to happen to Jack?”

“Like I said, we don’t need him anymore.”

You laughed. “Yeah? I should probably study for my A-Levels too.”

He scratched the back of his neck. “We can always meet at your college if you want. Or somewhere else. Wherever you want really.” I just want to keep seeing you.

You smiled. “I’d love that.”

Since then, he picked you up after classes almost every day. If not to jam at Tim’s, it was to study at your dining table. He caught the teasing looks your mum shot you that made you look away with a shy smile. He didn’t mean to, but his grades were better than ever, baffling his mates, including Jack.

Thinking of the distance that was to stretch between you was like looking up a mountain too tall to see its peak. It was irresponsible of him to ask for more as he was leaving for the army. With a heavy heart, he allowed himself to enjoy the last weeks he had with you, forced to be content with the fleeting touches and bashful gazes before they, eventually, fizzled out with time.

At the park, he played Lovefool, one of your favourites. You sat facing him, knees pulled to your chest wearing his hat he plopped down on you when you squinted at the sun earlier.

“Love me, love me, say that you love me…” He looked up from the fretboard to your pretty smile as you hummed along, hair swaying in the wind-

His strumming screeched to a stop as his heart lodged in his throat. “D- do…”

Bloody hell, Gaz, why are you stuttering like that!

You blinked. “You alright?”

“Doyouwanttobemine?”

Your smile brightened.

Oh, he was going to serenade you every chance he got, even when he was a thousand miles away from you. He hoped you didn’t mind.

@tiredmetalenthusiast @shadofireshinobi @keegansshark @two-gh0sts

@rowanyaboats @mangoguy

[ghostiexe]

Teacher AU!Wilbur x Reader

hello fellas i'm back with another wilbur fic he has been all i can think about for the past several days. take this

wordcount: 1,461 (part 1/?)

as always this is not proof read sorry lads

part 2 here

Being a teacher is not the job you thought you’d end up with when you were doing career planning in 12th grade, but here you stand. 

Back in the same high school you swore never to return to. 

Oh, well, then. At least you have mediocre pay and little to no benefits, right?

You sigh and drop a box onto the desk in your mostly empty classroom. It’s bare and almost liminal in a sense, and you can't help but feel creeped out. 

You step back from the desk and examine the room with your hands on your hips for a moment before shaking your head. This setup is awful, you decide. Time to change it up a bit. 

You get to work pushing desks across the room, trying to ignore the screeching of metal against linoleum. You’re already sweating and it’s only been a couple minutes since you made the decision to completely change the room. 

You huff softly as you drag another desk, having two of the legs lifted slightly off the ground. Suddenly, you lose your grip on it, and it falls directly onto your foot. 

“Fuck!” You exclaim, yanking your foot out from under it and pulling your leg up protectively, bouncing slightly as you try to keep your balance with your one foot on the ground. Suddenly, you hear a soft knock on your doorframe and you whip your head around to see who it is. 

You’re met with the sight of a concerned looking, very, very tall man. He has a mess of curly brown hair and glasses that are too big for his face, though you can’t help but think they suit him. “Um… Are you alright?” He asks, gesturing to your foot, which you realize you’re still holding. Your face flushes and you put your foot back down on the ground, tucking your hair, embarrassed. 

“Yes, I’m okay.” You assure him, laughing awkwardly. “Sorry, uh, for my language.” You apologize, and he cracks a small smile. 

“It’s okay.” He assures you, leaning against the doorframe. “Is this your first year teaching?” He asks, sounding genuinely curious as he looks you up and down. You nod. 

“Yeah, it is.” You admit, starting to drag the desk again. The man winces at the sound. “Do you need help?” He asks, and you nod instantly. 

“Yes please.” You say, sighing in relief. He walks over and lifts the other side of the desk, following your lead when you take it to the corner of the room. He clears his throat as the both of you work. 

“So, I assume you’re the new English teacher, then…?” He asks, and you nod, stepping back to look at your now rearranged room. You hum softly in approval of the sight. 

“Uh, yeah, I am.” You say, realizing you haven’t introduced yourself. You wipe your palms on your pants and reach out, offering your name and a handshake. He accepts. 

“I’m Wilbur.” He introduces himself. “Though you’ll have to refer to me as Mr. Soot in front of the kids, I suppose.” He says, shrugging. You smile gently. 

“Well, Mr. Soot, I appreciate the help.” You tell him, and he nods, glancing away and then back to you, looking a little shy. 

“It’s no problem, really.” He mumbles, scratching the back of his head. Your attention is drawn toward his outfit, then, and you let out a startled laugh. 

“Is that The Front Bottoms? No way, I love them.” You say. He looks a little surprised, but nods eagerly. 

“It is! You like them?” He asks, the nervousness slipping away slightly. “Yeah, of course!” You say, beaming up at him. “I’ve seen them in concert twice.” Wilbur groans at the news. 

“Unfair, I’ve been wanting to see them for forever.” He says with a small pout. You giggle. “Well, I wish you luck on getting tickets.” You say, lazily saluting. He laughs softly. 

“Well, now I’m glad I wore this shirt today.” He says. “You’ll probably not see me in it again for a while, I don’t dress casually on school days.” He says, crossing his arms and leaning against your wall. You hum. 

“Oh? And what do you teach, again?” You ask, and he sighs. “Oh, God, good question. Well, I’m supposed to be the History and Geography teacher, but the board found out I can play instruments, so now I’m supposed to be teaching a combined history-slash-music class. I had to plan the whole class in a month.” He complains, dragging a hand down his face in exasperation. You wince. 

“Yikes. That sounds interesting, though. How did you manage that? Is it, like, just exploring the history of music?” You ask, and he nods.

“Yeah, pretty much.” He admits, rubbing his arm. “It’s probably gonna be a shit class, since I barely had time to put anything together.” He says with a sigh. “But I’m supposedly the ‘boring’ teacher anyway, so it’s not like I have a reputation to uphold anyway.” He says sarcastically. You frown. 

“Boring? You don’t seem boring to me, why do they think you’re boring?” You ask, genuinely bewildered. He winces. 

“Ah, well, I was a new teacher last year, so my lessons were very, uh, by the book, I guess you could say. I didn’t really put any of my own spins on the lessons or anything because I was too focused on trying to drill information into their brains.” He says, sounding a little embarrassed. “Ahh, I see.” You say sympathetically, nodding. “Well, what do you have planned for this year?” You ask, gesturing for him to come sit at your desk with you. You grab one of the plastic chairs for yourself and let him sit in your spinning chair. 

“Well, I’ve been trying to think of ways to spice geography up, so I found a couple games I thought might be interesting to have them play in class.” He says, tapping on his chin thoughtfully as he sits back in your chair, looking up at the ceiling. “I might have them playing Geoguessr.” He says, resting his hands on his lap. “Oh, that sounds fun!” You say, clapping your hands lightly. “I wish I could do something like that for my class.” You say. 

He turns his gaze back to you. “Well, what grade are you teaching English for?” He asks. “Because if you’ve got freshmen and sophomores, I’d say it’s probably not the best idea, but if you’ve got the juniors and seniors, you could definitely do something with them.” You nod. “I’m teaching for juniors and seniors, actually. But I have a senior creative writing class, too.” Wilbur looks pleased at the news. “Oh, really? What’ve you got planned for creative writing?” He asks, smiling softly. “I always like seeing what the students come up with, some of the kids from last year were actually really good.” He says. You smile back. 

“Well, I’ve planned a unit on the butterfly effect, but I also want to do some poetry next term.” You say, tucking your hair behind your ear and gently tapping your fingers on the desk. Wilbur hums thoughtfully. 

“Well, poetry could be fun. I’m a shit poet, honestly, but I mean, at least they make for good song lyrics?” He says, wincing slightly before waving his hand to dismiss the topic. “That will be fun, though, I think. Is it an elective or required class?”

“Just an elective.” You respond, tucking away the comment about song lyrics for later. You still your hands and place them flat on the desk. “Thankfully. I don’t know if I could force a bunch of uninterested kids into actually doing the work if it was required.” You say, shaking your head. He makes a sympathetic sound. “Yeah, I understand. Sometimes I wish that I taught more elective classes, but there’s not really many history or geography related electives I would be eligible to teach, anyway.” He says, chuckling to himself. “Maybe if the kids drive me crazy enough I’ll just give up and have ‘em watch Crash Course videos for the whole class.” He jokes, and you giggle softly. 

“If only, if only.” You say, sighing dramatically. After a pause – a few moments of comfortable silence – you speak up again, clearing your throat. 

“So how’s the cafeteria food here? Any good? I mean, when I went to school here it sucked, any developments?” You ask. “Oh, you went here for high school?” He asks, before shaking his head. “Unfortunately no, by the way. What year did you graduate? I graduated in ‘18.” He says, pushing his large glasses up. 

“Oh, I graduated in 2019. We’re only a year apart, that’s cool.” You say, then glance at the time. “Shit, it’s nearly five.” You say, frowning. “I need to finish setting up my room.” You say, standing up and sighing. He nods in understanding. “That’s alright, I’ll leave you to it.” He says, standing up too. “Unless you need help, still?” You shoot him a grateful smile but shake your head. “No, it’s alright. Thank you, though. For helping, and for keeping me company. I’ll, uh, see you around?” You ask, and he nods. 

“Yeah, of course. I’ll make sure to drop by your classroom.” He says, running a hand through his curls. “And, um, don’t hesitate to reach out if you need anything.” He adds, sounding a bit shy. 

“Of course, thank you so much, Wilbur.” You say, grateful you’ve got someone to talk to now. You smile at him, though it looks a bit exhausted. “I’ll see you Monday.” 

“I’ll see you Monday.” He agrees, waving at you before stepping out and walking down the hall to his own room. The second he walks away you have to take a moment to breath. 

What the fuck, he was cute.

[glorified-red]

Locks & Cake Pops (Damian Wayne x Reader x Jon Kent)

summary: Gotham was a scary place when the sun went down. One terrifying encounter with a stranger left you completely worn thin. Thankfully, your boys were more than prepared to come find you.

word count: 4,800~

warnings: panic attack, paranoia, vague & very short description of encountering a scary stranger (none explicit to what happened, by whom, or by any gender. Only specification is that it's a conversation and Reader is hesitant around touch), paranoia to violence or potential violence, constant paranoia of not being safe

Y'all called me a main character and I think the people writing my story took that as a CHALLENGE. The amount of plot I went through today??? I swear, fics really do write themselves, huh?

Shout out to @quillsareswords for planting the Poly Fic seed in my head with her fics until I couldn't NOT write one. And shout out to @unmotivatedwrit3r for being my Jon today and @uni-magi-nation for being my Damian because guess what lads, this fic is based on a true story!! As are most of my fics anyway, so please, enjoy the events that happened less than 12 hours ago ;P

You could pinpoint the exact moment your day had derailed. 

It wasn’t until the sun had just barely started to slip beneath the horizon. Nearly ten hours of joy all crashed in one single moment. It was one decision. A single foot placement was the difference between coming home safe and the disaster that befell you currently. 

One foot placement was all it took and your entire world crumbled from above you. 

You almost wondered if your foot pivoted slightly to the east, if you took the path to your right instead of your left, would you still be in this position? Would you be here, clinging to your next breath as if it was your last? 

But alas, you traveled west to your car. The path you took was slightly dimmer than the other in the middle of dusk. Less people, less crowds . . . less witnesses. 

That one decision landed you in an inescapable exchange of words. Whether you made it home was a decision you no longer had control of, it was now placed in the hands of a stranger—a person who thrived on the rush of feeling a life beat in the palm of their hands. 

Your feet were placed on a track alongside them, desperately trying to find a way out. But each pivot was either too late or too suspicious, all you could do was play along like some kind of puppet. Eventually the rush simmered and the paths diverged, they split off into two distinct directions, and you were free. 

You didn’t bother to care when your feet pounded against the ground one after another. They did their job, they took you to where your brain had decided you needed to go despite you not truly being a part of that conversation. You let your instincts take over, the adrenaline high of blazing through empty sidewalks and burning passed streetlamps flickering on for the first time that night. 

Your breath faded into the air with each step, a resounding huff of forced exhales as your legs ached from the pace. Before you knew it, your world tilted on its axis as your brain and body fully disconnected. Tunnel vision took over your view, the only thing in sight was the faraway gleam of steel and vinyl. 

You slammed the car door behind you, fully encasing you in a carbon cage. It felt like a cage in all senses of the word. You were suffocated inside the doors of your own safety, hating how your only semblance of security was in a man-made product that could fail within a moment—that could be broken into with just the thought of doing so. 

You heard the satisfying click of the doors locking, never realizing your fingers jumped to the button the second they could. That sound meant safety, that sound meant you would be okay. 

Electrons slipped past connections and you couldn't properly process anything aside from the steering wheel in front of you and the sharp polyester strap cutting across your chest. Your next exhale was steady and long, a pitiful attempt at self-soothing. Even with the length of the breath, the shakiness behind it was so easy to hear in the silence of the cage. 

You gripped the steering wheel with both hands, twisting your grip along the rim until you could feel the bite in your palms. You brought yourself back one cell at a time. It started with the pads of your fingers tapping against the polyurethane, then your palms rubbing against the grooves and curves of the wheel, then your hands were gripping at your arms until feeling returned to them slowly. You thawed out your own body seconds at a time. 

You breathed again. 

Then the car had started and you drove away. 

You could remember the exact moment you realized this was much deeper than mere disassociation. Your eyes were filled with red lights and your ears buzzed with the sound of passing cars. It started in your chest, a small hum of warning deep in the confines of your ribcage. 

The death rattle had started inside you and only got louder the longer your hands stayed connected to the prison bars. The hum turned into a storm of pyrocumulonimbus as your foot pressed into the gas, each breath of oxygen only fueled the fire burning at the edges of your lungs. 

You fought so hard against the impending doom of it all. You just wanted to go home. You wanted to come home and beeline straight for—not safety—comfort; you wanted to remind yourself that touch wasn’t something to be scared of; you wanted to remind yourself that you were safe—that everything was going to be okay. 

But instead your breath quickened into a terrifying speed and you had no choice but to pull over into the nearest complex with well-lit parking spaces and bustling activity at its front doors. Your car clicked off and your fingers immediately reached for the lock icon at your side. 

You pressed it once to hear the simultaneous click of four doors locking in tandem. 

Leaning against the plush seat, you tried to breathe properly. Your hands gripped at the seatbelt across your chest, both hating and adoring the pressure it forced against your body. 

You pressed it twice to remind yourself the doors were locked. 

Gripping the strap, you didn’t mind the way the edges dug into your palms as you bent it in on itself. It was tight against you, just enough to keep you present. The hands of sharply woven polyester forced you to stay conscious in reality, they didn’t dare let you slip between the cracks and fall into dissociation. 

You pressed it a third time, the same click resounding in your ears. 

Suddenly you felt too suffocated. You could feel the bottom of the wheel on your knees and the lanyard of your keys against your thigh. 

The clicks reversed as you tumbled out of the car. 

Fresh air hit your entire body and the fire raging in your chest worsened tenfold. You were exposed—you were vulnerable. You slammed yourself back into the car. A blink and you were in the backseat this time. 

The carved metal of a key dug into your fingers while you clutched it like a lifeline. Your hand reached for your phone before you could process anything else. Your other clicked the lock icon once more and the entire car fell into darkness. 

⋘⋙

Damian didn’t remember falling asleep but when a human sized heater was laying across his chest, it never took long for his exhaustion to get tired of being ignored. 

He was slightly annoyed, arguably moreso, when the heater in question jerked upright. Damian’s eyes snapped open. “Watch it,” he groaned, sleep still affecting the timbre in his voice. Hands dug uncomfortably into his stomach and he pushed them away. 

“Sorry, sorry,” the kryptonian apologized from above him. “I just . . .” he trailed off. 

That got his attention. 

His eyes focused on the alert expression on his lover’s face. Jon shifted upright completely, still straddling Damian’s thighs. His eyes were distant, looking off into the window at the other side of the room. 

“What’s wrong?” Damian asked, finding himself slightly propped up onto his elbows. 

“Y/n,” Jon replied, his eyebrows furrowing slightly. The way he said your voice was just as distant as his gaze, almost like his voice was nothing but an exhale. He blinked, looking down and glaring so hard at Damian’s upper body that Damian almost took offense. 

“Their heartbeat,” he said, confusion lacing his voice as he tried to focus on the thum of your beat, “it’s . . . different.” 

“Different,” Damian echoed. He would’ve been annoyed at the vague answer if he wasn’t aware both him and Jon were currently barely awake and therefore, barely functioning (Damian more so than Jon, of course). “What do you mean different?” 

Kryptonian powers were always so finicky. He always thought so, but meeting Jon? This man was evidence in itself that powers were annoying at best. Damian watched as Jon developed each new power slowly at the most inconvenient times, mind you. And now, years after being the Man Of Steel, Jon’s powers still went berserk. 

Damian couldn’t even count on his fingers how many sensory overloads he’s guided Jon through—and he’d do it all over again if he had to. 

Jon shook his head. “It’s just different.” He shrugged. 

“You woke me up because it’s just different?” Damian deadpanned. 

Jon glared down at him. “This isn’t exactly an exact science, you know.” 

Damian sighed and slid back down until his upper back hit the mattress once more. “Is it going faster? Skipping a beat?” he prompted, trying his best to shake the grogginess from his body without letting paranoia fester in its place. 

Heartbeats always worried Damian. He ended up assuming the worst. But with a Kryptonian tracing them so often, he realized that different didn’t necessarily mean bad. You could have raised your hand in class, forgot your keys, or missed a step down the stairs and your heart lurched. That was enough to perk Jon’s ears. You could have been stressed so your heart rate was elevated. Maybe even tired which made it drag. 

Despite his own fears, Damian kept reminding himself that there's more of a chance that you were fine than not, especially when he was currently talking to a sleep deprived kryptonian who announced heartbeat changes all the time. The idea of getting away with any kind of anxiety while around that golden retriever was stupid and incredibly naive—Damian gave up after a year of Jon’s super-hearing kicking in. 

“You’re anxious.” 

“Shut up.” 

“You should probably—” 

“I said shut up.” 

Jon spoke up: “It definitely jumped and it’s been slightly faster than normal ever since.” His head tilted slightly to the side to listen better—Damian couldn't help but picture a tiny puppy doing the same and its ear flopping over. “It’s getting steadily faster. I think . . . I think they’re driving?” 

Damian’s eyes furrowed. He reached for his phone as Jon continued. “Definitely driving,” he settled on. “I can hear their car.” 

“Maybe they almost got into an accident,” Damian mumbled in thought, setting a personal reminder in his brain to berate you for speeding later. His phone clicked on and his eyes saw his blurry home screen. He blinked the image into focus. When his eyes could properly trace over the smiles on you and Jon’s faces, he looked at the time. 

It was earlier than he thought. 

Jon’s hands fiddled with the hem of Damian’s sleep shirt, the compression material stretching slightly to accommodate the movement. “Maybe,” Jon gnawed at his bottom lip. “I didn’t hear anything like that though, just normal traffic.” 

Damian hummed. “They were at the library today. I didn’t expect them to head home so soon.” His fingers opened your contact. “Did they text you that they were heading home?” 

 Jon leaned across the bed to reach for his phone on the nightstand. Damian resisted a snark at how uncomfortable the shift was with the unnecessary knee to the side. 

Jon fiddled with his phone for a moment. “Nope, nothing.” 

Damian opened his mouth to supply another sentence of rationale when two things happened simultaneously: In an instant, Jon’s phone slipped from his hands and ricocheted right off of his stomach. (“Ow!”) Then Damian’s ringtone sounded throughout the entire bedroom, bouncing off the walls and reverberating into their tired brains. 

The fear written on Jon’s face was enough for Damian to pick up on the first ring. 

“Y/n?” he asked. Jon’s fingers clutched at his shirt. 

“Hey,” you responded. There was a crackle over the line but Damian couldn’t tell if it was your voice or the shitty internet. 

“Are you okay?” Damian was blunt, cutting straight through any attempt at small talk. How could he not when Jon was currently mouthing “panic attack” at him and poking his ribcage. 

You hesitated enough for Damian to shoo Jon off of him. Both boys tumbled out of the massive bed in varying degrees of grace. 

“What are you doing right now?” 

“Doesn’t matter. You’re dodging the question,” Damian slid on a pair of pants and made his way down the stairs. “What’s wrong? And don’t say it’s nothing because I have a human sized Holter monitor that would beg to disagree.”

Jon tumbled behind, no doubt using some kind of kryptonian flare to gather all the necessary items to drive to you. 

“Can you both meet me here, I—” you cut off, if Damian strained, he could hear your rampant breathing. “I need you.” You choked, “No—No capes.” 

Damian breathed in slowly and exhaled through his mouth. The keys and wallets were already floating into his pockets as he opened the front door. 

No capes. 

It was a valid request. It was a request both Jon and Damian had come to appreciate overtime. No need for heroics, no need for perfection, no need for theatrics—you just needed your partners, as they were. 

That was a level of normalcy that was so rare in this lifestyle. As much as it would be miles quicker with Jon’s flight or even his grapple gun, he respected the thought process behind the decision. You just wanted your boys, that was all. 

Car doors slammed shut and Damian was already behind the wheel making his way to you. “We’re on our way.” He felt a poke to his bicep. Jon motioned towards the phone, opening and closing his hand in request. “I’m going to pass the phone to Jon. He’s going to stay on the line until we reach you, okay?” 

Damian barely waited for your small “ok” before handing the phone off. He didn’t bother to fill Jon in on the conversation, it was obvious he was already listening intently. 

“Hey, sunshine.” Jon pointed directions out and Damian followed. No need for maps when you have a super-hearing alien who knows exactly where you are just by the sounds of traffic and the volume of your heartbeat. “We’re coming as fast as we can. Just give us ten minutes and we’ll be there with you.” 

Damian focused on driving, the one thing he could do at this moment. He was tactical, he was useful. Jon was the comforting one; Jon was the one who could navigate emotionally tense situations with ease. So he gripped the steering wheel tighter and made sure he got to you safely. 

Strengths. All three of you had them just as you all had weaknesses. But the beauty of your triad came from how perfectly your strengths filled each others’ weaknesses. You lifted each other up, and when you couldn’t, it was easy to lean on one another. 

So Jon handled the comfort, Damian handled the logistics. 

Words of affirmations flew out of Jon’s mouth in a way that Damian used to envy. Now, he found it endearing. He has his own strengths and that’s okay. 

“Just ten minutes, baby. Ten minutes and everything will be okay, I promise.” 

Red lights glared down at Damian. 

“Breath with me. In and out, just like that. Keep doing that.” 

Stop signs seemed taller than usual, more demeaning. 

“You’re gonna be alright. I know it doesn’t feel that way right now but you’ll be okay soon, you just gotta hang in there for us.” 

Brakes screeched against the pavement. 

“I'm so proud of you, you’re so brave right now. No, don’t be like that. You’re so strong, you’ll get through this, I swear.” 

His fingers tapped against the gear shift impatiently. 

“Are the doors locked? Yea? That’s good. You did good—so good.” 

He heard you sob into the receiver and his heart twisted painfully. 

“You’re safe. No one can get to you right now without your consent. Just keep telling yourself that: no one can get in, no one can reach you, you’re safe.” 

His foot finally hit the gas. 

“You’re alright, sweetheart. You're okay. You did everything right—yes you did. Yes, Y/n. You got to safety, you pulled over, you locked the doors, and you called us. You did everything right.” 

He made a right and then a left. 

“Five more minutes, bub. Just five more minutes. Keep breathing. Just a few more minutes and we’ll be right there with you.” 

He was trapped behind a slow Jeep—he switched lanes. 

“Yea? Grab the jacket and hold it tight. I’d rather you hold that. Just a few more minutes and that jacket will be replaced with us, alright?” 

Yellow lights always annoyed him the most. 

“We’re coming, I promise. We’re coming.” 

He swerved into the complex, not caring if he cut someone off in the process. 

“We’re pulling in right beside you. That car is us so don’t be scared. It’s just us, baby.” 

Damian clicked off the car and tumbled out with Jon quick to follow suit. He always forgot how much Jon used pet names as he rambled through words of reassurance. He was sure it was some kind of nervous tick Jon had, a way for him to soothe both himself and the other person. It could also just be a habit of his mouth speaking far faster than his brain, but the nicknames flowed out of him so fast either way.

“You gotta let us in, love. We can’t help from out here.” Jon’s hand gently rested on the glass window to the backseat. Damian motioned towards the building in front of the car, Jon nodded in response, already knowing his thought process far before Damian’s feet started moving backwards. 

Focus on his strengths. Focus on what he can do. Focus on that. 

The car doors unlocked and the boys split up. 

⋘⋙

You were huddled in the backseat for what felt like hours and milliseconds all at once. Every time your breaths evened, your brain fizzled out with it until you couldn’t feel anything aside from the car key scraping against your palm and the plastic door digging into your spine. 

Legs pulled into your chest, phone to your ear, and arms wrapped around a hoodie long since stolen for your backseat, you waited. You tried to bury your nose in the scent of pine and peppermint, a tanglement of your home—your boys—but it never fully sunk into your comprehension. 

Your empty hand grasped at the plush cotton in a sour attempt at bringing yourself back up. Unfortunately, the second you were brought back to awareness, your breathing spiked. Every distant voice, every shifting shadow, even the cars passing by in the nearby road—it all screamed danger into your head until you struggled to breathe. 

Even in this locked prison, you still felt too exposed. You were miles from home and miles from safety, how could you not? 

The doors are locked. 

You’re safe. 

No one can come in without your permission. 

They’re coming. 

When a car pulled beside yours, a familiar tint of windows and gleam of dark steel, you fought all of your instincts to run, to hide, to scream. 

The doors are locked. 

You’re safe. 

No one can come in without your permission. 

They’re here. 

It took every ounce of your willpower to allow your finger to press the open lock icon after pressing the locked one over and over again for what felt like an eternity.  

“Y/n,” Jon sighed out in relief. The call ended and what once was a distant voice was now a full fledged being.

“Please close the door,” you sobbed out, feeling nothing but claws of terror scratch up your chest the longer the door stayed open. Jon instantly complied, shutting the door as gently as he could without slamming it. 

The doors instantly locked again. 

“Can I touch you?” he started with. He didn’t bother asking if you were okay or asking what you needed, it would be pointless. You weren’t okay and asking what you needed when you were so clearly in peril would just put unnecessary weight onto your shoulders when he should be taking it off. 

Your hands fisted into the fabric, fingers swimming amongst the mountain of cotton. “I-I,” you choked on an inhale, “I don’t know.” 

And how could you? Sometimes touch was a blessing, a craving nothing else could satiate. Sometimes touch was the only way to bring you back all the way: it was grounded as was it weighted, it was nice. 

But sometimes touch was terrifying, a pressure of what if tangled in previous experiences. Sometimes touch was the only thing that terrified you the most: after such a night, how could you possibly feel safe with an ounce of contact? 

“Okay,” Jon said quickly, not wanting to make you feel worse about your own indecision. “What if we try? I’ll pull away the second you tell me to, pinky swear.” 

He even raised his pinky to solidify the statement. If you weren’t miles deep into a panic attack and hundreds of tears worn, you probably would have laughed. Instead, you nodded, a jerky movement that shifted the fabric around your face. 

“I’m gonna place my hand on top of your knee, real slow. You tell me if you don’t want it there anymore.” He looked into your eyes with his vibrant blue bells. His face was so sure, so confident, but the edges of his face were hardened with worry. He really couldn’t hide his emotions around you.

You nodded once more. You saw your own quickened breaths more than you felt them, the shadows off to your right reflecting the rise and fall of your chest. 

Jon’s hand was raised slightly above your knee and he hesitated just enough for you to track his movements. Then it was nothing but a light touch of fingertips, then fingers, then a palm, and then an entire hand. 

Despite his slow, deliberate movements, you still flinched. It was a whole-body jerk that started with pulling your legs closer to you and ended with your shoulders hitching upwards. Jon bit the inside of his cheek at the reaction, ignoring the way it dug into his heart a little too deep for his own sanity.

He kept his hand there even when your body’s instinctual reaction screamed for him to pull back. Jon waited for your words, but more importantly, he waited for you to settle into the touch or comprehend that you didn’t want it anymore—whichever ended up happening. 

Luckily, it was the former. Your shoulders pressed back into the door behind you and your head leaned against the car seat. Your feet unhooked at the ankles and relaxed. 

“Do you want more touch or is this enough for now?” 

You felt the heat radiate from his palm, it fought against the storm of fire boiling in every fiber of your being. It also fought against the sheet of ice that threatened to separate you from the rest of the world. It was enough. 

“ ‘s good for now,” you breathed in shakily. Trying to match the rise and fall of the chest in front of you. 

Jon looked off to the side and squinted into the darkness. “Damian’s on his way back.” His thumb absent-mindedly rubbed against your knee slowly and in a small movement. It was so small you barely would’ve realized it if your knee wasn’t at eye level. “You’ll have to let him in soon.” 

Your eyes flickered over to just beyond your car and into the entrance to the building—the cafe—where Damian had started walking out of. You had a moment or two to emotionally prepare yourself to unlock those doors. 

You struggled on your next breath and Jon heard it. He returned his gaze to you. “Breathe, baby. It’s just Dami. You can lock the doors immediately afterwards.” 

You squeezed your eyes shut and nodded, hating the way your breathing sped up slightly as you clicked the open lock. Gears shifted and the reversal of the click was impossibly loud against your muddled brain. 

The door in front of you swung open and Jon pulled Damian inside before closing the door as soon as possible. You found your thumb pressing the lock button the second you heard the car door close. You never once felt the hand on your knee leave and you silently thanked Jon’s perceptiveness. 

Opening your eyes, you were met with Damian’s emerald eyes looking at you with as much concern as those eyes could ever truly show. Jon had somehow found his way squished in between the seats and middle console, half debating if he should just sit on the floor or on the console. Damian sat across from you with his hands full of drinks and food. 

He offered you the blend of sugar and ice to which you took without much hesitation. Your head was pounding. You could hear your heartbeat in your ear and you could feel it in your temples. It was unbearably hot with pain. 

“I got your usual,” Damian said, “just the way you like it.” 

You sniffled, already feeling the fire inside swirl into dissipation. “No inclusions?” you asked in a small voice. 

“No inclusions,” he reassured you. 

“The base?” 

“Lemonade, not water.” 

You opened your mouth to ask another question but Damian was quick to read your mind. He lifted up a straw still wrapped in its plastic casing. “Yes, I got you a straw.” 

For the first time that night, you smiled. It was small, twitchy, and faded just as quick as it came, but it was still better than the choked off sobs from earlier over the phone. 

Damian opened the top of the straw for you and you held out your drink for him to place it inside. Your hands were so shaky it was difficult to even hold the large drink (because of course he got you the biggest size), let alone have enough dexterity to open a straw. 

“I also bought cake pops,” he lifted up the three brown bags of parchment that held your sugary treat. He knew you so well you swore he was a mind reader. Your hands were shaking from panic but also from how low your energy levels were from using every ounce of it to breathe. 

Damian lifted the first bag after peering inside. “Birthday cake.”

You snatched the bag. 

“Chocolate.” 

Jon did the same for his. 

“And mine.” Damian set his bag in his lap and handed Jon his drink full of sugar. 

Jon propped open the cup holders attached to the center console and set his drink inside, Damian was quick to set his water beside it. 

You clutched your drink with both hands, enjoying the feeling of the cold condensation against your aching fingers. “Thank you.”

Damian hummed in response. It didn’t take long for his hand to find its way onto your other knee and this time, you didn’t end up flinching. You swore the presence of your two lovers was more than enough to calm any attack that found its way up to you. Tonight was proof of that. 

“Your breathing is still too fast for my liking,” Damian spoke up. “Do you want to go through some breathing exercises?” 

Both of the boys looked at you expectantly. You shrunk back slightly at the pressure before you shook your head. “Can . . .” you breathed in to reassure yourself—your request was okay, you’re voicing your needs, you’re valid—“Can you guys just distract me?” 

They shared a look between each other and Jon ended up speaking up first: “Go ahead, Dami. Distract them.” 

“Why do I have to?” Damian demanded, “You’re obviously better at running your mouth than I am.”

“Because I said so?” 

“Because you said so,” Damian mocked, “Really? Do you honestly believe that holds any true merit in this household?” 

Jon scoffed. “It does when you say it so why doesn’t it when I say it?”

“Because I’m better than you, obviously.” 

“Am not.” 

“Am too.” 

“Boys,” you giggled through the word. Your grip on your drink was loose and your legs uncurled slowly until they pressed into Damian’s shin. “While this is adorable, I just want to listen to you two talk, not bicker.” 

One of them huffed from their nose and you genuinely couldn’t tell who—you’re half convinced they both did. 

“Fine.” Damian’s free hand fell around the top of your shoe, his pinky brushing against your ankle. “Go ahead, genius. Tell our beloved what you did to the kitchen while making dinner tonight.” 

Jon’s eyes widened slowly. “We agreed not to tell them,” he whisper-shouted. 

Damian shrugged. 

You turned to Jon with a fire behind your eyes. 

“What did you do to my freshly cleaned kitchen?”

Taglist ♡

@anothertimdrakestan

@cherry-dropp

@missredrobin

[samgirl98]

Mending a Family 16/?

Prev | Next

The family goes on an outing; a new player sets foot on the field.

Fun fact: I did a bunch of research on Tadoussac for this chapter, and now I want to visit. I didn't know choosing a random destination for a fanfic was going to do this to me, lol.

Jason woke up feeling excited. He knew the others in the house could feel it.

Today was the day the little family would go out and explore the little village (Jazz had told him since the population was small that it wasn’t a town.) they settled in. He even wrote an itinerary. Jason got up right before the sun rose and started making chocolate chip pancakes.

Danny was the first one to come to the table. He was vibrating from excitement. Jazz and Ellie came next. They all ate their breakfast and got ready to leave.

“So, where are we going first, daddy?”

“We are going to the Estuary of St. Lawrence and get on a boat. From there, it’s a surprise,” Jason said while winking.

While researching for their outdoor trip, Jason discovered that the little village he had settled his family in was a tourist attraction. There was whale watching, a bunch of restaurants, bistros, and bakeries—hiking, and a museum that taught about whales.

It might not have anything to do with space, but Jason hoped Danny and Ellie would enjoy themselves at least.

Jason cleaned up the kitchen and went to help Danny dress up. He chose a warm sweater over Danny’s shirt and sturdy shoes. Jason then packed up some sunscreen, a raincoat for Danny and himself (he hoped Jazz didn’t forget to pack hers and Ellie’s.), snacks, and water bottles in his backpack.

He was glad he had money squirreled away to give his family a nice little trip. Hopefully, they would enjoy themselves.

____

“Stop squirming around, chum.”

“Sorry, daddy, I’m just so excited!”

Daddy had taken them to go whale watching. His dad was helping Danny put on his raincoat, though he didn’t need it (he had an ice core, for Ancients’ sake!) and sunscreen. Jazz was doing the same to Ellie. Danny had never gone whale watching before. He couldn’t wait to get out to sea.

“Okay, Danny, time to get on,” his dad took Danny’s hand and led him to a boat. The captain was nice and gave Danny and Ellie some candy. Then they were off to sea.

Daddy carried Danny as they went to the railing. At first, Danny didn’t see anything. He was a little disappointed with that but was having fun being carried around by daddy. Danny was enjoying the breeze and being around his family.

After an hour into the trip, Danny saw it. A huge tail came out of the water and went back under. Then an adult whale and two baby ones breached the water. Danny’s eyes widened as the whales jumped and fell back into the water. The splash sent the boat careening a bit, but his dad held him tight.

“Daddy, daddy, did you see it? Did you see it? It was humongous!”

“I saw, Danny lad,” papa said with a smile on his face. Danny could feel his dad’s emotions, which were bursting with happiness and love. Danny couldn’t help but give a bigger smile. Jazz and Ellie were enjoying themselves, too. Jazz took pictures of the whales when she could, and Ellie would laugh whenever a whale blew air through its blowhole. They stayed on the boat for three hours looking at the whales.

Afterward, his dad took him to a museum. Danny couldn’t help but stare at the whale skeleton they had on display. The best part was when his dad would hold his hands. (The strong positive emotions had Danny giddy the whole time.) Jazz wanted to see a little church they had in town. That bored Danny, but he loved being around his family, so it was a win-lose situation.

They went to eat lunch at around 1 pm, and then daddy took them on a hike. Daddy had let Danny sit on his shoulders the whole time.

Danny couldn’t help but admire the trees and animals he saw on the way. A part of him couldn’t help but remember when his parents used to take him and Jazz camping. (How were his parents? Were they happy without him? Without the abomination around?)

“Everything okay, kiddo,” Jason asked. Danny had suddenly gotten sad. He could taste nostalgia in the air (and wasn’t that a weird concept? Tasting emotions.)

“Everything’s fine, daddy. I just…” Danny trailed off. Jason looked toward Jazz, who was frowning.

“You can tell us anything, little brother. Your dad and I won’t judge.”

“It’s, well, I remembered, before the portal, how mom and dad would take us camping. I’m sorry.”

His dad put him down and then crouched down to Danny’s height.

“Why are you apologizing, chum? You’ve done nothing wrong.”

Danny rubbed the back of his neck and looked down from his dad’s eyes (his gaze landed on Jason’s scar.)

“Because you worked so hard for this trip, and I’m thinking of parents who treated me badly.”

Jazz got in front of him, “Danny, what mom and dad did wasn’t right. That doesn’t mean you can’t miss or remember the good times we spent with them. I do it, too.”

“You do,” Danny asked.

“Yeah, little brother, I do.”

“I’ll tell you a secret,” his dad said, “even though my old man and I fought and didn’t see eye-to-eye, I miss him, too.”

Danny didn’t say anything letting the words sink in.

“So, I’m not a bad person for still loving and missing them? Even though you take care of me now, daddy?”

“No, chum, you’re not.”

Danny hugged his dad, and his daddy rested his chin on Danny’s head.

“Now, should we finish this hike, or do you want to go home?”

“Finish it, please,” Danny said, excited again. After all, he had gotten confirmation from his dad and Jazz that he wasn’t a bad person for missing the Fentons. His dad gave him a piggyback ride until they reached the trail's end. Danny smiled at the sunset.

____

Talia Al Ghul, daughter of the demon’s head, answered her phone.

“We found him, Lady Talia. We followed him on an outing with two kids and a redheaded girl. What is your next order?”

“You made sure they didn’t spot you,” Talia said. If they had been spotted, she would personally make sure that they would suffer the consequences.

“No, Lady Talia, it’s a tourist village, so we used different operatives throughout the day. Neither the boy nor his companions noticed us.”

“Good, retreat for now. Send me all information you have gathered; I’ll be there by tomorrow.”

It seemed she was taking a little trip to Canada.

Talia has appeared, dun dun-dun dun.

@idontgetpaidenoughforthisshit @skulld3mort-1fan @theauthorandtheartist @emergentpanda-blog @jaggedheart11 @fisticuffsatapplebees @booberrylizard @fantasticbluebirdfan @thegatorsgooseoose @cyrwrites @kjoboo91 @crystallicedart @amaramizuki666 @spekulatiusmuffin @meira-3919 @kilasmess @bubblemixer @lexdamo @wonderland-daisy @mj-arts-n-stuff @amyheart19 @dolfay @the-church-grimm @undead-essence @aph-mable @lizisipancardo @purrloin77 @writer-extraodinaire @charlietheepic7 @sinfulloccultist @nootherusernameworked @coruscateselene @chaoticchange @itsberrydreemurstuff @gmkelz11 @feral-bunny31 @paroovian @thatonegaybitch68 @d4ydr34min9 @overtherose @fandomwandererer @vipower001 @thordottir45 @blackrabbitt3t @rosecinnamonbun @bianca-hooks123 @epilepticnerd @dat1angel @consouling @flamingenchiladadragon @all-mights-asscheeks

[lilkumquat27]

Still Wakes the Deep has consumed me. I made a French OC in my fanfic While It Sleeps. Could see Natalia Dyer playing her. Basically a prelude to Caz’s first days on the rig. Here’s a little snippet from the first chapter of her fighting with Rennick. Apprécier.

“Capitaine!”

“Cartier, the fuck is the problem now?”


“Don’t play fucking dumb with me, you see where I’m calling you from! Mind telling me why zee 'Jack-off Five' are in Engineering using drill when you know I fix today!”


“The drill needs to be tested, Cartier. It’s scheduled. I’ve already told you not to be calling me about this shite, I’m fucking scunnered of it!”


“That’s merde! Fucking merde! Connard oublieux! You scheduled me in here today! If you sink I’m working another double you can kiss my lily white ass cheek! Slovenly! You get zese pricks out now!”


“Did you not monopolize Engineering yesterday? Or Mud Handling the day before?! It’s a fucking test, Cartier, it’ll take an hour. Gies peace and get fucked out of there!”


Josie made an affronted gasp. “I work where I am needed, no? You tell me zat when I start! I am needed at zee dash! These fucking bouffons will fuck it up worse, then more of my time wasted in cleaning up shit! You have any idea how over worked I am?! You wanna know the last time I have more than two-hour sleep?! Do you enjoy fucking me, Rennick?! Cause let me tell you, would be nice if you at least bought me a rose and a fucking croissant!” Her voice carried more irate, likely grating on Rennick’s phone receiving. Caz was in complete shock, unable to process Josie was actually speaking to Rennick that way. But for Gibbo, Addair, O’Connor and Finlay, it was just another regular annoyance. Despite the disbelief, he was thoroughly amused, almost fighting the urge to laugh.


“Oh, give a rest you mewling frog. No one forced you to take that scholarship. I’d sure be right as rain if you fucked off back to France!”


Josie stomped her foot to the floor petulantly. “Maybe I will! And take my grant money with me! Wouldn’t your overlords love zat, you dog. You’re stuck with me. Whether you like it or not. When I want something, you give it! And I want zee twats out of my way! C’est putain d’absurde!”


“Oh, go cry about it to someone who cares, ya dafty cunt!”


The phone clicked when Rennick hung up, making Josie gasp like it was her last breath. Josie screamed, “Putaaaaain!” She started to dial again.


O’Connor called up to her, “Oh, yer aff yer heid, lass!”


“Ferme ta gueule!”


O’Conner sighed down to his boots and sat down to the floor, as Gibbo leaned against the railing in grievance.


Addair said, “To hell with her. Let’s do it.”


“Not until she’s done,” warned Caz, stepping before the control room.


“She sounds pretty fucking done to me, lad. She’s been done for a while now. Move on, would ya? We got work to do.”


“I’m sure you do. But so do we. You can sit tight till she’s done.”


Addair sputtered, “Pretty soon for an ode of loyalty, mate. Let me guess… it’s the norks on her, innit? They cast a fucking spell.”


“Shut it, both of you.” Finlay stepped between Caz and Addair suddenly.


Josie eventually got back on with Rennick (after three attempts). His answer was anything but content. “Cartier!”


“I am just getting started, Capitaine!”


“You’re doin’ my fucking nut in! You call me again and I’ll…”


“And you’ll what? Finish the sentence, connard. I fucking dare you!”


Finlay rubbed her hand back her head, “She doesn’t give up that’s for fucking sure.”


“You tell me to go down to Engineering to fix dash! You saddle me with electrician when I am mechanical engineer! Zen you change plans and bring fucking Addair into my workplace! Get your head and dick out of zee mud and do your fucking job! All your managing is how your ass sits in zat comfy little office chair! I want Addair out! Now! Or I swear to you I will do it!”


“That’s a load of shite.”


“You think I won’t? You think Cadal would be happy to hear zat zair manager a useless prick?! Merde! I’ve done worse!”


“Fuck you and fuck your fucking grant, you wee French cow!”


“Oui! L’amour! Talk dirty to me, monsieur!” She almost moaned it, then reformed back to her vicious growl. “But it won’t change my mind, you Scottish twat! Watch me! Ha!” She slammed the phone back to the hold. She whipped back around and started pacing angrily back through the rails…. To be continued.

Wanna read more check it out on my FFN, cringethinking!

Honestly though, this was brought about because I so badly wanted to see a French character in this story. So I made my own.

[elliethefroggy]

Roy Kent: Minder Extraordinaire

Ch1, (on ao3)

Chapter 2: Roy Kent Makes a Deal With a Bellend

Jamie being a good little boy and Roy being wrong about mid-2000s Disney Pop sensations.

Training is shit. Training is usually shit at Richmond though, so that’s not out of the norm. What is out of the norm is Roy deciding to actually give a fuck about it.

He’s already given a fuck about Nate this week (and about Jamie, though he’s unwilling to admit to that one), might as well see if he can do it again.

The reason why training is shit? Jamie Fucking Tartt.

Jamie Fucking Tartt has been the cornerstone to all shit training sessions ever since he stepped foot in Richmond. Today is no different.

Roy had (naively) thought that, after the Nate incident, after the Gala, Jamie might have decided to not be a shit human being. But no, that is not the case.

Sure when the lads had teased them about Roy buying Jamie at the Gala, Jamie joked about being irresistible to everyone including senior citizens.

But Roy had been feeling generous that morning so he didn’t snap, though it was mostly because Roy silently agreed with the lads; what he had done at the Gala had been fucking ludicrous.

‘Course that didn’t mean he was going to let those fuckwits laugh about it. One good glare had been enough to shut those pillocks up.

And sure, during training, Jamie had managed to always keep at least five meters between himself and Roy at all times. Pretty impressive really, how dedicated Jamie had been to avoiding him considering they’d been practising in the same group that day. If there had been a conveniently placed bush to hide in, Roy is sure Jamie would have dived right in if he’s seen Roy walking in his direction.

But Roy understood that; too much sincerity makes him break out in hives, and the fucking Gala had filled up his quota of sincerity for the rest of the fucking year (and they aren’t even halfway through this godforsaken year).

Roy had been perfectly content to see how far they could push this whole ignoring each other thing; he had been quite enjoying the peace and quiet, really. Then Jamie had refused to pass to Sam. Again. And again. And again.

And really, what kind of arsehole could be mean to Sam? Sam is a fucking angel.

So, for what is becoming far too frequent, he goes to the bane of his existence who is alone in the gym doing weights as per fucking usual, starring at his own biceps curling and uncurling in the mirror, a near perfect recreation of a fucking modern Narcissus.

“I want you to pass to Sam,” Roy says.

“Not this shit again.” Jamie sighs, refusing to look away from the mirror, lifting his weights up and down, and up and down.

Roy steps in front of the mirror, getting in Jamie’s face.

“I want you to play nice. Telling Colin and Isaac to ease off Nate was a good start, but I want you to pass to Sam, and everyone else for that matter. I want you—” he jabs his finger in Jamie’s chest “—to be a team fucking player.”

“And why the fuck would I do that?” He asks, the weights dangling at his side.

Roy doesn’t say the first response that comes to mind or the second one or even the third one (fuck, being a good captain was fucking exhausting). He takes a breath, counts to ten, actually thinks about what he should say, and only then does he open his mouth. “Listen, though it pains me to fucking say it, you’re a good footballer player—”

“Best fucking player on the team,” Jamie says.

“We’re in fucking Richmond; that’s not saying much,” Roy snaps and then continues as if Jamie hadn’t interrupted like the fucking prick he is, “Now, you have the potential to be a fucking awe-inspiring player. You’ve got the talent, the drive, and the fucking work ethic to boot. But frankly, your attitude is going to be a problem. Because though Lasso doesn’t know fucking shit about football, he’s right about one thing, that this is a team sport. “Now, I’m not asking you to go around holding hands with everyone and making fucking friendship bracelets.” Though Lasso would probably eat that shit up. “All I ask is that you pass the ball from time to time, and you play nice with the other children, or at the very least you pretend to. “Fuck, you may even learn to like some of these muppets.”

“Unlikely.”

“Just fucking humour me. It’s not like you’ve got anything to lose; in a few months’ time, the season’s going to be over, and you’ll be back in Manchester wearing that god-awful sky blue kit, your time at Richmond nothing more than a distant nightmare.”

Jamie stares at him, thinking it over. He finally deigns to put the fucking weights down, and when he straightens up, that infuriatingly annoying smirk has taken over his conceited little face.

“Make it worth my while,” he says.

Of course the fucking prick wants something out of this, incapable of doing anything out of the goodness of his own rotten heart.

Roy thinks about walking away, about giving up on this whole ‘good captain’ nonsense. Fuck being good. Fuck fucking Ted Lasso. Fuck giving half a shit about Richmond. And especially fuck Jamie Fucking Tartt.

He stays put.

“I’ll do extra training with you.” Roy says and regrets it as soon as the words leave his mouth. He’s regretting a lot of things lately. All of them to do with the bellend in front of him. He should’ve walked away.

For some reason his mouth decides to keep talking, “You want to play for England. You want to be the best. I can help you with that. Because quite frankly, I have my fucking doubts about how much you’re going to learn under Yankee Doodles 1 and 2.”

Jamie raises an eyebrow, infuriating smirk still in place.

“And what makes you think you have anything to teach me, grandad?”

“Don’t play dumb, Tartt. I’ve been at this a lot longer than you, I have a lot more fucking knowledge than you about the game. Which you know, if that fucking poster you had of me on your wall is anything to go by.” Roy has the satisfaction of watching the smirk slip off the idiot’s face.

“I regret telling you that.”

“Too fucking late.” Roy holds out his hand. “So? Deal?”

Jamie looks down at Roy’s hand, back up at his face, stares at him for a bit.

“You’ll train me?” He asks.

“Yes.”

“Until the end of the season?”

“Yes.”

“And all I have to do is be a good little boy?”

“Fucking yes. Are you going to repeat everything I fucking said or—”

“Fine. I’ll do it.” Jamie takes his hands, give it a shake, and before Jamie can let go, Roy’s already ripping his hand away.

“Fucking fantastic,” Roy says, and walks out of the gym, slamming the door on his way out.

Match day.

They’re all in the locker room, about to play off against Watford.

Jamie is on the bench, phone held high, moving his head from side to side like a fucking peacock as he tales selfie after fucking selfie.

Roy steps up next to him, “Tartt, remember the fucking deal.”

“Keep your hair on, old man. Although you could probably do to loose some of it.” Jamie takes another selfie. “I promised I would behave, didn’t I?” Another selfie.

Roy stands there and glares down at the twat, wondering where the fuck he went wrong in life. And then he remembers that he very much willingly signed up to this when he made that deal.

Before he starts feeling like too much of a fucking masochist, he yells at everyone to form a circle, dragging Jamie up from the bench as he does so, ruining what was undoubtedly going to be the hundredth identical selfie. They put their hands in the centre. Jamie places his hand right over Roy’s, making direct eye contact the whole time because he’s a little fucking shit.

And then they’re off.

On the pitch, chasing after the ball, Roy can finally try to forget about his recent questionable life decisions if only for 90 minutes.

But then, the little fucking shit makes an absolutely incredible pass to Sam which gets them a goal. The fucking bastard.

Jamie looks at Roy, and because good behaviour is meant to fucking rewarded even if it is Jamie, Roy gives him the slightest nod. He fucking hates doing it.

The match continues.

Sam goes down and doesn’t get back up. A shitty tackle from the opposing team. Roy can see Jamie glance at Sam, then at the ball right behind Sam, back at Sam, then at Roy himself. Roy looks at him, raises an eyebrow and waits.

Jamie rolls his eyes, goes over to Sam curled up on the ground, and crouches down to Sam’s level.

“You still alive down there?” He asks.

“Yes, I’m fine.” Sam’s muffled reply, his head hidden behind his arms. Jamie looks back at Roy, probably to check if he’s still watching, the fucking prick. Roy keeps starring.

“Well, are you going to stay down there for much longer? Only we do have a game to finish, and your prone body might get in the way of that,” Jamie says because he has no fucking bedside manner. Roy’s about to step in when Sam finally moves his arms, revealing his face.

“Yes, sorry,” Sam says and goes to get up, only to stop short when Jamie offers him a hand.

It takes a moment before Sam grabs it, long enough that Roy can see the annoyance starting to creep onto Jamie’s face. Roy gets the hesitation; if Roy suddenly had to deal with a Jamie who, from one day to the next, became less prickish without any explanation, Roy would be fucking weary too.

But because Sam is better than them all, he takes the hand with a small smile and lets Jamie pull him up before running off, thanking Jamie as he goes, because he’s fucking polite like that.

Roy’s still looking at Jamie when Jamie turns back to him. Jamie raises one of his perfectly groomed eyebrows, and smiles all wide at Roy, the friendliest and by far the fakest smile Roy has ever seen from him. Roy roles his eyes and walks away. Tosser.

If that wasn’t bad enough, Tartt passes the ball during the free kick as well, allowing Richard to score a goal, Jamie’s second assist of the night. Because apparently, Jamie Fucking Tartt never does anything by halves.

In the second half, Roy’s got the ball. He’s running fast, absolutely tearing through the field, grass flying in his wake. He’s coming up to the goal, no one near enough to stop him. He could attempt the goal himself. He doesn’t. Swallowing the figurative bile down his throat, he passes the ball to Jamie. Because fuck if Jamie was going to be the more mature of the two of them.

The prick scores a fucking beautiful goal.

Of fucking course he does.

They win 3-2. Everyone’s fucking jumping around, latching onto each other, all happy and shit.

It’s been a while since the locker room’s felt like this, if it ever fucking did while Roy was at Richmond.

Jamie is of course, right in the centre of it all, everyone having decided to ignore his dickhead tendencies for the night. Two assists and one goal will do that.

Jamie’s soaking in the attention like the fucking egotistical sponge he is. Isaac and Colin are hanging off his every word, as per usual. Richard is literally hanging off him, arm thrown over Jamie’s shoulder, still reeling from the high of the goal no doubt. Sam had gone over to Jamie to thank him for the pass which Jamie hadn’t known what to do with if the slightly wide-eyed, deer in the headlights look had been anything to go by (which was fucking funny). Even Lasso’s looking at Tartt with a sincerely pleased look on his face. It’s disgusting.

A phone rings, nearly drowned out by the incessant chatter.

Sitting right next to Roy, Sam picks Jamie’s phone off the bench, and Roy has just enough time to read the screen to see who’s calling.

'Dad'

Sam stands and walks over to Jamie who is still blathering on in the centre of the room, smirk ever present, entourage encircling him.

“Here, Jamie”, Sam passes him the phone, “I believe your father is trying to call you.”

Jamie shuts up immediately, and he’s looking down at the phone in Sam’s outstretched hand like it might bite him.

After far too many seconds of hesitation, Jamie grabs the phone. He mutters a thanks to Sam and leaves the room to take the call outside.

Roy catches a glimpse of Jamie’s face before he leaves. The usual smirk is gone.

Most of the lads have already left with plans to go out and celebrate in one of the many shitty clubs London has to offer. Roy’s thinking about leaving too, but Jamie’s stuff is still scattered on the bench in front of his locker, the twat nowhere to be seen.

All Roy wants to do is go home, collapse onto the couch with an ice pack for his knee and some shitty show playing on the telly.

He doesn’t do that. Instead, he goes off to hunt the prick down because trying to be a decent captain sucks.

Finding Jamie takes a while, each minute spent looking for him making Roy more and more annoyed. He’s close to giving up, saying fuck it, and fuck Jamie when he finds Jamie outside by the training pitch. It takes a moment for Roy to spot him up in the stands (it’s dark, and Roy’s night vision isn’t what it used to be).

But there he is, seated all the way up at the top.

Roy slowly makes his way up the steps, his knee protesting the whole way. Because of course Jamie couldn’t choose a seat lower down. No, he had to go and sit in the very last row. The prick.

Jamie doesn’t say anything as Roy makes his way up, doesn’t say anything when Roy falls into the seat next to him, shoulders pressing against one another, doesn’t even comment on the grunt Roy lets out as soon as he’s off his feet. Fuck, Roy’s getting old.

The prick stays quiet, starring down at the pitch, phone gripped in his hand, the smallest frown distorting his perfect fucking forehead.

“We won. What the fuck is up with you?” Roy asks after the silence stretches out too long; Roy doesn’t have time for this, wants to go home to his couch and his ice pack.

“Nothing,” the ever so eloquent prick says.

Roy’s considering just leaving it at that. Obviously the little prick doesn’t want to talk, and Roy doesn’t care enough to make him, but then Jamie continues.

“Those passes were fucking pointless,” he says bitingly, “I could have got those goals on my own. Easy.”

So that’s what this is about.

“Last I checked, you don’t know how to work a crystal ball,” Roy says, “So, you don’t know that.”

“Yeah, I fucking do,” he says leaving no room for argument.

Honestly, the prick’s not wrong; he’s good enough that he probably could have done it on his own.

Roy doesn’t say that though, obviously. The prick’s ego is already at an unhealthy size.

“At least it’ll get Lasso off your back for a while,” Roy says instead.

“Fucking Lasso.”

“Yeah.” Roy understands the sentiment, has been cursing the gaffer’s name multiple times a day ever since Lasso stepped foot in England.

“And, like, he's weird, right? Even for an American. Because I've met some of Americans, right, and they're not like that,” Jamie says.

“Yeah, fucking weird.” Really fucking weird.

“Are all Americans like that in fucking Bumfuck Tennessee?”

“He's from Kansas. And I don't know. Fuck, I hope not, or that place must be fucking unbearable.”

“Kansas? Like Dorothy-over-the-rainbow Kansas? No place like home, and the yellow brick road and shit?”

“The Wizard of Oz, and yeah.” Roy says, then pauses, “How the fuck do you know about Tennessee?”

“Hannah Montana.”

“Hannah Montana takes place is California, you muppet.”

“Yeah, but Miley Stewart’s from Tennessee.”

“No, she’s not.”

“Uh, yeah. She is. That's like a big fucking part of her story. Small-town country girl making it big and all than shit. The American dream or whatever.”

“That’s not fucking true.” Roy has suffered through enough hours of that shitty sitcom; he knows what he’s talking about.

“Whatever,” Jamie says, not in the mood to start an argument which is fucking bizarre; he’s always wanting to start a fucking argument with Roy.

They’re quiet again, and Roy’s not used to Jamie being quiet, doesn’t know how to feel about it, not sure he likes it.

“Not that sitting here doing fuck all isn't absolutely hilarious, but I want to get some fucking sleep.” Roy stands up because he can’t think of anything else to say, and Jamie apparently doesn’t want to get into a debate about mid-2000s Disney shows.

He goes down a few steps, expects Jamie to follow because it really is getting late, but Jamie doesn’t; he just sits there, starring back down at the dark, empty pitch. Fucking unsettling.

“You fucking coming?” Roy asks though his tone makes it more of an order, but at least it gets Jamie to nod and get to his feet.

Roy continues to make his way slowly down the stupid stairs because his knee really isn’t happy with him at the moment. Jamie doesn’t say anything about the snail-like pace, doesn’t take a jab at Roy’s old age or call him fucking grandad. Another thing to add to the unsettling-as-fuck list.

“You played well today,” Roy says if only to fill the silence and to make the trip down the stairs more fucking bearable. Definitely not because a quiet Jamie was an unnerving Jamie.

Jamie doesn’t say what Roy expects him to, doesn’t smugly state that he plays well every day. Just a slightly mumbled thanks and that’s that. And Roy’s just about given into to continuing in silence when Jamie speaks up.

“Passing the ball felt awful.”

“It really fucking did,” Roy says, thinking about his own pass to Jamie.

“At least you didn’t end up puking on the pitch,” Jamie says, referring to Roy’s words from the Gala.

“It was still fucking horrible, though.”

“So fucking horrible.”

Roy grunts in agreement.

“I have to do this for the rest of the season?” Jamie asks, practically whines.

“Suck it up, dickhead.”

“This fucking blows.”

Roy snorts because Jamie is really starting to sound like a petulant child.

“Nice passes though,” Roy says because he’s apparently full of compliments today. Though, they really were fucking lovely passes, unfortunately.

“Thanks,” Jamie says again, only no longer mumbled and quiet. Thank fuck.

[dreamings-free]

interview with Louis in the March issue of FourFourTwo magazine 2/2/23

full text under the cut..

by Paul Wilkes

Which was the first match that you ever went to?

I actually got into football quite late, when I started playing at around 11. There were a few Manchester United fans in the family, so the first match I ever went to was an unbelievable first game: the FA Cup fifth round tie against Arsenal in February 2003 – the match when Sir Alex Ferguson kicked the boot and hit David Beckham! My best memories come from Doncaster, who are the only club I support now. We had a fantastic League Cup run in 2005 – we beat Manchester City on penalties, then beat Aston Villa 3-0 and lost to Arsenal on penalties in the quarter-finals. That was my first real low as a football fan. I can remember walking back home absolutely gutted.

Who was your childhood hero and did you ever meet them?

James Coppinger is my club hero – he played at every level and really played for the badge. Everyone in Donny loves him and he’s a great bloke, too. After I got into One Direction, I was lucky to meet him and play alongside him a couple of times in charity games. As a fan growing up watching him, that was amazing. The best person I’ve ever met in football was Pele. I met him about four or five years ago and it was incredible – he had all these stories and we spoke for ages. He was lovely.

What’s been your finest moment playing football?

I played in Soccer Aid and Ronaldinho tried to nutmeg me. I was all over his shirt, giving him no respect, and I just managed to nick the ball off him! There’s a sick picture that I’ve seen of it [right]. The other moment was when I was about 15. I started as a centre-back, but didn’t grow any taller so moved across to right-back and scored the only Sunday League goal I ever scored. I’ll never forget it.

What do you like most about going to the match?

The whole atmosphere, that magic. When you have those experiences as a young lad, there’s an element of nostalgia each time you go inside a football stadium.

Which player do you admire even though they’ve never played for your club?

As some of my family supported Manchester United, I was never allowed to like Thierry Henry, but those grudge matches against Arsenal were amazing. He was a serious player.

Where’s the best place you’ve ever watched a game?

The Bernabeu – it was Neymar’s first ever Clasico for Barcelona against Real Madrid, which was pretty special. It’s one of the bucket list fixtures to go to. When I was young, Doncaster signed me as a reserve player and I went to a pre-season training camp in Portugal. As a supporter of the club, that’s not something you’re normally privy to, so watching how the squad trained and prepared was fascinating.

A few years ago, you filmed a music video with Bebe Rexha on the pitch at the Keepmoat Stadium. What was that like?

It was really important for me in my career. The reason I’m sat here today is because of Doncaster – it’s played a huge role. It’s who I am as a person and it’s what I write songs about. The fact we were able to film the video at the Keepmoat, where I’ve spent many days and evenings, made it so special. It felt appropriate.

What’s your favourite football book?

It’s not a book, but Fourfourtwo! I used to subscribe when I was younger. I’m not a big reader otherwise. I should be, but I’m not.

What’s been your worst experience at a game?

I was playing in a charity match at Celtic Park. I got the ball and turned to my right, then Gabby Agbonlahor came through the back of me and I tore my medial ligament. A combination of the impact and me being very unfit meant I ended up throwing up all over Celtic’s stadium, which I know will please a lot of Rangers supporters.

Have any footballers been to a gig?

Paul Pogba came to a One Direction show once, that’s the one that stands out – he was really sound. I won’t lie, I don’t think many footballers listen to One Direction songs.

Where’s the strangest place you’ve ever met a footballer?

I was in this bar somewhere in South America and, purely by chance, Bryan Robson was there with a few friends. He was a bit drunk. We went straight over and he was nice, but it was one of those times where you think, ‘What is he doing here?!’ [Laughs]

What’s the greatest goal you’ve ever seen live?

I was at Zlatan Ibrahimovic’s debut for LA Galaxy, because I spend some time over in Los Angeles. The LAFC keeper launched the ball upfield and it was cleared back to Zlatan about 40 yards out. He watched it bounce and then smashed it over the keeper’s head, an unbelievable goal. I love him – I like a bit of s**thousery in my footballers, and he’s always had that.

Who’s your current favourite player?

The obvious answer is Erling Haaland, because any fan seeing him rack up the goals this season has been totally in awe. Even if you support Manchester United, you watch him and think he’s superb. But for me, Jude Bellingham. I’m so excited by Jude – he’s been in brilliant form this season, even before the World Cup.

If you could drop yourself into your all-time five-a-side team, who would you be playing next to?

Well, I play at the back, so I want me and Rio Ferdinand. I’d pick Edwin van der Sar, he was a top keeper in his day, then in midfield I’d have Ronaldinho – I grew up loving his football. Up front, I’ll go for Cristiano Ronaldo.

What’s the most important piece of memorabilia that you have?

I had a Doncaster home shirt as a kid that I associate with growing up. A few years ago, I bought the same shirt in my current size – it’s special to me, and when I met Pele I asked him to sign it. That was the pinnacle.

Louis Tomlinson’s solo album, ‘Faith In The Future’, is available to buy now.

[silvanils]

Victory (At Last)

This fic can also be found on Ao3 here!   

For a couple weeks now, Kieran’s been returning from his visits to the alienage all dusty and roughed up, but he always managed to sneak in and clean up in the store-room before anyone noticed. This time, however, he’s still applying an elfroot salve to his bruised ribs when a shadow darkens the door.

He looks up and sees Alistair studying him in concern.

“You needn’t worry,” Kieran says, quickly, reaching for a fresh shirt to tug on. “Nothing’s broken, only…”

“Who did this to you?” Alistair asks, frowning at the way Kieran winces when his hands brush his side while he’s tucking in his shirt. “Do you need any help...?”

“No, I’m not in trouble,” Kieran promises. “Minna offered to teach me a few tricks, and… I’ll learn nothing if I’m always coddled, so I told her not to hold back. It’s not her fault I was no good at any of it. I’ve never… studied this.”

Alistair takes a seat, still frowning — but his eyes have softened a bit. “Learning how to fight is part of being able to defend yourself,” he agrees. “I’m surprised you haven’t…”

“Mother disallowed that sort of training,” Kieran sighs, looking at his feet. “She and Papae taught me a little, but she did not want me to be tutored by templars or chevaliers, which… I understood, but it limited my options in Orlais.”

“I could find you a tutor who is neither of those things,” Alistair offers. “A knight, perhaps? And, also…” he laughs quietly, shaking his head, “I can talk to Dirk and Zevran, let them know you wish to train with Minna? That way, you no longer have to sneak about.”

Kieran feels his cheeks heat up in embarrassment. It feels silly, now, but… he’d never thought this might be allowed.

“I would like that,” he says. “Very much.”

.

A few days later, Alistair leads Kieran down the the wards for the first time, to meet his new combat tutor. “Kieran, this is Ser Bevin of Redcliffe. When I told him about you, he said he’d be absolutely delighted to teach you a few things.”

“Aye,” Bevin says, grinning broadly at Kieran. “You remind me a bit of myself, actually. I got a late start, too, but… as you can see, it all worked out for me.” Kieran nods, and Bevin points out a rack of practice arms nearby.

“Start with a light sword and shield. We’ll take it easy today, lad, I just want to see where you’re at.”

.

The next time he spars Minna, he tries to remember what Ser Bevin taught him: keeps his sword and shield poised and ready to block, waits for an opening to appear. But she’s far too quick, and Kieran finds himself disarmed before he even knows what hit him.

He frowns as he slides backwards, rooting himself, and she grins.

“That’s some fancy footwork,” Minna teases, darting in close. Kieran gasps in surprise as she sweeps out his leg with one smooth flick of her foot. He lands hard on his back, feels the wind rush right out of him, sees stars swirl overhead in the clear blue sky.

He lies there, stunned, for a while. Then Minna leans in over him, holding out her hand, and he lets her help him up as he groans. “Remember to slap your hand against the ground next time you hit it,” Dirk instructs, laughing. “Hurts less, that way.”

“Right,” Kieran sighs, still winded. “Next time.”

.

It’s slow, hard work, but Kieran knows that patience will pay off.

He learns tricks to lure his opponent in, how to dodge and slip aside or stand his ground... and the first time he disarms Bevin with a flick of his hand against his forearm, Bevin’s eyes go wide in surprise.

Kieran grins as he takes a step back and wipes a trickle of sweat from his brow.

Bevin chuckles as he retrieves his weapon. “Not bad,” he concedes, “but it’s not wise to dart in close like that in a real fight unless you become a very skilled rogue. It’s smarter to keep your distance, and… remember to stay agile when you parry.”

“Of course,” Kieran says, but he’s still beaming.

Even a small victory feels good after a long struggle.

[kimmimaru]

Finally doing some more writing today. I have no idea what this is yet but thought I’d play around with the fake dating tope maybe, just because I don’t think I’ve ever done it before. A little Reno/Tseng fic but from the POV of an old ex-military man who just wants to be left the fuck alone, lol. It’s not yet edited, just getting it down before I do any of that. But I’m starting to like Archi (the oc).

XXX

Archi was 76 years old. He lived in a run-down cottage on the outskirts of the Sector Four slums. He was broad shouldered and had developed a bit of gut in his later years, as a youth he had been a lieutenant in the Shinra Army. Now he sat on the porch of his crumbling cottage, rocking back and forth on a rocking chair that creaked almost as much as his right knee did. In one hand he clutched mug of coffee, in the other was the morning’s newspaper. His wild white and brown hair was tied firmly back from his face in a short pony tail and his button-up shirt open at the throat. There weren’t many people who lived this far out, not so close to the wastes. During his stint in the army he’d developed a dislike for most people, it only got worse after his wife of thirty years passed away. So he enjoyed the solitude. There were a few other little houses surrounding his own but they weren’t inhabited by anything but memories now. The last to leave had been the Jeffersons after the young husband scored a decent job up top. Archi had been glad to see the happy new couple go. It was strange to see anyone about in his part of the slums, let alone a pair of very young men. Archi’s mug rose half-way to his mouth as he watched the two boys walk slowly towards him down the winding path between dilapidated buildings. A frown settled firmly on his face as they drew close enough for him to make out their features. One looked like your average street thug, possibly a pickpocket or something. His hair was a vivid shade of red, styled into a mess of carefully arranged spikes. The other was more subdued in appearance but there was something about him that pricked at Archi’s instincts. There was a sharpness to his gaze that he’d seen before, on the faces of friends and enemies during his military days. The warmth from his coffee seemed to cool beneath his fingers as the boys approached. “Where is it?” The red head was asking, eyes moving around the buildings while he kept one hand inside his pocket. Archi’s frown deepened, he knew the look of an armed man…or boy, in this case. “He said it was the third house on the left.” The other replied, his voice low and cool. Looking closer Archi could see that neither boy could be older than eighteen, they were dressed casually, the red head in a short leather jacket with the collar turned up and the dark haired one in a simple pale blue shirt. The two boys looked towards Archie; their gazes as sharp as blades. The red head grinned, his eyes were a pale shade of green. Archi set down his coffee and wondered if he could reach the rifle he kept under his porch in time as they moved closer. “Hey!” The red head lifted his right hand in greeting, the left never leaving his pocket. “We’re lookin’ for a house.” Archi waved a hand vaguely around, “There’s plenty here.” He grunted, shaking out his newspaper. “The landlord said-” “You’re moving here?” Archi asked, cutting the red head off mid-sentence. He looked from one to the other, “Why?” He asked incredulously. The red head glanced back at his companion, “Rents cheap, yo.” He said in a familiar accent, his grin widening. It did anything but put Archi at ease. “Couple’a young lads like you’d be better off lookin’ over at Sector Six.” “Maybe but…we kinda like the peace and quiet, ya’know?” The red head’s eyes moved around Archi’s porch. “How long you been here, old man?” “Longer’n you’ve been alive, kid.” Archi responded with a growl. “Now, get offa my porch before I call the MP’s.” The red head looked down at where his foot was on the bottom step of the porch, “Oh, my bad.” He grinned and rubbed at his hair, messing it up. His companion cleared his throat, “My apologies,” He said quietly, “We’re just trying to find our new home, if you could point us in the right direction, I would appreciate it.” Archi looked the boy up and down, “You’re not from around here, are ya?” The boy offered him a polite smile, his eyes remained as cold as ice, “You’re very observant, sir.”

[sluntch]

A Simpler Day, a Simpler Week - A Writing Experiment - Day 6

Ayo. Welcome to day 6 of me writing something every day. This one is pretty short and sweet, but here we go anyway.

So, in the last post, I mentioned injuring my ankle through overuse on a Friday, taking a 2:30 AM ER trip on Saturday and getting home around 7:30 AM the same day. Since then, I've been keeping off the ankle and wearing a boot to keep it from moving around on me. This means I can't really drive anywhere, can't go up and down stairs very easily (which is fairly comical given how many flights of stairs are in the duplex I live in), and can't workout during the week. Abbey is also on a business trip for the week so I'm alone for the time being. Turns out you really miss the extra caloric room built into the day from just a workout. Today I went over the limit into equilibrium territory to get rid of some leftovers that needed to be eaten. In that same vein, I also miss Abbey as, not only is it fairly lonely without her (though I can cope with help from Dil and the lads, especially during the day or in discord) but also that she helps eat some extra lefties that need to be eaten when she takes them for lunch and I don't have to be responsible for everything in the fridge. I suppose that's the tradeoff for only doing cooking up to this point to be specifically having two portions for dinner and then having some lefties ready for the rest of the week. I suppose the bonus was that the grocery bill was much this week as I'm only cooking twice (to stay off the foot) and only for myself.

Last night I made a creamy tomato-base soup and added cubed tofu to it. We usually have it with tortellini, but I wanted to try and make it a bit lower-calorie and use one of the two packs of tofu I had gotten for the week. to go under it, I oven-roasted some broccoli and sweet potatoes, a go-to vegetable in our apartment as they 1). are delicious and 2). make a bunch. They go really far into the week and are great as impromptu veggies for meals, should I not have another one, and are great on the salads (I call them "Big Salad" because they are colossal and delicious) I sometimes make for lunch throughout the week. I invited Dil over to partake for some company and to just chill. It was super fun. We watched the first episode of Arcane again, semi-preparing for season 2 of that, and the first two episodes of the newest season of Jujutsu Kaisen, which he is binging to catch up to as I write this. The week is, about as much as it can be, off to a rip-roaring start. I just need this ankle to cut it out and we'll be ok. But now my right knee started kind of hurting too, so I'm worried this might be going a bit deeper than I previously thought. That or I'm still somehow using the leg too much. Time will tell, I suppose.

Second-to-last thing for this entry: I start with a new therapist tomorrow. The therapy office I was going to had a change in how they can bill my insurance and the therapist I was working with at the time was one of the ones that wouldn't be covered. Our jobs are paying a bit better now but we're trying to buy a house and possibly have a kid within the next 3 or 4 years so every penny we can save is important. So I opted to get transferred to a new therapist that would be covered. It sucks to have to start over entirely but I was only about 5 sessions in with the initial therapist, so it's not like there was a years-long connection being severed. I still liked her a lot, though, and I had made some really good progress even in that short time. We'll see how this shakes out.

Last thing, short and sweet: I'm really nervous and scared that the endocrinology visit won't be able to be moved up before 11/29 and it'll take till even longer after that to get the surgery scheduled. I feel more and more like I'm just deteriorating or wasting away. This ankle thing is really rough and with another several months to wait to get this stuff treated I'm genuinely frightened of how bad it may get. I've got patience but I don't know how much is left.

60 days to go.

[cjwolfwrites]

Made for eachother

Juice Ortiz X Damien “wolf/Lobo” Martinez  (oc ) ft. Father figure Chibs

Premise -  A day in the life of Damien “Lobo” Martinez

Just a fluffy self-indulgent mlm fanfic setting up some backstory and character relationships   

This is probably going to turn into a  multific and its my first tumblr fic so please be gentle 

Damien rolls himself out from underneath a worn down raggedy old pickup truck with a sigh before pulling a bandanna from his back pocket and wiping the sweat from his forehead. It’s a quiet day at Teller Morrow as Damien finishes his workload for today he tells the club prospect to take the truck he finished and put it outside for pickup. When he is done with everything he puts his tools in their right places and heads to his boyfriend's workspace. “Hey, J whatcha working on?” Damien asks with a smile. Juice jumps at the other man’s sudden appearance. “Jesus Damien you scared the shit out of me love”. Damien laughs at the other man’s reaction “I’m sorry honey I don’t mean to sneak up on you it just kinda happens”. Juice laughs as he says “man I really need to put one of those cat collars with a bell on it on you so I hear you walking” Damien laughs as Clay walks into the shop to gather the guys “Juice,Lobo grab your cuts and meet us in the church now” clay barks at the two men “ you heard the boss man we need to go get changed let’s go hun” Damien smiles holding the other man’s hand as they walk towards the clubhouse dorms. Damien goes into his and juices shared room and quickly changes into a plain white sleeveless shirt and black denim jeans before slipping into his nice leather boots and cut before discarding all his work clothes in the duffle at the foot of their shared bed and tucking his work boots in their place beside the desk. Damien walks over to juice who is waiting for him at the door “let’s go get this meeting over with “ Damien sighs wanting. Nothing more than to take a nap and go home both men enter the church quickly and quietly sit in their respective seats as they are waiting for the rest of the guys to show up Damien quietly pulls a field sketchbook out of his pocket and starts mindlessly doodling to pass the time Jax is the last one to enter the meeting room. Before the meeting starts Chibs looks over at Damien and asks. “Aye lad your always drawing in that book during meetings what are you drawing in their kid ”. He smiles as Damien is seemingly snapped from a daze “oh I just draw stuff from around the room usually. It helps me with my focus you can look through it if you want Chibs “ Damien smiles handing off the sketchbook to his sponsor and the closest person he’s ever had to a father figure. As Chibs flips through the book he sees various drawings of the club's logo, the table, different pieces of decor and memorabilia that lined the walls, and even detailed drawings of different club members. Chibs stops on the page Damien was working on 5 minutes prior it was a rough sketch of Damien and Juice from when they both got patched in with a list of materials needed To make an oil painting for the other man and with a smile he says  “damn lad you are a talented bugger aren’t you”. Damien smiles looking at the page Chibs had in between his thumb and forefinger “heh yeah I guess”. Clay suddenly clears his throat and everyone’s attention snaps to him “ today is the day we’re going to go on our monthly gun run and delivery. I want Jax, Chibs,Lobo, juice, Tig, and the prospect to come with me for this. it should be a quick in and out but in case things go south i’d like to have some extra manpower. If no one has any concerns then this meeting is adjourned and if I mentioned your names go grab your things and meet me in the parking lot in ten and oh one last thing Tig, Juice, and half sac you’re in the van and lobo you are escorting with Chibs. Jax and I will lead ” clay bangs the gavel against the table adjourning the meeting.  Damien grabs Juice's hand as they walk back to their room to grab their guns. Damien slips his shoulder holster around him before speaking. “It sucks we couldn’t escort together love” “yeah but at least we’re both going this time and I'm not stuck here”. Juice sighs. They walk to the parking lot join the others as clay says one last thing before they are dismissed to go to their respective  vehicles. Before Damien walks away he gives juice a passionate kiss. “To remember me by pretty boy”. He  grins like an idiot walking away and mounting his bike  Juice stands there while he   blushes like a mad man before snapping out of it and hopping in the back of the van. Jax and clay hop on their bikes and signal for everyone to go. When he got on the open road his mind started to drift back to when him and juice first met.

*flashback*

It was a cold night in queens New York and they were both 17. Damien had just gotten kicked out of his house for being gay. With nowhere to go he hopped into his old beat up 1969 mustang mache one fastback. That  he had bought off an elderly man for dirt cheap after scraping together all of his savings driving to nowhere in particular  when he saw  a boy his age running down the street with  several bags hung off his person. Against his better judgement Damien stopped his car and leaned over the other side to rolling down the window .”hey are you okay dude it’s not safe to be walking to alone around here at night. Do you want a ride? ” Damien smiles lopsidedly wincing in pain from the bruise blossoming across the right side of his face. Juice looks back the man taking in his battered features .The man sitting in the car in front of him looked vaguely familiar and he was trying to figure out why  briefly before deciding  to say fuck it and except the man’s help. Damien gets out with a limp  to help Juice put his bags in the car juice stands there shocked that there was already duffle bags in the car. Juice laughs dryly “heh i guess we both had the same idea “ “you get kicked out of your home too”. Damien smiles solemnly “yeah more or less” Juice says with a sad smile the other man speaks up “The name is Damien by the way “…. He pauses for a minute before continuing “Your Juan Carlos right…we had science and trig together” . “Yeah Damien I remember you “ juice smiles and  Damien takes in the other mans features as he moves back to the drivers seat and motions juice inside. “So Juan Carlos where to” “I don’t care as long as its somewhere far away from New York”

*flashback ends*

Chibs motions up ahead and breaks Damien out of his  thoughts “Aye Lobo we’re here lad”. Damien slows down to a stop behind the van hopping off his bike and waiting for clays command before starting to unload the guns and hand them off to the niners .  The gun run went off without a hitch and soon everyone was back at clubhouse drinking and having a good time.  Damien was sitting at the bar waiting for Juice to finish talking to Clay and Jax about some dirt digging that needed to be done and ignoring the croweater who was trying to get handsy with him as he was nursing his third cheap beer of the night “please leave me alone Leah you know I’m not interested why are you doing this”. Leah smirks “come on baby please let me show you what you’re missing”.she reaches for the button on his jeans before getting pulled back by Chibs. “Leah darling the kid isn’t interested now go find someone else to bother for the night” Leah scoffs and walks away and chibs sits to the right of Damien waving over the prospect to give them both another beer “thank you Chibs I appreciate it she just wouldn’t take the hint”. “Aye, it’s nothing kid I don’t like to see my family being harassed and you’re like a son to me”.  At that the two men drink in silence . Ten minutes pass before Juice is finally able to slip away from Clay and Jax and walk up to his partner at the bar. “Hey love you okay?”He asked concerned  “yeah it’s just Leah again . She refuses to take a hint that I’m not interested”. Damien sighs. “God I’m sorry you  had to deal with her again babe”. Juice says apologetically  “It’s fine”. Damien says burying his face into Juices chest. “Let us go enjoy our night together okay” Juice smiles while holding the other man tightly.

[i-am-distressed]

JJK Boys getting accidentally flashed by their Girlfriend

Characters: Megumi, Itadori, Yuta, Noritoshi, Nanami, Toji, Naoya, Geto, Gojo, and Sukuna

Warnings: Implied 'nudity' cause, y'know, getting flashed. Naoya + Sukuna, Yuta’s turned out very detailed and warning for his cause curses are gross, mentions of injuries/implied blood, Noritoshi’s is eXTREMEly self-indulgent, allusion to sex in Toji’s and Sukuna’s but nothing explicit or suggestive (obviously), you guys are married in Toji’s, Naoya’s and Sukuna’s. Kids in Naoya’s, cursing in Sukuna's but I 'censored' it :)

**I write Naoya and Sukuna with some necessary changes, please hold your judgement☺ These are long but give it a chance-**

Fushiguro Megumi:

Due to his job as a student/Jujutsu Sorcerer, Megumi was usually pretty tired when you guys got to hang out.

So, the first thing you guys typically did when you met up after school was nap for a good hour or two.

Which worked out well for both of you since he finally got some rest and you got cuddles and a chance to play with his hair.

On this particular afternoon, Megumi had basically crashed the minute he hit the bed, you not far behind to lay on his chest while he zonked out on his back.

It had been just about 2 hours when he woke up, one hand going up to rub his eyes while his other arm wrapped around you to hold you tight.

You smiled when you felt him moving, turning ever so slightly to give him a small peck on his shoulder.

He smiled and turned to look at you, only to see that while he was sleeping you had changed into a loose tank top. A loose tank top that had...shifted, to give your boyfriend a view you had not intended to give him.

He was so flustered he didn’t realize how red the tips of his ears had gotten and how wide his eyes had gotten, not to mention the fact he hadn’t said a word.

Thinking he had fallen back asleep, you looked up only to see your boyfriend seemingly stuck in time as he looked at something.

Following his gaze you gasped, rushing to fix your shirt.

That seemed to snap Megumi out of his daze, that and your non-menacing ‘pervert’ you muttered, it’s not like you really cared (you were more embarrassed than anything) but the opportunity to tease was much too good to pass up.

“I- hEy! It wasn’t on purpose! You’re the one that flashed me…”

“I don’t know Megumi...you were awfully quiet for awhile there, didn’t even warn me😔”

You may or may not have gotten hit with a pillow following that remark.

Itadori Yuji:

You and your boyfriend Yuji were celebrating your two year anniversary, and this year you had both decided on going to an amusement park!

It was a pretty hot day, and you’d be walking a lot so you decided on a cute loose t-shirt and shorts and some walking shoes.

You guys had just gotten on this rollercoaster, and from the looks of it this one was going to be fast.

The ticking as you went up the first and very tall hill did nothing to quell the excitement/fear you were feeling, and it also did nothing to keep you from taking your boyfriends hand in yours.

After that first drop, it wasn’t too bad! But it was definitely on the faster side.

You guys were almost done, the end was in sight.

You turned to ask Yuji what ride you should do next when one sharp turn caught you off guard and flipped your shirt up into your face.

Right when Yuji had just so happened to have turned to talk to you.

Trying to ignore the utter shame you felt you tried to fix your shirt, your boyfriend then leaned over you to stop anyone from getting a peak as the car pulled back to the start.

You felt so embarrassed after it, but when you tried to apologize he just shook his head, gave you a kiss on your cheek and grabbed your hand to drag you off to the next ride.

Okkotsu Yuta:

**Unlike the others, this happened before the two of you started dating, you were still just really good friends**

You and Yuta had been sent out on a mission together.

You were a little nervous since it would be your first time going against a special grade, but you were confident you’d be able to do your part. Plus, having Yuta there was helpful in more ways than just his power.

The fight was a tough one, this curse you guys were fighting kept breaking the ground and shooting debris everywhere, it was easily blockable and it really wasn’t that dangerous.

But it did prove irritating.

Along with making tears everywhere in your jacket and skirt, you had been left with no choice but to kill the curse when it was up close and personal, so you were also covered in gross stuff.

To keep yourself from throwing up then and there, you unbuttoned your top and shrugged it off your shoulders, wincing at the cuts that had amassed during the fight.

You planned to quickly exchange it with the spare you kept in your bag, the debris had caused a bunch of dust which was acting like a curtain to shield your half-naked self from the eyes of the world.

But most importantly, from the eyes of your crush.

Unfortunately for you, your bag had gotten caught under a somewhat heavy piece of concrete.

Which would be no problem for you to lift if you hadn’t run through a fair amount of your cursed energy.

In your exhaustion, you must have made your struggle known with the grunts and obvious sounds of struggle you were making.

Yuta, who had a radar for you on anyway, heard this and started making his way over to you since he’s a considerate lad and you could be hurt!

You had just gotten it off the ground when it finally shifted enough for you to get your bag out, and you, being ever so coordinated, stumbled backwards.

Right into the open arms of Yuta, who immediately went red when he realized you were no longer wearing a shirt.

His jaw dropped as he tried to form a sentence, say something, anything to make sure you knew it was an accident.

Poor guy was so scared you thought he was a creep, he couldn’t look you in the eyes for almost 3 days.

That is until Maki locked you both in a room until one of you confessed💖

Kamo Noritoshi:

(This one may or may not be self-indulgent since I’m a clutz-)

You and Noritoshi had been sent to get something from the principal’s office by Utahime.

You were walking in front of him, paying little to no attention as to where you were walking as Noritoshi lost years off his life watching you stumble and almost trip.

So, okay, maybe you were a little bit clumsy, so what?

“Y/n, would you please be more careful? You’re going to fall.”

You turned your head to look at your boyfriend with an unimpressed look on your face, continuing to walk as he was even more on edge now that you definitely weren’t looking where you were going.

“Have a little faith in me, would you? I’m not that clumsy-” Just then, your foot caught a root perfectly, resulting in an untimely fall to the ground.

Which, thanks to years of falling face-first, you were more than prepared for.

Noritoshi, who felt his heart stop, quickly went to aid you, only to realize that your skirt had shifted with your fall, leaving you partly exposed to the world.

Partly exposed to him.

He quickly made his way to your side, helping you up as you laughed and dusted yourself off, noting the quietness of your boyfriend.

Usually when this happened, and he was quiet, you’d be in for a lecture.

But this time you noticed he was quiet...but he was also blushing.

You guys continued walking, you definitely weren’t complaining about not being told off, but you weren’t a fan of his silence. And...since when did Mr. Blood manipulation blush…?

“No lecture today?”

Noritoshi, who had been very deep in thought almost jumped at your voice, huffing as he tilted his head downward and picked up his pace a little.

“No tights today?”

You stopped at that because...he typically didn’t care what you wore, he was actually pretty laid-back except when it came to your safety.

“It’s August...so no?”

“Then i’d recommend you be a little more careful, had it been somebody else walking behind you, they would have seen something they shouldn’t have.” Your eyes narrowed at his words because...what was he talking about??

Sensing your confusion he turned towards you, eyes cracked open and a small smirk on his face. Leaning in close, he whispered.

“When you fell, your skirt lifted.”

And proceeded to walk ahead and into the principal’s office, leaving you in a whirlwind of emotions with no idea how to process them.

Nanami Kento:

You were over at Nanami’s place, in his kitchen cooking dinner with him.

You guys didn’t get to have dates often, but thankfully you guys both had tonight free. And seeing as you both have been busy, a home-date sounded nice to both of you.

Nanami was working on opening a bottle of wine while you were fiddling with the stove top.

Nanami had recently moved into this apartment, and it was really nice. But the oven was much different from yours, so it was taking awhile for you to get used to it.

You had finally gotten it on and you put the frying pan on the burner to heat up.

You turned your back to it and leaned against the nearby counter, appreciating the view you had of your boyfriend’s back and biceps.

It was safe to say you were distracted.

So distracted, that you didn’t notice that the shirt you were wearing had been just close enough to the burner that it had caught on fire.

You felt your hip getting a little warm, so you looked down and gasped when you saw that you were literally catching on fire.

You scrambled to rip the shirt off you, throwing it in the thankfully empty sink as you turned the water on, successfully avoiding a major problem and any serious injuries.

Shaking your head, you turned to your lover with an apology ready on your lips, only when you met his eyes, he quickly turned around.

Clearing his throat, he returned to his previous task of cutting the vegetables while he instead nodded his head towards his room.

“You can wear one of my shirts, they’re in the second drawer.” You nodded and made your way into his room, shaking your head to try and rid yourself from any further embarrassment and cool down your overheating face and neck.

Little did you know, Nanami was trying to cool down the burning red on his own face, as well as trying to focus on the vegetables.

Fushiguro Toji:

**In this you two are married and you’re Megumi’s momma**

You guys had recently adopted a cat from a nearby shelter, Toji didn’t want a cat, but between the puppy eyes of not only his young son but his wife, he was never walking out of the shelter without one.

Only, you didn’t walk out with one, since the cat Megumi chose was a female, and pregnant.

So now you guys have 4 cats.

Your kittens were older now, just about 4 months. So you and Megumi would let them out during the day (supervised and with their momma of course) and bring them back in at night. Toji didn’t really care what you did with them since they made you both happy (and it kept you both occupied-).

Toji had come home from a particularly grueling day at work, his shoulders were stiff and he had a small headache, and all he really wanted was to drag you to the bed so he could sleep on top of you while you ran your fingers through his hair and he could finally get some decent sleep.

Does he get that? No.

What he does get is you and Megumi yelling up the tree in front of your house for “Cat! Come down from the tree!” ‘Cat’ was the name of the kitten you and Megumi had forced Toji to name since ‘he had to have one too’, even though it was really just so he had no choice but to let you two keep them all.

Sighing he walked over to you both, ruffling Megumi’s hair and giving you a kiss before he stuck his hands in his pockets and asked the question he didn’t want, or need, the answer to.

“*sigh* what happened?”

Frowning, you looked back to the tree and pointed, revealing the small kitten who had managed to get herself, or himself he couldn’t remember, stuck on one of the lower branches.

“Well, he’ll come down eventually.”

You smacked his arm as Megumi’s eyebrows pinched together, little arms crossing in front of his chest, “It’s a she, daddy. And she’s just a baby! You have to get her down!”

Groaning he brought a hand up to rub his eyes, “There’s no way i’m getting up that tree, I’m way too big, and daddy’s tired”

Pouting, Megumi stood in front of his dad (Let’s say Megumi is 3~), little hands tugging on his pants leg, a little “please daddy?” coming from his trembling lips.

“No, daddy’s right, he’s too old to get in the tree,” You smirked at the glare you got from your husband, “But, if daddy helps me, I can get in the tree.”

So, that’s how you ended up in a tree, gently handing ‘Cat’ down to your husband, who quickly passed her down to Megumi, and found yourself struggling to get down.

You and Megumi had been out and about earlier, and you were wearing a comfortable dress that day, so being in a tree was less than ideal.

With the promise of Toji catching you, you jumped, not expecting the wind to carry your dress, and unintentionally giving your husband a show. Luckily, your son was much more interested in the kitten.

You felt your face heat up as you quickly fixed your dress, your husband just laughed with a ‘nothin’ I haven’t seen before babe’ which was quickly followed by an ‘ow!’ when you smacked him. </3

Zen'in Naoya:

You and Naoya were preparing to have dinner together.

He was sat at the table, finishing up some paperwork while you finished up the food.

Your 2 children, your 5 year old son and 3 year old daughter, were also sat at the table. Your children both telling their father about their days while he listened. (I know he’s literally awful, but if I can pretend Toji isn’t an awful father, I can pretend Naoya isn’t an awful person✌😌)

“And then, Momma told the guy off! It was awesome daddy!” Naoya raised his eyebrow with the smallest hint of a smile tugging the corner of his lip up. “Oh? Did he start crying too?” You gave your husband ‘a look’ while you walked to the table, setting the first dish down on the table before you turned to get another.

Your son giggled, “Like a baby!” Naoya chuckled, shaking his head as he took a sip of water.

He couldn’t help but think back to your younger days, specifically the day the two of you met when you told him off, the day you changed him, and finally the day you made him cry as you walked towards him down the aisle.

“I bet, Your mother has a habit of making men cry.” You sternly called his name from the kitchen as he snickered, your kids breaking out into their own fits of giggles.

You walked back into the dining room carrying in the last dish, shaking your head as you lightly bumped him with your hip as you passed him, him lightly patting your butt as you walked by. “Stop feeding my kids lies.”

He just smirked as he lifted his glass to his lips, he was in the middle of taking a sip when you bent down to place the dish on the table, your shirt dipping low to the point your chest was on show, giving your husband an, albeit welcome, unintentional view.

Choking on his drink, he set the cup down in favor of beating his chest with his fist, you coming over to rub his back, your children looking over in confusion cause...what the heck dad, that was weird.

“What happened? Do I need to get you a sippy cup?” Glaring at you he was finally able to stop coughing, you patting his back as you went back to your seat and sat down.

You raised an eyebrow at him, since he had still yet to tell you why he had suddenly choked on his water. But it was then you noticed just how red his face was, and how low his gaze was.

Looking down and realizing your shirt had drifted down, you fixed it and smirked, struggling to hold in the laughs and snorts that were sure to explode out of you.

Even after almost a decade of marriage, it was good to know you could still make your husband blush like a teenage boy.

Geto Suguru:

You and Geto had gone out on a date!

It was a nicer place, so you were wearing a cute spaghetti strapped dress with some nice shoes, and he was wearing a button down with slacks (sleeves rolled up to his forearms of course🥵).

You had just finished dinner and were now on the walk home.

All night you had been paranoid about your dress, you had gotten it when you and a friend had gone thrift shopping. It was honestly in pretty good condition, the only problem was that the dress’ straps had a good amount of wear on them, so the straps weren’t really that great, and you could feel them loosening as the night went on.

BUT, you were going home now, so it really didn’t matter much anymore.

Geto was lightly swinging your hands between you both as you told him the recent drama you had learned at work.

You were holding your uncomfortable shoes in one hand, and obviously Geto’s hand in the other, so your hands were occupied.

“You would not believe how messy that got. In case you ever think about cheating on me, just remember that man’s gonna be finding glitter in his car for at least a few decades.” Geto laughed as he shook his head, nudging your shoulder with his, “Good thing we don’t have to worry about that, I’m not dumb enough to cheat on my crazy girlfriend.” You made a ‘hmph’ sound and nodded, “Crazy for you~” and laughed when he shook his head.

You guys kept walking, discussing whatever topics came up.

You were almost home, so close to freedom. You called Geto’s name, about to tell him something you had remembered, when you both heard a faint *snap*.

Guided by the rush of cold air you felt hit your chest, you looked down and gasped, you would’ve been quicker to cover yourself except for the fact that both of your hands were occupied.

Working quickly because...you both were still in public, Geto let go of your hand and shrugged his jacket off, draping it around you and grabbing ahold of your hand when you were covered.

You apologized for flashing him and he shook his head, obviously it wasn’t your fault and it’s not like he was complaining.

Gojo Satoru:

Due to a particularly bad run in with a cursed spirit, your usual uniform was trashed, so you had to wear your backup uniform, which also ran small.

All day, you had been fighting with your skirt. It was too tight and too short, and was providing you with a substantial amount of stress.

It was lunch, you were half way through the school day, half a day away from going home and getting to wear your sweatpants.

“Oh Y/n~” Half a day from getting rid of the walking headache you called your co-worker.

Sighing, you stopped from where you were walking in the hallway, turning to face him you raised an eyebrow. “Yes Satoru?”

So, yes, you were ‘co-workers’ and yes, you were technically just friends.

But there was also a painful amount of mutual pining and tension that hung between you two.

“Hey, hey, what’s with the attitude? You’ve been like this all day, it’s gonna start hurting my feelings.” You grimaced as you once again adjusted your skirt, “Yeah, well, you’d be a little irritated if you had to keep fixing your skirt every 2 seconds.”

Gojo hummed, “I can imagine, so, care to join me for lunch?” You replied with a ‘sure’, and the two of you made your way to the teacher’s lounge, side by side.

You walked to the fridge and pulled out your lunch, Gojo not far behind you and you both did the necessary prep you needed for your food.

Gojo finished just barely before you, and was already sitting on one of the couches, happily digging into his food.

Once the microwave stopped you pulled your food out and started walking over to the couch.

You sat down, carefully, and began to eat your lunch.

Despite causing you mass amounts of pain and most likely a gray hair or 2, you thoroughly enjoyed spending time with Gojo, I mean, you were kinda in love with him.

“Ah, Satoru, Y/n, just the two I needed to see.” Gojo’s (likely inaccurate) account of his latest mission came to a pause when Principal Yaga walked in.

He had some information about a mission the 2 of you would be going on in 3 days. Apparently this one would be an undercover mission, and a few days.

During the conversation, Gojo (who tries to always have one of his six eyes on you at all times), had noticed your skirt riding up, and seeing as he liked you, the last thing he wanted was for you to embarrass yourself in front of you guys’s boss.

Keep in mind, it’s not like Gojo was having a great time either, you were sitting right in front of him, but it’s not like he could interrupt the principal and loudly announce you were about to expose yourself.

Thankfully, Kusakabe walked in at that moment, stealing just enough of his time for Gojo to catch your attention (like he didn’t already have it🙄) to mouth ‘Your skirt’ while he made a subtle tugging motion with his hand, going back to like nothing happened and stealing the attention of the men while you fixed your skirt.

That mission may or may not have preceded your first date with him.

Sukuna Ryomen:

You and Sukuna would be going on a date tonight, and you had spent the last half hour or so getting ready.

Your hair and make up was done, you had showered earlier, and all you had left to do was get dressed.

You had gotten dressed in your underwear when your mom had called.

You didn’t get to speak to you often and it had been awhile since you had talked, so you spent a good amount of time catching up and filling each other in on the things you had missed.

It had been about 15 minutes, you were sitting down at your vanity, pants on but still no shirt (hey man, a distraction is a distraction, let me have this i’m tired-).

You were so caught up in your phone call you hadn’t noticed that Sukuna had walked into your shared apartment.

He called out to you, but you didn’t answer. He would’ve been more worried than irritated if he didn’t hear you talking on what he presumed to be the phone.

If he knew you weren’t ready yet, he would’ve knocked, but seeing as you were on the phone, the last thing he expected when he opened your bedroom door was to see you half-naked sitting on your vanity stool like this kind of thing was normal.

“Sh*t. Warn a guy, will you? I’m not complaining but you near gave me a heart attack.” You screeched as you almost threw your phone, apologizing to your mom, you glared at Sukuna as he gave you a look that tip-toed between amusement and bewilderment.

“What, it’s not like I haven’t seen your-” You threw your pillow at him before he could finish his sentence, with your mom of all people listening to your conversation.

You two might have been married, but the last thing you needed was your mom pestering you about grandchildren again.

In case you’re wondering, he was laughing the whole time as you beat him with said pillow for saying those kind of things to your mother.

[blank-loop]

Could you maybe do an angsty Oboro x reader oneshot where reader has to deal with Oboro not being around anymore? Maybe Shouta, Hizashi and Nemuri are kind of there to help as well?

#☁️🌙 (hopefully I did this right?)

hi ☁️🌙 anon (cloudnight tag???!!)! first off, yes, you did the anon tag thing perfectly!

thank you for your req! this brought me pain to write but it was fun. hopefully it's alright since i started losing motivation towards the end... so it's quite short... yeah. i love the cloudy lad and I am still salty about him dying but here we are. i hope this meets your need for angst.

Hope you enjoy! Likes, reblogs, comments & follows are appreciated!

The Ones That Matter Most : oboro shirakumo x gn!reader

cws: unresolved arguments, blood, character death, "man" used as neutral slang, slight hyperventilating

The day he'd left had been the most guilt-filled day of your life. You'd known something was wrong as soon as you'd walked into the hospital to find your three best friends sitting on Shōta's hospital bed crying, and no Oboro with them. They looked up as you entered.

"You're here…"

You nodded silently, mouth dry. "What happened? Where's Oboro?" You felt your heartbeat quicken. They stayed silent for a few moments.

"He didn't…" Shōta started. His gaze dropped and he squeezed his eyes closed.

"There was a villain… a building collapsed and… he didn't make it," Hizashi said, unusually quiet. His voice cracked a little as he also looked away.

You were almost speechless. "...What?"

You didn't want to believe it, but looking at the state of the other three, it was true.

Hizashi's glasses lay in his bloody hands, one lens missing and the other one cracked. Nemuri was the most worn out, bruised and distressed you'd ever seen her. Shōta was a different story. It was a well-known fact in your class that he rarely displayed any sort of emotion. But there he was, a blubbering mess, puffy-eyed and red-faced. His left arm was held across his chest in a new, white cast, and he had several deep cuts and large bruises on his face.

"He was… he was trying to protect… some kids," Shōta choked out between heavy breaths. Then the sobs came again. His whole body shook with each one. You could do nothing but watch as Nemuri lay a hand tenderly on his shoulder. "I should've- I should've protected him. I'm… I'm so sorry."

You watched your friends for a moment more, trying to decide what to say. They should know, right?

You felt your cheeks become wet with the first of your tears as you slowly registered what all that meant. "I didn't get a chance to apologise to him…"

Hizashi looked up. "Huh?"

"We… we had an argument. Yesterday," you said numbly. "It was something- it was something so, so stupid and insignificant. I was… I was going to apologise to him after he got back from patrol today."

They looked at you, faces stained with tears.

"Shit, man," Hizashi breathed. "I'm so sorry." The other two remained silent aside from their quiet crying.

"He… he did mention something about- about you… arguing," Shōta whispered after a while. "He was- he was going to bring you… something."

"...he was?" you asked through your tears quietly.

"Yeah."

"We're sorry," Nemuri said. She wiped her eyes, not caring for her running mascara dripping down her hand and onto her arm. "He saved the lives of a whole class of kids at the cost of his own."

You stepped towards Shōta's bed slowly, still processing all they had told you, all they had been through, what it meant for your future. You sat down next to Hizashi at the foot of the bed.

"We all still wish we could have done something more to help. Shō had to fight the villain all by himself as well," Nemuri mused. "He died a hero, sweetie."

"Sheesh, you don't gotta be so blunt, Kayama," Hizashi muttered. "This is a shock to us all. But… I can't even begin to imagine how you feel." He motioned towards you.

Everything blurred as your tears fell quicker. The sound of your own wobbling and wailing voice filled your ears. You drew in short, shaky breaths. Your own tears fell sideways across your face from one eye into the other.

You didn't say anything. You lay down slowly into Hizashi's lap. Your tears dropped onto his now slightly-torn leather pants.

It all felt like a horrible nightmare. How could it be real? Oboro was gone… you never got to say goodbye, never got to make up for the argument. That would be something that you would carry the guilt for for the rest of your life.

Everywhere hurt. It felt like someone had punched you in the gut over and over and not waited for you to get back up. You almost needed to throw up.

Everywhere hurt. You remembered the argument. The anger you felt. The aggression of your raised voices. The fury in each other's eyes. And for what?

Everywhere hurt. You barely registered Hizashi's hand lightly stroking your head. You gripped his leg a little. He tensed slightly, but didn't shake you off.

- End -

You weren't ready to accept it.

You weren't ready to let Oboro go.

But he had gone to some place beyond your reach.

You all knew you wouldn't be able to save everyone you encountered.

It was the first thing you'd been taught as hero course students.

It hadn't hit you that "everyone" had included your friends, your allies.

Not just civilians.

The people you care about.

The people you love.

The ones that matter most.

—·•∞•·—

> DO NOT COPY/REPOST.

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[bluesora]

celebrating mother’s day with you

tsukishima kei ; sugawara kōshi ; oikawa torū ; kita shinsuke

headcanon ; fluff ; age up ; snippets of cuteness ; parenthood ; special edition — mother’s day

note: i’m not sure if i portrayed each characterization well but i just thought it’ll be fun to write one. after all, i was blessed to be born with loving parents and i just wanted to share the love i’m grateful for.

tagging: @forgetou @amjustagirl @yacoka @haikyuutothetop @luvnami ;; thank you for dropping these characters as i couldn’t decide who to write for. (of course it was more exciting without context)

ps. it’s longer than expected i’m sorry :’)

tsukishima kei

tsukishima isn’t one who would remember special occasions unless someone had schedule a plan in advance with him. when he wondered if he should do anything for you after hearing his colleagues whispering during break, his work got busier than usual so he had forgotten about it.

that was, until he realized he had ten missed calls from his son; which was odd because he weren’t one to call him so often.

“i was in a meeting, what hap—” before tsukishima could finish his sentence, his son interrupted him, “i bought mom’s favorite cake since you’re slow. hurry home or there’s none left for you,” the line was cut right after; which of course left poor tsukishima’s partner to deal with the aftermath. “tsukishima-san, about the report—”

“it must be so urgent that it needs my immediate attention even when i’m packing up right?” his words dripped of pure sarcasm despite the polite smile hanging from his lips. everyone could literally see the panic swirling in his partner’s pupil.

“i’m sorry!! good work today and see you tomorrow!!” it’s the weekend tomorrow, but tsukishima was too hung up on his son’s attitude to shoot another of his sarcastic reply.

you, on the other hand, were neither someone who would celebrate such occasion unless it was for birthdays or holidays. therefore, you didn’t really had anything in mind nor were you expecting anything as well.

when you finally reached home from a tiring day at work, you were definitely not expecting to see your favorite cake on the table while your son popped a party popper with a party horn in his mouth right beside you.

“happy mother’s day!” he tried to mumble out with the horn still in his mouth. you couldn’t help but chuckle at the unexpected surprise, dropping your bag on the counter just so you could hug him—one that he wholeheartedly hugged you back because tsukishima wasn’t around.

it took an hour for tsukishima to be home, a small bouquet of flowers in his hand when he walked over to where you and the cheeky lad was sitting. “oh! you didn’t have to though,” you smiled in surprise.

“dad’s just guilty he forgot about our promise and didn’t want to come home empty handed.” you chuckled at that, perhaps it wasn’t entirely wrong either but you still appreciate the sentiment. it was rare for him after all.

“those who break promises don’t get desserts.” he continued to press his dad’s buttons, only to see tsukishima loosened his tie with an expression he could not understand.

“oh, but that’s on your mom to decide if i’ll get one tonight or not.” you could feel your face heating up at your husband’s words, the tone and smile that dawned on his face was a look you knew oh so well.

“tch...i thought i hid it well.” of course, your clueless son didn’t know the true meaning of those words and thought the strawberry shortcake he bought for his dad was found out.

sugawara kōshi

sugawara would definitely plan in advance with the children. especially when they were the ones who excitedly wanted to do something for you.

“mama like animals! lets go to the zoo!” the middle child exclaimed with so much enthusiasm, sugawara could only chuckle at her adorable smile.

“you only said that because you wanted to go to the zoo, dummy.” the eldest one huffed, feeling proud that he saw through her obvious tactic.

it didn’t take long for the two to start crawling over each other in a fight while the youngest one giggled amusingly as if she was watching a performance. that was, until an insult was thrown at her so she joined in the fight to prove her worth.

“if you don’t stop now, we’ll be celebrating at home like how we did the past two years.” that immediately ceased all action, since they haven’t had the chance to go out together as a whole family thanks to your busy schedule.

“how about the park? the cherry blossoms have bloomed and mama likes going to the park!” of course, sugawara was fond of this idea. it’s been a while since there was a family picnic session.

and so on that very day in which you finally managed to take a day off, you weren’t expecting to be blind folded while having your children guide you to wherever you were supposed to be.

knowing how clumsy the trio could be, he wanted to accompany them as well but was outright rejected when they said they could do it themselves with so much confidence, he wasn’t sure who they got it from.

with their tiny hands, it took a while for them to tie the piece of cloth around your eyes, and even when they did, it wasn’t tied well enough so you could actually still see your footing (which saved you immensely from all the accidental knocks along the way)

after what felt like forever, you finally reached the park where they shouted ‘happy mother’s day’ in unison. you kind of already knew it’ll be a picnic from the soft grass beneath your feet and those fallen pink petals, but you were still moved to tears when you saw your children squeezed together into your husband’s arms while cute decoration and plates of food were spread between you and them.

“mama, try the cookie first! i made them myself!” the middle one was the first to break the silence.

“no! try my sandwich first, i’m the eldest!”

“so what if you’re the eldest? mama must be thirsty from walking so have my ultimate happy berry juice!” the youngest chirped with pride, as if her logic was a straight pass to winning.

you laughed at their competitive nature, which was oh so endearing at the same time. and it was obvious if you don’t decide soon, an all out food war was going to happen.

“before that, shouldn’t mama receive papa’s present first?” sugawara’s cheerful voice interrupted their little argument, and just before the youngest could ask what it was, her eyes was covered by the eldest son along with the middle one.

you couldn’t help but hit his arm in embarrassment when his lips met yours longer than it should’ve been.

“hey! that’s not fair, i didn’t get to see papa’s present,” your middle one sulked, only to be carried into sugawara’s arms as he peck her little cheek with a wink. “why don’t you ask mama what it was, baby?”

oikawa torū

it was supposed to be a big surprise where he came home earlier than the date he had told you. he even told the kids about it and they promised to make it a success (money was definitely involved to be honest)

“make sure you delay mummy at the grocery store long enough for me to set everything up in time.” he reminded his daughter time and time again, only to have her sigh at his impatience.

“i think i’m old enough to not forget something so simple dad. and please stop addressing mom like that, it’s creepy.” she cringed, wondering how you even deal with oikawa every day.

“dad, have you even baked a cake before? do you think you can get it done within an hour or maybe two?” his son asked the third time that day, which did irk oikawa with that tone of his.

“of course i can! are you looking down on me? it’s just a simple vanilla cake and some fruits on top. how hard can it be?”

of course, with every rhetorical question that pose a challenge, there would always be an answer exactly of what’s to be expected.

you, with no idea that your husband was making a mess of your kitchen, took your own sweet time at the grocery store since your daughter was there to help and it’s been a while since you had a mother and daughter bonding time.

“do you think your dad would like to have curry tomorrow? or should we just have hamburger steak?” you asked, still unsure of the menu for a celebratory dinner.

“i think he would like anything you cook, so don’t worry about it. dad’s always so happy to eat your homemade meals.” she answered with shrug, but you could tell she was happy to rely the same sentiment.

everything went smoothly and she did managed to stall your time with her longer than the agreed duration. that was, until she received a text from her brother saying dad’s cake was a failure and they should just get one outside; you two were already at the apartment lift when she read it.

“dad, i think you should just give up. they are already walking over from the—” oikawa having enough of his son’s constant nagging about how he should’ve just bought a cake instead, threw a whiff of flour to his son’s face without thinking.

and of course, which kid would not retaliate from that. the kitchen, which originally wasn’t as messy, turned into chaos of white fluff and sticky childish banter between the two.

you, not expecting to see your husband, was clearly surprise when you heard his voice by the door. the only excitement that came from that vanished the moment your eyes fell onto the state of your kitchen.

“happy mother’s day?” oikawa managed to choke out when he felt your growing presence with each step towards him.

“i’m sorry mom, it was my fault please don’t kill dad—” your son pleaded softly by the side, only to fell speechless when you threw yourself into oikawa’s arms instead.

“welcome home,” you greeted with so much warmth, oikawa couldn’t help but embraced you tightly as he replied, “i’m home.”

“mom? you’re not mad?” your daughter asked in disbelief when she brought the groceries – including the ones you dropped – over to the kitchen.

“mad? why would i be when you dad’s sleeping in the kitchen tonight.” you were so serious and certain, the two broke into fits of laughter as they ran from their father (which was fertile because they got caught immediately and was tickled to tears)

“why are you laughing when you two are having a sleepover with daddy tonight.”

“please dad, just stop.”

kita shinsuke

there was no surprises because kita’s way of celebrating was just regular activities but doing it together. which was honestly, what you love to do most since you don’t always get the chance of spending weekdays with your family often.

from preparing meals to visiting town, usually it would be done by kita himself. however, this time because of the special occasion, you took time off to accompany your husband while bringing your little ones along with you.

“mama here’s the carrot,” your little girl placed the orange vegetable on the chopping board before humming a tune while the other twin helped kita with picking the ends of the beansprouts.

“papa are we going to town later?” she beamed excitedly, hands still working on the tiny vegetable while her legs swung to the rhythm of her twin sister’s melody.

“yes, we are. do you have a place you want to visit?” he was done with his side so he continued onto the pile his daughter was removing.

“yes! we want to go to onigiri miya!” they both said at the same time, giggling right after when their father looked surprise.

“all right, let’s go after our lunch.” and everything went along smoothly with the little twins setting the table together while you and kita took turns to cook up the dishes. lunch was pleasant despite minimal words being exchanged since the twins were taught to not talk with their mouth full (and their mouth are always stuffed full)

while you and kita held hands with the twins walking hand in hand by themselves in front, the feeling of nostalgia seemed to tickle your bones at the memory of how you used to take long strolls with kita during your younger days.

“what’s wrong?” kita tugged your hand gently which snapped you back to reality when you realized you all have reached the store.

“nothing...i’m just grateful to be your wife and mother of two beautiful angels.” your smile had him press a fluttering kiss to your temple as he softly replied, “me too.”

“i see yer two are still as lovey-dovey as ever captain.” atsumu popped his head out from the entrance, both twins sitting comfortably on his arms as he carried them as if they were feathers.

“i’m not your captain anymore atsumu, but i see they both seemed to like you.” kita smiled at his two lovely dolls, one that atsumu have never seen much of because of his busy schedule.

“of course, who do you think i am? the better—” but before atsumu could even finish his flex, the two snapped their head over at the appearance of osamu in his apron. their hands immediately reaching out for the man to hug.

“uncle osamu!!” they squealed happily, trying their best to squirm out of atsumu’s grip.

“i guess not huh ‘tsumu,” osamu smirked at the annoyed twin, patting his hands dry before prying the little twins from his brother’s vice grip. of course, they both would fight over the kid’s affection. who wouldn’t right?

you watched the pair of twins in amusement with your head against kita’s shoulder as he wrapped an arm around your delicate frame. this too will be yet another moment kita would not forget, for he felt blissful to be their father and your husband.

[wishesunderthestars]

Eunoia // Ch. 11

eunoia (noun): beautiful thinking, the possession of a well-balanced mind, which exhibits goodwill and kindness

Pairings: Hybrid! BTS x reader

Summary: You are a world famous director and you have dedicated your life to your job.You have everything you could ever dream of; wealth, recognition, talent, your friends and family. But loneliness ins’t cured by success. So what happens when you somehow rescue seven hybrids? Can they fill the void?

Genre: Angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, eventual smut

Word Count: 9.9k+

Warnings: Abuse and violence, mentions of past sexual abuse, injuries and blood

Masterlist

Chapter 1, Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10

A/N: The taglist for Eunoia is now closed.

“Zayn, I promise I’m right around the corner,” you said into the phone. “I went home for lunch and it took a little more time than I had expected.”

You heard the singer laugh on the other end of the line. “It’s alright, you are always on time. I can excuse this one. You aren’t even that late.” You checked your phone to confirm what he was saying. Six minutes late. Not that bad.

“I could be a little earlier. I parked the car at the usual parking spot so I’m really just around the corner.” You looked back at Jimin. He had stopped walking and was looking behind him. Some shop window had probably caught his attention. There were many charming independent shops in the area. “By the way Jimin is with me, he wanted to get out of the house. I didn’t think you would mind.”

“I don’t,” Zayn said. “I would like to see the lad again. You talk so much about him, about all of them really, it would be nice to actually see him instead of hearing about him.”

“I mean…” You paused. “C’mon, I don’t talk about them that much.”  

Zayn huffed. “Keep telling yourself that. But I’ll let you have this one. Other than them and work, do you even have any other news?”

“I totally have other news.” Zayn waited. It was slightly worrying that you came up empty. “I’m drowning in work, okay? What other news would I have? Ehhh, have you met Astrid?”  

In the short silence that followed, you could hear Zayn rolling his eyes. “Taylor’s hybrid is hardly news, she adopted her a month ago. You were literally together in Nashville. And did you forget I told you that last time I met up with Taylor Astrid was with her? Do you listen that well to what I’m saying?”  

“Oh, right. I had wanted to come too, but you know work-” You were cut off by the sound of quick footsteps on the gravel behind you. Not many people wandered these streets. You turned back in time to see Jimin running in the opposite direction down the street. “Jimin!” You shouted. He didn’t stop. He should have heard you. With his hybrid hearing, he should have heard you. “I have to go. We’ll be more late.” You ended the call and took off.

You thanked whatever deities could hear you for deciding to wear sneakers instead of high heels to work. When you had important meetings with the higher ups of the film studios, you would dress nicer and high heels were etiquette at this point. Lucky for you, this day you didn’t have any meetings of that kind but rather a more active role as the director. High heels would only slow you down.

Chasing Jimin down the streets, you were glad nothing was slowing you down. You called his name again and again but he wouldn’t reply, just kept running. Your mind jumped to the worst things that could have happened. No one was chasing him, other than you. He wasn’t running away from someone, unless… Unless he was running away from you. But no. Jimin wouldn’t do that. He had no reason to run away from you. He had been a little strange before and something was certainly off but he wouldn’t run away.

You didn’t let yourself entertain the thought anymore, just put one foot in front of the other as fast as you could. Your heart was racing but it wasn’t solely because of running.

Around a corner, in a small alleyway nestled between a small art shop and a closed down building, Jimin had stopped. You stopped too. A large graffiti in blue spray paint read “The world isn’t fair, why should we be?”.

“Jimin?” you repeated quietly, it felt wrong shouting here.

Jimin was frozen in the middle of the alley, his eyes wide. His hands were fisted at his sides, they were shaking. Someone was standing against the wall.

Jimin went to take a step forward but a hiss stopped him. “Yoongi?”

“Step back,” the man said. Black cat-like ears were turned back, their fur blending into his pitch black hair. Narrowed dark eyes regarded Jimin. Jimin didn’t back down.

“Yoongi, it’s me,” Jimin said, albeit with a little less confidence. His eyes were open and vulnerable, staring at the other hybrid like he was a dream he was too afraid to wake up from, yet he wasn’t sure if he should call it a nightmare. “It’s Jimin, don’t you remember me?”

Yoongi didn’t reply. His shoulders were drawn high in tension, making more obvious the teared up fabric on his shoulder. It wasn’t the only tear on his clothes, his jeans were ripped in a way that didn’t look intentional and the hem of his shirt was torn and scuffed. One of his hands was tightly clutching a baseball cap. “Stay away from me.”

 There was so much pain in Jimin’s eyes. All you wanted to do was gather him in your arms and hold him until it was gone, but something was holding you back.

 “I looked for you. In the shelter and in the streets. I tried to find you for years.” Jimin’s lip trembled. “Where have you been?”

 Yoongi looked away. “You don’t want to know.”

 “Please,” Jimin whispered and you could hear the heartbreak in his voice. “I-I’m so sorry.”

 That made Yoongi’s head shoot up. “You’re sorry? What-”

 Just then, your phone started ringing. Both hybrids looked at you. Alarmed, Yoongi backed further into the alley. Perfect timing. You thought Zayn must be calling you, asking you what had happened and where you had gone, but it was Namjoon. Wary of the deadly glare Yoongi was sending your way, you declined the call.

“Who are you?” Yoongi hissed. The fur on his tail was standing on end and you could imagine him pouncing on you and tearing you apart with his teeth. You hadn’t been as nervous around a hybrid as you were at the moment. With Namjoon, it was more wariness than anything else. But this time a thread of fear was slithering up your arms. There was dried blood on Yoongi’s knuckles. There was no John this time and you didn’t have only yourself to worry about.

 "She's my owner," Jimin replied for you. It wasn't the way you would have phrased it and Yoongi's eyes narrowed further until they were nothing more than twin slits. "Yoongi, please," he said again. You didn't know what he was pleading for.

 "She's your owner?" Yoongi spat out the word like it was the worst of insults.

 You had a very bad feeling about this.

 Jimin clenched his jaw, standing up straighter. "She isn't like him, she's nothing like him. She saved me."

 Yoongi didn't say anything. His back was one with the wall by now.

 Jimin averted his gaze, shoulders slumping. "I-I missed you. I thought... I thought he had done something to you." He hugged his frame, making himself look smaller. "I thought he hurt you," the last words came out as a whimper.

 Yoongi was quick to shake his head. "He didn't, he didn't hurt me. You shouldn't have worried about me. You shouldn't be thinking about me."

 "But I was! I still am!"

 Yoongi looked away, he didn't move from the wall. It was clear the two hybrids knew each other but there were too many things you couldn't make sense of. Yoongi must have been someone important to Jimin if he had chased him all the way here and by what they were saying he had something to do with Jimin's past owner. You had assumed Jimin had been alone with that vile man, you hadn't considered having someone there with him. Someone he seemed to care for. Maybe he had met him at one of those parties Jimin had mentioned his owner liked to take him to, or he was one of his friends' hybrid.

 Your brain was in overdrive but your body was rooted on the spot. You didn't want to intrude but you were worried. Meanwhile, you only had limited time before you had to get back to work...

Stupid brain, you cursed. This was such an important moment for Jimin and here you were thinking about work.

 “I have to go," Yoongi said, pulling himself away from the wall.

 "No!" Jimin protested loudly, moving as if he was going to reach for the other hybrid. "I have been looking for you for years. Don't go. Please." He had been saying please a lot today.

 Although Jimin didn't touch him, the other hybrid stopped, as if he was unable to leave Jimin behind when he was calling for him. His fists were clenched at his sides and you could see the dried up blood on his knuckles better. It looked like he had left the blood clog up for a day or more instead of cleaning it. It would be easy to get an infection, especially with the dirt and grime all over his clothes and skin.  

"Is she treating you right?" Yoongi asked after a few moments of silence.

 Jimin's eyes widened at the question, brimming with tears. You held your breath. "She's my family." He glanced at you. "She taught me how to cook. She takes care of us and she lets us dress any way we like. She lets us go out alone, too, I haven't yet but I could... We went to the lake and we stayed there all day and had a picnic and... and... I'm- I'm happy. I'm happy, Yoongi."

 Yoongi lowered his head. "You deserve to be happy," he said quietly but even your human hearing picked it up. He took a step forward.

"Wait." You were surprised to hear your own voice. "You should disinfect your cuts, you could get sick if you leave them like this." Not your best, but enough to make his stop and look at you. Jimin gave you a hopeful look. "I have a medical kit in my car, I can clean them and if you want, then you can leave."

Yoongi's eyes narrowed slightly. His hands were shaking. "You know how to give first aid?"

 You nodded. "I have taken a few lessons, I know my way around it."

 "She's really good," Jimin confirmed. Neither of you could forget the night you had met. Purplish bruises, stark white gauze and fearful eyes.

 Yoongi's cat-like ears twitched. It didn't give you any specific answers as to the kind of hybrid he was. His tail was black as well, it stayed low as he contemplated your offer.

"I don't need your help, I'm fine, " Yoongi said. His eyes flickered to the other end of the alleyway. You could sense the internal battle going on inside him, vices gripping his body as he vibrated with something you were hesitant to call nervousness. His eyes locked with Jimin for a moment and his shoulder slumped slightly. "I don't need your help… but there is someone who does. Can you help him?"

 You ignored the suspicious glare and gathered all your confidence. "I can do my best."

 A small nod. "Go get your supplies."

 He stayed glued to the spot so you turned to Jimin. You cupped his cheek gently and said, "I'm going to the car, I'll be back in a moment." The cat hybrid nodded and you speed-walked to the parking lot, thankfully it wasn't too far away. You would have run if you hadn't already been tired from chasing Jimin. You grabbed the first aid kit from the trunk before rushing back. It was a medium sized box, containing all the essentials, from gauze, band-aids and disinfectant to various pills, like Advil and Claritin. "I've got it," you said when you arrived back at the alleyway, finding the two of them in the same spots you had left them.

 Yoongi glanced at you and the white medical kit, and then he was walking away. You took that as a sign to follow him. You slipped your hand in Jimin's, who gave you a small smile, and intertwined your fingers. This neighborhood housed one of your favorite coffee shops, the one you had planned to meet Zayn at, but you hadn’t wandered far from the quiet aesthetic streets with the colorful buildings and the tiny squares.

 As you walked further away, the scenery changed. More graffiti appeared on the walls. Words dripping in red and black. Slurs and protests. You kept Jimin close to your side. After ten minutes of walking, Yoongi stopped in front of a two-story building. The door was hanging off from only one of its hinges, as if holding onto a thread. Shattered windows, peeling paint on the walls and pieces of white plastic sheets angling from seemingly random places didn’t leave any room for doubt whether the building was abandoned.

Yoongi slipped in through the half opened door and disappeared in the partial darkness inside. Two balconies were situated above the door on either side, parts of them chipped off. You were worried they would fall on your heads at any any moment. You tugged Jimin forward and twisted your body to get inside without touching the door or the wall. Jimin did the same and you were faced with an empty room. You couldn't see much, sunlight didn't get in the house properly and the plastic sheets prevented most of the rays from passing through.

 The smell of rot drifted in the air and you could almost feel the dust swirling around. You resisted an instinctual cough. It was mostly in your mind, the feeling that dust was suffocating you, but your mind tricked your body quickly. You ignored it and walked further into the house, leaving footprints behind on the granite floor. The light got dimmer the further you went and your eyes had trouble adjusting. Jimin's eyesight was much better than yours and like cats he could see well in darkness.

 One of the rooms, with the dirtied floral tapestry peeling off from the walls, opened up to a grand staircase. Once upon a time it must have been beautiful, polished wood shining under the light of the chandeliers. You could imagine balls taking place here, women wearing beautiful gowns and men in tuxes made by the biggest names in fashion, mingling and sharing drinks. Now, the room was a ghost of its former glory, a place that belonged in a horror film instead of a period drama.

 Jimin's hand slipped from yours and you reached blindly for him. The room wasn't in total darkness but it was dark enough to make you nervous.

 In all of your observation of the staircase you hadn't noticed that there was something in the space under the stairs. A boy was curled up on a ratty blanket so thin, it must have been doing nothing to shield him from the cold granite underneath. Yoongi was kneeling next to him but you couldn't make out his features or if he was talking or not. You were too far to hear anything and the building was by no means quiet (you had a suspicion that a family of mice or cockroaches had made its home somewhere inside and you prayed you were wrong). You approached cautiously.

 "-alone. Please, don't go again. I'm fine," you could hear the boy saying as you got closer. His voice was croaky, from disuse or pain you weren't sure. He must have been the one Yoongi wanted you to help. You couldn't see him clearly but you could make out the ears peeking out from his hair. Another hybrid.

Yoongi was holding his hand. "You aren't fine, I had to do something. I brought help."

 The boy hadn't noticed you so far, he must have been pretty bad if he didn't hear you coming in and didn’t notice your scent. When his eyes landed on you he only curled up tighter with a whimper.

 "We're here to help you, not hurt you," you said, coming a little closer when Yoongi didn't hiss at you. You showed him the medical kit you were holding. "I only want to help if you let me."

 He didn't uncurl from the ball he had created with his body but Yoongi looked at you expectantly. You knelt on the floor next to the blanket, ridiculously aware of the dust and grime your expensive pants must be gathering. Your mind was jumping from one place to the next so it wasn't surprising that for some reason it decided it was worth it to worry about dirtying your pants. With Yoongi's help, you coaxed him out of the ball so you could start treating him. After turning on the flashlight on your phone, you handed it to Jimin, instructing him to keep it steady while you worked.

The boy clenched his eyes shut at the light, you wondered how long he had stayed here in semi-darkness.

You opened the first aid kit and took stock of the supplies inside, everything was there. You didn't know the extent of his injuries but his labored breathing and sharp flinches whenever he moved told you enough. In the artificial light, you took a better look at the boy laying on the floor. His hair was a reddish shade of orange. A fluffy tail was half-hidden behind his body. A fox hybrid. You had never seen once before.

The awe and curiosity didn’t last long. Your eyes were drawn on his swollen eye, a shocking purple painting his skin. It wasn't the only place tainted with color. His cheek had a purplish bruise as well and his lips were cut in two places. A trail of blood had dried underneath his nose.

"I'll start with your face, okay?" you asked, but the hybrid didn't reply, he just tightened his hold on the blanket. Taking off his clothes, to tend to the rest of the injuries you were sure were hiding underneath, would only make him more uncomfortable. You pulled out a water bottle from your bag, you were always carrying one with you, and poured a small amount on a white cloth. Before the cloth could touch his face, you spoke up, "My name is Y/N. Do you want to tell me your name?"

Wide fearful eyes turned to Yoongi, who gestured vaguely with his hand. "H-Hoseok," the boy whispered.

 "Hoseok," you repeated, testing the name on your tongue. "That's a nice name. I like the way it sounds." Gently, you dabbed the cloth on his bottom lip, the boy flinched at the contact. He didn't pull away so you continued. "I'm not a professional, I'm not a doctor or a nurse or anything. My profession is actually very different from that, though I did have to play nurse a few times. I would like to think I'm quite good at this by now. I've taken a few lessons, I was fascinated with first aid when I was younger. I don't even know why."

 You continued speaking while tending to the wounds on his face. Earlier in your life you had discovered that talking, or at least listening to someone speak, would take the other's mind off the pain a little. By the time you were finished with his face, you had told him the whole story of how you had come to learn first aid and how you had panicked and forgotten everything you had learnt the first time someone had fainted in front of you, only remembering what to do when a friend of yours had pinched you. Hoseok listened to everything you said silently, his lips curling up a tiny bit at the last story. Maybe you exaggerated a bit and you made way too many hand gestures for someone supposed to be tending to his wounds but it seemed to be working.

Yoongi helped him pull off his shirt and you heard a gasp from behind you as his torso was revealed. His body was toned but a few of his ribs were pushing out in ways they probably shouldn't. It wasn't too bad but it was clear he hadn't been eating well for some time. But that wasn't the worst and it wasn't what you noticed first. Large bruises littered his body and what looked like the imprint of a hand was left on his bicep.

Switching topics, you told him about your first time coming to Los Angeles. Hoseok let out a breath as you started speaking again. As you checked his ribs, you recalled your very first days in the city, when you had been as excited as afraid to go to University in a brand new city where you had no friends. He hissed at the contact, but didn't object otherwise. You observed the way he breathed, taking note of the heavy bruising over his ribcage. You applied salve over the area and all the other bruises on his torso and the few on his back, the front had taken the blunt of whatever had happened. You had a suspicion but didn't speak of it yet.

His right arm was broken, he was holding it immobile close to his body. One touch and you were certain of it. Disinfecting a rather large cut on his arm, you wrapped it in gauze after coating the injury in a thin layer of cream. The cream smelled awful and was a sickly green color but you could testify to how effective it was. You did your best to make a cast for the arm, you hadn't done it before outside of a class and it was more of a struggle than you had expected. When his arm was secured in the cast, you trailed off your recounting of a stupid fight you had with one of your cousins that resulted in both of you getting lost. You were done. Hoseok looked at you with wide eyes, as if asking you why you stopped.

"This is it, we're all done," you said, rubbing your hands together with hand sanitizer like you had before treating him. "When did he... get injured?"

"Why do you need to know?" Yoongi asked, at the same time as Hoseok croaked out, "Yesterday."

 "What pill I give him to relieve the pain depends on when he got hurt. Some kinds could slow down the healing process if they are taken less than 48 hours after the injury." Digging into the small suitcase-like kit, you handed him two paracetamol tablets along with the water bottle. There was still had some water inside. "It will numb the pain, it takes about an hour to work," you explained.

 Hoseok tentatively took the pills and bottle from you. He drunk the water in one gulp and you were reminded again that he might have gone without water for some time. "Thank you," he said, his eyes on the blanket.

You sighed, getting up from the floor and dusting off your pants. Just like you had expected, two white patches were left on your knees. "I'm afraid, other than a broken arm, you might have fractured one of your ribs. I noticed the area hurts more than the rest and you have some trouble breathing." Jimin who hadn't moved much while you were working, latched himself on your back. The situation was too familiar for him. The injuries, the smell of the disinfectant and the fear in Hoseok's eyes. And just like that night your heart was clenching, begging you to do more. It worked once, why wouldn't it again? The traitorous organ whispered.

 Yoongi had sat on the blanket next to Hoseok, who had crawled closer to him, his side touching leg. The silence is broken as your phone starts ringing again. You had set it on silent so whoever is calling you must have made many attempts. You are expecting to see Namjoon's name flash on the screen with the wolf and moon emojis, but instead it is the name of one of the producers.

 While tending to Hoseok, you had almost forgotten you had to be at work after the supposedly short trip to the coffee shop. You had to take this. At the other side of the staircase, close to a door that led to what must have been a dining room once, you answered the call.

 Everyone had been looking for you, worried about your absence. You had never been late to work before, often you would show up before you were scheduled to, in order to get some additional work done. Three missed call, that's how many times just the producer had called you. His worry soon turned into irritation, asking you why you didn't inform them and why you weren't answering your phone. They had called everyone close to you to find out what had happened and no one had any answers.

 You were more than an hour late. An hour you were supposed to spend guiding the actors and getting the first feeling of a few scenes. Those plans went down the drain.

 You peeked over the railing of the staircase. Jimin was standing closer to the space Hoseok was laying under the stairs. They were talking but they were being quiet and you couldn't hear what they were saying over the loud voice of the producer coming from the phone and your own too loud thoughts. You tried to explain yourself, staying as close to the truth as possible, which was admittedly difficult. In the end, you used the personal emergency card. Although the producer didn't sound convinced, he let you off, scolding you half-heartedly about calling next time instead of leaving them in the dark looking for you and thinking about the worst.

 Ending the call, you looked through all the ones you missed and the texts they had sent you. You replied to a few of the texts, giving the same answer as you had to the producer. There were several from Zayn, asking where you were and if you were okay. In the final one he asked you to call him as soon as you could. Guilt gnawed at your insides. You had left him alone waiting for you for forty minutes, until he was sure there was no chance of you coming. You were an awful friend. Namjoon had also sent you a few messages. Someone had called the land-line at your house. No word from you. You and Jimin had both disappeared. Cradling your heavy heart, you sent a message to Namjoon assuring him that Jimin was with you and you were both alright. You hoped that would be enough for now.

 Pocketing your phone you walked around the stairs. Closer to them you could pick up parts of their conversation. Yoongi and Jimin were arguing, silent tears streaming down Jimin's face. You held yourself back from running to him and pulling him away from whatever was hurting him. This was Jimin's battle, you would let him fight it. He rarely spoke of the demons of his past but they were many and frightening with long claws and sharp teeth.

 Jimin suddenly reached for your hands. "Tell them, tell them to come home with us. Please, they can't stay here. We have a lot of space in the house, they can take one of the rooms until he heals."

 Your mouth was faster than your brain. That was a problem you didn't have to worry about before but something was changing. "They can come home with us if they want." Yoongi hissed, ready to protest. "A fractured rib isn't a trivial matter, he would need medical supervision but I can guess you don't want to go to a hospital. I can tend to it until he gets better, he will need medication to relieve the pain and plenty of bed rest. This place will only slow his healing."

 "Yoongi, please. Let me..." He stopped with a sniffle. "Just come with us. I need you to come with us." That seemed to break any of the resolve the older hybrid had. Hoseok didn't react at all, remaining curled in on himself.

 "Okay, we'll come," Yoongi said. "We'll come, but we'll leave as soon as he's better.

♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩

It should be way more surprising when you show up at the Castle with Jimin and two unfamiliar hybrids in tow. The initial surprise lasted only a few minutes before everyone just sort of accepts this. Namjoon was the most wary but you couldn't blame him, his instincts were screaming to protect his pack and while Hoseok in his condition was by no means a threat, Yoongi didn't exactly look friendly. Jungkook had hopped away soon after with Jin. The bunny hybrid wasn’t good with strangers. You suspected that he had inherited some bunny instincts that made him jumpy and easily afraid around predators.

You led the two new hybrids to the guest room with the two queen beds on the second floor, and like you had with Jin, you gave them the key. Yoongi looked at you suspiciously but didn't say anything. Hoseok fell asleep as soon as his body hit the soft mattress. Their reaction to the house had been similar to most people’s. Wide eyes and disbelief. It didn’t serve to calm Yoongi down, instead he looked like you had been leading him straight into some sort of trap.

 Jimin stuck close to you as you called John from your office. He was one of the first people your team had called, it just happened that the day they needed him was the day he hadn't accompanied you. He was fuming when he answered, worried out of his mind and, unlike the producer, he didn't let you off easily. You had been rash, forgot about any rational thoughts, put yourself and Jimin in danger, didn't call anyone for backup in case something happened. Those hybrids could have been serial killers for all you knew. The list went on and on.

 "I'm coming over as soon as I can," he said. "I have to see those hybrids for myself. You can't just go around picking up hybrids like they are new projects. What mess have you gotten yourself in this time?"

 "Hopefully, not too big of one," you muttered. "You don't have to come, really. I've got everything under control and it's your week off. I took the rest of the day off so I'll be home. I swear I'll call you if anything happens."

 "There is no way I'm leaving you in the house with two hybrids you just picked up from the street and decided to nurse back to health-"

 "One of them is fine," you interrupted him.

 Yoongi didn't have any visible injuries other than his bloody knuckles and a slit lip he wouldn't let you touch. Even if he had more, there was no way he would let you tend to them.

 "And that makes it better how?" John asked. "I mean, good for him he isn't injured, but that doesn't guarantee your safety. If he is fine, he could try something. Don't forget that hybrid's have human DNA too, there are bad apples regardless of how much you want to keep looking at the good ones. Just because it worked once, doesn't mean it will work again. "

 Jimin was sitting on the edge of your desk, his head tilted to the side. He could hear everything with his hearing. You ruffled his blond hair and he leaned into your touch. "It isn't the same," you said.

"Isn't it? It sounds awfully a lot like something I've heard before." John sighed. "It isn't that I don't trust your judgment, but lately you act then ask questions lately. I trust you but I don't trust everyone you take into your house. They could take all of your jewelry before they disappear or it could be much much worse."

 "Contrary to popular belief, I'm not completely defenseless." The first years John was assigned to you, he had decided to teach you the basics of self-defense. He couldn't always be with you and you  hadn't been able to throw a punch to save your life. The lessons had paid off and, although you were no black belt student, you could defend yourself to an extent if you had to. "I'm serious, you don't have to come over. What about Alice? She wouldn't want her father running off when he promised her he would spend the week with her."

 John huffed. "You are evil, using my daughter against me."

 "I will add it to my resume," you said. "I'm alright and I'm going to be alright. You know I'm not alone, if anything happens we can count on each other, and you can come in a few days when your break is over and check in."

 "I'll accept this only because I have heard Namjoon growl when he thinks someone in his pack is threatened," you felt warmth seep in your cheeks when John mentioned so casually that you were part of their pack, "and Jungkook has gained enough muscle in the last few months to launch a nice punch if he needs to protect himself or someone." It was difficult to imagine your sweet bunny hybrid punching anyone, especially given the way you had found him, but it was true that the time he spent in the gym paid off.

 John didn't come over. He stayed with his daughter because he had promised they would go to the zoo together as soon as she woke up from her afternoon nap. You went through a few papers after the phone call, reassuring yourself multiple times that the whole TV show wouldn’t crumble because you had taken one day off work (you really needed to work on your sense of self-importance). Jimin had turned his body on the desk so he could see what you were doing without taking up too much space.

 They would be fine without you. The conclusion wasn't hard to reach but you had tortured yourself a lot over it. Missing days of work was almost unheard for you. You scheduled your life around your work schedule, the breaks were on specific dates and you didn't need to take extra ones. To miss work, you had to be so sick you couldn't get out of bed without fainting.

 You put the papers in their respective folders and placed them back on the bookshelves. "Now that we are alone, do you think you can tell me what happened?" you asked, feeling Jimin's eyes on your back.

 "I-" He averted his gaze, his fingers wrapping and unwrapping on the hem of his shirt, wrinkles forming  on the material and smoothing out again. "I'm sorry."

 You walked around the desk, coming closer to him. "That's not what I wanted to hear. A warning before taking off would have been nice, though. My mind went to the worst possibility and you wouldn't answer my calls or wait for me."

 Jimin was about to apologize but stopped himself. "I couldn't lose him. I couldn't stop running, I couldn't lose him again. I couldn't really hear you... It was like a fog was over everything other than the path I was following. I needed to make sure it was Yoongi, that he was alright."

 You touched Jimin's thighs, situating him better on the desk so you were standing between his legs. "Do you want to tell me about it?"

 He hesitated before reaching for your hand and holding it in his. He brought it close to his face and started nuzzling on your wrist. He had told you your scent calmed him and he liked it when your scents mingled. Placing a kiss on the center of your wrist, he pulled back a little, keeping your hand in his.

 "He was there, in my old house," he said. "I was around sixteen when he was brought in. My owner didn't say why he was there but Yoongi is a panther hybrid, he could brag about him to his friend and he was also a guard. He was supposed to be protecting the house, to be protecting me. I was all alone there and then I wasn't. He was suddenly there and I wanted a friend so bad. Yoongi was gentle and he was kind, he would stay with me when I was feeling lonely. He cooked for me when he could, the food was delicious. I remember loving it but I'm not sure it was because of the food itself or because he was the one who had cooked it. Maybe both." He lowered his head, his cat ears pinned to his head. "We did something. We did something very bad. He took Yoongi away and I was returned to the adoption center. I never learnt what he did to him. I thought..." His voice cracked.

 You shushed him, stepping even closer and taking his into your arms. He wrapped his arms around your neck pulling you against his chest. "He's alright. You're safe here. This is a safe place."

 "I know," he mumbled into your shoulder. "I know."

 You cupped his neck with one hand, rubbing small circles with your thumb on his neck. "Do you trust him? Do you trust him to stay here until Hoseok recovers?"

 He nodded. "I trust him, I would trust him with my life."

 You held him in silence for some time, just feeling him breath against your chest. "What did you do with Yoongi?" you asked, curious. Jimin stiffened, you felt like he was holding his breath. "You don't have to tell me."

 His body relaxed a little, leaning on you. "I can't, we shouldn't have done it. We betrayed him. I couldn't hold myself back, I was weak. I'm stronger now, I promise. I wouldn’t be able to bear it if your hated me."

 What he said made you jolt back. Jimin whined lowly but you were quick to cup his soft cheek. "I could never hate you. Nothing in this world could make me hate you," you said, gazing into his watery eyes. Even with tears threatening to fall, he looked beautiful. "My Jiminie. Nothing you say will ever change my feelings about you. Your past doesn't define you. Whatever you did to that man, he deserved it."

 "But you don't."

 You didn't understand what he meant. "What?" You looked into his eyes but you only found sadness there. The small smile on his lips hurt more than his tears would.

 He sniffled. "Don't leave me. Don't throw me away," he pleaded.

 You squeezed his thigh, leaning your forehead against his. "Never, I'll never leave you. I will always watch over you, I swear."

“I’m not worth it. I’m not worthy of the care you give me,” he whimpered.

“You are. You are worth everything and so much more.”

♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩

 Namjoon was sitting on the largest couch in the living room, a documentary about ocean life playing on TV. His ears twitched a little when he heard you climbing up the stairs. You stayed standing for a moment, watching the screen as a blue whale emerged from the water shooting up a water water spray like a fountain. Their tails flapped against the water. Such magnificent creatures. They were endangered species, the man speaking explained, hunted and killed for their meat and blubber. On top of that, pollution, vessel strikes, entanglement in traps and nets and more.

If there was one thing humans knew how to do is destroy beautiful things.

“Are you okay?” Namjoon asked.

You shrugged. “Shouldn’t I be asking that? Or some variation of it?” You turned away from the screen and settled on the couch, leaving some distance between you. “I didn’t have the chance to ask you before springing this on you.”

“I can handle it, I think,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t think Jimin left you much of a choice if he ran after him. If his mind is set on something, he won’t stop until he gets it.”

“Do you know anything about him? Yoongi? Jimin told me some things but he doesn’t want to say everything.”

Namjoon shook his head. “I didn’t even know he existed until now. Jimin never mentioned it. He doesn’t like talking about his past. I can understand, but then things like this happen. I just wish he shared more with us, so we could help him.”

“I know,” you agreed. “I feel the same. But it’s only temporary. In about a week Hoseok will be well enough to go. Not completely healed, that could take up to a month or more, but he will be better.”

He cracked a small smile. “You can’t really stand there doing nothing, can you?”

You couldn’t, could you? You had always been one to try to help in any way you could. It didn’t matter what the problem was, you wanted to help. An issue at work, a dilemma one of your friends was facing, human rights, poverty, hunger. Homeless injured hybrids. But you usually were careful, you would think the problem over, review all the points and then try to find a solution.

Since when did you throw caution to the wind?

You liked to pride yourself on your mind. You could see the things other people couldn’t and laid new paths when others hadn’t bothered to stray a foot from the blocked road. It felt like you were slipping.

“I didn’t know what else to do,” you said, hiding your face in your hands. “Jimin was so sad and Hoseok’s ribs are fractured-”

Namjoon cut you off by tugging at your arm. He pulled you closer to him. “I trust you, you know I trust you.”

“That doesn’t always make things better,” you said, laying your head on his shoulder. “What if I’m wrong? What if you trusted me and I’m wrong? And, I don’t know, something really bad happens.”

“Then we’ll face the consequences together.” He didn’t hesitate. “I’ll tell you if I think you’re wrong and we will work it out. Now, I’m not sure. We don’t know what happened or why one of them has fractured ribs and a broken arm. I saw the blood on Yoongi’s hands. All we know is that he was part of Jimin’s past.”

The screen was darker as lion fish were swimming around the bottom of the sea, illuminated by blue light. They weren’t afraid of the diver, aware of the poison in their back spines, the narrator said.

You shuffled around a little, getting comfortable on Namjoon’s side. His arm snaked around your waist, settling on your hip. The words unsaid between the two of you were choking you.

“Jungkook came to me earlier,” he said. “He was crying. He told me he had done something horrible, something he couldn’t forgive himself for. It took me hours to calm him down. He said I needed to find Jimin and make sure he was okay. After what he had done, Jungkook said he wouldn’t want to see him again.”

You frowned. “Jungkook said that?” That sounded nothing like the sweet boy you knew. Sure, Jungkook liked joking around, teasing all of you and he could be very stubborn. But he looked at Jimin like he was his muse and whatever he created would be bland and pointless without him. “Jimin caught me last minute before I left the house. He didn’t look well, he was panicked. It was like he was trying to escape something. He didn’t tell me what happened and I didn’t want to push him and make things worse. Where is Jungkook?"

“At the atelier, Jin is there with him. I don't know what we'd do without him," Namjoon said. You agreed. Jin had slotted into your lives like he was always meant to be there. "What about Jimin? Wasn't he with you?"

"He came with me to my office, before I came upstairs he said he was tired and he left to go to your room."

 The sun was setting outside, the sky turning navy as the colors of the day receded. You felt like only a few minutes ago you had been about to walk out the door to meet up with Zayn.

 Namjoon's hand was rubbing your arm up and down, the touch calming something deep inside you. You had so many questions, so many doubts about what you were doing. There were so many ways this could go wrong. Jimin was in a fragile state. If what Jungkook had told Namjoon was true to some extent, Jimin would be in a really bad place. On top of that, a person from his past showing up could ruin all his progress. Most of all, you were afraid your Jimin would get hurt.

 "You're thinking too loud again."

 You groaned, burying your head in his shoulder. "I'm not." You turned to the TV trying to erase the look on your face. The deepest parts of the sea were home to so many creatures. Small and large, all of them had adapted to live in darkness. Adapting. Such an interesting skill.

 You squirmed in Namjoon's arms, he loosened his hold on you so you could sit up straighter. You hadn't talked about the night when you had been beating yourself up for saying the wrong thing, Jin's retreating form, head lowered, haunting you. Namjoon had a way to make your brain go quiet, something you hadn't learnt how to do regardless of how much you tried. You had been floating and for once you had fallen asleep without tossing and turning.

 But you hadn't talked and you couldn't decide if it was better that way or if it would only serve to torment you further. The doubts came, like they always did, and you weren't ready to deflect them.

 Namjoon's clever eyes were on you as you traced invisible swirls from his shoulder, his neck and up his face. Your knuckles ran over his cheek in a feather-light touch. His hand covered yours, bringing it to his mouth and placing a kiss in the center of your palm. Your heart was beating rapidly in your chest.

 "Can I?" he asked, leaning closer. You could do nothing but nod. His lips touched yours gently at first, before both of you got lost in the feeling. This kind of kissing was reserved for books and movies, it wasn't something that was supposed to happen in real life and yet... How could you settle for anything less after this?

 This, this was something you could write about. Something to fill up all those blank pages taunting you. Paragraphs upon paragraphs attempting to describe that feeling spreading through your whole body. You could spend your whole life trying to put this moment into words and it would be worth it.

 You pulled back. A flush had crept up on Namjoon's cheeks and his hair was mussed. You probably didn't look any better. Hopefully, your makeup could cover any redness on your skin.

 Your hand was still in his, held against his cheek.

 "What are we doing?" you asked him, breathy from the kiss that had overtaken your whole being. "What does this mean?"

 "What do you want this to be?"

 Your lips twitched up. "I don't know, that's why I'm asking you."

 Namjoon combed a hand through your hair, twisting a strand loosely around his fingers before letting go. "It can mean whatever we want it to mean. Whatever we need it to be."

 On a moment, his back straightened and he looked at the stairs. You followed his gaze but saw nothing. A few seconds later, your human ears were able to pick up steps climbing up the staircase. You got up from the couch and straightened the wrinkles on your clothes. An itch to change into clean clothes nagged at you, preferably after taking a nice long shower, but there were still things needed to be done.

 Black hair was the first thing you saw before the rest of Jin came into view, but you had already guessed who it was by the careful steps he was taking. Living with them, you could distinguish between the ways they climbed up the stairs. Jungkook ran up, eager to reach his destination. Jimin occasionally skipped some steps, light on his feet like he was floating his way up. Namjoon's step were light as well and he was the most likely to miss, stalking up the stairs silently as if on a hunt. Jin was careful and measured in everything he did and this was no different.

 The sugar glider hybrid glanced around, his eyes landing on the two of you in the living room. He shifted his weight on his feet.

 "Hey," you said softly, coming closer. "Is Jungkook still in the atelier ?"

 Jungkook was nowhere to be seen, even though he tended to stick to the other hybrids like glue. Whatever had happened earlier was enough to make him change his habits.

 "He's in the middle of a painting," Jin said, biting his bottom lip. It was obvious he was worried as well, but trying to make excuses for the youngest. "I'm going to cook dinner."

 The sun had set by now but you couldn't comprehend how late it had gotten. Time to make dinner. On an average work day you would be wrapping up now and checking off the tasks you had completed, making sure everything was going according to plan before leaving.

 "I'll help you then," you said, nudging his hands with yours. The two of you go to the kitchen and Jin starts pulling out bowls from the cupboards. "What are we making?"

 Jin paused. "Now that you're here, we can make whatever you want. But I can cook. You should rest, you must be tired."

 "No more tired than usual." It was true in a weird way. Your body was actually feeling less like it would need to sleep for a week to restore all its functions and more like something heavy you didn't recognize had wrapped itself around your shoulders. "You? How are you feeling?"

 Jin fiddled with one of the bowls. "I'm alright."

 On a couple shelves, away from where most of the action took place, your cookbooks were lined in neat rows. You picked up one of your favorites, the well-known chef smiling at you from the cover.

 "It's okay if you aren't," you said. "It was very unexpected. It'd be understandable if you felt uncomfortable or upset. I didn't get a chance to warn you before bringing practically two strangers into your home."

 The bowl was apparently very fascinating for Jin because he was looking nowhere else as he forced a smile. "I couldn't be upset. I was a stranger coming here, too."

 You left the cookbook on the counter. "The circumstances were different. I had called the others before adopting you and we had all agreed that I would bring you home with me. I adopted you, you came to stay. They will be leaving soon."

 "It's just... I'm not used to strangers," he admitted.

 You moved around the kitchen island, standing next to him. You gave him space in case he wanted to move away but he only leaned closer to you. "This is your home and all I want for you is to feel safe here. I'm sorry I didn't call you to ask before bringing them here. I don't want you to act like you don't mind if you actually do. You have a right to be upset."

 You brought your foreheads together, rubbing gently. A rare purr escaped Jin and although his cheeks reddened he didn't pull away at the sound like he used to do.

 The kitchen filled with noise as you started preparing the dishes. You had decided on chicken with honey and garlic as the main dish and you would make a few side-dishes because you didn't know what the new hybrids liked to eat. Halfway through, when you had added the honey, the diced garlic and the soy sauce in the pan, the itch under your skin got too long and you left to go shower.

 Washing away the day felt almost cathartic. The worst parts of it falling down the drain. It was your favorite part of coming home, second only to seeing your hybrids and spending time with them. Freshly washed and dressed into sweatpants and a comfortable top, you got out of your room. Dinner wasn't ready yet but Jin didn't need any more help. Any other day you would get your laptop and open one of the files in your to-do-list but this time you climbed down the stairs to the second level.

 Knocking on the door, you took a step back and waited.

 "Who is it?" a gruff voice you recognized as Yoongi's called from inside.

 "It's Y/N." You didn't elaborate further, curious to see what he would do. Contrary to what you had expected, you heard the key being turned. The door opened, Yoongi peeking at you through the crack.

 "What do you want?"

 "Dinner is almost ready," you said. "I came to check in on you. Has Hoseok woken up? I wanted to see how well the medication worked."

 You could sense Yoongi contemplating shutting the door in your face before  a small voice from inside said, "I'm awake."

 Yoongi muttered under his breath but opened the door further letting you in. The room was mostly untouched, only the bed Hoseok had been sleeping in gave an indication that someone had been inside. Yoongi had taken a shower but changed back into his own clothes, which he had pulled out from the small duffel bag. The green duffel bag, as worn as their clothes, was the only thing they had carried with them. It was small and certainly not enough for two people to live out of.

 Hoseok was laying on the bed, making himself as small as he could without aggravating his injuries. In the hand that wasn't in the cast, he was clinging to the blanket he had with him in the abandoned building. It desperately needed to be washed but you weren't sure it could be salvaged. The light in the room was in the lower setting not to aggravate his eyes. His fluffy tail was curled around his waist, dirt staining it and parts sticking together with grime.

 He stuttered answering your questions but overall he looked better. The granite floor with only a thin blanket to lay on wasn't a place someone could actually rest on. You offered to bring him some clothes to change into. Unlike Yoongi, he accepted.

 Jacob's clothes had really come in handy. You would have never guessed that you would find a use for them when he left them behind. You had even considered throwing them out at one of your lowest points. Jacob's promise to remain friends and the excuse he would be coming over had been proven a lie or just wistful thinking. They weren't taking too much space, considering how large your closet was, but you had no use for them but sentimental memories you no longer needed. Until February, that is.

 Some of Namjoon's clothes would fit Hoseok better, but you dismissed the idea without considering it. The hybrid's scent would be too prominent on the clothes. Jimin liked wearing the others' clothes because he claimed he loved being enveloped in their scents. It was also the reason he had stolen one of your hoodies that fit him and refused to give it back.

 Jacob's scent had faded from his clothes after so many months, Namjoon had confirmed it. He had left in early December, five months had come and passed since then. You could remember the months leading up to the break up. It wasn't the fights, there weren't many of them, but the silence and the distance that had broken you. You had been at work all day and he had been at the studio. When he went out you either couldn't go because you were busy or you were too tired to. He didn't get your hobbies. He wasn't a fan of reading and he didn't let you listen to his tracks before they were ready. You weren't good at giving feedback, he had told you laughing after you had said the track felt like something was missing in the chorus. You had been getting further and further apart for more than a year. The house was but a way to fool yourself that everything was alright.

 Yoongi had helped Hoseok shower, following your advice to not ruin the cast on his arm and wet the bandages you had wrapped around some of the deeper wounds.

 Dinner was different. You had carried two trays down with Jin's help for the two hybrids. It was better for Hoseok not to move and even if he could, Yoongi wouldn't be thrilled at the idea. Jungkook didn't come up for dinner. He wouldn't leave the atelier and Jin carried another tray to him, because there was no way he would let him go without eating. Jimin asked after him. He didn't speak for the rest of dinner picking up the food on his plate with a guilty expression on his face.

 John did come the next morning. He didn't press and didn't threaten anyone, not that you had expected him to but it was a relief nonetheless. John was an intimidating man with his height and bulkiness. Yoongi hissed, backing into a corner when he saw him. John looked him up and down, taking in his split lip, the bruises and his worn clothes, and then showed you a picture of his daughter on his phone. Yoongi regarded him for a little longer before disappearing again.

 Jungkook and Jimin were avoiding each other. Jungkook did everything in his power not to find himself in the same room as Jimin, getting up and leaving whenever Jimin entered. The hurt on Jimin's face was heartbreaking every time it happened. You tried to comfort him but you couldn't do much when you were gone most of the day and you had to check Hoseok's injuries every morning and night.

 You were in your office scanning a few documents when the email was delivered. Your hand froze, unable to comprehend the contents at first.

 There was a knock on the half-opened door. Namjoon walked inside. "Are you coming for dinner?"

 You looked up from your phone. "I have to go to Virginia the day after tomorrow."